Go read this.

Wow, this day really dragged by, but then the hours between 6:30 and 9:30 were gone in a blink. It's already past my bedtime.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this entry. Probably nowhere. I don't have any particular topic in mind. I just wanted to write something. I get so tired of not writing something.

It's all fine with me, actually. Very weird, I know. I haven't been fine in a long time. I'm not sure what happened. I think maybe I just changed my perspective a little. There was certainly nothing earth-shattering. Maybe I started focusing on the tree instead of the forest. Maybe I stopped being angry and sad about the things and maybe I finally noticed the reasons for the things. Maybe I'm in denial yet again, but I really don't think so.

It's different this time. It might even last, this time.

Meanwhile, my cat Buddy is here at my feet. He's all shaved, except for his legs and his tail and his head. He really does look ridiculous, but I'm not going to tell him that or he might rip me to shreds. I can tell that he's really embarrassed. Especially since, to add insult to injury, they put a foo-foo ribbon around his neck.

Nugget is, of course, hiding under the sofa. He doesn't recognize the new "improved" Buddy. I don't think he even realizes that it's a cat, let alone that it's the same cat that's been his friend for his entire life.

Man, I seem to be writing about cats a lot lately. What am I, on the internet or something?

As I've said before, I like to go and read through my old entries. It reminds me that I used to be a better writer than I am now. These were originally three different entries. I have combined them for your convenience.

This is kinda cool to me.

I was sitting at The Hard Rock in Louisville for lunch. I usually go to The Pub, but it was too crowded today, plus I wanted some potato skins.

Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, and down about four or five seats from me were two hot girls. A short-haired blonde and a long-haired brunette. Both pretty, but in very different ways. One sexy and sultry, the other perky and vivacious.

So I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out which one was the hotter of the two. I know, it's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

I kept glancing over there, getting no closer to making up my mind as to which was hotter, and eventually the blonde caught me looking. She kind of smiled. I smiled back, then turned back to my food, 'cause I'm all shy and shit. I could see out of the corner of my eye that both girls were now looking at me, though I couldn't hear what they were saying. Probably arguing over which of them was hotter, I figured.

I'd just about decided to stage a kissing contest between them when the blonde spoke to me.

"You kept looking over here at us for a half-hour, and now you've suddenly stopped. What's up with that?" she asked in a not very nice way.

"Well," I said. "I was trying to decide which of you would be my new girlfriend, but now I've made up my mind and I don't have to look any more."

"Oh really?" the blonde said. She was smiling, so she was at least slightly amused.

"Yep," I said. "You're both very pretty, but I'm thinking that you're not very nice, so I choose your friend."

"You sure know how to hold a grudge," the blonde said.

Hold on a second. That didn't make any sense.

"Huh?" I asked. 'Cause I'm all eloquent and shit.

"Don't you remember me?" the blonde asked. "Look closely. Don't you know who I am?"

She then got up and walked over to me and stuck her face right in front of mine.

---

After a couple of seconds, I guess a little tiny sense of familiarity crept into my head. I began to feel that I should know who this cocky loud pretty girl was, but I had no real chance to investigate that feeling because that's when her friend finally spoke.

"What are you doing?" she asked the blonde. And then she said her name.

She said her name, and a door inside my head creaked open, and I remembered.

I remembered a party, in Hancock's field, a long time ago. I remembered waking up in the back of my parents' Mercury Comet, wearing only my underwear and a jacket. I remembered digging through the trash on the floorboards, looking for my keys and my shoes and my pants and my shirt. I remembered finding all those things, and I remembered also finding a little blue sock, and one of those hair barrette thingies, and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and an empty condom wrapper.

I remembered going to a basketball game at school a couple of weeks later, and being greeted like an old friend by a cute blonde girl wearing a Providence High School Jacket. Being greeted like more than a friend actually.

I remembered confessing that I didn't remember meeting her, being with her, at all. That I'd woken up in the back of my car alone and confused and unclothed. I remembered how she laughed that off, and how she'd said that she'd have to try harder to be memorable the next time.

I remembered that the next time started about fifteen minutes later, in my cousin Jeff's station wagon.

I remembered countless nights after that, sneaking out of my house with my friend Eddie. I remembered that he'd drop me off at where she worked, or to where she lived. I remembered lying on her bed, holding hands and listening to Pink Floyd. I remembered doing a lot of other things in her bed.

I remembered the night she told me that she loved me, and how I'd echoed those words right back at her. I remembered how we started to tell people that we were engaged. That as soon as my basic training was over, and I was stationed at my first base, we'd get married and raise kids and we'd always laugh about how, on the night we'd met, I was too drunk to even remember her.

I remember how everyone said we were crazy.

I remembered how she'd come to the Air Force induction center to see me off. I remembered holding her close and telling her that I'd see her again in a few short weeks, and that we'd be together from that moment on.

I remembered that I'd never seen her again.

Not for more than 23 years.

Until lunch today.

So once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I just looked at her. I had no idea what to say, what to ask, what to feel. She saved the day by doing all the talking. She's been married for a long time. She has two grown children. She still loves Pink Floyd, and she still has most of The Wall memorized. I stammered out that I do too.

She said that I hadn't changed a bit, which was a beautiful lie. I said that she hadn't changed either, and as proof I offered up the fact that it had taken me so long to remember her.

We didn't discuss what had happened, back in 1983. Why she'd moved. Where she'd gone. There wasn't time for any of that, and there wasn't really a need for any of that. We were each others' distant past, and that was all that we were.

As I gave her a hug and said goodbye, I wondered if it would be another 23 years before I saw her again. I wondered if I'd do a better job of remembering her in 23 years. I wondered if I'd even remember my own name in 23 years.

Anyway, I guess that makes it official. I have officially run out of women. Time to dig out that little black book from high school, and start over.

---

Not that it really matters. I'm just a little surprised. But I found some stuff out today.

You only knew each other for a few months before he joined the Army. And as far as I know, after your fumbling attempts to date, the only times you saw each other were when I was there with you. Shit, I think Eddie was screwing that one chick non-stop for about six months before he left. What was her name? Linda or Lindsey or some shit like that? I can't remember, but she works at my bank now. She did the paperwork for my home loan. She didn't remember me from the old days.

But I digress.

I'm pretty sure that you two never hooked up when I was still around. It must have been after. After I'd left for basic training, Eddie must have come home on leave or something. He must have looked you up, or maybe he just happened to run into you at the floodwall or at some party.

You probably got to talking about the good old days, and something happened between you two. I wonder who made the first move. Probably you, I'm guessing.

And now you've been married for over 20 years, and have two grown children with him.

Pretty weird. But it explains why I never saw either one of you again. Because you were ashamed.

I'm not sad. I'm not even angry. It's not like I just lost a friend and a girlfriend. I lost you both a long time ago. It's just that now I finally know why. So that's good. Mystery solved.

If anything, I'm a little miffed that I didn't get the chance to find out, to be angry, back when it first happened. That's a lesson that, had I learned it a little earlier in my life, that might have sent me on a completely different path.

Plus, I had you first, and that's hilarious to me. I wonder, back in the beginning, when what you did with Eddie could still have been seen as cheating on me, I wonder how many times you called out my name by mistake.

I wonder if you still call out my name, every now and then. You know, just to keep him on his toes.

'Cause he needs to be on his toes. He married a whore, after all.

I dunno, I guess I just feel like writing something. I'm a little bored at the moment. Just watching the clock with one eye and glaring at my phone with the other eye. So yes, I'm typing this blind.

Whenever that was, a week or two or three ago - time blurs for me lately - I took my cats Nugget and Buddy to the vet to be tested. I've mentioned it before, but I have LaptopGirl's cat living on my deck. Well, a couple of times he came inside my house. He's a fast little fucker. And when I took Picklepie (the cat) to the vet for shots and testing, he tested positive for the feline leukemia virus.

This sucks, by the way.That poor kitty. But it not only sucks for Picklepie, it could very well have sucked for my "real" cats Buddy and Nugget, too.

So I took them in, one at a time because they're too fat for both of them to fit in the carrier at the same time. Nugget was first. I scheduled him first on purpose, because I knew that if he saw the carrier he would run and hide and I wouldn't see him again until Spring.

Anyway, Nugget tested negative. Whew!

And then I had to do some thinking.

See, if my cats tested positive, then I was just going to bring Picklepie inside and make him an indoor cat. He wouldn't have liked it very much, but he'd have gotten used to it eventually. It would be like I was running a little leper colony for cats.

Alternatively, if my cats tested negative, then I was going to have to try as hard as I could to find a home for Picklepie. He couldn't live inside my house, and it would be totally irresponsible for me to leave him outdoors where he could/would infect other cats.

But, I wondered, what should I do if only one of my cats tested positive? After all, Buddy had been in much closer proximity to Picklepie on those occasions when the latter came inside, Nugget having scrambled into the basement to cower. Buddy would stand his ground, even going so far as to follow Picklepie around the house and smell him.

What I decided, and this wasn't an easy decision, was that if only one of my cats tested positive, I was going to bring Picklepie inside my house even knowing that my other cat would be infected. There was just no way I could see myself separating Buddy and Nugget. They've been together for 11 years, after all. Plus, they're both old, and probably don't have all that many years left anyway. Because the feline leukemia can take years and years to develop, there were pretty good odds that neither of my cats would ever develop it. They'd be dead of some other causes - Buddy probably from too much indignation, Nugget perhaps from getting so scared of a moth that he forgets to breathe for a week - before the leukemia could manifest.

Well, as it turned out, neither of my cats tested positive. Whew again!

And that's what got me to where I am. Where I still am. With a contagious cat that I need to find a home for.

So this chick at the mini mart, for some reason, thinks that I'm friendly. Because of that misguided belief, she's always trying to talk to me.

Tonight she asked me, "Quick, think about the 80s. What's your first memory?"

I said what I'm supposed to say, having been me and having lived as myself throughout that entire decade.

"Being present for the birth of my daughter," I said.

That seemed to satisfy the poor girl, so she didn't ask any more questions.

I could have just as easily said "my wedding" or "the first day of basic training" or maybe even "graduating from high school" and any of those responses would probably have shut her up just as well as the thing about my daughter.

What I should have said, what my real first thought about the 80s was, I didn't want to say. I didn't want to tell that semi-perfect stranger at the mini mart.

But I'll tell you people.

One morning Eddie called me and told me that Jackie had finally died. That was the phrasing he used, the fucker.

That was my real first thought about that decade.

Okay, so what about the other decades? What's my first thought about them?

In the 1960s, I saw tears in my dad's eyes as we watched some men bounce around in white suits on a white world. I didn't understand - dad's weren't supposed to cry.

In the 1970s, I walked home from my elementary school graduation. It was about five miles. I wanted to commemorate the occasion, so I walked.

In the 1990s, I had to shoot a match against a really good player. I was afraid to play him because I felt he was better than me. As it turned out, I entered the zone, and I kicked his ass. He never knew what hit him.

In the 2000s, I sat in the parking lot at the Burger King on Grant Line Road, and I heard some words on my phone, and I died.

Go here and read it. Add one to any mention of the number of years. It's been six years now. The sixth of at least six-million, I believe.

I think I'm going to go to Rich O's in a bit. Maybe I'll eat there, or eat at Wendy's on the way. I don't think I've eaten since Thursday evening.

I'm irritated because there's no weird feeling that I'm home. I woke up a few times last night, and it felt like I'd never even left. I was just home because that's where Ilive and in my bed because that's where I sleep and alone because that's how my life is. Usually the feeling of wow, I'm back home and it feels weird will last at least a day or two. Not this time.

My neck still hurts. I foobared it bad the other night, I guess. This morning I took a long shower with hot water pouring on my neck, and it didn't help.

For like the last two weeks, I've kept my bedroom door closed. This is because when Buddy sees a pile of laundry he pees on it.

So my laundry piles have remained pee-free.

Then this morning I took a load out of the dryer, put it in the laundry basket, and took it to my room. I set the laundry basket on my bed to take the clothes out.

Buddy had peed on the floor of my laundry room, and it had gotten all over the bottom of the laundry basket, so I'd unwittingly transferred that pee to my bedspread.

So now today I have to go buy a new bedspread. One that's neither gay nor soaked in cat pee.

Grrr.

A million years or so ago, I used to have my very own muse. Heck, she even kept being my muse for a couple of years after she stopped being my girlfriend. She'd call me or, more often, visit my site, around 11:00 PM each night. She'd see if I'd written anything new that day. And, if I hadn't, well she'd make damn sure that I didn't go to bed until I had written something.

Sigh.

I miss her. I miss her for lots of reasons. Not just because she was my muse. I guess she's doing okay. I haven't talked to her in at least 9 months. Weird how things change.

Today has been a very long day. I think I started yawning around 11:00 AM, and I haven't really stopped since. And I don't mean that I've yawned several times - I mean that I've let out one long yawn, for almost 10 hours now. I know that I'm tired. I only slept for 4 hours last night. But it might be something else. Something more. I kinda feel like my Fall seasonal allergies might be starting up. If so, then they're about a month early.

Last Fall, my allergies were so bad that my nose started bleeding from all the wiping and nose-blowing I did. There was a steady stream of snot and blood flowing from my face. Yes, it was gross, thanks for asking.

Meanwhile, I continue to wait for that killing blow. It hasn't come. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm ashamed to say that I'm more than a little bit fooled by what's been going on.

Stupid hope...

I'm so tired right now. I need to go to bed.

Tomorrow I've got a thingy to attend. There might be some people from my old job there. That would be cool. Most of those people, I'd love to see again. A couple of them could drop dead on the way to the thingy and I wouldn't bat an eye. I guess I'll see what I'll see. I probably won't be bored, that's for sure.

In less than two weeks I'll be in Las Vegas again. It'll be different, this time. I don't really think there's a reason to go. Not anymore. Problem is, there's never really been a reason to stay in Indiana, either.

I guess that's it. Maybe I'll have a beer and then glare at my phone for a while before I go to bed.

Today, we saw a weird thing.

In the middle of Bumfuck, Indiana, about halfway between Georgetown and the middle of nowhere, there was a dude. Walking fairly quickly along the side of the road. Dragging a mattress.

It was one of those air-filled mattresses. I don't know if that makes it more or less weird.

I wish we'd thought to stop and take pictures and ask the dude WTF.

I bet it was a really fascinating story.

Now we'll never know.

When I went there, the saleperson/manager who screwed me over wasn't there. The manager on duty said that he'd call me tomorrow.

So what I did was I went to another furniture store and bought a bed there. While I was at it, I bought an additional $1000 of bedroom furniture.

I can't wait to tell the guy tomorrow that (a) I spent $1500 on at a competitor's store, and (b) they'd never see another dime of my money.

So they brought the box spring, and the mattress, and the water bladder, and the heater, and the support thingy.

What they didn't fucking bring is the frame or the headboard.

They weren't on their order, and when they checked my receipt, they weren't on the receipt.

They open at 12:00. I'm going to go there and rip somebody's head off.

If I decided to write something every day, which I haven't done, I think it would be hard.

It seems to me that there are two primary sources of inspiration for blog entries.

1. Something that I've been thinking about.
2. Something that happened.

Well, as I've said before, I have too much of one thing and not enough of the other.

I could, if I was really determined, write about the rainstorm that trapped me at the mall today. About how it trapped me just outside the JC Penney, with about a dozen old women. We all stood under this awning, waiting for the rain to let up so we could get to the parking lot dryly.

I could also write about how, after about five minutes, I realized that there I was, ostensibly a man, cowering with a bunch of old women, and that perhaps I should just grow a pair and fuck it and get wet.

Then I could write about how, after about three steps into that rain, I was as wet as I'd have been if I'd just jumped into a lake.

But I won't write about any of that stuff, because it's boring.

You can thank me later.

Then I had Red Lobster for dinner, and it was yummy. Company would have been nice, though.

That's boring, too.

So, apparently, Pizza Hut is now hiring disabled people to take phone orders. Good for them, I guess.

Before this, I was pretty sure that I'd seen every possible misspelling of my last name. Even the infamous Sililililitz from 1986.

For an added chuckle compare the phone number to my actual number.

Yeah, I'm awake again. Been that way for a couple of hours. So I got five hours of sleep. That should be enough, even for the long day ahead of me. Heck, it might even help to get me back onto a normal schedule.

In a few hours I get to drive to Bumfuck, Egypt, to attend my uncle's funeral. There seems to me some confusion, at least on my part, about exactly when the thing is happening. Either noon or 11:00. So I'll show up in time for either schedule.

That will all eat about four hours out of my day, I think. Then I have a dinner date with HatGirl! Yay! That will be nice. It's been a long time. I hope she doesn't cancel on me again.

Then, I dunno. Maybe Rich O's will be safe. I doubt it, though.

Four hours seems to be my limit on sleep. No matter how tired I think I am, no matter if I feel like I could sleep forever, I always seem to wake up after a couple of hours.

And I don't even seem to wake up like a normal person. There's no period of drowsiness to ease the transition. Nope, one second I'm asleep, and the next second I'm wide awake.

Sometimes, I can remember the dream or the stray thought that so forcefully awakened me, but not often, or even most of the time. Most of the time, it just happens.

So, I get out of bed and I find something to do.

Tonight, I started feeling really tired around 9:30. I was out in my garage, glaring at my phone, waiting for it to woohoo or quack at me. I decided that, if I hadn't heard anything by 10:30, I'd go to bed and sleep forever.

Well, I didn't hear anything by 10:30, so I went to bed. My phone did quack around 11:00, so that was nice. By some miracle, I was able to go back to sleep after that.

I slept until a little after 2:00, when I found myself wide awake.

So, I got up, watched some old episodes of Lost, and then sat down to write this boring entry.

When I was in the shower, some chick left me a voicemail.

"Ellen, it's me. Call me at work when you get this."

Should I call her and tell her that she dialed the wrong number?

Does it matter that she sounded cute?

(UPDATE: I texted her that she'd dialed the wrong number earlier.)

Tonight, I won't be in my garage. Nope, I'll be on my roof.

I'll be watching the Gamma Virginids meteor shower. This is a minor shower, and it's one that I normally ignore, but last night there was a huge fireball. I didn't get to see it - I guess it was visible way North of here - but maybe tonight there'll be another one.

That would be cool, I think. I've seen small fireballs before, but never one as huge as the one last night.

For years, I'd thought about doing something here for April Fools Day.

Disclaimer: I don't know if it's supposed to be April Fools Day or April Fools' Day or April Fool's Day. A google search reveals all three variants. I'm just going to use the first choice because it's easier.

Anyway, I'd wanted to do a hoax or a prank for a long time. The problem was that, every year, I wouldn't remember that I wanted to do something until around 10:00 PM on April 1st. And by then it was pretty much too late. Well, this year, I remembered around noon on March 31st, so this year, it was on.

It took me a while to decided exactly what to do, though. I wanted it to be something at least halfway believable - something that, if it happened any other day, would solicit some surprise and maybe some shock, but not too much disbelief. I also wanted it to be something good or at least neutral. Like, I didn't want to announce to the world that I had some terminal disease, or that I was moving to Alaska. Those things might have upset some people.

Full disclosure: I actually did consider the Alaska story for quite a while. But I decided against it because there are a couple of people who might have been upset at the thought of me moving so far away.

I told my sisters to ignore anything I posted on April 1st, and then later I told HatGirl the same thing. I felt that HatGirl would make a good co-conspirator, no matter what I ended up choosing for my hoax.

It wasn't until I got home Wednesday night that I decided what I'd be doing. Actually, it was StupidGirl's idea. I'd propose to her, then fly to Las Vegas Thursday morning and we'd get married. Because of her involvement, the entire hoax moved to where it was mostly on facebook, and only on barenada.com as overspray. StupidGirl played along fantastically. She added her own posts to facebook to complement my own. She even found a copy of a Nevada wedding certificate that I could Photoshop and post.

HatGirl added to the hoax as well, by posting how excited she was for us. And then several others unwittingly joined in the fun by believing that it was all real.

It was the perfect choice. It was something that people could actually imagine me doing. Hell, it was something that I could imagine me doing. We had so much fun with it that StupidGirl and I were both actually sad when our fake marriage ended.

I'm already trying to think of something to do for next year. So far, I've got nothing, but there's still plenty of time. It's been suggested that I should come out of the closet on April 1st, 2011, but I would never do that for fear of all the cries of "I knew it all along!"

I went to the store just now. I got to the end of my driveway, and then realized that I didn't have my phone with me.

But that's not the really weird part.

The really weird part is that I didn't slam on my brakes and run into my house to get my phone. Nope, I just went to the store and came back.

Like a normal person.

I was going to write about my trip to South Carolina, but I seem to have lost the ability to write anything interesting.

I think that the subjects I most want to write about are the ones I've decided to leave alone. Unfortunately, those thoughts are the only ones my brain can process.

Anyway, I got a wild hair and I drove to South Carolina Thursday. I watched the moon rise over the ocean, and then a few hours later I watched the sun rise over the ocean. On Saturday, I drove back home.

Then, I got to see HatGirl at Rich O's.

The end.

There are some things of which I'm sure. Those things require zero thought or consideration. I just know. What to say and when to say it and why to say it.

This isn't one of those things. This is different. This is hazy.

What should I say? What the fuck should I say?

