A few things to talk about, but let me get the biggest of them out of the way first.

This message is coming to you from my new apartment.

Five weeks ago, I was thinking everything was about to take a change for the better. The CIA Patriots lost, as the rest of the world celebrated. Drew Carey was set to tape six primetime TPIR specials, with $2,000,000 on the line in each show. Queen Madonna was just weeks away from being enshrined in the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame (the induction takes place tonight, but those idiots at VH1 won't air the ceremonies for another 12 days! Gee, what's wrong? Can't dare not give us Dr. Drew and Surreal Life bullshit?).

Then all hell broke loose.

A few days after the Super Bowl, my sister (the one whom I want nothing to do with) called me, telling me that the financial arrangement I had with my father was history. About two weeks earlier he was put on permanent disability, due to his long list of health problems, and would no longer have the money to send.

Of course, this being my sister, the conversation couldn't end there. She had to be her usual judgemental, mean-spirited, bitchy self and start a fight - because, after all, adding insult to injury is the right way to handle things. I was already quite upset and scared, and didn't need her telling me how to live my life, being a hypocrite (after all, I'm supposed to understand my father's disabilities - which I do - but she can't understand mine), and accusing me of not caring about him (anyone who knows me - which she doesn't - knows I worry myself sick about him every damned day, and have for three years now!).

After I hung up the phone on that bitch, I called my father. I was, needless to say, quite unhappy with him. The issue wasn't so much the money (though, the fact that several thousand dollars of the inheritance he was holding for me will never be seen again, between never fully paying back what he borrowed, and spending it away on his medical expenses without thinking about tomorrow, didn't thrill me). The real issue was how he handled it.

I fully understand the situation he is in, and knew it would happen at some point. My only hope, especially after his back problems became much worse, was that the shit wouldn't hit the fan until I found myself on Section 8.

However, what upset me was that:

1. He didn't tell me for 10 days, when it was a situation that involved both of us.

2. He didn't tell me himself, instead putting it in the hands of THE worst person to handle the situation he could possibly choose.

3. By doing so, he dragged The Antichrist into my business, which I've told him for years not to do.

At this point, I still don't know how well the conversation went. On one hand, I think I made it quite clear that I wasn't happy with how things were handled, and that I want my sister out of my damned business. Yet, on the other hand, I got guilt-tripped with shit like how he'll put it in his will that he doesn't want a funeral, and will have himself cremated and his ashes just dumped into the ocean, if we don't start getting along.

I honestly don't know what he expects out of me. I've tried getting along with that bitch for many years, before it became obvious to me that getting along with her was a no-win scenario. She clearly thinks very little of me, and always has. She hasn't had a conversation where she has been able to speak to me without coming across like she thinks I'm scum for over a decade. Relationships are two-way streets (just ask Illinois Fats), and there is only so much I can do without decided I'm going to be walked all over for my father's sake.

I don't think it's fair for me to do that, especially when you consider the number of scars I already have (physically and emotionally) thanks to my sister.

So, now, the shit had hit the fan. Now what?

I obviously couldn't afford to keep my apartment. And having about three weeks to figure something out didn't help.

After doing some looking around (other apartments, rooms for rent), I finally stumbled upon an idea that would fix two situations with one stone: Moving in with Michael.

At first, he was iffy on the idea. But after doing some thinking, he realized we could make it work.

Fortunately, around this time, Susan had told me that apartment #23 (the one bedroom right above her) would be available at the beginning of March. I did the math, and realized the finances would work.

So, that began a three week journey of planning, cutting through red tape, and arranging a move from San Francisco to Riverside (which was greatly aided by Alane, who was up in his neck of the woods a couple weeks ago and transported the majority of his belongings to here).

Fortunately, other surprises came along that would help matters, among them obtaining a second air conditioner because the former tenant here decided he didn't want his anymore, and just left it for us. Susan also bent over backwards to make sure we got this apartment, and did everything she could to make things work, for which I'll be forever grateful.

We made the move on the 1st, which consisted of several hours of hard work. Dismantling, moving and reassmbling a 350 pound desk is not an easy job. Also, you never realize how much shit you've accumulated until you pack it up and move it.

