• So I'm taking my parents home from the airport, and they're talking to each other.  I don't know what exactly, but I heard something about, "Well, we need to go to The Store tomorrow," followed by, "Do we?" and then I heard, "Well, when is the 3rd, this Sunday?"  You know, I thought for some time that The Store was already closed, but now they're saying they're closed closed as of Sunday?  They didn't have much of a reason to go back to The Store after taking an eight-day vacation, but does that mean that they're not going back to The Store ... ever?
• I woke up at 11:30.  I was hoping that I could take public transportation to the Mall of America and finally see that Princess Diana exhibit before it leaves on the 10th.  But then I hear a sink running.  Shit -- my parents are still home.  My Father wanted to go to the doctor this afternoon because of a swollen right big toe, and so I didn't understand all this talk about going to The Store; why go instead of just cooling your heels at home and go to the doctor's from home?  Still, I wanted them to go to The Store because it's so awkward for them to be here, you know?  But they didn't immediately bolt out the door; instead, they went upstairs to eat.  I wanted to wait them out in case they were just rolling out slowly, but around 12:30 I couldn't take it anymore.
• No bitching, thank God.  After washing up I went outside to eat gruel.  And then Mother asked for my help to remove some plants tomorrow.  And then Father wanted me to get a birthday cake for Mother.  Today is her birthday, and I totally forgot.  At least I had an excuse to go to MOA.  (By the way, the exhibit wasn't bad.  It isn't just Diana's dresses that are on display, although seeing the 25-foot-long train of her wedding dress is flippin' crazy.  There are pieces representing all segments of her life, such as a looping video of home videos of her as a kid.  The most intriguing piece of the exhibit is a copy of the first draft of a statement made at her funeral by her brother, Charles.  A paragraph excoriating the paparazzi that hounded her throughout her life [and, let's be real, killed her in that tunnel in Paris on August 31, 1997] was omitted from the official statement.)  Got home at 6.  Father wasn't talking down to me, nor was he talking at all, because he didn't have much of an appetite after the doctor examined his ... foot, for some reason.

The Death Of My Freedom

Parents come home this evening.  In about three hours, in fact.  Picking them up.  No more tossing shit around and not caring where they land or when I have to pick them up.  No more walking around in my underwear.  No more masturbating in the bathroom with the door open.

My main task on my to-do list for my respite was to go through my shit.  And this morning, when I knew I had to start putting shit back into storage, I realized how little of a dent I made.  There is a huge pile of papers and a couple ESPN The Magazine issues that are now in the recycling bin.  But I think I only went through, like, two bags of papers.  I had at least two dozen I took out of storage.  Most of them stayed in my parents' minivan for a week.

I also tried to bag as many Entertainment Weeklys as I could.  I did a lot, a box's worth, which is more than I usually do in a stretch.  But excluding the waterlogged issues that I wanted to secure first, I skimmed, like, the top of one box full of EWs.  I have at least three that are so stuffed that I had to double-clutch when I tried to lift them up back into the minivan.  All told, I think I put back as many bags of shit that I took out.  I wanted to get my shit reduced by one bag, and I don't think I did that.

In anticipation of tonight, I decided I would treat myself to one last night of freedom last night.  I went to a stripclub that I hadn't been to in at least two years, just to see if anything changed and if I could draw some extras.  I got three regular lapdances.  One of them, a fine bomb-ass chick, I tried to take my dick out but she stopped me before the head appeared.  Another one told me to put it back or else "we both would be fired."  She intimated that there'd be a little sumpin'-sumpin' for me in the LD.  Liar!  The third one I didn't take out because she once danced at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), and that wouldn't be nice.  So the girls were great-looking, but they didn't do a whole lot.

Now they come back.  Worse, I am out of work because the project, as usual, ended by almost a week.  This company remains awful in estimating when we're going to be done.  So I will have a lot of time at home with my parents, unless I find shit to do outside.  Which costs money.  I don't know how long I can do this, especially after having, for the most part, a lot of fun with my freedom.

I think I have blogged before about one of my OCD things, catching the beginning of the evening national news.  I had just finished painting the shed (and finishing -- something I can say I successfully completed while my parents were gone!), and it just so happened that there were ten minutes before they were on.  Perfect timing.

I decided to focus on Channel 11, the NBC affiliate, because for the TV in the dining room, that channel comes in the best most consistently.  So I waited till the end, when the local 5 o'clock news transitions to the beginning of the national news.

But since it was Memorial Day, they decided to go out with the Star-Spangled Banner instead of their theme music, and they had a tableau of American flags that they focused on instead of a far shot of the set.  I then thought that the song will completely play out till the beginning of the NBC Nightly News, so I decided to look down and start taking my iPod, which ran out of energy while I was painting, out of its protective case.  I, unfortunately, forgot that songs like that are used to pad time, and that it could be cut out whenever they have to throw to the national news.