Something simple and predictable, and therefore safe? And also stupid?

No, I don't think so.

Okay, how about something bold and ballsy and maybe even a little scary?

How about the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Is the truth ever inappropriate?

About four and a half years ago, my life changed. I didn't know it at the time, but I guess I at least suspected it. Something happened, on that day and on most of the days that have followed. I noticed, when it happened. I most certainly noticed, and I've continued to do so, for four and a half years.

I know the word. Fine, I'll say it.

Distracted.

How does a simple word like that manage to mean so much?

I knew, from the moment that I met you, that you were so very special. Because you did what nobody else, before or since, has managed to do. Without even trying, you distracted me. Made me become unfocused. Unclear. Unsure. Unsteady. Uneasy.

Nobody understands what it's taken to distract me. Yet you've done it so many times, without even trying. To the point when a distraction stops being a distraction, and it takes on a life of its own, and it becomes its own thing. Its own incredible awesome thing.

Happy birthday, to my dear dear friend HatGirl. You, more than anyone else, have made this bullshit I use for a life bearable. I want to breath because of her, but in actuality, I continue to breathe because of you. The strength that you demonstrate to me, and the faith and trust that you've placed in me...

Humbling.

Challenging.

Motivating.

I will do my best to follow your example of strength. I may fail, but I will do my best.

And I promise you this: I will never ever ever ever ever cause you to lose faith or trust in me.

In me, of all people!

So, again, happy birthday to you, my dear friend HatGirl.

I'm missing your birthday. I'm 1954 miles away from you on your 30th birthday. I may never forgive myself for this, but I'll try. Because I know you want me to.

Words never seem to be enough, but I've done the best I could do with what I have.

...44 to go.

Today was a pretty good day, considering the circumstances.

I got this strong urge to shoot some pool. I don't know why, I just did.

I didn't even want to shoot against anyone. I just wanted to knock some balls into some holes. Sometimes, like tonight, that's all I want to do. Simple, but effective.

So I went to this Royal something-or-other place. It sucked. It was a nightclub with some pool tables. I wanted the exact opposite, except without the nightclub stuff.

I can't even remember the name of the place I went. The something.

That narrows it down.

All I wanted to do was knock some balls into some holes. But I was not about to back down from a challenge. Not this time.

It took about 10 seconds for one of the local "sharks" to detect me. It took about 60 seconds for us to negotiate a game, with a "friendly" wager and a "fair" spot.

It took about 5 minutes for me to realize that, in that particular little pond, I was the big fish.

The pussy quit me after a couple of hours and several hundred dollars. I don't really blame him except that he'd originally acted like he had money to burn.

The thing is, nobody up here knows how to play banks. Oh, certainly, people know how to bank, many of them much better than me, but to play the game of banks requires a special mindset. One that I possess, and others up here don't.

Like taking candy from a baby.

...48 to go.

I want to write about eggs for a minute. Groan all you want, I don't care. I hardly ever write about eggs, so I'm way overdue. If you don't like it, feel free to go here instead. Have a nice time there.

There's a bar/restaurant/casino right next to my hotel. They have food, and they have a couple of good beers. It's handy-dandy. Unless you try, as I've done for the last two days, to order fried eggs.

These people don't know how to make a fried egg. They have some kind of mental defect that prevents them from understanding this simple concept:

Break open an egg. Dump it onto a hot surface. Break the yolk. Once it's cooked for a while, turn it over and cook it some more.

Simple, right?

This is called a fried egg in every place on Earth, except at this bar/restaurant/casino next to my hotel. In this place, they cannot figure it out. The closet they can do is over-easy.

I don't want over-easy. I don't want over-medium. I don't want over-hard. I don't want sunny-side-up. And I don't want scrambled or poached or hard-boiled. I just want a fucking fried egg, or two, or three. I want the goddamn yolk broken, and I want everything to be cooked solid.

Is that so hard to understand?

Apparently, it is.

On Saturday, I asked for three fried eggs, and I got three eggs over-easy. A federal case ensued.

On Sunday, I told the waitress that I didn't want another federal case. She assured me that it wouldn't happen again. So I ordered three fried eggs. I explained what I meant.

A short while later, the cook emerged from the kitchen. He explained that the waitress was confused, and he asked if I would explain to him what I wanted.

So I explained to him. He said he understood.

A few minutes later, I was presented with three fucking over-easy eggs.

So, I give up. I ended up eating three pieces of toast - they came with my eggs - that cost me $8.00.

...sixty-eight to go.

Today was fucked up. Everyone was gone from work. People I needed for information, or for authorization. But I dealt with it, because that's what I'm paid to do. Fix what I can fix, and document what I cannot fix. Plan and research and do my best to prepare for when I can do something that matters.

It was, mainly, a day of glaring for me. Externally, at my phone, and internally, at my heart.

I got so mad, for a while. There was no excuse for my anger, but neither was there any excuse for the source of my anger. So I guess it was balanced or some such crap.

Then my phone rang, and I wanted to live again.

So that was cool.

It's not right, and it's not wrong. It just is.

Happy birthday to LaptopGirl!

So many things have changed in the past year. For you, for me, for us. But the important things remain the same. The words I wrote last year on this date are now, and will forever be, true.

I'm so glad you were born, you sweet, sweet girl. The world is a much better place because you're in it.

I think I'm going to a new bar for dinner after work. New to me, I mean. It's next to where I work, and a couple of people have said they have good burgers. Maybe I'm craving a burger. I don't think I've had one on a month.

I need to find a place that feels right to me. I have this mental image of myself sitting at a bar and drinking and thinking. And also smoking, but in Washington I can't do that, so I've had to revise my image.

Anyway, I need to find a bar like that. Where I can just sit and drink and think. And glare at my phone, at least, Because glaring at the door wouldn't make much sense.

When I was in Las Vegas, I actually did glare at the entrance to whatever bar I happened to be in. That was more from overblown hope than from insanity. If I glared that any entrances up here, that would be pretty insane, I think. So I haven't done it. Yet.

Now I'm starving for a cheeseburger.

...to my sister Dina!

Wish I could have been there for it.

Back when I started this thing - call it a blog or a journal, I don't really care - the purpose was very different than it's been lately. Back then, it was just something I did so that people (my sisters, mainly) would know that I had a life; that I didn't spend my life sitting in a dark closet, sucking my thumb and rocking fore and aft.

More recently, of course, this thing has been used primarily to whine about my life and the lack thereof.

Well, I'm not going to say that I'm not going to whine anymore. That would be a lie. I guarantee that I'll whine again, and probably sooner than later. But not tonight.

For the next 10 weeks, I'll be gone from that thing that I've been using instead of a life. I'm out of touch, despite the occasional email or text message, and I'm also out of sync. The three-hour difference in time zones sucks. It means that, for example, it's 10:00 PST as I type this in Bellingham, but back home all of the people I care about are already asleep.

I miss my friends and family, and I suppose that's to be expected.

Okay, I guess I'll type something while I wait for my heartbeat to return to normal.

If it ever does.

I was just in bed, replaying the events and conversations of the day. It was 3:20 AM.

My doorbell rang.

I stayed where I was. Trying to fool myself into thinking that I'd imagined it.

My doorbell rang again.

At first, I thought that perhaps it was one of my friends in trouble, or maybe some motorist with car trouble.

But, because my mind works the way it works, as I got out of bed and groped for some clothes, my thoughts raced back to a night over two years ago. I thought about how police had appeared at my sister's house in the middle of the night, and how they'd given her the worst news possible.

My doorbell rang again.

My heart rate doubled.

I went to the door and looked out the window.

A policeman, of course.

My heart rate redoubled.

The space between two rapid heartbeats saw the death of everyone I cared about, one after another.

"Police," the cop said to me when he saw me in the window.

"Duh," I thought.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I'm afraid..." he began.

My heart rate somehow managed to double again.

"...that you have a loose horse," he finished.

It took me a second.

I mean, what did a horse have to do with someone I loved being dead? Why was he wasting my time telling me about a horse? Was he trying to soften the blow? Or had this horse somehow killed HatGirl, or LaptopGirl, or one of my sisters?

Also, if my heart beat its way out of my chest and started hopping around on the floor, would I be able to catch it before one of my cats did?

Like I said, it took me a second. But I eventually figured it out. Because I'm smart and stuff.

"Oh," I said. "That's not my horse. It belongs to my neighbor. His driveway is right next to mine."

"I see," said the cop. "The house behind yours? Okay, sorry to have bothered you, sir."

"No problem," I replied. "It could have been a lot worse."

I feel like I should write something before I go, so I guess I will. I'm doing this under duress, though.

I don't want to go. I have unfinished business here.

I'll feel better when I get there. I always do. Except when I don't.

This should work. I can do this. I can get my shit done, and still have some time for a reasonable Saturday night, should such an opportunity arise. And my flight doesn't leave until 11:35 tomorrow morning, so I can do the last-minute packing and stuff right before I leave.

Today, I've been doing laundry and dishes. I'm actually almost done with those things. Then I'll probably run a vacuum over my floors, and just make sure that everything is semi-tidy. I don't like coming home to a messy house.

Oh yeah, I've got to go to the store. I need cigarettes and batteries and deodorant. And maybe some cat food, I need to see how much is left in the current bag. Oh, and maybe some shaving cream.

Or maybe I won't bother to shave while I'm there. It's supposed to be a vacation, after all.

By this time tomorrow, I'll be at the airport, maybe even on the plane.

So I went to the place yesterday. Did I write I was going there, or did I just tell RockGirl and HatGirl? Hmmm, looks like I didn't write about it here. I'm such a slacker. Get over it.

I wasn't going to go. I thought that maybe I was tired, so I was going to restrict my errands to stuff close to my house. Go to my bank, go to the store, pay my water bill, stuff like that. But then I noticed that I wasn't tired, so I went to the place. The Dodge dealership in Jeffersonville.

October 14th, also known as that really fucked-up day, started out when I broke the key to my Intrepid in half. No, I didn't do it on purpose, despite what you may have read in the tabloids. It was an accident. A stupid accident, but an accident nevertheless.

Anyway, this was the only key I had for that car. I needed a new key. I called the first Dodge dealership I could think of (Coyle) and asked them if they could cut me a key if they had the VIN. They said that they couldn't do it, but that Bales in Jeffersonville could.

Cool, right?

I drove my not-tired self to Bales yesterday. Immediately, of course, a swarm of salespeople erupted from the building. I waved them off and told them that I just needed the service department. I also noticed a lot of Jeeps for sale, so I emailed LaptopGirl to ask if she'd traded in her Jeep at Bales.

At the service desk things were a little fucked up. The guy took my Intrepid's registration (with the VIN) and went somewhere and did something. Then he came back and said that he could indeed make me a key, but that they didn't have any of the proper blanks. I asked if one could be ordered.

He went back and did some more stuff, and then returned and said that (a) he could order what he needed from somewhere, but (b) those blanks would be eleven dollars each, and (c) there was a minimum order of four. Oh yeah, and (d) cutting a new key from code would be eighteen dollars.

For some reason I didn't feel like spending over sixty dollars for a key. I dunno, maybe I'm crazy.

I told the dude that I'd check out some hardware stores and see if I could find a blank. And then that's what I did. The first place I went had the proper blank, and I bought one. Not for eleven dollars. Not even for five dollars.

Eighty-five cents.

Then I took the blank back to Bales and they charged me eighteen dollars to cut the key.

Still quite a racket they've got going there, but it was a lot better than sixty dollars would have been.

Then I spent some time wandering around the lot, evading the salespeople as well as I could, looking to see if LaptopGirl's old Jeep was there. It wasn't there. It was fun to look, though. I think I had some murky scheme to take a picture of myself with that Jeep and post it on facebook. I don't know why. Maybe it would make her love me. Maybe I was more tired than I'd thought.

Later, I got an email that she'd used a totally different dealership. I didn't bother going there.

Not much that I can say about Friday. I got to see several of my favorite people, including my two most favorite people in the world. There was no drama, and I managed to keep my sadness in-check pretty well.

It fucking rained the entire night, so that sucked. But other than that it was a good night. Especially since that one crazy girl left as soon as she saw me.

Had a nice dinner with HatGirl (Yay!) and her sister at Sportstime, except for that one five-year stretch when HatGirl went outside to talk on the phone. HatGirl's sister and I don't know each other well enough to sit comfortably in silence together.

Oh yeah, and there was a group of very LOUD girls in the next booth, and one of them looked enough like NormalGirl that I managed to convince myself that (a) it was her, and that (b) she hadn't said hello to me for some reason.

So I didn't acknowledge her either.

As it turned out, she had a very good reason for not saying hello. It wasn't her. I became certain that it wasn't her when she stood up. NormalGirl has a much nicer ass.

Anyway.

Tonight it's kinda nice outside. I'm going to go sit in my garage and drink some Barfly and glare at my phone.

It'll be fun!

I'm a little hung-over, thanks for asking. It's just the dehydration kind of hangover, though, not the kind where my hair hurts. So I'm drinking water, and then I'll be okay.

The wasps are back. Not the actual wasps from the Spring. They're all dead. These are new wasps. They're still assholes, though.

This is a snippet of an email I sent RockGirl just now. I don't know wjhy I'm posting this here. Probably because I want to post something but I don't feel like writing anything.

...

So now guess the scenario that my brain has conjured up.

You don't even have to guess. You know me well enough.

And I really was thinking about going to Wick's. Even though it's gay, they have good pizza. I've been craving about 10 things all day, and I haven't made up my mind, and I haven't eaten anything at all. I'll probably starve to death before I decide what I want to eat.

The thing is, I think, that if I go to Wick's then I'll have a beer with my pizza. And if I have a beer with my pizza then I won't feel like going to Jack's. And I kinda think I might want to maybe go to Jack's tonight. I could just go to stupid Bearno's, but I really don't feel like getting food there again.

As I write this, they're still looking for the kid.

I just wanted to say how freaking weird it was for me to be watching the thing on my TV. The footage of the landing that I saw showed a fairly gentle landing. But then people rushed the balloon thingy and started whacking it with shovels and stabbing it with pitchforks.

Because that's what you're always supposed to do when you think there might be a little boy inside. Either those things or the complete opposite. I forget which.

I was surprised that they didn't whip out their firearms and shoot it full of holes.

The other night, Saturday in fact...

First, HotEuchreGirl came in with her friend who's name I can never remember.

I said hello them, and HotEuchreGirl asked how LaptopGirl was doing.

"I have no idea," I answered. Partly because I had no idea, and partly because it was none of her business, but mostly because LaptopGirl gets mad at me when I admit to any knowledge of her existence.

Then, HotEuchreGirl's friend (HEGF) asked, "But aren't you dating LaptopGirl?!?"

Sigh.

Oh yeah, HEGF also bummed a cigarette off me, and hinted that she was very grateful.

Shudder.

Anyway, then NotHideousGirl came in and I gave her a hug and she sat next to me at the island.

I felt either a tap on my shoulder or a hand groping me. I wasn't sure which, and I was a little afraid to investigate.

"So is that your girlfriend?" HEGF asked me, indicating NotHideousgirl.

Sigh.

Then, a while later, we were all sitting at the island. HEGF was sitting next to HatGirl, and I heard her ask HatGirl, "Are you and Dave dating?"

Sigh.

The funny part was that HatGirl answered with, "Actually, I'm married."

Which didn't quite answer HEGF's question, I noticed.

Sigh.

Anyway, WTF was the deal with HEGF prying so deeply into my (lack of) love life?

Shudder.

Also, HotEuchreGirl looked very cute.

Sigh.

This image illustrates that point. Click on it for a larger version. It makes me grin. Especially number three. Yes, I'm a child. Tee-hee.

Anyway, the other night I had a brilliant idea. I was sitting at Jack's with OddlyFamiliarGirl, as that has become something of a Sunday-night habit lately, and I found myself in a familiar dilemma.

See, OddlyFamiliarGirl is very smart, and very talkative. This is a brutal combination. Quite often, I find myself listening intently to what she's saying, but listening so intently that I'm constantly forgetting the things I want to say. Then, when OddlyFamiliarGirl pauses to take a breath, I'm left with nothing with which to fill the silence.

Hence, my brilliant idea.

Frustrated with my nonexistent short-term memory, I asked for a piece of paper and a pen. With those things, I was able to jot down little notes to myself, and those notes were enough to remind me of the things I wanted to add to our discussion when the opportunities arose.

And, this past Sunday, one of the things we discussed was the clitoris.

I think it was Jay, and not Silent Bob, who once asked, "The female clitoris?"

Yes, that's the one.

Then we talked about dreams and other random stuff. It's all in the notes.

RockGirl emailed me that two girls had just gotten into a fight at her work.

I asked the obvious questions.

"Did they rip each other's blouses open?"

"Did they start making out with each other?"

Her answer to both questions was, "I don't think so."

What a boring chick fight.

Q: What's worse than having an 8:30 meeting?

A: When everyone talks about football before the meeting.

I really feel like crap. Really.

It's not even 8:30, and I'm going to go to bed.

Goodnight, cruel world.

I kinda feel like I should say something tonight, but I'm going to hold myself in check, as much as I can. It's probably just the drugs coursing through my veins that are making me want to talk. Sudafed and alcohol. Maybe the two of them together will be able to do what one alone couldn't. Maybe they'll dry out my damn sinuses. So I can sleep.

I didn't sleep for shit last night. Stupid coughing and running to the bathroom to hack into the sink every 10 minutes. It's amazing to me that the human body can produce so much snot.

Gross, I know.

At least my fever seems to be gone.

I'm trying to write an entry this morning. An important entry. And, as I so often do with the things that are the most important to me, I'm fucking it up. I'm putting too much pressure on myself to do this just right and make it perfect. A fitting tribute to my friend, who I found four years ago today.

My phone is magic, see. I think about all of the times that I've sat outside at night, either on my swing or, more recently, in my garage, feeling alone and misunderstood. At times like that, I've been able to type all of my problems into my phone, and then either right away or a few hours later, I get a reply.

Sadness and loneliness go in, and understanding comes out.

My phone is magic.

Sometimes it's not that dramatic. Sometimes I just want to talk about my day. Say that I've arrived at work, or that I'm bored, or that I'm having a cheeseburger for lunch. Stupid mundane stuff like that. So I type those things into my phone, and it makes me feel like I'm sharing my life with someone. Because, in a way, I am.

Magic. My friend is magic.

What follows is the entry that I wrote on this date last year. I think I did a pretty good job. It still wasn't good enough to express everything I feel when I think about her, but it came pretty close.

It usually hits me at night, like most things. I'll be downstairs shooting pool and it'll hit me, and I'll nearly drop my cue. I'll be out on my swing and it'll hit me, and my swing will coast to a stop. Or I'll be reading a book and it'll hit me, and I'll read the same paragraph a dozen times.

I am so incredibly blessed. That realization hits me, and I can think of nothing else.

It might seem like an odd thing, to have a best friend that you've never even met. I suppose it seemed odd to me, back when I first found her. She has become such an integral part of my life, but if I saw her walking down the street I might not even know her. If I spoke to her on the phone it might take me a few seconds to recognize her voice.

It might seem like an odd thing, but it doesn't. Not to me. To me it's as natural as breathing. And just as involuntary.

Three years ago today, that's when I found her.

---

Just got an email from her.

Told her that I'm trying to write this entry, for our anniversary, but that I'm experiencing writer's block.

I think the problem is that nothing I could ever possibly write would be enough. Not enough to even come close to describing how important she is to me. I don't have the words, and even if I did, I don't think I have the strength to put those words together.

I know that whatever I write will fall short of the mark. Trivialize the emotions. Marginalize the gratitude that I feel when I think about her being in my life.

I needed something, three years ago. I needed it so badly that I was dying from the lack of it. And she gave it to me.

Understanding.

Not pity, or doubt, or advice. She didn't try to rationalize what I was going through, and she didn't try to make it all better, and she didn't judge, and she didn't mock.

She understood.

And I went from feeling completely alone in this world, to having an ally. A kindred spirit I called her. And that knowledge, that wonderful knowledge that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't a freak, that I wasn't any of the things I'd been labeled as...

Wonderful.

I began to heal, three years ago on this day. I stopped waiting to die, and began struggling to live, three years ago on this day.

---

Sometimes I think that we take each other for granted.

I relish those thoughts, because they're absolutely true. We take each other for granted because that's exactly what we are.

We will always be friends. We will always be there for each other.

We are granted to each other.

---

Happy anniversary, my dearest friend Teri.

She is a part of me now.

The most important part.

Yesterday, I updated my facebook status thingy to say:

Sometimes, it takes a man's touch. Right, OddlyFamiliarGirl?

I was sitting in a staff meeting - that fact the my life is ruled by meetings is a different story - and my phone rang. The caller was OddlyFamiliarGirl. I couldn't answer the call, of course, because I was in a meeting, but I was able to send her a text that I'd call her back at my earliest opportunity. Right after that my phone chimed again, this time to indicate a new voicemail message.

So, after my meeting, I listened to the voicemail. It said, in part, that OddlyFamiliarGirl couldn't get the door on her Jeep to close, and she wanted to know if I'd take a look at it.

Not many people know that, as a child, I often dreamed that someday I might be able to look at, and maybe even fix, peoples' car doors.