So, now, Michael has the bedroom, and I have the living room, which I've converted into a second bedroom (not only slightly larger than the bedroom, which is a big help having more furniture, but we also realized we couldn't get some of my things into the bedroom in the first place).

So far, things have gone pretty well. A few minor things that had to be fixed, such as Internet access (I'm still trying to get the hang of this router). I'm having to use the hall closet for my clothing, and eventually plan to take the small room (looks like a closet, but with no rod) and add a rod to it, and use it as my closet. But, considering what a complex move this was, it's gone more smoothly than even I thought it would to date.

I've gotten most of the red tape done. I do need to get down and update everything as far as Section 8, but taking a few days to recover and try to play catch-up would do some wonders.

The two best things to come from this, however, are no longer having to worry about Michael and the crummy situation he was in until now, and no longer having to live underneath loud, obnoxious neighbors. While it's kind of funny living with someone again (it's been 11 years since I've done so), overall I'd have to say I'm quite pleased with the situation.

Onto a few other topics...

Drew Carey, Maker Of Millionaires: On February 22, we got to see Drew do his thing in prime-time for the first time, and he did not disappoint.

A new host, however, was not the only new thing for Price In Primetime, as we've also seen some rule changes, and new ways to win $1,000,000.

The first of which is a $1,000,000 pricing game, where if the contestant plays the game exceptionally well, they can win a $1,000,000 bonus along with their prize. Some of these ideas have been inspired (like a $1,000,000 bonus for getting all five numbers right on the first turn in One Away). Some of these were real head-scratchers, like hitting the $20,000 spot in Plinko three times to earn a gold chip, which could lead to $1,000,000 (sorry, but I'd like to believe the $1,000,000 in a pricing game is obtainable, and Plinko is Mission: Impossible).

The second of which is thanks to the primetime Showcase rules: Get within $1,000 of the actual retail price of your Showcase without going over, and you win both Showcases AND $1,000,000.

Drew, who gave away $1,000,000 in his first episode of Power Of 10, managed to strike twice more already. Adam Rose closed out the first primetime show with a bang, missing his Showcase by $880 to become the biggest winner in CBS history. And, last Friday, Michael Haynes (who also won over $10,000 on Press Your Luck in January of 1984) ended an 0 for 6 show with a bang, missing his Showcase by $489 to become the second biggest winner in CBS history.

Drew has not only managed to give away $1,000,000 three times in a season (something which I don't even believe Regis ever did), but has now given away a million three more times than Howie Mandel has, despite the fact Shark Or No Shark has manufactured gimmicks to try to give away big money (including a $3,000,000 case, and two games where half the cases had $1,000,000 in them).

Just goes to show that for all of Deal's hype, The Price Is ALWAYS Right.

The only regret? That we didn't see these rules back when Bob was still hosting. We had at least one contestant come within $1,000 of their Showcase during Bob's Million Dollar Spectaculars. And while I love Drew, NOBODY could reveal a Showcase's actual retail price like Bob Barker.

I would've paid real money to see how Bob would've revealed to Adam and Michael that they had just become millionaires...

We still have three more of these specials to be aired (one this Friday, and the last two after the NCAA basketball tournament), so there'll be six more chances for fireworks.

The Queen In The Hall: I'll close this post out by congratulating our lovely queen, Madonna, as tonight she will officially be enshrined in the Hall Of Fame, where she belongs.

Of course, some of the naysayers are at it, asking us if any of us pictured her going into the Hall during the Like A Virgin days (no, we didn't, but then, none of us had any idea what the next two decades would bring to one Madonna Louise Ciccone), and questioning why someone who "had nothing to do with rock" should go into the Hall (care to state your case for removing Johnny Cash, Aretha Franklin and Michael Jackson, then?).

Yes, it's a shame that Alice Cooper, Deep Purple, Styx and countless other influential rock acts are still on the outside looking in. But instead of questioning why one of the most influential artists of the last 50 years is going in, why not question why successful (but not extrordinary) acts like The Pretenders are in.

Punishing Madonna for going in while over deserving acts are overlooked would be like me punishing Tony Gwynn because he's in baseball's Hall Of Fame while Brett Butler (whom I do feel is deserving) isn't. She did her part, and earned it. The voters are the ones who fucked up by overlooking legitimate acts while inducting Blondie and The Pretenders (and, again, I love Blondie, but no, they were not worthy).