Which is what they did as I was looking down; I heard the beginning of the NBC Nightly News theme song and perked my eyes back up to see Samantha Guthrie give the rundown.  It doesn't matter if it's our national anthem, apparently, even that gets cut when it hits 5:30:00 CDT.  And since I did not see the very first frame of the news, I technically failed to see the beginning of the evening national news.

Honestly, I can't live it down, and it'll bother me for some time.

Do you know the best thing about my parents being gone?  That I can be as big as a fucking slob that I want.  I can throw shit around, be it empty food plates, my hats, my clothes, or my other shit, and I don't have to care because no one's here, so fuck it all!

But they're coming back in less than three days and I have to start cleaning up.  Well, I have to clean all the plates and pick up my hats and clothes and throw all the shit I'm not going to get around to back into storage, but that constitutes cleaning up.  Right now it seems like a monumental task, therefore I won't think about doing it till tomorrow at the earliest.  Till then, I just want to enjoy doing what I want to do without repercussions.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

Well, with Memorial Weekend on us, two things come.  The first is the more important: Summer.  The other is much less important: The fallow season of The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey.

And it will be even more fallow, in fact as fallow as it could be, this summer.  From now until Labor Day Weekend -- coincidentally the end of summer -- the WMNSS will feature only one team: The Twins.  They usually be ranked -1 because there will be no other team, but I could dip them into -Infinity (and subsequently call them the Twinks, although I call them the Twinks anyway) if they lose all their games in a week ... which, come to think of it, probably will happen.  And, of course, if they win all their games in a week (cough-cough), I'll lift them into 0 or even Positive Numbers.  But likely it'll be -1 from here on out.

I usually put the Lynx into the survey, but because they won the WNBA title and are thus the best team in the best professional and/or collegiate league for their sport in the world, I'll drop them off of the survey.  It'll at least be for a year; if they don't win the title, I might be perturbed enough to put them back on.  Or, I just might leave them off for three or even five years.  I mean, they won a championship, right?  They don't need my judgment.  Regardless and irregardless, they are out for 2012.  Also remember that the other Twin Cities teams may make a one-week cameo in the WMNSS if something happens.  I will guarantee you, for example, that the Timberwolves be back on the week of the NBA Draft.  Otherwise, it's the ...

-1: Twins (Last Week: -1).  The good feelings generated when they won four in a row have faded with a thud, to mix my metaphors.  They failed to sweep Milwaukee, getting quadrupled by the Brewers last Sunday 16-4, then have been pounded ever since, and not in a good way.  It's a 1-5 week for the Minnesota Nine.

These losing streaks (they have been vanquished four times in a row now), I'm surprised, are feeling worse.  By that I mean that I already felt shitty about this team, but then they do something good like win four in a row, I think that the organization is showing some improvement.  But then it looks like they're not improving because they go and lose four in a row, and all my hopes are dashed.  And that's the worst thing about this: Every loss from here on out means that there is no cavalry coming, that there is no hope for the future.  This is what we have, folks.  And to think that I thought they would win the division last year.  And to think we gave these assholes $360 million towards a new stadium with a promise they would contend year after year.

Any bright spots?  Well, the pitcher who threw the club's last win, P.J. Walters, is hurling for today's game at home against Detroit.  Maybe he can dazzle us with a second consecutive complete game shutout.  (That's it for pitching, though.  Free agent acquisition Jason Marquis was released this past week after yet another horrible showing where his sinkerball didn't sink.  I can blame a lot of things on the tenure of former Twins General Manager Bill Smith, and the new/old one, Terry Ryan, is someone I still believe in.  But he has to be accountable for Marquis because he brought him in.)  On the offensive side, Justin Morneau hit his ninth home run in Saturday afternoon's loss to the Tigers.  I am encouraged that the effects over his concussion are abating.  And I didn't realize until seeing last night's highlight that he really does have a sweet and distinctive swing.  On the downside, wither Joe Mauer?

The Memorial Day game, as well as the next two, are at Target Field versus the Bastard Philadelphia/Kansas City/soon-to-be-Santa Clara Athletics.  After an off-day, they travel to Seattle and play the Mariners for next weekend.

Analysis Halfway Through My Spell Of Freedom

I write this roughly halfway through my parents' week-plus-long vacation.  Right now it is raining outside.  Surrounding me is not just stuff that my parents would want me to throw away, but shit that we would all agree needs to be either cleaned or tossed: Plastic trays of food Mother prepared for me before she left, cans of Sprite that belong in the recycling container, old Entertainment Weeklys that were waterlogged in my storage unit that I'm drying out by pulling each page apart from each other (and a few times failing).