Anyway, once I finally got off work, I drove to the place where OddlyFamiliarGirl was waiting. She told me her door woes, and I went out to take a look.

Not to get too technical, but the latch thingy was extended when it should have been retracted. This was preventing the door from closing.

I pressed my thumb against the door button, watched the thingy retract, and then I closed the door. Then, because I'm nothing if not thorough, I opened and closed the door again.

Then I went back inside and made fun of OddlyFamiliarGirl for a while. That was instead of giving her my bill.

Then I updated my facebook status.

One of my friends, or "chicks" as OddlyFamiliarGirl calls them, read my status and emailed me to ask, "I'm intrigued. What did you do to OddlyFamiliarGirl? Should I be jealous now?"

I replied, "Don't be jealous. I just thumbed her button and made her happy."

It's Sunday. I should write something. Not because it's Sunday, but because I haven't written anything since Friday.

What to write what to write what to write?

I don't even know. I get these little snippets of ideas every now and then, but they hardly ever turn into entries. Usually because they're too stupid.

Like today, I had this thought that the formula for my life had been proven false, and so I was searching for a new formula.

Barf, right?

Even I can do better than that.

So I don't know what to write. In a little while I'm going to eat and then I'm going to Jack's. Maybe after I get a couple beers in me I'll have an idea.

So I didn't go out of town over the weekend. Not unless you count my trips to Louisville on Friday and Saturday nights. And I don't count Louisville, just to be clear. Especially since I don't remember much about Friday night. I think there was Jager involved. Then last night I went to Jack's with OddlyFamiliarGirl, and Jack's definitely doesn't count.

I didn't go anywhere, but I managed to get myself a little refrigerator and some new shoes. So that was cool. Especially the fridge. Get it?

And now I'm faced with a decision. I spent eight months with basically no food in my house because I had no cold place in which to store it. Now I've got such a place, but there's very little room. After filling the thing with beer, there's enough room for maybe a couple of large pizzas, and that's it. The freezer part of the thing might hold a box of Hot Pockets, if I use a hammer.

Tonight I'm thinking that I'll go to the store and get some food. But I don't know what to get. Maybe some cheese.

I never said this would be interesting.

Today, I've got stuff I'm supposed to do. I keep putting it off and I don't want to do it any more.

I need to buy a damn refrigerator. I need to buy shoes - some for work and some for walking.

And, since I'll have a refrigerator, I need to go to the grocery store.

I never said this would be an exciting entry.

LaptopGirl pointed out that today is the first anniversary of the day that my friend WomanRepellant died. I don't feel like writing anything new about that, so I'll just post links to the entries I wrote a year ago.

This first one, I wrote the day before he died, and this one, I wrote immediately afterwards.

So there is flooding, but that doesn't affect my house, because I live atop Mt. Dave.

But something happened. A strong rumble of thunder or something, because the large framed picture that I keep above my fireplace is lying on the floor.

And that's not all. I really wish that was all, but it's not.

Also - and it's going to be hard to write this - also one of my Marzen glasses is broken. It shattered into a couple-dozen pieces.

That glass was given to me by LaptopGirl last Christmas.

So it's priceless and irreplaceable.

Just like she is.

When I was driving to work(!) this morning, there was a storm. It's been all over the news, even the national news. Louisville even made the front page of weather.com.

It rained. A lot. Like six inches in an hour, I think I heard. There was a lot of flooding.

But not in my basement.

So that's cool.

I was up there to work, of course. Because I was, at the time, the only single engineer at my company, I got to do all the traveling. I liked it. I'd already spent half a year in New Orleans, and I'd probably never have made it there otherwise. Double-ditto for Alaska.

My days always began at about 6:00. I'd get all bundled up and I'd go outside to start the car. Then I'd go back inside, take a shower and stuff like that, while the car heated up and the windows de-iced. If I was lucky, I'd be able to do all of this without the old man shuffling down and knocking on my door. He always asked me if I wanted any coffee, but I never wanted any.

During that time of year, the Sun wouldn't make an appearance until 10:00 AM or so, and then it would be gone again by 2:00 PM. Anchorage lies South of the Arctic circle, so it never quite gets down to zero hours of daylight in the Winter, and it never quite gets to twenty-four hours of daylight in the Summer. I know that those four hours of daylight did me a world of good. Just knowing that the Sun was shining outside, even if I couldn't see it from my windowless room.

Anyway, I'd go to work. This particular project was interesting to me, but probably not to anyone else, so I won't dwell on it. Except to say that static electricity and computers don't mix, and that Alaska in the Winter is so cold and dry that static electricity is a huge problem. I felt like some kind of super hero, the way the sparks were constantly shooting out of my fingers.

I totally forgot to mention the snow. There was about three feet of the stuff on the ground. Whatever had fallen since September or so was still there, joined layer-after-layer by new stuff. It was Alaska in January. Of course there was snow. I'd actually been expecting more, but people said it had been a dry Fall.

What got me to thinking about the snow was the seagulls.

You know how, back in the real world, when it snows they plow the parking lots and they usually leave a pile of snow somewhere kind of out of the way? Well, in Anchorage they do the same thing, except the resulting piles of snow are usually two stories tall and fifty feet in diameter.

One day I was standing outside work, smoking a cigarette, and there were some seagulls playing on the wind currents around one such mound. That's the only word to describe it - they were playing. Hovering at the top of the pile, where the wind was strongest, then diving down the other side, sometimes even turning somersaults in the air, and then going back and doing it again and again. It really was a cool thing to watch, and I bet I stayed out there for an hour, wishing I was a bird, because that really looked like fun.

Working all day was, of course, annoying. There I was in fucking Alaska and I couldn't do any sightseeing because it was always dark when I wasn't working. So my excursions to check out the natural beauty of the place would have to wait until the weekend. My weeknights were mostly spent shooting pool at the Billiard Palace. Back then, I would occasionally gamble a few dollars on my pool games. I'd win some and I'd lose some. Mostly I won, I think, except for this one dude who was a lot better than I was but I kept playing him because he was a friendly sort.

Remind me to tell you about all the earthquakes.

It's funny that I'm calling this part one. That implies that there'll be additional parts. But I seriously doubt it. I'm really taxing my brain as it is, thinking about and writing about something that happened so long ago that it's almost folklore by default.

Anyway, it was 1996. Dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and primitive mammals spent their days scurrying to and fro and counting the days until they'd be in charge of things. I know. I was there. I was one such mammal.

I arrived in Alaska on January 2nd. It was my second trip to Anchorage, but the first one of any consequence or duration. I think the previous visit had been in the Spring of 1994, and it had only lasted a few days.

I wish I'd paid more attention. But, back then, I was too busy scurrying. And avoiding dinosaurs. And watching the sky for comets. And being cold.

I've looked at the weather pages on the internet, and I can't find confirmation, but the high temperature that first day was nineteen degrees below zero, according to the television lady. I remember that she was quite cute, as if that matters.

I spent my first night in a hotel. A Holiday Inn or some such. There was a brewpub in the hotel, and they had a pumpkin ale. Back then, I wasn't into beer at all. I mean, I knew that there was beer that I liked and beer that I didn't like, but I hadn't yet formed any theories as to why any one particular beer might be categorized one way or another. I was pretty sure that I didn't like lagers, and I was starting to suspect that I liked ales, but I'd gone no further that those two preliminary hypotheses.

So I had the pumpkin ale, and it was fucking yummy. Unlike anything I'd had before. I had three or four more.

But I digress.

The next day, my coworker arrived. He took over the hotel room, and I moved to the apartment that my company had secured. Fine with me. Mainly I just needed a place to smoke and watch TV and sleep, and an apartment seemed like a better place than a hotel. I don't know why.

The apartment was in the walk-out basement of a house in the center of town. There was a dude living in the house, and I knocked on his door to get a key to the apartment.

Anybody remember the old Captain Kangaroo TV show? Okay, remember Mr. Green Jeans from that show? Well, the dude who owned the house/apartment looked exactly like Mr. Green Jeans. But he didn't act like Mr. Green Jeans. Nope, this guy was between seventy and three-thousand years old, and, because of senility or brain-freeze or something, had the mental capacity of a turnip.

At first, I tried to make myself feel better by imagining that the dude was just a partier who was drunk all the time, but by the third or fourth time that he'd managed to wake me up by shoveling snow at 4:00 AM, I knew better.

I'm digressing again, dammit.

It was fucking cold.

The weather page on the internet is no help, but the hot lady on TV assured me that, for the first three weeks I spent in Anchorage, the high temperature was eighteen below zero. Then, on or about the 20th of January, it shot up to seven below zero.

Woo-hoo!

T-shirts and shorts became the uniform of the day. All over Anchorage, alabaster skin competed with reluctant sunlight in a contest to see which could cause the most blindness. Me, well I continued to dress like a normal person who was freezing to death - a cheechako in Alaskanese - with my coat and glove and boots and the like. I did learn an important lesson that day, though. For me, the dividing-line between cold and fucking cold is at ten degrees below zero.

There is a difference. There really is. At ten below zero, I can function. At eleven below zero, I might as well be a chunk of ice that won't melt until June.

In Anchorage, they say, there are three seasons each year.

Winter lasts from late August until April or so. Next is Breakup, during which the snow and ice decides that it's maybe time to start thinking about melting and forming puddles. The more disgusting the puddles, the better.

The third season is road construction, and that lasts from the end of Breakup until the beginning of Winter, or for about a week and a half during late July and early August.

Wow, I've already written more than I expected, and I haven't even gotten to the good part yet.

Stay tuned for part two if I ever get around to writing it.

Still giving my brain a vacation. It deserves a vacation. These are my fingers talking now. Hi! We're drunk, I think!

Tonight was cool. We built a fireplace thingy in the driveway, and we made a fire therein, and we drank some beer.

These are Dave's fingers, signing off for the night.

Once again, I'm simply letting my fingers twitch against the keyboard, giving my brain a rest. My poor brain, it's been so overworked lately. Trying to fix things or at least figure them out. Nothing to show for all that effort, though. Things are still just as broken and confusing as ever.

---

Anyway, I totally want to go somewhere this weekend. I want to go to Indianapolis, but that would be weird. SassyGirl wants to go to Oregon, but that would be even weirder. Although, I guess if we went to Oregon, we could stop in Omaha and I could see some of my friends there. Like my old friend Mike, who I talked to the other night, for the first time since early 1994. Boy did he have some catching up to do.

---

This week my phone's been ringing off the hook about job opportunities. None have panned-out yet, though. I'm still fairly hopeful. This morning I got a call about a job for which I'm not particularly qualified, but one of my former coworkers is qualified, so I forwarded the contact information around. That was my good deed for the day.

---

Thanks to some informal surveys, I'm now even more convinced that I am not being weird about this. I already knew that I was acting reasonably given the fucked-up circumstances, but it's nice to have confirmation, especially when it's from people who are smarter than I am.

---

I'm starving to death now. I'm always starving, but then I never eat much.

I remember, but I wish I could remember more.

I remember Dad getting Dina and me out of bed, carrying her and half-dragging me to the living room.

I remember the TV, and the grainy pictures thereon. White-suited men bouncing around a white rock-strewn plain. An oddly-stiff flag neither waving nor sagging nor flapping. I remember Mom giggling about something or other, almost uncontrollably.

When they showed that flag, that was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. And it was the last time, for almost nineteen years. Until my mom's funeral.

I wish I could remember more about that night, forty years ago.

But I was just a little kid, after all.

So I went to the thingy. I went by myself, though that wasn't my preference. I'd invited KittenDamsel, but she was being weird. Then I'd invited LaptopGirl, but she'd thought I was being weird. This latter situation almost made me want to just stay home and pout, but then I called BadPickleGirl and she was going. Plus I was pretty sure that SpoonsGirl would be there, so odds were pretty good that I'd have someone to talk to at the thingy. Even better would have been if Eric and Teri would have gone, but they had some reunion to go to. Oh well.

I'd decided that Gumballhead would be my beer of choice for the evening. I was going to drive to Clarksville to get some, but BadPickleGirl said that the store right there in Greenville carried it. Even though I was doubtful, that's where I ended up going. BadPickleGirl was right, Gumballhead was available. So I got a warm six-pack of that and also a twelve-pack of Fat Tire and went to Dina's.

There were, of course, a million people there. Most of them I didn't know. But that was okay. I talked to BadPickleGirl and SpoonsGirl and SpoonsGirl's husband for most of the night. Over the course of about nine hours, I had a couple Fat Tires (1354) and four Gumballheads (1190). I talked to the aforementioned people. I watched the other people. I didn't glare at my phone too much.

And there were kitties all over the place. I got to pet some of them, and the youngest kitten did a decent job of shredding my hand as I played with it. I like kittens.

Usually I like to make an early Batmanesque exit from Dina's parties, so I have time to go to Rich O's. But last night I stayed until midnight or so, and I was one of the last people to leave.

I guess that's it.

So I'm thinking, once again, that I need to get away from here for a night. I get these itchy feet fairly often. The last time was Friday. I was all set to go up to Noblesville for the night. That's where the Barley Island Brewpub is located. I was craving myself some Dirty Helen and some Barfly on tap.

It's so weird that I like Barfly. I don't like very many IPAs at all. I wouldn't even have tried it if she hadn't asked me to. Now it's one of my favorites.

I ended up staying close to home Friday. That happens all the time, too. I get all fired-up about going out of town, and then I change my mind and end up not going anywhere. Right now, I'm thinking that I want to go to Covington, so that means that, in all likelihood, I'll stay home and maybe just go to Jack's tonight.

I stayed at my house last night. A Saturday night, wasted. I'm pissed about that, but it was for the best, I think.

And I'm so damn tired all the time. And I fubared my neck somehow. And I'm all alone.

And blah blah blah and waah waah waah.

No wonder I usually end up canceling my trips. I don't want to go anywhere with me, either.

Sometimes I get pissed. I wish I could stay that way. It seems more normal to me, and it would probably seem more normal to everyone else. Some people might even applaud.

I know that I'm probably jumping the gun. Things fall apart all the time, but I have a feeling that it's not going to happen this time. I'm not sure why I feel this way. Probably a combination of optimism and desperation.

I found myself sitting in my garage last night, planning my route and coming up with a rudimentary itinerary. I gave very little thought to getting prepared, but I never do that. That's not the fun part, after all. That's the part that will suck. Figuring out what to take, what to leave. Who to tell and what to tell them.

Who to invite?

Whoa, where did that thought come from?

I must contemplate this idea further...

I'm thinking that I won't bother writing a blog entry about last night, as the title pretty much says it all.

'Cause I'm all efficient and shit.

And rabid.

And straight, in case the title made you wonder.

So Sunday morning I found myself afflicted with a bad case of wanderlust. I didn't really know where I wanted to go, I just knew it had to be somewhere that wasn't New Albany. I looked at Nashville and Indianapolis and even Chicago, but eventually decided on Covington. It's not a big city, but it's got everything I need, especially distance from home.

I called KittenDamsel and invited her along. She declined, saying she'd had a long night. Then she said she might drive up there and meet me. I took this as "No way am I going to Covington" because that's how my brain works. Oh well. More beer for me then.

First thing I needed to do, however, was buy a laptop. I'll need this for when I travel, whether it's for work or play. When my former employer eliminated my position, they had the nerve to take their company-owned laptop back. Imagine that. So I stopped at Best Buy, looked at their selection, and bought an el-cheapo Compaq that would suit my meager needs. Thusly armed, I drove to Covington. It's only a two-hour drive.

After I'd arrived, and updated RockGirl with my location - RockGirl knows everything about my life - I settled into my usual Covington routine. I checked into the Holiday Inn, threw my shit into the room, and walked across the street to Skyline Chili for lunch. Yummy. Then I walked up to The Cock & Bull for a couple pints of yummy Moerlein OTR (463). While I was there, drinking my beer and watching a baseball game on TV, KittenDamsel called and said she was on her way. Yay!

I had some time to kill, so I went back to the hotel and messed with my new laptop for a while until KittenDamsel arrived. She wanted to hear polka music for some stupid reason, so we drove over to the Hofbrauhaus in nearby Newport and had dinner. I don't like that place. Not only is it too loud, it's too loud with polka music. The food was good, though.

After dinner, we walked across this purple bridge spanning the Ohio River, and dicked around there for a while. Then we drove back to the hotel, parked, and walked up to the MainStrasse area where all the bars are. After that the night got a little blurry. I know that I had three more OTRs (523) and a couple Newcastles (13818) as we walked around to various bars and clubs. It was a nice warm night, but not too warm. It was almost perfect, in fact. Especially the company. We drank too much, but neither of us got sick, so that was good.

Monday morning we were both a little hung-over. Not surprising. What was surprising was that KittenDamsel wanted to go to King's Island, a local amusement park. She'd already called in sick, and I certainly didn't have any reason come home right away, so to King's Island we went.

This was the first time I'd been there since I was 14 or so. It's much bigger now, and maybe not as crowded, and there were no dinosaurs to be seen. It was a fun few hours, except for that last roller coaster that went upside-down and made me queasy.

It was a really nice time up there. I'm really glad that I went, and I'm really glad that KittenDamsel could make it. She almost managed to distract me from thoughts of LaptopGirl. Almost. And I think I almost managed to distract her from thoughts of her ex-boyfriend. Almost.

It was kinda weird to spend all that time with her and then have to drive home separately, but oh well.

Oh yeah, I also bought a case of OTR and brought it home. So that gives me something to look forward to.

I can't remember ever being so tired, even last week with all of the ridiculous insomnia.

We had quite a fun weekend, if I do say so myself, and I do say so. But wow am I tired now.

In fact, I think I'm too tired to think straight, left alone write anything.

One thing I did want to say, though, is that when you get motion sickness from a roller coaster, and then you almost immediately get into your truck and drive for two hours, that motion sickness stays with you for the entire drive. It's not as much fun as I make it seem.

And the other weird thing is that I still don't feel like we're a couple. Probably because we're not a couple. Too much baggage on both sides.

It was a good day. Long, but good. Started at about 4:00 this morning at Denny's, and ending I hope very soon.

I was supposed to have Indian food with HatGirl, but she wasn't feeling well. I was disappointed about not getting to see HatGirl, but I hadn't been particularly looking forward to Indian food, so I guess it all worked out.

Problem was, I'd gotten myself all motivated to leave my house, and so I had to come up with some other reason to do so. I tried to book a hotel room in Covington. I was going to surprise KittenDamsel with an invitation because we were supposed to go there last weekend. But Covington was all booked up. I tried three hotels and there were no rooms available in any of them.

Next I tried to just book a room at the local hotel/casino, but they were booked, too.

Shit!

We ended up going down to the casino anyway. We did some gambling - I managed to turn $100 into about $105 playing blackjack - and we stuffed ourselves silly at the buffet. I was disappointed that their Asian noodle salad wasn't on the buffet today, but their Asian meatballs were, so I stuffed myself on those and kung pao chicken and moo goo gai pan. KittenDamsel had fish, because she's boring and stuff.

There was also beer consumed at their Legends bar. I had some Newcastles (13774) and she had some swill, because she's boring and stuff.

Later, what was supposed to be an hour long nap somehow turned into an almost six-hour nap. We have no idea how that happened. KittenDamsel was extremely late in meeting her friends, and I was extremely behind in my phone-glaring quota for the night.

So we parted company. I went to Rich O's and, after I'd glared at my phone for an hour, felt better. The Marzen (11568) didn't hurt matters either. It was quite crowded at Rich O's, survivors from some beer thingy they'd had in Clarksville. Most of the regulars were there, and some of the irregulars. I didn't really talk to anyone except NotHideousGirl and UPSDude.

After Rich O's closed, I came home. I've been glaring at my phone ever since, so I think I've satisfied my quota. Tomorrow it starts over again.

I'm at Denny's early today, or maybe I'm here late last night. Whatever, it's 3:49 right now, so it's something fucked up.

It's very crowded here right now. And LOUD. At least 90% of the noise is coming from the corner booth, and at least 99% of that noise is coming from one person, a somewhat round girl who I shall call Loudy McLoudandfat. Her cackling is threatening to liquefy my bones. That would be gross.

The remaining 10% of the noise, itself almost ear-splitting, emanates from a group of guys dorks playing some kind of trivia game at the center table. I'm fairly certain that sexual favors are being wagered, and that they don't really care who wins the game, because they'll all get to "win" later in the parking lot. Hint hint wink wink.

And finally, over in the corner, is an old guy, as quiet as I am and probably as miserable as I am because of these auditory assailants.

My plan, such as it was, was to come here and scribble out a quick entry, then have breakfast with DoableGirl. My plan, such as it was, did not include arriving at 3:45 in the flipping morning. So now I've got to improvise. I've got at least another hour to kill, and I don't know if I've got an hour's worth of words inside me, straining to escape. I guess I'll find out.

It's hard to stay in a writey mood in this place. Usually it's too quiet. Sometimes, like this morning, it's too loud. It's weird, though, that I can sit in a bar and write for hours but in this place even 15 minutes seems too long. It's not that different from a bar.

Anyway, earlier tonight I was thinking about my readers. Not any of my specific readers, but my readers in general. My generic readers.

Some of you people have stuck with me for years. Out of habit, possible, the inertia of interest that's long since faded. Or maybe that's not fair. Maybe there's still genuine interest out there somewhere, a curiosity, perhaps, about what exactly the fuck happened.