Also, while on the topic (again), I've felt for years that the Hall should broaden it's horizons some, and focus more on being a music Hall Of Fame than trying to cubbyhole themselves into "rock and roll". Induct Frank Sinatra, and ABBA and all these other hugely successful and influential artists who are being exluded because they don't sound like Zeppelin or Elvis or The Beatles. I mean, you've already inducted R&B/Motown acts. You've inducted a country artist. You've inducted pop artists. Why not?

Anyway, it's a shame I won't really be able to celebrate with My Queen tonight, thanks to VH1. Considering what Madonna did for MTV/VH1 over the years (c'mon, the M in MTV may as well have stood for Madonna for many years), I think it's a disgrace that these induction ceremonies won't be live.

Then again, as I've said more than once, Madonna has become overshadowed in recent years, sadly. Not because of what she does, but because of what she DOESN'T do. She doesn't drive while drunk, get arrested, go into rehab, get hauled off to mental hospitals, doesn't lose custody of her kids, doesn't shave her head, and has committed the crime of not being under the age of 30, like Britney Hilton, or Linsday Simpson, or Miley Montana, or Amy Rehabhouse or the rest of these crops of young, ignorant puppets that the mainstream media has crammed down our throats.

It's one of the reasons I'm not holding my breath, expecting this album to be the biggest thing of her career, regardless of how it sounds, and regardless of rumors about videos where she plays a dominatrix in killer heels (Mmmm... Killer heels). The album could be the greatest thing ever recorded, and unless it comes with a head-shaving, beaver-flashing-in-public, coke-fueled trip to jail/rehab publicity stunt, nobody is going to care. The problem isn't Madonna, it's a media too interested in Pat O'Brienesque scandals (both the ones he reports, and the one he lived himself) to give a shit about the biggest artist of the last 25 years.

And, yes, I do think that is part of the reason there seems to be a ho-hum attitude about tonight's ceremonies (or the out-and-out griping I've seen). However, if Bri... Br... Buuurrrr.... THAT THING from Kentwood was the one being inducted tonight, fucking BNN (All You-Know-Who, All The Time) would carry it live.

Sad.

However, just because the ceremony happens tonight but nobody airs it for twelve days doesn't mean it didn't happen. So, congratulations Queen Madonna! Here's hoping for another amazing 25 years. Sure, you'd be 75, but hey... If Bob Barker can keep on ticking until he's 83, 75 is a drop in the bucket, no?

Just please don't spend the next 25 years (or even 25 minutes) with Justin Timberlake... Please.

Labels: Barker Worship, Hard Candy Never Happened, Madge Worship, Mi Vida Loca, Osama bin Amy, Shoe Worship, Sinead O'Britney, That's What Friends Are For, The Drew Is Right

This really has been a lost month. Literally...

Two days to Dallas, two days in Dallas, two days from Dallas, and two weeks of being insanely sick. Meanwhile, it's already the last week of March and I honestly have no idea where the entire month has gone...

Heading for the Big D: I left for Dallas on March 7, crammed in like cattle with 54 other people on a Greyhound. I haven't taken a long bus trip in nearly seven years, back when I was young and fit and my back wasn't a mess. Needless to say, I had forgotten how rough such a trip could be...

After a brief layover in beautiful downtown San Bernardino (hah!), we started making our way east around 10:30 am. We hit Quartzsite, Arizona around 2:00 pm Mountain Time, marking the first time I ever stepped foot in Arizona... It also marked the first time in some time I stepped foot into a McDonald's, and I hadn't realized how outrageous their prices have gotten, too.. $4.70-something for a large order of fries and a Diet Coke?! Good grief...

After a couple small stops - and plenty of wide-open land, we hit Phoenix around 4:30 pm, where I purchased my first of several postcards for Alane (yes, I gotta get those sent to you once I get caught up with everything).

I certainly have mixed feelings about all the "wide-open land" I crossed on the trip. On one hand, it makes things a little frustrating.. You doze off for half an hour, wake up, and feel like you've gone nowhere...