I want to be productive while they're away without sensing their prying, judgmental eyes on me.  Scratch that: I want to get a handjob before they come back.  But that didn't happen, and with work stopping earlier than they said again, I don't know if it's wise to spend more money beyond going to seeing another All-Time Favorite in the sticks tonight.  I so, so need a hot girl to wank my dick till I cum, but I don't think I can afford it.

Also, I do have a lot of things I want to get done.  I feel awful, but I just don't feel I can get them done with my parents around.  Unfortunately, I'm not really doing these things without them around, either.

Now there are a few things I have done.  I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version), and my folks sent me to The Store to continue dumping their old product.  I think I did it as much as I could, so I'm happy to a) please my parents and b) accomplish something fully.

The downside to having eight days to do your to-do list, at least for me, is that I can't decide what tasks I should do.  I let circumstances what I can and can't do.  For example, I decided to start painting the shed, a project that's going into its third year, yesterday because the forecast called for rain today.  The shed is backed into a corner of the backyard, and I wanted to crawl around to the backside and paint that.  Also, the shed is so high that I would need a chair to stand on to reach the top.  For some reason, painting that part of shed, let alone painting the high parts, is something I didn't feel I could work on till my parents were gone.  (There's one side of the shed that's so close to the neighbor's fence I just can't paint that.)  I painted after coming back from The Store (I thought about dumping my parents' stuff at The Store on the way to work last night, but I decided not to because a] I didn't know how early I would have to leave for the western suburbs when the main highway from where The Store is downtown is very clogged going out for evening rush, and b] I didn't want to smell going to work or anywhere I decided to go afterward) and after a good, well-deserved nap, and so I did enough that I won't need to use the chair to stand on and paint.

I often look at tasks through opportunity; that is, if I have two or more things I could do, I ask myself what can I put off till tomorrow and what I should do today because I won't be able to do it tomorrow.  I painted the shed instead of, say, storing my EWs because I could do that today, now, indoors, while it's raining outside.

Except that I'm not.  I'm blogging, which is something I was intent on still doing.  However I'm also playing Mafia Wars on facebook; I hadn't played it in a long time, so I have a lot of catching up to do, but that was not something on my list.

Look, I'm not going to get done.  I have so much shit to do, and for most of them I have no idea how to even start.  I'm still not done with that shed, for example.  I have to paint the rest of the back.  And I'm not even done with the chair, either; there is a tree that prevents me from just going behind the shed, so instead I have to put the chair on the other side of the fence to climb over to the other side, take the chair again, put it next to the back of the shed, then climb back over to our property.  I guess I could just leap over it, but I'm old, and when I needed to use the chair and realized I didn't have to worry about my foot slipping or my testicles landing on the chain-link fence, I knew I could just put it away.

I can't put many things away right now.  Instead of dancing around to Bob Seger in my shirt, underwear and socks like Tom Cruise in Risky Business (although I walk around in my boxers only and sleep naked in my sister's room because I can and don't have nobody here), I decided to swamp myself with the sundry items that my folks think I trashed but I instead am trying to sort and archive.  I have tons of boxes here.  I have gone through none of them yet.  If my parents surprisingly came home, they would see these boxes, harken back to the days I had boxes everywhere and immediately ask me where the fuck these boxes came from.  And they would be pissed.

I want to box as many magazines as I can.  There are special items, such as game even programs and lineup sheets, that I want to sort out.  And there are papers that I want to read and, believe it or not, throw away.  I just have no idea if I'll have the time to pull it off.  Maybe not going to a stripclub every night will help.  But already I'm hesitating because I already feel overwhelmed.

And that's not to mention all the other things I want to do: Have my parents' minivan detailed ... spray-protect the house ... give Grandmother's diapers to my sister's best friend's mom ... look into changing the house's phone plan ... try to make spaghetti ... write my sports columns and strip club reviews (goddamn, I haven't written either in weeks!), etc.  On Monday I made out the to-do list.  I'm looking at it right now.  I have crossed out four of my 16 things, and one of them I crossed out (a party where I could have gotten a handjob) because I couldn't make it because of work.

I'm a failure.  On Wednesday I'm going to have to pack up all the boxes I brought inside without even touching them and take them back to the storage unit, where I'll have to frantically shove them back in and surrender them to the elements.  I want to enjoy this spate of freedom, but all I can think of right now is how this is going to end, and whether I will be productive by the time the 'Rents come back.

Wish me luck.  And pray for me, if you're so inclined.