Those readers, the curious ones, are owed something. There's a debt there. There's always been an unspoken agreement. I write about my life, and people read it. Well, I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain lately, and I know it. The more that people read my irrelevant drivel, the more into the red I sink.

I fear, however, that this is a debt which will never be repaid in full. There are too many things about which I simply cannot write. Too many feelings to be hurt, too many fingers to point, and too much blame to assign.

See, this blog isn't about me, and it hasn't been about me for a very long time. It's been about something else. A feeling or a desire or a question or an answer, all intertwined and all pervasive. Everything that I wrote was about that. Everything, even if it didn't seem that way to those of you reading. And now it's got too stop. It's become just too damn intense.

Luckily, this blog is no longer about that thing at all. Now, it's about trying to survive even as I wonder if I want to survive.

And, as long as I'm being forthcoming, nothing I've written has been written for me, or for you generic readers out there in Internetland. Nope, all of it, every single word that I've written in the last half-decade, has been written to and for one very specific reader. A reader who is probably wondering, as she reads this sentence, "Is he talking about me?"

Of course I am, silly girl. And that also has to stop. Again, way too intense.

Now, where was I going with all this drivel?

Doesn't matter, because my date is here. It's about time. I'm starving.

I'm at Denny's again this morning. I guess it's becoming a habit, though I hope it's a short-lived one. I'd much rather be sleeping, you know, like a normal person.

I came here hoping, after I'd eaten, to write something good, but I ended up eating breakfast with DoableGirl and that seems to have disrupted the flow of whatever creative juices I possess.

Oh well.

Pretty girls should always take priority.

Remember when the glaciers covered all of the land that would someday become Canada, and a lot of the land that would someday become the United States?

Well, right after those glaciers retreated Northward, back to where they belonged, that was the last time I talked to MixedSignalGirl.

Until tonight.

That was exactly what I needed.

I've had this thought sliding around in my head for a few days. It's a slippery bastard, though, and I never can seem to maintain a grip on it. Long enough to recognize it, but not long enough to really get a good look. I suspect that, eventually, this thought will be captured and dissected into a blog entry. But not today.

---

I'm at Denny's again this morning. I got here late, for me. It's 7:15 as I write this sentence. I guess I timed things just right, as I pretty much have the place to myself. I see an elderly couple out front. I bet they're going to church when they leave here. I hope they find what they're looking for.

---

KittenDamsel and I were supposed to go to Covington last night. But then I was reminded that there was a party at my sister's house, for my niece and her fiancé. So I went there instead. KittenDamsel didn't want to go because, she said, she wouldn't know anyone. Well, out of the 7.5 million people there, I only knew perhaps a dozen. Maybe I'll go to Covington today. Maybe she'll take Monday off and come with me. Maybe pigs will fly. We'll see.

---

I wonder what time Home Depot opens. I could buy some 4x4s and some Quickrete and work on my swing. I can't believe I've let it go this long, but I guess I've been distracted. I've never done anything with concrete before. I'm afraid I'll make a mistake and get trapped somehow. A permanent monument to my own ineptitude.

---

I guess there's just no way that I can go anywhere without running away from here. I'm coming to grips with that. I can run, perhaps because I must run. The thought of running away is not what's giving me pause. Nope, it's the stark realization that, by running somewhere else, I'd also be giving up on here. That's what scares me. I'm just not ready to give up, and I fear that I never will be ready.

I've written before that I think fate is a silly concept, but I just can't shake this feeling, this certainty, that there's a reason for all this. A reason that I'm sitting at a Denny's early on a Sunday morning and thinking about her, missing her. This series of events and emotions that was set into motion all those years ago, there is a reason. I just don't know what that reason is. Perhaps its purpose is to destroy me.

So far, so good.

---

The crowd is starting to pour in now. More church people, I bet. I guess it's nice to have faith in something. I can't say that their faith is any more misplaced than my own.

I'm at Denny's again. Couldn't sleep again.

DoableGirl is back. I bet she was hoping I'd be here.

This insomnia is getting very annoying. The hours and days and weeks blur together, just like all of my thoughts. I don't see how, but I'm somehow managing to survive on two or three hours of sleep every day. And sometimes less than that. I wish I could say that I'm getting a lot done, that I'm taking full advantage of all the extra time I have, but I'm not. Unless you count shooting pool. I'm doing a lot of that. But of course I suck because I'm so damn tired.

I wonder what DoableGirl's problems are. I'm sure she's got some. She's not perfect like I am, totally unencumbered by any baggage whatsoever.

I'm at Denny's again. It's 5:15 Thursday morning as I write this sentence. I'm once again wide awake. I still feel like writing - I even blew the cobwebs off my notebook and brought it along - but I still don't have a topic.

I suppose I'll just wing it.

It's much more crowded here now than it was yesterday morning. Not that crowded is at all a fair or accurate word to describe things here now.

Yesterday some hippie dude and I had the entire place to ourselves. Now, there are five of us in the smoking section, and another half-dozen or so in the main eating area. The same hippie dude is here again. Or maybe he's stillhere. I never saw him leave, and he's sitting in the same place he sat yesterday. He's got his laptop and his paperwork scattered all over his table. He's here for the long haul, I suspect.

Moving my gaze around the room clockwise, I next see two old guys, sitting at different tables but each possessed of the same blank stare.

And, directly in front of me at the next table, there's a girl. There's always a girl in my stories, it seems. This particular girl smiled at me when I came in, and I smiled back. Now she's reading on her laptop and I'm looking at the back of her head and trying to remember how pretty she is. Tall, thin, with short brown hair pulled into a ponytail of sorts. Definitely doable, I think, though of course I'll be doing no such thing.

---

Food was good as always. I didn't eat it all, though. Perhaps my appetite has gone the way of my sleepiness. Oh well.

While I ate what I ate and picked at what I didn't eat, one of the vacant-eyed old guys left and the other one got himself a female companion. His wife or girlfriend, I suspect. Good for him.

Also, two youngish guys arrived, and now they sit in the corner booth talking to each other quietly but not quietly enough to keep from disturbing the ambience of this place at this hour.

The hippie dude is still typing away, and the pretty girl is still reading away.

Me?

I'm scribbling away in my notebook, of course. What a silly question.

---

It's 6:00 now, and the sky is starting to lighten. Though I can't hear them, I'm sure that birds are out there tweeting and whistling. And, I imagine, alarm clocks are going off all over the place as normal people begin their days.

I'll be going home soon, though I don't know why. I guess to type this entry into my computer. Not to sleep, that's for sure. I'm having lunch with HatGirl in six hours, and I can't risk missing that. I've flaked on her far too often lately.

I don't know why I go home at all anymore except to take care of my cats.

I've found that, for the last several weeks, that damn place nearly suffocates me with its emptiness. So I leave, all the time. I go to wherever there are people. Not to engage in any conversations, but instead to leverage the pressure of societal expectations as a crutch, to keep myself from falling over, or as a tight wrap, to keep myself from falling apart.

These people who I don't know and don't really care to know, they're some of my best friends lately. I should put them on my Christmas card list, thought of course I have no such list.

---

Well, DoableGirl has packed up her stuff and gone off to wherever girls like her go at times like this.

I suppose that's as good a cue for me to leave as I'm going to get.

I'm stuffed now. The food was fantastic. I should go to Denny's more often.

I told RingGirl that I'm in the middle of a very tough breakup. Funny how words can be both a bald-faced lie and the utter truth at the same time.

Oh, yeah - the ring is a prop, to scare away undesirables.

I managed to get eight hours of sleep. I don't think that I care that they were all during the daytime.

I'd probably have slept longer except my cat Buddy jumped onto the bed and began loudly singing his sad song about starving to death. I got up and dumped some cat food into the bowl - I don't know why they can't do that themselves - and so now I'm awake and up. And the cats are sated and asleep.

I'm thinking fairly clearly right now. It's almost like the human brain needs sleep to help it function properly. Someone should study this - I may be onto something.

Anyway, about that other thing. I'm disappointed, of course. But I got exactly the reaction that I was expecting, so at least shock is off the menu for today. And that's enough about that, I think.

I was going to write a blog entry tonight, I really was. But the damn thing morphed into an email. A personal email.

So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote the email, and then I sent it off. To be read, I suppose. To be believed, I hope. To be understood, well I can't say I'm very confident about that.

But still, two out of three isn't bad.

My Monday night started out pleasantly enough. KittenDamsel bought me dinner (Wendy's) in exchange for me hooking her DVD player up correctly. I'd told her last weekend that she could get a much better picture and 5-channel sound just by using the proper cables and connections, but she played the girl-card, and so I offered to fix things for her.

Besides eating dinner and crawling around behind her entertainment center, I spent a lot of time poking my finger into her spiffy new sunburn and watching it change colors. Mesmerizing.

Then I went to Rich O's. While there, I alternated between glaring at my phone and glaring at the door. Neither activity proved fruitful. After PearlGirl and her boyfriend left, there really wasn't anyone there I felt like talking to, so I picked up my shit and moved to the bar to finish my Marzen (11138). By 9:30 I was really bored, and my eyes were kind of tired from all the glaring, so I left. But then I remembered that there was no place to go, so I went back to Rich O's.

I was having a nice glass of Franziskaner (39) when OddlyFamiliarGirl came in. So that was nice. We talked and whatever. I switched to Diet Coke. I left again at midnight when Rich O's closed.

That's when it got annoying.

I got pulled over. Or, actually, I went to the haunted Burger King and the cop followed me with his lights flashing, so maybe that doesn't really count as getting pulled over. I'm sure he would have pulled me over if I hadn't been stopping anyway.

The guy came up to my truck and asked for the usual paperwork. I gave him my license and, while I was fishing for my current registration, he told me that I hadn't used my turn signal when turning onto Grant Line Road. I felt like calling bullshit on that. I always use my turn signal, even when I'm leaving my own driveway, but I figured it would be his word against mine. Plus, he was the one with the gun.

He asked me, of course, where I was coming from. I said Rich O's. So he asked me, of course, how much I'd had to drink. I said a Marzen (11138) and a Franziskaner (39). Upon seeing the quizzical look on his face, I clarified that I'd had two beers.

I realize that "two beers" is probably the standard answer given by people under suspicion, so I wasn't surprised at all when he had me take off my glasses and follow his pen around with my eyes. I guess that test didn't yield the result that he wanted, because then he went back to his car for five years, and came back and had me blow into a thingy. As I was not immediately arrested, I knew I'd passed that test as well.

I will admit, however, that for a few moments there I was concerned that I might have grossly miscalculated.

And the guy was just doing his job, helping to keep us all safe. I have a lot of respect for (most) cops.

He ended up giving me a ticket for not using my turn signal, and then he sent me on my way.

I'd originally stopped at the haunted Burger King to get something to eat. But the crap with the cop had lasted just long enough, and they were closed by the time the cop left. So I came home instead.

I'm starving. I face this decision every day. I could go to Bearno's where I can get a Newcastle but I don't like the food as much, or I can go to Sam's where I like the food but I have to settle for Blue Moon or Amber Bock.

Decisions, decisions...

I think I'll do Sam's today.

Or maybe Bearno's.

I know that everyone cares where I go for lunch.

So a few weeks ago - I could tell you the exact date, but I'd have to look it up - this chick was hitting on me. I was almost positive.

Well, tonight I became positive, because she fucking did it again. With zero subtlety.

She was unsuccessful.

But it was still nice to know that I wasn't imagining things before.

---

Sometimes there are too many women.

Like tonight, before the drama at Rich O's, I sat at Buckhead having dinner with HatGirl...

HatGirl!

Yay!

...and her equally hot friend PokerGirl, and then BadPickleGirl started texting me about going to some bar I never heard of before.

I had to decline, of course, but I promised to maybe see BadPickleGirl on Saturday.

I'm such a tease sometimes.

---

And then, after the drama at Rich O's with MaybeCrazyGirl hitting on me, YoungGirl called me to ask me to come over.

I declined that offer as well.

I know why I declined, but I don't want to say.

It had nothing to do with her, though.

---

Today I slept almost all damn day. So now I feel like I may never be tired again.

---

It was really packed at Rich O's tonight. I don't know why.

---

I also got to see ImprobablyHotMarriedGirl when I first went in. That was cool. I gave her a big hug and felt a big bump - she's pregnant. So congratulations to her!

---

I might be back typing some more stuff. Or maybe not.

I had to wait until I wrote this entry. And, of course, in the week that's passed since I thought of it, it's become less funny. You've been warned.

I was at Rich O's the other night - I think it was Wednesday - talking to various regulars and irregulars. In that place, I try to steer clear of the usual topics of politics, religion, music and sports. The first two because those conversations always lead to people revealing their stupidity, and the last two because I neither know nor care about those things.

So that usually means that I either talk about beer, or I talk about women.

Women are weird. If you've never read this blog before, then that might come as a shock to you, but trust me - they're weird.

So let's take a guy. But not a regular guy, one instead who has three particular qualities. He's an asshole, and he plays guitar, and he's unemployed.

The thing about that guy, see, is that I absolutely guarantee that he has a girlfriend.

Those three qualities, taken separately, would seem to be either neutral or even negative qualities. But put those three qualities together, and they form some kind of magical sphere - a triumvirate of attractiveness - for the guy. Women find him irresistible.

Weird, like I said. But you can't prove me wrong, because I'm not wrong. If a guy has all three of those qualities, he's got a girlfriend, or at least getting some steady action.

Now, lacking those three qualities doesn't automatically mean that a guy's going to die alone and unloved, but it might. So, in order to foster my own chances of having someone actually cry at my funeral, I'm taking some steps.

First, I'm really not an asshole, though I can act like one at times. I need to do it more often. Recent events in my life have already given me a shove in that direction, so it's only getting easier.

Second, I've been trying to learn to play guitar. For over a year and a half now. I still suck, but not as much as I once did.

Third, I lost my job last Tuesday.

Yes, that's right. I've been made into a victim of this recession, along with another 250 or so people from my old company. So, for now anyway, I've got the unemployment requirement nailed.

Anyway, I had to wait before I wrote about losing my job. My sisters and my niece were on a trip to Europe, and I didn't want to impact their enjoyment. But now they're back, so they can be miserable right along with me.

Last night, I sent RockGirl this email, with the subject of "Yay!"

And yay and yay and yay! I get to have lunch with HatGirl tomorrow.

It's been 17 billion years since I've seen her. *

I'm so excited!

HatGirl flaked on lunch.

That's what it is, annoying. After the shock and the denial, I mean.

Then we walked a mile or so to HatGirl's car, so we could put our extra crap in there and not have to lug it around all day. Next, we walked all the way back to my truck. We walked all the way back to my truck because I'm retarded. I'd left our tickets for the craft beer tent thingy there. When we got back to the parking lot the dude was still admiring my truck. I think he had an erection, but I was afraid to look too closely.

Then we walked back to the riverfront. The craft beer tent thingy didn't open until 2:00, and it was only 12:30, so we went into Hooters where my cousin Jeff awaited. He'd gotten us free wristbands. That was nice of him. We had some Diet Cokes and sat around for a while.

Oh, and we saw TremensGirl and Bubbles walking around, so that was nice.

Once the thingy opened, we got something to eat and then went down this steep-ass hill to the river. We watched the airshow, which was very cool. There was a fucking helicopter doing fucking loop-de-loops. I didn't think that was even possible in a helicopter. During this period I had myself a Gumballhead (534). This is also when the events portrayed in the comic two entries ago happened, so I had myself 14 ounces of Upland Wheat (297), too.

This was about when I had myself another Gumballhead (550). It was yummy.

Anyway, once the fireworks were over, we were going to hang out for a while, but all of the bars closed early, so we went and sat in HatGirl's car for a half-hour or so, waiting for traffic to start moving. Then we went to White Castle then she drove me to my house.

It was a really fun day, and I only missed a certain person a million times, instead of the asstillion times I'd been predicting.

When HatGirl took me to get my truck yesterday, I'll admit that I was a little disappointed that the dude hadn't washed and waxed it for me. I guess I should have just been grateful that it wasn't covered with his semen.

Such a stupid rainy day. Yesterday was almost perfect weather, though, so I guess today should be allowed to be stupid if that's the way it really wants to be.

But this would have been a good day to work on getting my swing fixed, if I could have talked my sister's husband into helping. And if it wasn't raining.

---

Sometime today HatGirl will take me to get my truck from Jeffersonville. I'm sure that will be the highlight of my day.

As things turned out, our transportation arrangements for yesterday were way too complicated. What we did was, (a) I met her Friday near the riverfront, (b) we parked her car, (c) I took her home, then on Saturday (d) I picked her up in my truck, (e) we parked a couple of miles from the riverfront, (f) walked to the riverfront, and then after the show (g) she drove me home in her car, and then today (h) she'll come and drive me to get my truck.

What we could have done, as it turned out, was just drive my truck Saturday, park and walk, and then walk back to my truck after the show.

It's that 20/20 hindsight thing. Next year, we'll know better.

Plus the parking sticker for HatGirl's car cost $50.

---

I may be housing some dogs for a while. My cats will be thrilled, I'm sure.

---

My sisters and my niece are in Ireland now. I'm totally jealous.

---

I need to do laundry.

The first part of the day consisted of work, punctuated by lunch at Wendy's with HatGirl. I only mention that because, after work, I had dinner with HatGirl at Buckhead in Jeffersonville. I only mention that because tomorrow HatGirl and I are going to this fireworks thingy. I only mention that because, as I said a few entries ago, I got to see HatGirl at Rich O's on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Like I've already said, HatGirl is doing one hell of a job keeping me distracted. In other words...

HatGirl!

Yay!

It was funny to us.

I will never get tired of HatGirl, by the way.

So then after dinner - I had a Paulaner Hefeweissbier (607) - I decided to stop at Rich O's. You know, just for a change of pace, also known as a Schlenkerla Marzen (10299).

This is, from right to left, the lovely BadPickleGirl, my lovely self, and the lovely friend of BadPickleGirl who doesn't get a nickname unless I see her again.

Omaha was just too far away, I finally realized. I really wanted to be there, but I didn't want to go there. It's a 13-hour drive, after all.

But I still wanted and needed to go somewhere, just to get away from this situation for a night. So, I went to Covington KY.

The drive up was uneventful for the most part, except for the inevitable slew of emails and texts that always start streaming in whenever I'm driving. I replied to those as well as I could and managed to not get myself killed in the process.

When I was about halfway to Covington, SassyGirl called! We talked for a half-hour or so as I made my way up I-71. She and JauntyGirl are in Las Vegas, of all places. And so, of course, is HatGirl. And StupidGirl, of course, lives there. So three of my favorite women on Earth are all in Las Vegas at the same time. I'm a little surprised that MixedSignalGirl didn't call me to tell me that she was there as well.

And there I was, going to stupid Covington KY.

Once I arrived, I had my usual Covington lunch at Skyline Chili, then drove the short distance (it was raining) to the Mainstrasse area and went into the Cock & Bull bar. Not much has changed since I was last there in November, and that was good. And they still had Moerlein OTR on tap!

Yay!

So I had a couple pints of that (400) and decided that I'd be spending the night in Covington. I hadn't really made up my mind until then. I went and got myself a hotel room and took a nap for a couple of hours.

Went back to the Cock & Bull bar at 8:00 or so. I ordered an OTR, but they'd changed kegs and there was something wrong with it, so I only had a few sips (403) before switching to Newcastle. Then, after my Newcastle (12578) I decided to risk the OTR again. I figured maybe the glass had just been soapy or something. Well, I guess I was right, because my next OTR (423) was just fine.

Switched to Diet Coke and then, once the Cock & Bull got too crowded, I went back to the hotel and tried to sleep.

At 12:30 or so I gave up on sleep and drove home.

It has been proposed that it was weird for me to drive home last night. Perhaps, but I could tell that it was going to be a long sleepless night for me, and I was really dreading driving home this morning on little or no sleep. Better, I reasoned, to just drive home last night when I was still semi-alert. So that's what I did.

I was still awake at 5:00 when HatGirl started texting me from Las Vegas. I didn't complain because (a) it was HatGirl, and (b) I was awake anyway.

I think I finally got to sleep at 6:30 or so. Then I was awakened at 10:30 with an accusatory email.

Still fucking awake.

Las Vegas is so lucky!

So I dropped HatGirl off at the airport, and hung out there with her for an hour or so before she had to go through security. Next, I was planning to just go over to Rich O's because I was meeting BadPickleGirl and some other people at 5:30 or so. But around 4:00 I found myself suddenly starving to death. I mean, I was so hungry that I was actually shaking a little bit. So I went to the haunted Burger King and scarfed down some food. After that I felt better, but my stomach was a little queasy.

I went to Rich O's. I sat at the throne and had a couple glasses of Diet Coke to calm my stomach. I glared at my phone. I waited for BadPickleGirl.

Once they all showed up, it was a pleasant enough evening. I had some glasses of Schlenkerla Marzen (10040) and then a Diet Coke. It was nice to be able to talk to some people closer to my own age.

I came home at 10:00 or so, then slept for a couple of hours before sleep once again escaped my grasp.

Tomorrow I want to take a trip.

The good news is that I'm taking HatGirl to the airport in a couple of hours.

HatGirl!

Yay!