On the other hand, there was something very refreshing about it. When you have spent your entire life in Southern California, where developers and corporations feel the need to fill every damned square inch with offices and strip malls and condos - where their idea of blending with nature is planting pine trees and grass in dividers on streets - it's nice to see all this land that Corporate America hasn't fucked with yet.

It's also nice to see blue sky, as opposed to this bluish-orangish-greyish shit that passes for sky here...

A few hours after Phoenix, it's Tuscon for postcard #2, then a series of insanely small towns I'd never heard of until we stopped in them, like Benson and Wilcox.

Around 11:00pm, we finally hit New Mexico, and around 11:45, make a brief stop in Lordsville, NM at a Pilot gas station/travel stop. I set foot in New Mexico for the first time to grab a small dinner and a bottle of water. By the time we depart, it's now officially Thursday.

Nearly three hours later, we finally hit Texas, and make an one hour layover in El Paso. Time for postcard #3. It took every ounce of restraint not to be a smart-ass and get Alane one that said "Don't mess with Texas!". I figured I wanted to live. Of course, if I knew how sick I was going to get, getting myself killed would've been tempting...

The scary thing at this point is I've now been on the road for 17 hours, and am barely half-way through my trip. I went through 2 1/2 states in about the time it'll take me to get from El Paso to Dallas. Talk about taking "Everything's bigger in Texas" a little too far...

Around 4:00 am, we depart El Paso, and head down the 20 for a laundry list of small towns - among them: Van Horn (where we hit another Pilot for cheap breakfast), Pecos (where, thanks to not seeing a small curb right next to the bus steps, I take a slight tumble getting off the bus), Odessa, Midland and Big Spring and Sweetwater, before stopping for lunch in Abilene (and postcard #4) around 2:00 pm.

At this point, I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just another four hours or so to Dallas.

After stops in Weatherford and Fort Worth, we finally hit Dallas just after 6 pm. I get off, meet up with my father, and grab postcard #5 before we head off to his apartment.

Welcome to Dallas... Now Get Out: Dallas is kind of like LA.. Really. A million freeways, traffic up the ass, lots of skyscrapers... Well, except where LA seems to have a million Starfucks, Dallas seems to have a million Whataburgers. Then again, I'll take Whataburger over Starfucks...

I'll take nearly anything over Starfucks.

I grab a light dinner and a badly needed shower, and get acquinted with his cat Snoopy (Snoopy because she's curious, not because he thinks she's a dog), then get some rest. Unfortunately, his couch was even less comfortable than the floor - and after two days on a bus, neither one felt great.

If I ever do this again, I'm bringing my inflatable bed...

He, also, unfortunately warns me that he has a cold... Uh oh. That was not news I needed to hear...

Friday, after breakfast and TPIR (he knows better than to fuck with my daily fix of Bob) we head out to do some sight-seeing. Among some of the things we buzz by are his two old apartments, the Four Seasons Country Club (home of the Byron Nelson Classic), and an enormous mansion (17 bedrooms, 21 bathrooms, and looked to be at least a block square - again, talk about taking "Everything's bigger in Texas" way, WAY too far. Is that a home, or a small town?!).

We head home, unwind, then have dinner. First time I've had steak in about a year. Not bad, if just a bit dry (I think he overcooked it a bit.).

Saturday started off peaceful enough. Unfortunately, it didn't end that way...

After grabbing dinner at Whataburger and eating, he ended up having an episode. I don't want to go into detail of the episode for the sake of his dignity. Let's just say there is a difference between hearing about a dementia-induced episode, and seeing one for the first time.

I'm freaking. I'm shaking. I don't know what the hell to do. I don't know if he's going to hurt himself, or me.

At this point, I want to go for a walk... Go smoke. Go calm down. Oh, and yes, my father has no idea about my smoking. Really don't want to tell him, either. He still has a bad habit of lecturing me, even though I'm nearly 32. I really don't need a lecture - especially now.

He starts getting more upset when I go for the door. I am becoming even more rattled at this point. After a few more minutes of him chewing me out, I decide "Okay. I think it's time for me to start heading home."

He handled that in about the worst way possible - he called up my sister. Despite knowing that I want her out of my life, my life is none of her business and I have nothing to say to her, he keeps insisting I talk to her.

I keep calmly saying "No. I'd rather not." Instead of taking the hint, he starts getting more pissy...