You know, I'm usually disappointed when I go to a strip club where I expect to get extras and don't get them.  Now, I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) yesterday and I didn't feel I was entitled to some, but I was hoping to get my rocks off.  Unfortunately, of the two that were there, one of them was a surefire dick-pleaser who has turned into a cocktease, and the other seems to be a ripoff bitch, and she kind of smells, too.

Thank God for the other one.  Just to clarify, no, I did not get any extras for her.  But I was going to take anything good out of this trip, and her honest conversation and kisses on the cheek still sent me home happy without any ejaculation whatsoever.  I'll take it.

The Best Commercial On TV Right Now: Apple iPhone Featuring John Malkovich

I don't mind the first two celebrity iPhone commercials.  But I could see how the one with Zooey Deschanel could make you gag with her preciousness.  And the one with Samuel L. Jackson seems kind of false, you know?  I don't buy him cooking dinner for his wife.  I half expect him to shout, "I WANT THESE MOTHERFUCKIN' BEANS OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKIN' GAZPACHO!!!" take out his gun and put a cap in the pot like he was Jules.

But whether or not this is the real John Malkovich or the John Malkovich persona we are all creeped out by and love, this perfectly captures how we know the actor and how we would think he would play around with his iPhone (the first time he's decided to pimp a product in a commercial, I believe).  With his typical breezy attitude with a hint of sinister foreboding underneath the surface and his laconic one-word requests of Siri that sounds like he's flirting with it/her, this is the perfect mesh of product placement and actor brand reinforcement.

RIP, Flip-Flops

It's typical me, rushing headlong into things even though I know I should stop and think.  I do neither and thus pay for it.

That's what happened on my first day of My Reverse Vacation.  With the folks gone, I have the run of the house, so I could bring all the shit I have in storage back home to ... uh, sort, store and/or throw away.  At least that's the plan.

I have a lot of shit in storage.  A lot.  And since it is storage, it's not really organized.  For an hour over lunchtime I climbed and picked through my unit, taking all the bags and boxes that have Entertainment Weeklys, newspapers and other papers that I planned on going through.

I was in the middle of the unit and wanted to get out.  Either I stepped into the slat of the pallet or the slight incline up into the unit because I stumbled on my way out.  That's when the right flip-flop gave way; the, uh, thingy that goes between your big toe and the index toe, that string that attaches to the flip-flop so your entire foot can walk with the flip-flop, broke.  It was coming loose for a while, but that trip was the final straw.  My flip-flop was just there, resting alongside my right foot because that string didn't keep my foot in it.  I limped that flip-flop home.

I knew I was going to do some serious lifting at storage today, so why didn't I just put my socks and shoes on?  I knew I should have, but I spent 20 minutes on the Internet as soon as I woke up instead of just going.  Inclement weather was coming, and I would have spent more time on the Internet if the sky didn't look like it was going to open up at any time.  That's when I yelled at myself for goofing off online and shot out the door, stopping only to put my flip-flops on.

I had them ever since I visited my sister out in L.A., oh, seven or eight years ago.  She took me to Third Street Promenade's Quiksilver shop.  She told me to buy them because they would make me look cool.  I don't know about cool, but I wore them because they were easy to slip on when I had to rush out the door, which is often. I did notice that the string thing was fraying and coming loose; with the hard work I wanted to do in the afternoon, those should have been signs not to wear them for this task.  Oops.

Let it be said that yesterday, on Tuesday, May 22, 2012, I finally used the Cinnabon punch card I had punched and had filled up for a long, long time.  It's an old card, so old that I don't even remember where I got it from.  Even though I had eaten lunch with my folks before I took them to the airport, I thought this was as good a time as any to use it at the restaurant at the Mall of America; I didn't take any dinner with me to work, so the earliest I would have gotten food in my mouth was after I went to the stripclub, so around 12:30.

The girl looked at it and said, "This is, like, five years old."  Older, trust me.  Literally, it could have been a decade since I first got it.  There aren't a whole lot of Cinnabons in the Twin Cities, and the ones here are on the other side of town from me.  Plus, do you know those fucking things are now $4.50?!?!  But I had managed to buy six Cinnabons over the years, and after I did, I just put it in my wallet and forgot it.  Till yesterday, when I thought, hey, I'm charging so much money to my credit card and I don't know if I'll be as hungry for this for the intermediate future, so I might as well use this now.

Luckily the girl took it.  After she got done with me and the card, she just tore it in half and threw it in the wastebasket below the cash register.  I wish she had a bit more reverence to something that was in my life for ten years, possibly more.

I asked her if she had another card where I can rack up the Cinnabon purchases.  "We had some, but we ran out," she said while not making eye contact once and not wavering her voice one bit.  Which means: Bitch is lying.  Which also means I can't afford to ever eat Cinnabon again.