The bad news is that I'm taking HatGirl to the airport in a couple of hours.

Days and days without HatGirl!

Boo!

Managed to find some work to do, and that bored me enough that I'm ready to challenge sleep again. I'm mildly optimistic, because I don't have to go in to work today.

Wish me luck!

Anyway, today this one chick noticed this picture on the wall. "So all I have to do is kiss you and I can get my picture on the wall, too?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. "And bring all your friends. We'll cover the entire wall eventually."

We never did follow up on that plan. I was too tired, I guess.

---

I just got a haircut, in case you were wondering.

I sent this picture to HatGirl and she asked me if I was okay. I sent it to SassyGirl, and she sent me a picture of her and some girls having fun in the sun. I sent it to RockGirl, and she suggested that I take a nap.

---

Of course, this discussion was all moot, because the elephant is clearly Belgian. The dead giveaway being that it's fucking pink.

She's very pretty, in case you can't tell that from the picture.

So, this may be it for me. If the pictures keep coming, I might not last the day. And it might be worth it.

I told her that it would destroy me.

I'm in shock. That I was so wrong. That everyone else was so right. That it was all a waste of time. That life can be so pointless.

You people shouldn't expect too much more from me here. Not for a while, at least.

I've got to try to digest this. Eat it before it eats me.

If I write anything now, then I'll be cruel, and I don't want to do that.

Just trying something here. This took way too much effort for the result I got.

So Friday I took a vacation day.

I worked for about 13 hours on my vacation day.

I'm doing it wrong.

Now I need a vacation to unwind from my vacation.

I was struck by a small series of thoughts today, as I sat hunched over my liquid lunch (Schlenkerla Fastenbier - 553) contemplating this ridiculous series of rejections that I use instead of a life, and because sometimes I just feel like writing something, I thought I'd write about my series of thoughts.

I guess most of us were young and obnoxious once, except those of you who are still young and obnoxious - get off my lawn, by the way - and even though most of us have outgrown that phase, we still remember what it was like.

Remember how, on warm days, how good it felt to roll down the car windows and crank up the volume on the radio? Or the tape player or CD player or whatever; you know what I mean.

It was impossible to not feel really cool, cruising down the street with your music blaring all around you. People would turn their heads as you drove by, and you'd imagine them thinking, "Now there goes a cool person. He's bringing music to the world. Livening up my boring life. Thank you, cool person."

But the problem is, never once in the history of the world has anyone ever thought those things. The people who drive around with their music blaring so loudly that everyone within a five-block radius can not only hear it, they can feel in their bones and in their teeth as the bass notes vibrate their fillings loose - those people are assholes. I'm also pretty sure that they blow dead goats when they get home.

I never said this would be an interesting entry.

An annoying pattern is emerging.

I need to do something about it, since it's my fault.

---

Hey, you.

Just think. That's really all I ask.

And, if you keep coming up with the wrong answer, think some more.

I'll let you know when you're finally right, if everyone else in your life doesn't beat me to it.

---

It's March now. Cold weather, please go away. Okay thanks.

---

I didn't bring it up, but now that it's been brought up, several times, I'm having a tough time not thinking about it. This is one of the few things about this mess that is not my fault.

So there.

---

I think that's it for now. Funny, I thought there would be more.

Problem is, I fucking hate being lied to.

And so, since I know that the answer will be a lie, I can't even ask the damn question.

And so, it will look like I don't even care.

Happy birthday to me, dammit!

I'm off work until Tuesday!

Taking today off work, which is always nice. Even better is that I'm having lunch with HatGirl.

Yay!

Just took my truck down to the garage and dropped it off. The clutch is fucked - the pedal just falls to the floor when pressed, and it only seems to disengage during the final 1/8 inch or so. I could blame my clutch problems on some stick-shift driving lessons I gave her in the truck a couple of months ago, but I won't. It was, after all, a couple of months ago. And she actually did a very good job except for once on a hill.

So now I'm down to just two vehicles for a while. I feel so poor.

Talked with StupidGirl for a couple of hours last night, until my Blackberry died. We put together some plans for next weekend. I told her that the only thing I absolutely want to do is go to the Freakin' Frog Friday night so I can have an Alaskan Smoked Porter for my birthday.

I'm really starting to look forward to the trip. I wish, in fact, that it was this weekend. This weekend is going to suck, I predict. Stupid Valentine's Day.

Speaking of my Blackberry, I forgot it this morning when I left for work. So I'm frustratingly out of touch with the world this morning. I'll go get my Blackberry during lunch.

One of life's sad truths is that, far too often, one thing must end before another can begin.

In my case, I must die before I can live. I must.

---

My power is out tonight. It's out all over the place I guess.

I've been sitting in my living room, watching a fake log burn in my fireplace. I'm drinking a Schlenkerla Marzen. It's kinda nice.

Fires are always nice until their fuel starts to run out. Then they sputter frantically, flames licking wildly upward, as if by putting on a good show, they can buy themselves some more time.

But it does them no good. After a while, their fuel spent, the flames die. After a while, all that are left are ashes.

I have plenty of fake logs, and it's still fairly warm in my house.

I'll be okay, I think.

Just, wow.

And now, for my next trick, I will pretend that nothing happened.

It's weird. I've been given an infinitesimal speck of hope, and now glaring at my phone has become infinitely more bearable.

Something unexpected happened a little after 6:00 Friday evening. Something welcomed, certainly, just very surprising.

You know how sometimes you're just having a really bad time with things, but then you maybe start to get used to how horrible things are? And then you maybe start to think that there's a chance that someday you might want to live again, if you can only get through this rough patch?

And then something unexpected and welcomed and surprising happens and you forget all about the bullshit?

Well, me too.

And so now, I fear, it will all start over again.

Anyway, it ended up being a good night. One about which I should probably write.

But not now. Now I've got cabin fever. So I'm going to the local casino for a while.

Don't wait up.

UPDATE: I didn't get to go. Other surprising and unexpected stuff happened, and I had to stay closer to home. Oh well.

ALSO: I just extended my Las Vegas trip by one day.

Why did I do this?

Why, thank you so much for asking. That's really sweet of you.

I did this because I'm sick of being such a fucking pessimist all the fucking time.

I want to go down to the Derby City Classic for a while tonight. It should be the last few rounds of the banks tournament. It should be fun.

But, the thing is, it's supposed to snow. Somewhere between four inches and eight feet, depending on which TV station you watch, and I don't really want to get stranded in an expensive casino when I don't have much money.

So I'd get down there and hope it didn't snow and then, if it didn't snow, I'd blame myself. And I like snow. Plus, my sister Neisha would kill me if I made it not snow.

And then there's other stuff. I can't write about the other stuff.

I have a nosebleed.

What's up with that?

I wonder who was more surprised. I called, and that must have surprised her. She answered, and that certainly surprised me.

It's the weirdest thing, how a short time on the phone, hearing a voice, can ease so much tension, erase so many doubts, clear up so many misunderstandings.

I just wanted to know if she was okay, that's all. I didn't ask her to come back. I didn't even ask her if she missed me. I just asked if she was okay, and she said that she was. She asked if I was okay, and I said that I wasn't.

Truth. She taught me its value, and I haven't forgotten.

We talked for an hour or so. It was a lot like old times, except we've obviously both moved on. She's moved further than I have.

It was nice. I really miss her sometimes, but I'm glad she got away from me when she did. Before I'd have hurt her all over again.

Ran across this old post from 2006 last night. It inspired me, but I didn't have any fake logs, so I went to bed.

---

It's been cold here for a week, and rainy all day long, so I started a fire. My first one of the season.

It's a fake log, but still a real fire, so I like it.

There is no sound.

And getting more and more pissed with every passing minute.

People need to leave me alone today. I'm not in the fucking mood for any more bullshit.

I guess things even out sometimes, or they at least try to even out.

Like, I felt like crap all day yesterday, but then I slept like a baby last night.

I even had some good dreams, so there.

It snowed a little last night. Enough to make things pretty and to make the roads slick for a while. I liked it.

---

Spent some time this morning looking at pricing for flights to Las Vegas. I want to go there over my birthday weekend, I think. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have to worry about a place to stay.

---

Last night we had a nice dinner at Sam's. I always end up getting the blackened chicken alfredo, and it's always a little disappointing. This time it was much better than normal. Quite yummy.

---

Then I went over to HatGirl and LuckyFucker's house to drink a couple beers and play some cards.

HatGirl!

Yay!

We played spades, and I destroyed them. That was weird, because I usually suck at that game.

---

I wonder if Sportstime is open today. I'm craving a little pizza for lunch.

Okay, I'm officially sick.

Thanks for caring.

I might be sick.

It's hard to tell for sure. I might have a bit of a sinus infection, or I might be suffering from lack of sleep. Or maybe it's a combination of both.

Felt like crap all day today. I was very excited about coming straight home after work and taking a nap.

The nap thing - it only lasted half an hour before the nightmare came.

This one, I remembered. Usually, lately, I don't remember what it is that jolts me awake, bathed in my own sweat with my heart threatening to leap out of my chest. But this one, I remembered.

That image is burned into me now, so I doubt I'll sleep tonight either. Unless I'm sick.

Fuck, I hope I'm sick.

I did something unusual tonight. Unusual for me, anyway. Others' mileage may vary.

I searched for mouse poop. With my hands.

Let me say that again.

I. Searched. For. Mouse. Poop. With. My. Hands.

Why did I do such a thing?

Thanks for asking.

Because I'm a good guy, that's why. Oh, and also because it was too dark to see and somebody doesn't have a flashlight.

Anyway, I found no mouse poop, or any other incriminating evidence. This was a good thing, I think.

I got to be a good guy without the hassle of getting mouse poop on my hands.

Happy Birthday to HatGirl!

HatGirl!

Yay!

After I got home Friday, I attempted to take a nap. That attempt, of course, failed. By then, I figured, I'd had about eight hours of sleep since the previous Saturday morning.

Yes, I was tired. Thanks for asking.

But I guess I must have hit some kind of wall, like long-distance runners always talk about. I reached a certain point of exhaustion, and not only did it not get any worse, it actually got a little better.

So I was dicking around on my computer, catching up on some of the reading that I'd let lapse during The Week Of Hell. I clicked over to the blog of MrPopular, and saw this entry.

For those of you who didn't feel like clicking, it has a mention about how this dude Mike was selling some bottled overstock and such. But even more interesting than what it says now it what it used to say.

It used to say that the items for sale included some bottles of Alaskan Smoked Porter.

It used to say that, and it doesn't anymore, because of me.

Now, I happened to be wearing pants when I read that Alaskan Smoked Porter was for sale. So the Rich O's crowd was spared the thrill disgust of seeing me run into the place as God might have intended. Not sure that a little public nudity would have made much of a difference, though, as I broke every traffic law known to man getting down there. I think that the trip that normally takes 15 minutes took about 15 seconds.

See, MrPopular has been sitting on these bottles (not literally sitting, I don't think) for a very long time. Every now and then I'd hear rumors about them, but rumors were all they were. Rich O's used to sell Alaskan Smoked Porter, but it's been years since that happened. I could, and did, have that lovely beer every time I went to Las Vegas, but even that luxury had been unavailable for over a year.

So I was excited. And I was also quite fearful that I'd be too late. That it would all be sold before I got there. That's why I broke all those traffic laws, and that's why it was probably a good thing that I was wearing pants when I read about the sale.

What ended up happening was that this server dude and I spent a few minutes looking for that Mike dude. Then, when we found him, I bought every bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter there was.

Fifteen bottles of ebony ambrosia.

It's out there in my beer fridge now. That crappy dirty old refrigerator. Never before has it served such a noble purpose.

Those beers call to me. I estimate that, if I limit my intake to special occasions, I can probably make those bottles last a year.

But tonight I'm going to have one. As soon as I post this entry I'm going to sit in my detached garage and I'm going to have one.

"What's the special occasion?" you might ask.

It's quite simple, really.

I have fucking Alaskan Smoked Porter, and if that's not special then I don't know what is.

UPDATE: Fucking yummy! The only thing that could have made this beer taste better would have been if I'd been sharing it with her.

Last night I was able, thanks to some unseasonably warm weather, to sit out in my detached garage for a while. I'd found a bottle of Schlenkerla Marzen (6789) in my refrigerator and, what with yesterday having been what it was, I needed to drink it. So that's what I did. I sat on my el-cheapo white plastic furniture, drank my yummy beer, and contemplated the universe.

Much like when I went to the grocery store Monday night, I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat in my garage. It had certainly been a while. And, though the circumstances that led me to sit out there last night were pretty horrible, I suppose that I ended up enjoying it. Sometimes it's nice for me to simply enjoy my own company for a couple of hours.

I just sent RockGirl an email. She'd asked me when I slept.

Saturday night I didn't sleep a wink. I finally got to sleep at about 3:00 Monday morning and slept until 7:00. Monday night I think it was about 4:00 when I finally got to sleep. Yesterday after work I actually managed to take a two-hour nap, then I couldn't get to sleep again until at least 2:30.

This is a boring entry.

I'm not the bum, but I still got the fucking bum's rush.

But that's not the annoying part.

Nope, the fucking annoying part is that I knew this was going to happen, I was warned that this was going to happen, yet I went anyway.

Nobody to blame but myself.

Early Friday afternoon I found myself missing my dad. A little more than usual, I mean. I was sitting in my Monte Carlo at the car wash, so that probably had something to do with it. The next thing I knew I was shivering at his gravesite.

Then to continue down nostalgia's trail I went to this Hitching Post bar in Louisville. It was Dad's hangout in New Albany. I try to go in there each year, on the anniversary of his death, and have a Falls City beer to his memory. Well, they don't make Falls City anymore, but they do still make Budweiser (24), and it's pretty much the same thing.

After a while, the bartender recognized Dad's old Monte Carlo parked out front, and so he figured out who I was. Next thing I knew there were three or four people in there talking about Dad, and they all had very good things to say. So that was nice.

Then this lady and her hot daughter came in and sat with me for a while. The mom said she'd met me before. I didn't remember it. The daughter kept making goo-goo eyes at me, and we made half-assed plans to go out sometime. I doubt that will ever happen but, just in case, I've dubbed her GooGooGirl.

The first thing we were going to do had maybe a zillion-to-one chance against it. But we were going to do it. As of late Wednesday night, we were going to do the first thing, and I think we were excited about it.

The first thing got cancelled Thursday morning. I was very disappointed.

The second thing we were going to do had perhaps a million-to-one chance against it. But we were all set. It was going to happen. After the first thing, we were going do the second thing.

The second thing never happened, either. I was disappointed.

The third thing, well the odds against the third thing were incalculable. It, of course, didn't happen except in my head.

The fourth thing, we got to do. It was nice. So it ended up being a good Thanksgiving.

I think I'm supposed to write something now. What, exactly, I'm not sure.

---

I had a very good evening.

---

I'm sober, but I'm not really sure how I managed it. I had a Newcastle (11787) at lunch, then a Schlenkerla Marzen (6592) before dinner, then three bottles of Barley Island Barfly (286) and a bottle of Barley Island Dirty Helen (484). I should be shitfaced, but I'm perfectly fine. Weird.

---

As I was driving home tonight, I saw a very bright shooting star, and I gave my wish to LaptopGirl. I hope she uses it wisely.

---

Today I had lunch with HatGirl.

HatGirl!

Yay!

She's such a good person. One of the best.

---

Sometimes I wish things weren't so lopsided. Because then I'd not only know exactly what to do, I'd actually be able to do it without it being weird.

---

There's been this hole in my soul for a long time. During times like tonight, when that hole is filled, I feel like a real person for a while. And then there was another hole. One I didn't even know about, and a little kid snuck right in and filled that hole like it was never even there.

---

Sometimes I can imagine myself being happy. It's nice, when I can do that.

---

I think I'm tired. I won't know for sure, though, until I go to bed. I guess I'll try that now. Long day tomorrow.

They were all wrong. All day and all night, the world seemed out of tune or something.

I've been accused, several times, of overthinking things. I can't really dispute that, but at least I do think. Willy-nilly may be fine and dandy for some people and some circumstances, but not for me, and not when people much more important than me are involved.

Do what you're here to do, then get the fuck out.

That's what the vibes told me, and so that's exactly what I did.

Happy birthday to LaptopGirl!

Yay!

I'm so glad you were born, you sweet, sweet girl. The world is a much better place because you're in it. And I'm a much better person because of you. I think I'm a person, period, because of you.

Happy Birthday to my sister Dina!

Yay!

I always like this period after her birthday but before mine, because our age difference is lessened, and so I don't feel like I'm so old.

I just had to go and be in a good mood. And, not only that, I just had to go and announce my mood to everyone.

Four hours later the universe started punching me in the gut again, and it hasn't stopped, and there's no end in sight. Not that there ever was an end in sight, but I'd allowed myself to forget that for a while.

That was stupid of me to forget. But, apparently, not impossible. Because I keep fucking doing it.

Also, I got to have lunch with HatGirl today.

HatGirl!

Yay!

This was our third attempt since Friday to do this. Friday she was sick, and Monday I was swamped at work, but today everything worked out just fine. We ate at While Castle. She made me forget my troubles for a while. I think I might have actually smiled, once or twice.

HatGirl thinks I'm awesome. That's nice of her to think that. I wish I believed it.

Work yesterday was fun. I'm on-call this week, and all hell broke loose Sunday and spilled over into Monday. I like dealing with technical problems like that. Much more fun than shuffling paperwork all the time.

Then I had a good evening. Of course I had a good evening. That which had been missing from my life, it was back. So that was cool.

Then all hell broke loose at work again, and I had to deal with that. It wasn't as much fun as it had been earlier.

Anyway, to review:

Pizza Hut Meaty Marinara = tastes like Chef Boyardee.
Schlenkerla Marzen (6396) = yummy.
Barley Island Barfly (170) = good.
Harpoon Winter Warmer (254) = yummy.

I absolutely did not forget.

Happy anniversary, sweet girl.

Tuesday night seems like such a long time ago, but I'm going to try to write something, and Tuesday night would be a good place to start, I suppose.

The entire day pretty much sucked, what with my cat dying and all. I also didn't get to see her at all, and even email contact ended abruptly at 5:30.

So, I went to Rich O's. On a Tuesday night. Weird, I know.

At first I sat in the throne, but people kept trying to talk to me, so I moved to the island once it had been vacated. I had a Schlenkerla Marzen (6193) and a little pizza. I did my best to hold myself together, and I suppose I did okay for a while.

Then people came and joined me at the island and started talking to me. Being too unmotivated to pick up my shit and move again, I stayed put where I was.

Oh, and by people I mean ElPresidente and FirstLady, though some other people stopped by from time to time. I spent most of the next four hours talking to ElPresidente - a conversation which can be summed-up as follows:

ElPresidente: You're still whining about that?

Me: Yes. Yes I am.

ElPresidente: Idiot.

And so it went. But it was still lots better than going home and having to watch my remaining cats search in vain for their missing friend. And I even had another Marzen (6210) to help take the edge off things.

Wednesday was, by my estimation, a million-bazillion times better. I was still sad about Happy, of course, but I found myself a very nice distraction. I didn't get to eat lunch, but I got to see her and play Santa Claus to her son, so it was a very fair trade.

After work I went back to Rich O's. I had myself a Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar (243), then I bought a growler of it to take with me. For the second time in only a few hours, I got to be distracted from this bullshit I use for a life. We had this alfredo stuff from Pizza Hut that I thought was very good. We each had a couple glasses of the Rogue (273).

Then on the way home I stopped at Rich O's again. I had a Marzen (6227) and had a nice little email conversation. I also had a nice actual conversation with OddlyFamiliarGirl, who surprised me by still being alive.

OddlyFamiliarGirl said some very nice things to me, and made me feel like an actual decent person. So that was nice of her.

Anyway, then I came home and successfully avoided calling out Happy's name when I walked in the door.

Yesterday I was going to write a long entry about my dead cat. I didn't write that entry, though someday I might. Also yesterday I wanted to write something about my dad. Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of his death. I didn't write that entry either.

Truth is, there's still only one thing on my mind these days. I am consumed by it, but I can't write about it.

Sucks to be me.

The call was a strange one. Not that the situation could ever be considered normal. Not by me, anyway. The vet probably makes calls like that a lot.

She got the results from Happy's blood tests. Not good. His kidneys were almost completely failed. He'd lost almost eight pounds since he was last weighed in September. And most of that weight loss was muscle mass. He was not diabetic, and his condition wasn't contagious to my other cats.

There wasn't any hope for long-term survival - that's pretty much what she told me.

Then she told me that he'd gone into cardiac arrest and died this morning when they were treating him.

Seems to me that she could have told me that in the first place.

I'm really not trying to be funny. It's just that this is going to hit me pretty hard before too long, and I wanted to write something before I lost my mind.

It would have been eleven years, on New Year's Eve. That's not nearly long enough.

We did end up hanging out for a while Sunday afternoon and evening. I can't write about that, though, except that I had a Barfly (140).

I've been saying that I've got this mood that I can't seem to shake. Well, that was wrong. It's not a mood that I get into, it's reverting to normal. That's why I haven't been able to shake it. Because it's not a mood at all, it's the way I am now. Instead of being a happy person with occasional bad moods, now I'm quite the opposite.