She calls back. She calls again. She calls yet again... On call number five, she sits there on the phone, going on and on to him about how "crazy" I am. I'm crazy for... what? Staying calm while those two lose it? For going out of my way to avoid a confrontation? No, I got it - I'm crazy for refusing to kiss her ass! The same ol' fucking song and dance...

Call number six.. She is insisting on coming over to "deal" with me (I need dealing with? I'm the one keeping my voice down and trying not to stir up the hornet's nest. Deal with yourself, bitch.) My father wisely puts his foot down on this.

I go and lock myself in the bathroom, figuring it's the only place I can go to calm down now...

My sister doesn't want calm, though. She wants chaos. She also wants me miserable. Since she couldn't get her way (ie. the chance to give me shit directly), she comes up with a way to give me shit indirectly...

She calls 911 and reports a "disturbance" and says she's worried about my father's safety. What the fuck?!

10:00 pm, I emerge from the bathroom and tell my father I'm going to sleep, that I'll leave tomorrow - just as I see two people walking up with flashlights... Dallas' finest!

After realizing there is no disturbance, that I am just deeply rattled and hurt, they focus their energies on trying to soothe things over between myself and my father, as well as offering to take me to the bus station tonight if they like (Even Miss Cleo could see at this point I am deeply upset with my sister, and deeply uncomfortable with the idea of staying here). While the female officer talks to me (where she even referred to my sister as "trash"), the male officer has a talk with my father. They come back, my father gives me $20 for food for the trip home, and I'm on my way back to California nearly two days ahead of schedule...

Twice I have been in the same state as my sister in the last eight years, twice she has called 911 for bullshit. The first time, it was for me "threatening" her - because, after all, walking outside and ducking behind the restaurant for a smoke because I'd rather not sit there and have her lecturing me in public is so fucking threatening (the police were not thrilled with her there, either, when they found out what really happened). Then she pulls this shit in Dallas.

And people wonder why I want NOTHING to do with her?! People wonder why I call her Osama bin Amy, and woul rather spend 24 hours in a room with bin Laden than 24 seconds with her?!

Fucking bitch. Well, she's pushed it too far this time. She wants me in trouble with the law so bad? I ever see her again, she'll have reason to call the cops - after I beat the shit out of her!

Thanks for helping to ruin everything, bitch. Things probably would've calmed down without your holier-than-thou, God-complex interference.

Let's Get The Hell Out Of Here: So, after being ran over to the Greyhound station - sped up by the fact the cops figure "Screw it, turn on the lights" and high-tail it downtown, it's 10:30 pm and I'm exchanging my ticket for a new one - one that has me departing in just 35 minutes.

At 11:00 pm, I board the bus and begin the long journey home. Despite the bus already being fairly packed, the people around me can see I am very upset, and convice everyone to let me sit alone until we hit Fort Worth and I can calm down a bit...

Fortunately, when we do hit Fort Worth, the person who wound up sitting next to me (all the way into Phoenix) is a rather sweet lady who can tell I'm upset and tried to be as helpful and considerate as possible. For this, I am very grateful...

Between Abilene and Big Spring, I experience my first genuine Texas thunderstorm - one which Rob said was "no big deal" (maybe, but it kicked the shit out of anything I ever experienced in California)...

It's also around this point that it dawns on me... "Oh shit. I'm getting sick. I caught my father's cold."

We have a brief five minute stop in Big Spring, where I run out for a minute to experience the storm (and, no, I still think being crammed in a bus, unable to sleep and bombarded with the air conditioning did more to fuck me up than those few seconds outside), then hit a Whataburger in Big Spring for breakfast (where I grab a breakfast sandwich, hash browns, coffee and orange juice - figuring I really need the vitamin C right now). I also thank the driver for giving us a minute or so earlier in Big Spring, because "I've experienced freezing winds from Canada while in Minneapolis, and snow in Southern California, and now I can add a thunderstorm in Texas to the list"...

From there, it's back the way we came with the romp down the 20 to El Paso, and the same small towns. Except, along the way, we have a minor problem... Daylight Savings Time.

The schedules didn't account for this (either because Greyhound doesn't seem to care to account for this, or the three weeks early crap fucked everything up). We're now an hour LATE - and would remain so the entire trip.