Anyway, after I'd reverted to normal last night, I stopped at Bearno's for a Newcastle. The keg blew, but the dude did manage to get most of a glass poured (11638).

Then I came home.

My cat Happy is very sick. He's going to the vet this morning, and I fear that I won't be bringing him home. I guess I'll know more by 11:00 or so.

I had a couple bottles of Newcastle (11662) last night while I tried to comfort Happy.

Well I ended up not taking a trip yesterday. The same lack of motivation I'd had about writing kept me from making up my mind about going anywhere until it was too late. So I just dicked around the house for the most part.

Then last night I got to do some stuff I can't write about, I guess except that I had a Marzen (6152) and three bottles of Barfly (128). And I think I did a pretty good job of keeping my thoughts where they belonged.

Today we might do something. Or we might not. It's kinda hard stupid to plan anything more than about five minutes ahead of time. As proof of that statement, I offer yesterday, and next weekend, and probably Thanksgiving. But it's okay. Spontaneity has its charms sometimes, and being penciled in is better than nothing.

A pen would be nice, though, every now and then. It would be nice to be worthy of a pen. The dipshit gets a fucking pen.

I'm supposed to write in this thing. That's pretty much what it's here for. Some days it's really hard to get motivated, though. That's what today is. I just don't feel like writing. Because of that, this is going to suck.

My life is a fucking lie. A play in which I'm forced to perform, and they forgot to give me my lines.

Lunch at this weird Lynn's Paradise Cafe place was nice. A little strained, I thought, but that's to be expected, what with everything going on and what with me being in this damn mood that I can't shake.

After work I tried to take a nap. It didn't take. I think I'm overly tired. Two or three hours of sleep per night for a week will do that to a person.

So then I went to Rich O's. I'd thought it might be a short visit, because sometimes I forget that hope is stupid and that I should stop having it. I ended up sitting at the kiddie table for four hours talking to OtherDave for a while, and ActualGeorge for a while longer. I tried to talk HatGirl into coming, but she was busy or sick of me or something.

I had a couple glasses of Schlenkerla Marzen (6135), which were quite good. I had a drawn-out email conversation, and that did help to make me feel a little better.

I stopped at White Castle on the way home. My jalapeno cheeseburgers were very yummy.

Oh yeah, remember how I found out yesterday that MixedSignalGirl wasn't dead? Well, last night I found out that NotHideousGirl wasn't dead, either, because she came in to Rich O's. So that was nice. And I got a couple of text messages from SassyGirl, and she wasn't dead either. I miss SassyGirl. I think I miss just about everyone. My own damn fault. I've almost totally isolated myself.

I want to take a trip today. I need to get away. But I probably won't.

Just a quick note to say that MixedSignalGirl isn't dead, and that I'm glad.

I called her this morning, sorta breaking our rule about things like that, but they had this big blizzard up where she lives, and I needed to know.

"Hi, Miss! Are you dead from the blizzard?" I asked.

"Nope, just driving to work in regular snow, not blizzard snow," she answered.

"Well, I'm glad you're not dead," I offered.

"Me, too," she replied. "I'll be sure and let you know if I die, though."

"Fair enough," I said, and then we chatted for a couple of minutes before we ended the call.

Anyway, whew!

The rest of Wednesday consisted of spending all afternoon in one of the saddest moods I've had in months, then spending the evening pretending that everything was fine. Until, eventually, thanks to a little kid mostly, everything was fine. What a delightful child. His mommy is kinda neat, too, for a jailer.

But eventually, the cage walls started closing in on me again, and I made a graceful escape. One made a bit less graceful because of my Blackberry. Upon leaving, I sent an email saying that I'd had an overwhelming urge to give her a foot massage. But my Blackberry, in a fit of stupididy, had interpreted my typing of the letters f-o-o-t as d-o-o-r instead.

Now, I don't really know what a door massage is. Sounds pretty kinky. But I bet I'd give a good one, and make her forget all about the dipshit.

On the way home, I stopped at Rich O's and had myself another Marzen (6101) and ordered a pizza to-go.

Got to have lunch with HatGirl today. Our lunches are always so chaotic, at least the last two have been.

HatGirl!

Yay!

Anyway, we ended up at White Castle. It was a little weird, eating there in the the middle of the day and completely sober, but the company was nice, of course. HatGirl is a genuinely good person, and to prove it, she spent an hour alternating between listening to me gripe and trying to think up reasonable excuses to explain the way I'm being treated.

After that lunch, I took another lunch and went and talked to WeirdGirl for a bit. We'd had this crazy idea in our heads, but after we talked about it for a while, we decided that it was just too crazy, and not worth the trouble it could cause. I'm relieved, I think.

I've had this stupid little nagging thought in my head for the past couple of days. I've had it before over the years, but I've always been able to ignore it until it went away.

This time, the damn stupid little nagging thought is being stubborn, and I'm not sure that it's going to go away. Because it might be right.

---

Today it's supposed to be really nice outside. Like 76 degrees. I'd walk to The Pub for lunch, but there's no point, because there are no beer sales until the polls close.

---

Sometimes I have to ask myself how things should proceed, if they proceed. I mean, if they're allowed to proceed to their logical conclusion, how should it happen? Slowly and deliberately, or as quickly as possible, to get the inevitable out of the way?

Sometimes it's really surreal that these aren't completely hypothetical questions.

---

Damn, I was supposed to pick up a case of Moerlein OTR when I was in Covington, but I forgot. Oh well, it's close. Maybe we can go up there together some weekend.

---

I forgot to set my clock back, so I got up an hour early this morning.

...I'm back home, and I still don't give a flying fuck.

Lot of that going around these days. Maybe it's contagious.

You know what?

I have absolutely nothing left to say.

I've said it all. Over and over and over, I've dissected myself.

My words were wasted.

The problem was the dust. It got into everything, onto everything. The color of brown sugar, the consistency of baby powder, it settled and stuck to everything it touched, Which, like I said, was everything.

So many of my stories begin and end the same way. I sit at the bar, I drink, I pay, and I leave. But sometimes there's more to it than that. Hiding in the crevices, there might be much more than that. The first problem is noticing. The second problem is giving a shit.

But seriously, where did all that fucking dust come from? I think I'd have noticed getting so lost in Wyoming that I ended up on Mars.

My beer tasted like dust. My cigarettes tasted like dust. Luckily, I wasn't hungry, or I'd have ended up with a burger that tasted like dust.

This particular day, I wasn't in much of a hurry. I had a week to make it to New Orleans, and I figured it would only take a couple more days at most. So I decided to stop at noon, in this little dustbowl of a town in Wyoming. There was no particular reason that I picked that particular town. No charming name or majestic scenery caused me to veer off the highway where I did. Or, I think that maybe I just had to pee. I wish I had a better reason, but sometimes you've got to take what you've got and try to be happy.

I liked that little town, though. And that little bar. It was pretty much the opposite of every place I'd ever lived, and that had a definite appeal to me. I could even see myself living there for a while, if the opportunity presented itself, and if it wasn't for that damn dust.

"After I lived here about five years, I stopped noticing it," the bartender told me.

He had a little black nametag pinned to his brown flannel shirt. That nametag might have been the most expensive decoration in the entire place.

"Dusty," it said.

So she asked me if I was mad. I'm not mad, I'm retarded. Big Difference.

And then, I went to lunch at The Pub - Newcastle (11498) - and surprise! It was a bonus AlliDay!

And then, desperately craving interaction with a girl who doesn't make me crazy(er), I arranged to have lunch with HatGirl this Friday. That should be very nice, as it's been a long time since it's just been just me and HatGirl. What with the whole her-getting-married and stuff.

Also, I can't follow my own fucking advice, so why should it bother me that nobody else follows it? I'll tell you why. Because I don't have a choice in the matter.

I've got all this damn pumpkin beer in my fridge, and now I don't know what's going to happen with it. Worst case would be that I'll drink it, I suppose. By myself. Like a chump.

Also, I think I'd be pretty pissed if I were a pigeon. I mean, being able to fly would be cool. But the rat with wings nickname would get old very quickly, and I'd really be pissed off about not being able to take a step without my head jerking back and forth like I was having a seizure or something.

Also, I really and truly don't think there's any cruelty behind any of this. I don't think my strings are being yanked just to watch me dance. Unfortunately for me, the results are exactly the same no matter what the intentions might be. I end up looking like a jackass, and everyone gets a good laugh out of it. Everybody except me, that is.

I need a nap.

And a vacation. Mustn't forget that.

I'm not really sure what I was expecting at the reception, I just know that it wasn't what I found.

I think maybe I thought there'd be more of HatGirl's and LuckyFucker's friends there. But it seemed, to me at least, to be about 99% family members. Not that there was anything wrong with that, or that it was a bad thing. It just wasn't what I was expecting. I guess I'd figured that NotHideousGirl would at least show up, and so I'd have somebody to talk to.

Anyway, I arrived pretty much right on time. The guests were gathered out on the lawn of the place. I'd seen HatGirl and LuckyFucker waiting around the side of the building, but when I tried to go say hello I was shooed away. Apparently there was an agenda for the thing, and that agenda did not include guys from the bar talking to the happy couple before the scheduled time. Not even guys as awesome as me.

So, I waited on the lawn with everyone else, like a chump. Eventually, the bridal party had a little parade, and they ended up on the steps where they had this candle ceremony. Then they had another parade, except all of us guests followed them this time.

The bridal party stood at the back door and greeted all of us guests. So I finally got to say hi to HatGirl.

HatGirl!

Yay!

Oh yeah, LuckyFucker was there, too.

And I think that was just about the last time I saw either of them, except as blurs, until it was time to leave.

I never did get to have that dance with HatGirl. It was weird. It seemed to me like the DJ took off running down the sidewalk about a minute into the first song. I have no idea what that was all about.

Oh, I almost forgot! I caught the garter!

Apparently, that means that I'll be the next guy to get married. And this one four-year-old girl caught the bouquet, so she'll be the next girl to get married.

Should be an interesting race.

I didn't really get much accomplished yesterday. I went to Home Depot to get some lumber for my swing but, while I was there, I kinda lost all motivation for everything. So I just came back home and shot pool for a while.

Then at 3:00 I went to Bearno's for something to eat and a couple glasses of Newcastle (11456). For a while, I was the only customer in the entire place. That was perfectly fine with me.

Traded a few emails with her, and that put me back into a good mood until the subject changed. Then my mood deteriorated very quickly. I said some things that were unwelcome, I'm sure. But, like I keep telling myself, if I'm going to ruin this, as least it will be with the truth. Sometimes I wonder if the two of us are strong enough to hold something this lopsided together. Or if she thinks that it's worth the effort.

Later I went and picked up this Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale (24), which was new for me.

Blue Moon Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale

(bottle) Clear light amber. Large whitish head. Not much of an aroma or flavor with this one. Everything was very subtle - too subtle. I don't think I'll bother with this again. Decent is all I can say.

Anyway, other than having a couple bottles of that beer, and watching some movies, I had a nice phone call that I don't think I want to write about here. I went to bed fairly early and slept for 10 hours.

Today is HatGirl's wedding reception. As was expected, I will be going alone. But it should still be fun to see HatGirl in her wedding dress. I hope she remembers that she was supposed to learn how to dance, so she can give me a quick lesson before I dance with her for real.

I suppose that a brief beer report is in order. I did, after all, go to Rich O's last night. I bet I could count on one hand the number of times I've been in there, on a weekend night, in the last three months.

Anyway, I wasn't planning to go, but my sister called to say that she and her husband were there. So I went.

It was extremely crowded and LOUD. I ended up standing by the bar, talking yelling with Dina and Kenny. I had two and a half glasses of Marzen (5902). By the time Dina and Kenny left, my mood was shot to shit. I tried to hang out for a little bit longer, but there was no sense in it. I came home around 10:00.

---

Last week I was going to buy some wood to start repairs on my swing. But while I was cutting some rope, I ended up slicing my finger instead. Today, my plan is to go and finally buy that wood. I'll probably manage to amputate my leg somehow.

The last time we went to this hippie place for lunch, it was a huge surprise. The having lunch together part, not so much the hippie place part. This time, it was still a surprise, just maybe not as big, because this time, I'd invited her to lunch.

Another surprise was getting the shit beaten out of me by a two-year-old.

The food was decent. The company was extraordinary. Even the two-year-old.

Can't write about this until later, but I'm mildly freaked out.

---

Okay, so today after I ate lunch I was on the upper level at Fourth Street Live, where NotHideousGirl and I used to sit and smoke after lunch. I wasn't sitting today, but I was smoking. I was also watching people, like I usually do.

You know how you can recognize your own car, even if you see just a tiny portion of it? Like when you leave a store, and the parking lot is packed, and you don't quite remember where you parked? But you can look across the parking lot and see maybe a flash of fender or something, and you immediately know it's your car?

Yeah, well today I was watching people walking up and down Fourth Street, and I saw out of the corner of my eye a glimpse of blonde hair. I saw that hair, and I immediately knew who it was.

MixedSignalGirl.

She was walking into T.G.I. Friday's just like she did it every day. Just like she hadn't moved a million miles away. Just like she had every right to be there.

She was with some dude. I assumed this was her new husband. I didn't actually see any dicks in his mouth, because I was pretty far away, but I'm sure they were in there somewhere.

I absolutely froze. I had no idea what to do. I was pulled equally between running away from her and running toward her. So, like I said, I froze. My legs simply would not move. But I somehow managed to get my arms and hands to work, so I emailed RockGirl that I might be dying, and then I called MixedSignalGirl.

I really had no idea what I was going to say. I guess I figured I'd just wing it. I got her voicemail, stammered out that I'd been thinking about her, and hung up.

And so began the wait.

---

Just got off the phone with her. Everything is fine - I'd been concerned that her mom might be sick. It's just a regular visit.

I hadn't wanted to write anything here until I'd talked to her. I didn't want her to read here that I'd seen her and hadn't immediately run down to say hello. Of course I told her about that on the phone, though.

It's all good.

I doubt that we'll see each other or even talk again while she's here. Not unless her husband wants to spend an evening at a gay bar or something, thus giving her some time to kill.

Happy birthday to my youngest sister, Neisha!

See, I am capable of remembering some things.

What a crappy day Monday was. I'm glad it's over, but I can't really say I have any expectations that Tuesday will be any better.

Fuck, I hate being so dependent on, and reactionary to, outside stimuli.

Also, I managed to tear the cut on my finger open tonight. So that's another pint of blood I'll never get back.

I was going to write an entry about my fun Saturday, but instead I decided to slice my finger to the bone. And now I can't type very well at all. So, for now at least, you people will be spared.

It was a really good day, though.

Maybe a picture can be worth a thousand words.

I guess today kind of sucked. I don't think it was really a bad day, but compared to Thursday, it sucked. As would most days, compared to Thursday.

This chick who looks disconcertingly like MixedSignalGirl was working at The Pub, after having been fired for the last month or so. Plus, she insisted on talking to me the entire time I was there trying to enjoy my Newcastle (11280). So I was in a pretty shitty mood from about 12:00 on, then after work I had a couple of weird dreams. One was a sad dream, and another was very frustrating and confusing. So I woke up from my nap in a even worse mood than before.

For a while, there seemed to be a .0000000001% chance that my day might end really well, but instead I sat here at home, had a Rogue Chocolate Stout (2669) and a Barley Island Dirty Helen (436), glared at my phone, and wished for about the asstillionth time that things were different.

Also, it turns out that I don't need to feed HatGirl's critters on Sunday, as had been planned. That's the good news, I think. The bad news, I think, is that I need to go to the airport at 11:50 Saturday night to pick her and LuckyFucker up.

It will be really nice to see HatGirl again, but my grand plans for drinking beer and glaring my phone tomorrow night are shot to shit.

I'm not sure I should say anything about lunch. I guess I'll say that I had some yummy Thai chili linguini, and I sneaked a couple won-tons. Oh, and I had a Newcastle (11240).

Later in the afternoon I had a stupid meeting that ended up being not stupid, because I was the only person who showed up. So, that was nice.

I'd driven in to work on fumes, and so I had to stop and get gas on the way from work to HatGirl's house. I got $20 worth of gas, got back into my truck, and turned the key. Imagine my surprise when, as a result of my turning the key, absolutely nothing happened.

I was in a pretty bad part of Louisville, I think. So I was quite relieved and a little surprised when this one lady gave me a jump-start instead of murdering me for drug money.

At HatGirl's, I left my truck running while I fed the critters. Still haven't seen that damn kitty.

Then on the way to Rich O's I stopped and paid $150 for a new battery. For that price I assumed that my truck would be capable of flight, but nope, it's still ground-bound. Oh well.

At Rich O's, I had a couple glasses of yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (2647). I was going to have just the one and then go home with my pizza, but NotHideousGirl and OddlyFamiliarGirl came in. And this time they didn't totally ignore me, so yay!

Once I got home, I took a nap. Then when I got up I nuked a couple hot dogs. Because I'm stupid and completely forgot about the pizza in my fridge.

And now I'm having a Three Floyds Gumballhead (263). I tried to sit out in my garage with my beer, but it's too freaking cold.

Today was the fifth day in a row that I've gone to HatGirl's house to take care of her critters, but I still haven't seen the kitty even once. I do, however, know that the kitty is still alive because I set treats out each day and the next day they're gone.

---

I get so sick and tired of people trivializing my problems and expecting me to act normal all the time. I do good to get out of bed in the mornings. Anything more than that is a bonus.

---

Tonight I had a nice long talk with my dad's ghost. It took some doing, and a couple bottles of Three Floyd's Gumballhead (215), to conjure him up, but I eventually succeeded.

It was a really nice conversation.

---

Every now and then I'll be driving - it's usually in Louisville - and I'll see some random young man walking down the sidewalk, using one hand to keep his super-loose pants from falling down.

I always wonder what kind of a terrible life that must be, the constant pressure that must involve.

Stretching an analogy almost to its breaking-point, I kinda do the same thing as those random young men.

Except that it's not modesty that I'm trying to preserve. Nope, it's my sanity.

I walk through life desperately clutching to pieces of myself that threaten to fall to the ground.

And shatter.

The shattering part is where the pants analogy breaks down. Because pants don't shatter, unless they haven't been washed in a zillion years, and that's an entirely different problem.

---

You know what's really nice to hear from the love of your life?

"Well, I wouldn't say you were the worst person ever."

That's what's nice to hear. Hope springs eternal, and all that.

---

Also, people who don't like the way I am should stop trying to guilt me into being something else. It won't work.

Empathy does not require understanding or agreement. Those are common misconceptions, but those things really are irrelevant to empathy.

Empathy can stand on its own and do just fine.

---

For those keeping score at home, I still haven't renewed any of my vehicle registrations. They were already closed on Saturday when I got there. They were closed today, and they'll be closed tomorrow. So I get to drive around illegally until Tuesday.

Fun!

---

That's it for now. I need to go out to my garage and glare at my phone for a while.

I think all I want to say about tonight is that I was held captive by two hot young women, and that I had fun.

---

Oh shit! I totally forgot to renew any of my vehicle registrations. All three expired the 15th of September. I'll have to see about at least renewing the registration on my truck tomorrow, if I have time.

---

I think what's happened is that I've crossed some kind of sleep-deprivation wall. Kind of like marathon runners will reach a certain point and then running is supposed to become effortless. Well I should be very tired right now, but I'm not at all.

---

My brain is really rambling. You readers are lucky that so little of the rambling is making it to my fingers.

---

I want to go to Antarctica, and I don't want to take myself with me. I don't know how to do that. Or, maybe, I want to go to Antarctica with myself, but then return without myself. I don't know how to do that either. Either way, though, I want to go to Antarctica.

---

Another thing about tonight is that I had a Shiner Bock (17) and a Barley Island Barfly (56). Or maybe that's two other things about tonight.

---

Sometimes a helping hand is exactly that, and nothing more. Sneering at it will only lessen the probability of it ever being offered again.

---

If I had any sense at all, I'd do something. What, exactly, I don't know. Because I don't have any sense at all.

---

I suppose I should go stare at my bedroom ceiling for a few hours. Goodnight, world.

What a stupid night.

I'm sitting here at 1:45 AM, watching backup jobs run. Or watching them try to run. Stupid things keep failing.

And I'm not even supposed to be on-call tonight, so it's extra stupid.

Meanwhile, I guess I'm having a bit of a crisis. So it's kind of hard to think about work.

I got a very nice surprise today.

An unscheduled AlliDay!

I don't think I'd seen AlliGirl in over a month, and even then she'd been too busy to really talk. But today, I walked into the pub, expecting to see the same boring Wednesday people that I've been seeing for months, and instead I saw some legs. And a shock of blonde hair peeking from under a baseball cap. And, once I got close enough for her to recognize me, a mischievous grin.

AlliGirl!

And, it wasn't too busy in there today, so after the mandatory hug we got to talk for quite a bit and do some catching up.

It was really nice to see her!

Oh, yeah, I had a Newcastle (11106) for lunch.

Then, back to work.

Then, I went over to HatGirl's house to feed her cat and dogs and LuckyFucker's fish. Because they're gone. Getting married. Fucking surreal.

Anyway, HatGirl had assured me that her one asshole dog wasn't an asshole anymore. I'm not saying that she lied to me, but she was definitely mistaken. That damn dog refused to let me pay any attention whatsoever to the other dogs. It's exactly the same as it was a year ago.

And I didn't get to see the kitty at all. It was hiding from me because it doesn't know that I'm a cat person.

Then I went to Rich O's and had an Upland Wheat (231), then I came home.

Now I want to go outside and drink a Marzen but it's too damn cold. I kinda want to take a little space heater out there with me, but I'm afraid that might seem pathetic.

Maybe I'll just drink a damn beer in my living room like a regular person.

Got a quick text* from HatGirl this morning. They were getting ready to board. Their cruise. Their wedding cruise.

Surreal. The next time I see HatGirl and LuckyFucker, they will be married.

I bet that right now, Vegas oddsmakers are looking for tall buildings from which to fling themselves.

Anyway, for the next couple of weeks I am tasked with taking care of all of their critters. I'm looking forward to it, actually. I did the same thing last year, when they went on a regular non-wedding cruise. I like their dogs and their cat, and I guess the fish are cool.

This year I'm hopeful that the cat will actually let me pet it. And that none of the dogs bite me.

* - As opposed to those laboriously slow texts that take forever, I suppose.

Okay, so now that it's been established that my value is less than $35.00, I wonder what I am worth.

---

Not a single one of HatGirl's so-called friends showed up for her bachelorette party. I am so sad for her, and so angry at her so-called friends, that it's actually taking my mind off of my own problems. Imagine that.

---

I really did have fun at the thingy yesterday. I don't believe that she thought I had fun, but I did.

---

I guess I should have just stayed in Louisville last night. I bet AlliGirl and CoolHairGirl were working. But I had no way of knowing that Rich O's was going to be such a flop. Shit, I actually thought it might be good. Maybe that'll teach me to be an optimist. I really should know better by now.

I was trying to think if anything happened today, besides the funfest that was work.

But then I remembered that I got to talk to HatGirl on the phone after work.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I feel bad because not many people are going to her bachelorette party. If I was a girl, I'd go. Because, duh, it's HatGirl!

I asked her if she'd reminded everyone, when she sent the invitations, that she's HatGirl, and she said that it was implied.

I'm thinking that it must not have been implied very well or more girls would be going to HatGirl's party.

I was going to go to Rich O's for some spaghetti after work. My spaghetti plans were detoured yesterday, and I was still craving it.

But noooooooo!

There was a stupid traffic jam on the highway leading toward Rich O's, so I just came straight home.

And there was a stupid traffic jam on the highway leading home, too. So that sucked.

Anyway, now I'm starving to death.

I wonder what cat food tastes like. That's all there is in this house.

I thought, just for kicks and to see what happened, that I'd try to catch this damn thing up on what's happened in the last week or so.

Tuesday, September 16

A bunch of stuff I can't write about, and then I got my power back at 8:30, then more stuff I can't write about.

Wednesday, September 17

Stuff I can't write about, then I got to have lunch with HatGirl. Yay!

Then I got really really depressed. And then, while I was at Rich O's, some more stuff happened that I can't write about, but it put me in a better mood.

Then I got stuck doing some stuff for work, or maybe some other stuff might have happened. I couldn't have written about it though.

Thursday, September 18

I don't think anything happened all day, except that after work I got to do some stuff I can't write about, and it was a lot of fun.

Friday, September 19

I'd allowed myself to have hope. That was stupid. Friday was a very very sad day for me. Move along, please.

Saturday, September 20

I got to have lunch with HatGirl. Yay! But I already wrote about that, kinda. There was a picture.

Then Saturday night I sat around Rich O's and glared at my phone for hours, then I got to do something I can't write about, but it was really nice. Then when I got back home I did something stupid.

Sunday, September 21

A sad day. I even went on a rant, but I can't write about it.

Monday, September 22

Rich O's was out of every beer I've ever liked, but then I got to do something I can't write about. Found out some bad news that I can't write about.

Then, in an ironic twist, MisunderstoodGirl showed that she doesn't understand me at all.

Tuesday, September 23

A bunch of irrelevant stuff that I can't write about, then some bullshit that I can neither figure out nor write about.

This is the activity taking place outside my building this morning.

I have no idea what these people are doing. I just hope they get all that shit off the road before the afternoon rush hour.

I haven't done one of these for a couple of years, but it's time. It's definitely time.

I'm taking some time off. You won't be missing anything.

Or maybe not.

Sometimes it really irritates me, being unable to write the things that I most want to write.

But I should get over it.

Also, I don't like stupid games.

Had lunch with HatGirl today.

Usually, I have something extra to add, whenever I mention HatGirl. But this time, I'll let her awesome t-shirt say it for me.

Got to have lunch with HatGirl Wednesday. So that was an awesome surprise. And we're having lunch again Saturday, so yay!

---

Then I had a long-overdue talk with TremensGirl after work. The overdue part could basically be summed-up as I'm a dick.

The other part of the conversation consisted of me asking, "What's wrong with me?" and TremensGirl essentially replying, "Everything."

So, that sucked, though I can't say I was really surprised. At least she didn't suggest that I misrepresent myself. Nope, she said that I needed to actually change who I am and what I feel. Like I wouldn't have done that a million years ago if I knew how.

But it was a nice conversation, and I really appreciate her candor.

---

I think I've slept about two hours per night starting Monday night. Surprisingly, this isn't even close to my personal worst, but I'm still pretty damn tired.

---

I have no middle anymore. It's a really disconcerting feeling, jumping from one extreme to another with nothing in between.

---

Oh yeah, I got to see OddlyFamiliarGirl Wednesday night! It had been a million bazillion years.

---

This is stupid. I have nothing to say.

Got an email from HatGirl this morning.

HatGirl!

Yay!

Got lots of emails from her, actually, but one in particular was hilarious.

She told me that she'd reserved a seat for me, at her wedding reception, at a table for her special friends. This table is in the front of the room, probably so she can keep an eye on us in case we get out of line. But there's also an element of honor involved.

But that part was sweet. It wasn't the hilarious part.

The hilarious part was where there was another seat, presumably next to mine, reserved for "Dave's guest."

Bwahahahaha!

The reason, of course, that this is hilarious, is that the only person who would accompany me is already busy that night.

I know she's busy that night, because she's the bride.

So I invited someone else. The girl I really want to go with anyway. Her acceptance is extremely unlikely, but stranger things have happened.

Maybe, just in case, I should go get one of those blow-up dolls. Probably better than sitting at the reception alone like a chump.

I think that, today, I'm going to shut my cat Buddy in the basement when I get home. That way, he won't be able to fight with Nugget, and that way, I'll be able to take an actual nap.

I can't remember ever being this tired, except maybe the first time we all went to Philadelphia for work, a few years ago.

And, speaking of Philadelphia, we're all supposed to go back there in January. Oh boy! Philadelphia in January!

I'm pushing to just have us do the work from here. There's no reason that any of have to actually be in Philadelphia. But I push for this every year, and it never does any good. We always have to go.

Anyway, today I had a nice lunch with her at Hard Rock. With my potato skins, I had a Blue Moon (883) that was pretty damn tasty. My company was lovely as always.

I seem to have lost the ability to tell when someone is kidding. Or maybe I never really had that ability. This was the second day in a row that she totally fooled me with her kidding. My working theory about this is that, because I always expect the absolute worst, that's why I take this kidding seriously.

What might be an interesting experiment would be to be kidded about something good. But then I'd have to face the disappointment when the farce was revealed. And I'm pretty sure that my disappointment quota for this century is already used up.

I guess there's no way to win unless I turn into an optimist so I can recognize kidding. Not much chance of that happening.

I'm rambling because I'm tired.

I had a good day.

I should be careful, a guy could really get used to days like this.

A guy could find himself in serious trouble.

Okay, guess where I am, as I write this. Not my actual physical location, but guess what kind of place I'm in.

Guess!

You guessed that I was in a bar, didn't you?

Wrong!

I'm in a coffee house!

Weird, huh?

And I guess it's a Christian coffee house, or that's what I'm told anyway. Not that that matters to me one way or the other. It's the being in a coffee house that make this weird for me. I'm pretty sure that this is the first time I've ever graced such as establishment with my presence. Despite having lived in Seattle for six years.

Anyway, I'm here because I was invited, sort of. Or maybe I invited myself. Hard to tell sometimes.

I feel like some kind of hippie or something. I wonder if I should start hating myself. I also have a strong urge to smoke a clove cigarette, but they don't allow any smoking in here. I think that's part of the Christian coffee house thing they've got going.

Also, I hate coffee!

But, of course, I'm not here for the coffee, or even for the nonsmoking or the Christian music playing softly. I'm here for the company, and she's lovely.

So, I'm writing this on the back of an old carshow flyer from 2002, using a pen from that same era. I'm doing these things because my aforementioned lovely companion says I can't use her pen, nor can I have a sheet of paper. So I found an old pen and some old flyers in my glove compartment.*

Lovely, but stingy, apparently.

I'm drinking this fancy hippie soda named Bawl's Guarana. I don't know why - I just picked it. Maybe because of the pretty blue bottle. It says "High Caffeine Guarana Beverage" on the label. So that might be good, to have some extra caffeine. I was up late last night, and up early this morning.

Since we've been sitting here, two different women have walked in looking like they're having the worst day of their lives. I feel like I should go offer them a hug or something, but (a) I'm not one to go around hugging strangers, and (b) they look like they're bitches.

---

And now I feel a little useless. I don't want to bother my lovely companion with my inane chatter. She's trying to work, after all. I just leafed through an entire chick magazine, but that didn't really make me feel any more useful. Not a lot of call for magazine-leafer-throughers these days, I don't think.

I'm not bored though. I mean, I am here after all. So it could be much much worse. Like I could be somewhere else and not have such a pretty girl for company.

This fancy caffeine soda isn't all that good. Tastes kinda like flat Sprite.

Wow, I've managed to fill up this entire sheet of paper with my scribblings. I thought for a second about just scanning it and then posting the image, but I don't think I want anyone to know just how bad my penmanship is.

---

And now, I've got a decision to make. Do I start writing on the back of this second sheet of paper, or do I stop?

I'm pretty sure that no lives will be saved or lost as a result of my decision, but it could definitely affect how bad these craps cramps in my hand get.

Heh, when I first wrote the word cramps I accidentally wrote craps instead.

Like I had craps in my hand.

Gross.

* - She was kidding, and I was totally fooled by her kidding. Of course she would have let me use her pen, and a sheet of paper.

It turns out that HairCutLady is still very much alive and in business. She just had her phone disconnected because they doubled her monthly rate.

So, yay!

As of tonight, it's been four weeks since my friend WomanRepellant died.

Since I'm in a crappy mood anyway, I figured I'd crack open a bottle of Avery The Reverend (625) and have another conversation with his ghost.

I hope he's been doing okay. I hope he took my advice, four weeks ago, to go and haunt pretty girls for a while. I know that's what I'd do if I were a ghost.

UPDATE: It was a nice talk. Even though I got distracted by some emails, he understood. And I certainly understood when he looked at his ghostly watch, muttered something about NotHideousGirl taking a shower, and vanished in a puff of fog.

He may have been a dirty old man, but he was my friend, and I miss him.

I think this was the third time I've been in the newspaper. At least the third time. One time I drove my car off a cliff in Seattle. Another time StoreGirl and I were at Rich O's when a local paper came in to do a story about the place.

The third time was today. Click the picture for the entire article, while it lasts.

This was an article about Rich O's and its owner Roger. I was mentioned in the first sentence and I was quoted a couple of times.

---

Also today, I got to talk to SassyGirl for a while! We'd been texting back and forth, and eventually I got sick of that and just called her ass up. She and JauntyGirl are doing well, but they're far away from here, so it's a very mixed blessing.

---

The rest of the day was kinda disappointing, except I got a sweet email while I was taking a nap. Maybe I'll have more to write before I go to bed. Don't hold your breath, though.

So two freakazoids just rang my doorbell.

I don't know what they wanted, because I didn't answer the door. I just glared at them through slitted blinds as they shambled away, on foot.

Boo Radley's got nothing on me.

Still trying to absorb last night, and still trying to figure out what I can write and what I should write.

I think it's perfectly safe to say that it was the best night I've had in a long time.

It usually hits me at night, like most things. I'll be downstairs shooting pool and it'll hit me, and I'll nearly drop my cue. I'll be out on my swing and it'll hit me, and my swing will coast to a stop. Or I'll be reading a book and it'll hit me, and I'll read the same paragraph a dozen times.

I am so incredibly blessed. That realization hits me, and I can think of nothing else.

It might seem like an odd thing, to have a best friend that you've never even met. I suppose it seemed odd to me, back when I first found her. She has become such an integral part of my life, but if I saw her walking down the street I might not even know her. If I spoke to her on the phone it might take me a few seconds to recognize her voice.

It might seem like an odd thing, but it doesn't. Not to me. To me it's as natural as breathing. And just as involuntary.

Three years ago today, that's when I found her.

---

Just got an email from her.

Told her that I'm trying to write this entry, for our anniversary, but that I'm experiencing writer's block.

I think the problem is that nothing I could ever possibly write would be enough. Not enough to even come close to describing how important she is to me. I don't have the words, and even if I did, I don't think I have the strength to put those words together.

I know that whatever I write will fall short of the mark. Trivialize the emotions. Marginalize the gratitude that I feel when I think about her being in my life.

I needed something, three years ago. I needed it so badly that I was dying from the lack of it. And she gave it to me.

Understanding.

Not pity, or doubt, or advice. She didn't try to rationalize what I was going through, and she didn't try to make it all better, and she didn't judge, and she didn't mock.

She understood.

And I went from feeling completely alone in this world, to having an ally. A kindred spirit I called her. And that knowledge, that wonderful knowledge that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't a freak, that I wasn't any of the things I'd been labeled as...

Wonderful.

I began to heal, three years ago on this day. I stopped waiting to die, and began struggling to live, three years ago on this day.

---

Sometimes I think that we take each other for granted.

I relish those thoughts, because they're absolutely true. We take each other for granted because that's exactly what we are.

We will always be friends. We will always be there for each other.

We are granted to each other.

---

Happy anniversary, my dearest friend Teri.

1. On the way home last night, I stopped at a gas station for some Diet Pepsi. Sitting at a gas pump, about to leave, was BadPickleGirl.

What made this weird was that I never, ever, recognize BadPickleGirl right away. It's always that my hot girl radar goes off, and then I look over at her, and then it takes a few seconds before I realize it's BadPickleGirl.

Anyway, she gave me my two beer glasses back, so yay!

2. I was out on my swing last night emailing this chick from JS. I managed to get into a very bad mood because I wanted to be emailing you-know-who, but that didn't seem to be an option.

What made emailing the JS chick weird was that, after a couple of hours, she confessed that she'd been naked for like two hours while emailing me. I think she was trying to cheer me up, and it might have worked if my imagination worked better than it does.

And now the JS chick has a new nickname, and it's NakedGirl. I hope she likes it.

Those are supposedly monkeys. Giant inflatable albino monkeys. In blackface, for some strange reason.

I'm told they're supposed to be art, and that they're affiliated with the 21C museum/hotel across the street.

I don't know whether giant inflatable albino monkeys in blackface are art or not. What I do know is that (a) They seem kinda rascist to me, and (b) That's a busy interstate highway behind them, and (c) If I were driving down the highway and saw giant inflatable albino monkeys in blackface, I might just cause a 50-car pileup.

Maybe that's where the art would really be.

I had this idea for an entry last night, right about when I went to bed. Usually, when I have these late-night ideas, one of two things will happen. Either I'll get up and type up some quick notes to myself, or I'll fall asleep and then not remember anything in the morning.

Well, last night I did consider getting up and typing some notes. But my computer was all the way down at the other end of the hallway, so I just stayed in bed and went to sleep.

Imagine my surprise when, this morning at the crack of 10:30, I awoke with that same idea still rattling around in my head.

Now all I've got to do is figure out if I should write the thing.

It's kind of a two-parter, I think. The first part I could probably get away with, except for the fact that the first part leads quite obviously to the second part.

It's like a movie or a book that ends in a cliffhanger. You just know there's going to be a sequel, and you hope it doesn't suck.

This particular sequel, while it probably wouldn't suck, would almost definitely be taboo. Unless I can dress it up in metaphors so as to make it unrecognizable to anyone but me.

I need to think about this some more.

The first time was Friday. I've already mentioned how those particular plans fell apart as quickly as they'd been made. Too many things to do, in too short of a time period. I fell short.

The second time was Saturday night. Those plans never really had a chance to form. It became too late before it ever really became feasible.

Tonight was the third time.

So, I missed her. I wanted to see her.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel those things, or write those things.

The feeling them part is involuntary and constant. May as well ask me to stop breathing.

The part about writing about those things is a little different. But I feel like I gave up a huge chunk of my dignity, a couple of months ago, to give myself the right to express those feelings without them being greeted with shock or outrage.

Anyway, like I said, tonight was the third time.

And, as the saying goes, third time's a charm.

It was really nice.

Lunch was fun, I suppose. It would have been a lot more fun if LuckyFucker hadn't been constantly trying to pick a fight with HatGirl.

There, I said it. Not like it was a secret or anything. I'm a little bit disgusted.

None of my business, though. I just get protective towards people I care about.

---

Meanwhile, my cat Happy is pouting. I brought what was left of my Diet Coke home from Polly's, and it's in the same kind of cup that 'nanner milkshakes come in. So Happy thought I'd brought home a 'nanner milkshake.

I had to remove the lid and let him smell to convince him it was only Diet Coke.

Now he's inconsolable. I think I'll go back to Polly's and get some 'nanner milkshake for him, the poor thing.

First, there was a surprise lunch invitation. I'll admit it freely - I was very excited about it. I mean, two days in a row!?! I was truly blessed. Or I would have been truly blessed if those lunch plans hadn't fallen apart as quickly as they had formed.

Second, there was dinner with BadPickleGirl. I really had a feeling that she was going to flake on me. We seemed to be making it much harder than it should have been. Well, sure enough, she cancelled at the last minute.

Third, I figured that I'd at least go over to Louisville, see AlliGirl, and check out CoolHairGirl's purple hair.

But noooooooooooooooooo!

They were having some stupid thing in Louisville, and they were charging a cover just to walk down the stupid street.

So, foiled not once, not twice, but thrice, I ended up just coming home. I ate some pizza. I watched Borat. I sat on my swing. I had a Newcastle (10648) and two Marzens (5116). I glared at my phone a lot.

All in all, It was still better than having my legs knocked out from under me and then being repeatedly kicked in the gut.

Anyway, here's a picture I took while peeing at Sam's this afternoon:

The part about .40¢ wings and .99¢ drafts and nachos and mini-cheeseburgers, that's one of my pet peeves. If you don't know why, then I probably think you're an idiot, just like I think the person who made this sign is an idiot.

But at least they've brought back mini football helemets. Good for them.

Last night I wore a t-shirt that said I'm blogging this across the front. So, rather than be labeled a liar, I'll go ahead and actually write something.

Let's start with Wednesday, I suppose. There wasn't much to Wednesday. I went to Rich O's. At night. So that was something.

Let's see, I sat at the island and talked with some people. I don't remember who. Oh yeah, MusicalYuppieDude was one of them. I remember because he said there was a crazy guy over at the bar. I looked, but I didn't see him do anything crazy. Maybe he got his prescription refilled or something. Oh, and ExBartender was there too.

I had myself a yummy Schlenkerla Marzen (5047). I sent a million email messages. But mostly I watched the door, more out of habit than because of any actual anticipation.

The place was pretty dead, and they kicked everyone out early, so I came home.

Then yesterday I had a nice day, and it gave me enough confidence to go back to Rich O's last night. Wow, two nights in a row. One might almost think that I'm hanging out at Rich O's again. One would be wrong, but it would be an understandable mistake.

Last night, there was some big change... hope... zombie party going on in the special people section. I didn't go in there. In Rich O's proper, the fucking Thursday weirdoes were in full force. I sat at the island and had a little pizza and a Marzen (5064). Spent most of the time talking to PornAddict and SmooshDude.

And for some reason they kept playing techno music all night. That was messed up.

I was really bored, but I stayed for another Marzen (5081) because I wanted to see what LaptopGirl had done to her hair. I thought it looked really pretty, but of course I'm biased.

Then all the change... hope... zombies left the special people section and came into Rich O's proper looking for brains to eat, and I came home. I sat on my swing and had a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (2636) and it was yummy.

Pretty damn exciting, I know. I've got a five-day weekend and I spend the first two nights sitting bored at Rich O's. Maybe tonight will be more interesting. I'm supposed to go hang out with BadPickleGirl for a while, and maybe go see CoolHairGirl's new purple hair.

Then tomorrow I get to have lunch with HatGirl. I'm obviously very excited about that.

Maybe I'll go out of town tomorrow after lunch. Or maybe not.

One of the things that always happens, is that my senses get so damn overloaded.

I spend all of my energy just trying to remain conscious. I focus so much on seeing that I forget to actually look. I focus so much on hearing that I forget to actually listen.

It's quite annoying, really.

There have been so many conversations that I've missed. Not because I wasn't there, but because I was so enthralled by the sound of a voice that the actual words became white noise. There's been so much beauty that I've failed to appreciate, not because I didn't see it, but because I was so mesmerized that everything became a blur.