Just after 2:30, we leave Texas. After the previous night, I'm thinking "Good riddance!".

A few hours later, we're into Arizona - this time sans all the insanely small stops.

We hit Phoenix around 9:00 pm - still an hour late, where I have a four hour layover. While the bus I was on was heading to LA, it skipped past Riverside, thanks to the fact the Riverside station would be closed at the time the bus got near there.

At this point, I am beginning to feel like hell, and was almost tempted to beg the driver to make a quick detour and just stop in Riverside. It's not like I NEED the Riverside station. All I'd need to do is grab my bags, get off, walk two blocks and I'm home.

I didn't bother to ask.

The DST mess fucked over one person, though, heading from El Paso to Las Vegas. Thanks to our bus being an hour late, he missed his connecting bus by 40 minutes... And got to enjoy a TEN HOUR layover in Phoenix waiting for the next one.

We may leave the driving to Greyhound, but we sure don't leave the timekeeping to them.

While in Phoenix, I grab dinner and drop a quarter into the Ms. Pac-Man machine. While a somewhat subpar game by my standards (279,000), it did put a new high score on that machine, meaning it took nearly 26 years, but I finally set a high score on a Ms. Pac-Man machine outside of California.

1:30 am rolls around (my connecting bus managed to be an hour late, but the guy heading to Vegas wasn't so lucky? Nice.). I board the bus, and outside of a brief layover in Quartzsite, and getting caught up in the traffic on the 10 from Calimesa to San Bernardino, it's a fairly quick trip home.

Though, I am feeling like total hell. I'm sneezing, I'm coughing, I'm blowing my nose in the bathroom every 30 minutes... Ugh.

Home Sick Home: Finally, just after 8:00 am Monday, I step off the bus and make the brief walk home... I half-assed unpack, and call my psychologist to cancel my appointment. Six days, four of them on sporadic sleep, and a nasty cold? I needed a long shower, and sleep.

I don't know what the hell my father gave me, but it got worse... And worse... And worse. By Wednesday, my voice was gone, and I'm getting well acquainted with Robitussin CF and Iboprofen. I did manage to feel better... until the weekend.

Things took a turn for the worse. I had to cancel another appointment, and Tuesday morning I walked down to RCH, where tests revealed I had acute bronchitis.

At least in a bit of good news, I stepped on a scale for the first time in two years. While I don't want to give numbers, let's just say the diet is working.. I've lost quite a bit.

After a week of antibiotics and Proventil, I'm starting to feel somewhat human again. Still weak, and fatigued, but a hell of a lot better than I was a week ago...

Of course, we'll see how long that lasts. I have a tooth I have ruined over the years from grinding it, sucking on it, you name it. It comes out Friday. I'm sure I'll go back to feeling like hell again after that.

Some of the tension between myself and my father has been soothed. There's still some tension over my sister, but until he realizes I want nothing to do with her, and for all I care she can assume I'm dead, that's not going to change. The relationship between myself and her is damaged beyond repair, and has been for a long time.

I'm also too damned old for no-win scenarios, and dealing with my sister is the epitome of Kobayashi Maru.

I also had a trip to TPIR cancelled. Mike didn't get the ticket request in in time, and no more tickets were avaialable for 3/22. I told him to hurry up and get the requests in for the May and June tapings we want to do.

Even so, and Mike felt terrible, the 22nd wasn't going to happen. Between the cold/bronchitis and my tooth, I would've had to have cancelled anyway.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed on getting tickets for these two tapings over, but I'm not hopeful. The Bob Barker Studio has turned into a madhouse. Tickets are becoming harder to get than Super Bowl tickets. While trying to keep my hopes up, I am facing the possibility I might've watched Bob in person for the last time.

We'll see. I'll keep everyone posted.

Meanwhile, maybe I'll do something to cheer myself up. I found a rather cute pair of thigh-high boots with 4" heels. Maybe I need to add them to my collection?

Anyway, my apologies on taking so long to update everyone. But I'm sure you can see why the delays.

I'll try to do better next time.

Labels: Barker Worship, Boot Worship, Camp Barker, Mi Vida Loca, Osama bin Amy, Psycopaths, Smoking In The Girls' Room