It'll get easier, I keep telling myself.

But what do I know anyway. It could just as easily get worse.

I wish others could see what I see, hear what I hear.

Then maybe they could describe those things to me, once I get out of my daze.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that lunch was nice today. I wish I could remember.

Yesterday HatGirl asked me if I was going to some Cabbage Patch auction and, if so, did I want a date.

I told her that a Cabbage Patch auction was probably just about the gayest thing I'd ever heard of, and that even with a hot girl in tow, it would still be too gay. I figured that I'd probably need at least three hot girls with me to counter the gayness. I mean, what if somebody saw me there?

See, I was thinking about the dolls. I was thinking that they were going to auction off Cabbage Patch dolls.

That would be pretty gay, right?

Well I guess it's just a regular auction, and Cabbage Patch is the name of the organization holding the auction. They help kids or something.

I'm still not going.

Not too much going on around here, but I'll do this anyway.

---

Looks like I have no broken bones from when I fell Sunday. Just bruises, and those are fading pretty well. Parts of me that yesterday were a nice grurple color are now merely bluish.

I'm damn sore, though. Especially my arms, which are colored normally.

---

I talked to StupidGirl for a couple of hours last night. Told her that it doesn't look like I'll be coming to Las Vegas until next Spring at least. She's okay with that. Probably because she's got a new boyfriend. Lot of that going around these days. I like StupidGirl. She's really nice. I hope this new guy treats her better than the last guy did. Not that that would be any great feat.

---

Starting Thursday, I've got five days in a row off work. I have absolutely no idea what, if anything, I'll be doing with those five days. Probably nothing, unless this current mood lightens. But I think I'd like to take a little trip somewhere for a night or two. Or maybe even *gasp* go to Rich O's during the night. We'll see.

---

That's it for now.

Forgot my rock today when I left for work. I feel oddly naked without it. Please note, however, that I'm not actually naked, so neither running to nor fro are necessary.

---

Yesterday I might have screwed myself up. I was getting out of my truck, with my arms full of stuff, when I slipped on a damn dryer sheet that somebody, some terrorist probably, had placed on the floor. My foot went right out from under me. I fell about three feet onto my concrete garage floor, landing on my right hip and left knee and left arm. So yeah, I apparently played an impromptu game of solo Twister on the way down.

This afternoon I get to go get x-rays. My hip, in particular, feels gimpy.

And what really sucked about falling, besides almost dying, was that as I fell I slammed the door of my truck into the door of my Monte Carlo. I'm kind of afraid to look at the latter to assess any damage. I know there was at least some paint transferred.

---

LuckyFucker has a new clam in his aquarium. It looks like a horribly-deformed vagina. It's creepy and erotic at the same time.

I bet I've killed over 1,000 North Koreans since Saturday morning. It's not that I have anything against North Koreans, per se, it's just that in this Crysis game I've been playing, they're the bad guys.

I know this particular game is pirated sold all over the world. I wonder how the average North Korean feels about playing as an American soldier and killing his countrymen.

---

This evening I pretend-married HatGirl and LuckyFucker. It was all very moving and romantic, I thought. HatGirl even cried, and so I even felt very guilty for making HatGirl cry.

Then we went to Red Lobster, and the food was yummy, so everything turned out okay in the end.

---

So I haven't had a drop of alcohol since Friday night. I'm not turning into a Jesus-freak or anything like that. It's just something that I was wondering about. I mean, both of my parents were alcoholics, so it's something I have to watch.

Could I go without beer for two days?

Certainly I could. And did. No problem whatsoever.

Certain recent events have reminded me that people, too often, look for the solutions to life's problems in the bottoms of glasses. Or in hypodermic needles. Or, much more drastically, down the barrel of a gun.

So I needed to prove to myself that I could go without drinking. I can, so that's cool.

Besides, the answer to life's problems doesn't lie in any of those places.

The answer to life's problems lies on the other side of a simple conversation. The other end of an email. It lies in fingertips that touch another person, lips that kiss another person.

It lies everywhere that there's proof that we're not alone in this world.

I had a really bad day today, one of the worst I've had in a long time. And, of course, I can't write a fucking thing about why, except to say that my stupidity played a big part.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow I won't be so stupid.

So last night was a frustrating bust. An ongoing email-delaying conspiracy between RIM and/or yahoo.com and/or barenada.com, a conspiracy with the single goal of making my life miserable - well last night it reached that goal.

So this morning, I tried again. Just a quick email to follow-up a conversation we'd had Tuesday night.

The reply that I received is the title of this entry.

You might ask what that means. I know that I certainly asked myself.

"Self," I asked, "What does that mean?"

"Fuck off and die."
Now, if you know me at all, or if you don't know me but you read a lot of my drivel, you know that this was the very first thing I thought of. Sometimes it's the only thing I think of. But not this time.

This time, after gazing out my fourth-story window and realizing that a leap from that height would not bring certain death, I did some more thinking. And I figured that with a message like "Fuck off and die," it's probably best to be as unambiguous as possible. That's not really something you want to have to repeat.

So I did even more thinking, and I came up with other possible meanings for that cryptic email.

"I found your email quite boring, and I will reply with the appropriate effort."
I don't really like this one, because it seems to contradict itself. I mean, if my email was truly boring, then wouldn't nothing be the appropriate level of response?

Yeah, that's what I thought, too.

"I am literally on a set, and there must be quiet, so stop making my phone vibrate."
This is at least plausible, as sets do exist, and they do require quiet, and I can certainly picture her gracing the presence of a set. This is my second-favorite explanation.

"I'm busy, leave me alone."
I think I'm going with this explanation. It's goes straight to the point, but it's still strange, presumably so that I don't forget who it's coming from. There's a little bit of personality displayed in the actual words chosen, and I like that very much.

---

I suppose that I'll eventually find out the truth behind those four strange words. Unless my first instinct was actually the correct one. In that case I guess I should start looking for a taller building.

Kind of a dull day so far. I'm working from home today because I'm waiting for the TV repairman to arrive. It'll be nice to have a working TV in my living room again. That flashing green light is pretty and all, but it doesn't have much of a plot, and the suspense is non-existent.

Besides getting a bunch of actual work done (no distractions) I've removed every cable from every A/V component in my entertainment center, just so I could get back there and be able to push my TV away from the wall. It was all overdue for a recabling anyway. A couple of the components are broken, and some of them I don't use anymore. So I'll take this opportunity to straighten everything out.

I never said this would be an interesting entry.

I just said no to HatGirl.

Let me rephrase that.

I just fucking said no to HatGirl.

It was just for a little favor, but it was one that I couldn't do.

I'm a dick. I never thought I'd ever say no to HatGirl for anything.

Maybe next I'll go out and step on baby ducks or something.

I thought of one possible new nickname. Or maybe it's more of a theme than a nickname. But she won't like it, I bet.

Today was kinda boring, until 1:00 or so, when a series of fortunate events found me having lunch with her at some hippie place in Louisville.

It was pretty weird, even for a hippie place, because instead of sitars and chanting, the music was things like Queen and Led Zepellin.

I think I did a pretty good job. Keeping my eyes in their sockets has become almost second-nature for me, and holding my jaw in a less-than-agape position is something I've been working on. There's still room for improvement there, I think.

I like being perfectly happy, even when it's only for a little while.

It's nice.

The first and second times, I described here. The third time was last night.

I found myself locked out of my house. Again.

Because keys to my house keep disappearing, I've been back down to a single key again for quite a while. I think my cat Nugget eats the keys. But it's one key for one person, so it's usually okay.

But yesterday was my cleaning day, so I took my key off my keychain and left it in its usual hiding place so VacuumLady could get into the house.

Then, when I got home, I retrieved the key from it's hiding place, let myself in, and sat the key on the washing machine.

Several hours later, I went to the store, and when I came home I realized that I'd never put that key back on my keychain.

I'd done it again.

Fuck!

My sledge hammer was still there in my garage. So I knew I could get into my house. I didn't have to worry about sleeping in my truck.

But for some reason I decided to check all of the outside doors and see if, by some miracle, any of them were unlocked.

The second door I tried - the door from my living room to my deck - was unlocked.

Yay!

Except that I wonder how long it's been unlocked. I can't remember the last time I used that door. Several days ago at least.

I had such a nice dream.

It bothers me that I can't write about my dream. Because it wasn't a dream at all.

I had such a nice evening.

So most of my plans fell way short of fruition.

I didn't take my cousin his memorial shirt.

I didn't stop at HH Gregg to inquire about a TV repairman.

And I didn't even get to pretend-marry HatGirl and LuckyFucker as the latter, I believe, chose this opportunity to pretend to have cold feet. Maybe next week, I'm told.

But the most important thing, I did get done. I got LaptopGirl's memorial t-shirt from my sister, and then I delivered it.

Any day wherein I get to see LaptopGirl is a damn good day as far as I'm concerned. Even though her son was eating pretzels and it made me really crave pretzels.

Oh yeah, another thing I didn't do was have dinner at the place where NotHideousGirl works. Nor did I, as I'd halfway planned later in the afternoon, make it to where AlliGirl works. Instead, I went to this Sam's place that I'd never been to before.

While there, I had a couple glasses of heterosexual Blue Moon (761) and some blackened steak tip thingies that were surprisingly good.

On the way home I bought a bag of pretzels. They were yummy.

Never did hear back from AlliGirl about her birthday party. I guess I'd be annoyed by that if I didn't already have a gazillion other things on my mind.

I spent Saturday night as I'd spent Friday night, at home on my swing. I did make one brief trip down to see what all the damn sirens were for. There were sirens wailing nonstop for at least an hour. I went down and asked this girl at the gas station what had been going on. She said she saw a million fire trucks go by. It must have been a pretty big fire, to need a million fire trucks.

All of the local dogs were still howling when I went to bed at 12:00 or so

Let's see, I had my last two bottles of Moerlein OTR (262), even the bottle I'd been saving for MrPopular - it just jumped down my throat before I could stop it. Not that I really wanted to stop it. And so now I'll definitely have to go back to Covington. I should have gone yesterday. I can't go this coming weekend because I'm on-call for work.

I had a couple Newcastles (10444). I drunk-texted BadPickleGirl and she actually responded for once. I had a few email conversations. In one, I got accused of what I think is a class III misdemeanor, and that conversation was the highlight of my week.

I got to go to sleep in a good mood. It's been a while since that happened.

---

Today it seems like I've got a million things to do, but I can't think of what they all are.

I know that I'm going to dinner, probably where NotHideousGirl works. I think that, either right before or right after dinner, I'm pretending to marry HatGirl and LuckyFucker. I should probably call HatGirl to make sure we're still on for that.

Hmmm, I know that I've got to get LaptopGirl's memorial shirt from my sister.

Oh yeah, I've also got to take my cousin Jeff his memorial shirt.

I guess I should stop at the place where I bought my TV and see about getting a repairman out to look at it. I'm afraid that it's going to cost a million dollars, but it's got to be done. Can't really have a 65" TV that doesn't work, can I?

Last night I didn't do much of anything. Sat on my swing and traded some emails back and forth for a while, but then they stopped. I had a bottle of Stone Smoked Porter (542) and then a bottle of Moerlein OTR (238).

I'm almost out of the OTR, and I'd thought about going back to Covington today and picking up a case or so while I'm there. But I probably won't go, there's no point. And besides, AlliGirl's traveling birthday party is tonight, I think. So perhaps I'll head over to Louisville and try to run into her.

Or maybe I'll just stay home again.

Weeks.

That was the prediction I made, weeks ago. Now I'm starting to suspect that my prediction was just incredibly optimistic. Weird, for me to be too optimistic, I think.

Just some stupid things to change the subject.

---

Today is Wednesday, formerly also known as AlliDay. But now it's AlliLessDay.

AlliLessDay sucks.

---

Today I've spent most of my time striving to shift my anger back to where it belongs - to myself. I'm the one who did the stupid things for the stupid reason.

Who cares that I didn't know it was stupid at the time?

It's certainly not her fault. It's all mine.

---

I had Skyline for lunch today. I think they must have laced it with sleeping pills. I can't remember ever being so tired, except maybe last night at 8:00 or so.

---

HatGirl wants me to pretend to be a preacher and pretend to marry her and LuckyFucker. That might be fun.

---

Seriously, Miss. Don't come to the thing. Come and see me, that's fine. But if you're coming to the thing, then I won't be there. Please realize what a monumentally stupid idea you coming to the thing is.

---

I guess that's it for now.

Yesterday was the memorial for my nephew and his friends. Today was the anniversary of the accident. I guess I don't have a lot to say about that. Maybe it's all been said, or maybe I just don't have it in me.

But I'm so proud of my sister. Both of my sisters.

---

Today I stood in a horrible place, outside a horrible room, and I talked to a beautiful girl. And she was almost enough to make me forget where I was, and why I was there.

NormalGirl and I may have fizzled before we had a chance to catch fire, and we may never spark again. But, damn, it was nice to see her. To be distracted for a little while.

---

I've spent dozens, maybe hundreds of hours sitting on my swing and glaring at my phone. Trying to will it to ring. Tonight, I sat on my swing and willed my phone to stay silent.

My original plan, such at it was, had been to leave town after work Friday. I think it was Tuesday or Wednesday that I decided that I really needed to get away for a day or two. I needed to get away and, more importantly, other people needed me to be away.

But then, Thursday night, I talked to WomanRepellant. He was having some trouble with his computer, and we arranged that he'd call me Saturday morning so I could come and take a look at it.

So that kept me local for Friday night, and I'm glad that it did, because part two of Friday night was fantastic.

Well Saturday morning came and Saturday morning went without a call from my friend. He'd had a photo shoot scheduled for that morning, and he was supposed to call me at 10:00 or so when it was over. I tried to call him at 11:30. The phone just rang and rang. Change of plans, I figured.

So I found myself free to leave, and even eager to leave, but I didn't have a destination in mind. I chose Covington on a whim, more or less. I'd been there in the Spring and enjoyed it. I guess some deep recess of my brain might have thought that I might run into EyesGirl again. And I definitely knew I'd be able to have some Moerlein OTR. So, Covington it was.

The drive up was uneventful. I'd been hoping for some email or telephone companionship, but I think I screwed that up back in July. Oops.

After I'd arrived, and checked into a hotel room that was much more expensive than I'd hoped, about fifty metric butt-tons of drama ensued back home. I basically spent the rest of the day and night talking or typing into my Blackberry, trying to either ease or repair or at least keep up with various drama. So that was the context behind everything else I did Saturday night.

My hotel was conveniently located with a Skyline Chili across one street and a White Castle across another. It was also within walking distance of the tourist section of Covington. So, after a quick meal at Skyline, I walked up to the Cock & Bull bar. I'd gone there in April, so I supposed it was my Official Covington Bar or something.

And now I guess I'll have to continue this entry later.

So I figured that I might as well write something. Just for kicks, and stuff.

I wrote an entry this afternoon. It's still in my drafts folder, nowhere near ready for posting. It wasn't supposed to be a depressing entry, but that's how it turned out. So it won't be getting posted anytime soon, not without major revisions.

One of the things I was thinking about, as I sat on my swing tonight, was how almost everyone is the same. Guys think they're cool. Girls think they're cute. Almost everyone thinks they're better than they really are. But, they're not. And they're not unusual or uncommon or unique either. Most people may as well have been born via cookie-cutter.

Is it so strange, I wonder, that when I finally meet those few girls who are actually different than almost everyone else, that I fall for them?

---

In my entry that I wrote today and didn't post, one of the things I mentioned was that SassyGirl had been in town to visit, and that I'd totally blown it with her. I mean, her timing really sucked. And I didn't return her calls, and I didn't go to Rich O's to see her.

I hoped that she would forgive me, eventually, though I doubted that she would.

But then today she called me, and then I called her back. She was still in town.

Yay!

So I went to Rich O's after work to see her.

SassyGirl was my best friend for a long time. Now I get to see her maybe once every six months. That's not nearly enough.

---

A week or so ago I got some publicity for my pool blog. And I got a lot of additional traffic. So much traffic, in fact, that now my server keeps crashing, and my hosting company is threatening to cancel my account.

So, that sucks.

And, right now as I type this, my email isn't working. That royally sucks, because I'm kinda in the middle of a conversation with LaptopGirl, I think.

---

People keep thinking that I mad or sad when I'm not. It's totally understandable, I suppose. At least the sadness thing is. I'm sad a lot of the time.

But I'm hardly ever mad, so I don't know where that accusation comes from.

NotHideousGirl was a champion at thinking that I was mad. But I never was. Until she accused me of it enough to make it self-fulfilling.

UPSDude did the same thing once. He accused me of being mad at him. I told him that I wasn't, but he kept accusing me, over and over, of being mad at him. About a gazillion times he did this, until finally I was mad at him.

---

I really really really want to go somewhere this weekend. Just get away from here for a few hours. I don't know where to go, though.

---

Hmmm, I thought I might have more to write. Maybe later.

Somewhere today, I'm not sure exactly where except that it was at a Subway, something amazing happened.

See, HatGirl was there, and so was LaptopGirl.

HatGirl, I haven't seen in four whole days. That might not seem like a lot, but four days without seeing HatGirl is like a jillion years without seeing most people.

And, speaking of a jillion years, I haven't seen LaptopGirl for at least that long, since right after the first primitive life-forms invented photosynthesis and started pumping oxygen into the atmosphere.

I wonder if, back then, the other primitive life-forms held big demonstrations to complain about all that oxygen polluting the air and causing global cooling.

Anyway.

Having LaptopGirl and HatGirl in the same place at the same time - pretty cool, right?

Except for one little tiny thing.

I wasn't there. So that sucked.

HatGirl was so lucky that she got to see LaptopGirl. LaptopGirl was so lucky that she got to see HatGirl. All those people at that Subway were so lucky that they got to see both of them.

Me, I didn't see shit. I sat here at work like a chump.

In a way, I suppose that the entire universe got lucky as well. Because there was a very real chance that, by having LaptopGirl and HatGirl in such close proximity to each other, there was a chance that a singularity might have formed. A black-hole of loveliness that could have devoured everything that existed.

So whew!

Maybe I was lucky that the universe didn't get destroyed in an inescapable infinite well of awesomeness, but I don't feel very lucky, because I wasn't at that fucking Subway.

1. Sleep 10 hours.
2. Play Crysis for a while.
3. Go to Polly's Freeze for lunch.
4. Drive around for a couple of hours.
5. Sit in garage.
6. Shoot pool.
7. Sit on swing.
8. Glare at phone.

Plans quickly changed, as they are so often wont to do.

Instead of HatGirl and I going to look at diamonds then having lunch, It ended up being HatGirl and LuckyFucker going to look at diamonds, then joining me for lunch. I was still invited to go to the diamond thing, but I didn't want to feel like a third wheel all day long.

So, suddenly finding myself with an extra hour to kill, I went to Sportstime. It had been a week since I'd been to the NABC complex, and I was hopeful that Marzen might finally be back on tap.

But nooooooo!

So instead I had myself a nice Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (2554) and I talked to MisunderstoodGirl as she scurried between the kitchen and her assigned tables.

Then I went over to Buckhead in Jeffersonville. Actually, first I poked my head into the Hooters there to see if my cousin Jeff was there. He wasn't, so I went to Buckhead then.

HatGirl and LuckyFucker were, of course, late in arriving. I guess I'm used to that, and this time it wasn't their fault. A diamond emergency made them late.

Once they arrived, we sat out on the deck and ordered lunch. For some reason, even though there were about 10 open tables out there, the hostess sat us right next to the only other occupied table. It was really strange. It was also quite annoying, and HatGirl especially didn't like it. So we ended up picking up our shit and moving inside.

That HatGirl is so anti-social sometimes. That's why we get along so well I guess.

And one of the waitresses kept giving me the stink-eye. Probably one of MixedSignalGirl's friends. (About your height, Miss. Maybe about 32 years old. With long dark hair in a pony tail. She kinda looked familiar.)

Oh yeah, with my lunch I had a Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier (24). I would have had a Paulaner, but they were out, the fuckers.

Then once lunch was over I stuck my head back into Hooters. Jeff was there this time, but he was surrounded by a bunch of high-fiving white guys, so I quickly said hello and then came home.

I get to go see HatGirl now and look at diamonds and maybe have lunch!

Yay!

It doesn't make any sense that I'm as exhausted as I am right now. I mean, I took a four-hour nap that ended only four hours ago.

So I slept too long, and when I woke up, I didn't feel like going to my stupid high school reunion. So, I didn't go. What I did instead was sit on my swing and drink a couple beers and watch some lightning. I think I made the right decision, though I imagine that I'll probably regret skipping the reunion at some point.

It ended up being a nice quiet Friday night. Just what I needed and wanted.

There was a bit of potential excitement for a while, when HatGirl pondered joining me for a drink or two. But then she and/or LuckyFucker pussed out, and those plans dissolved before they had fully formed.

So, to summarize, I slept for four hours, then I sat on my ass for four more hours, and now I'm exhausted.

Nope, not talking about me. Though that's certainly an understandable mistake.

I'm talking about my brother-in-law, Chris.

So Sunday evening we're all sitting on Dina's deck, mostly watching the kids splash each other in the pool, and all of a sudden I hear Dina shout out, "Chris, be careful!"

I glanced over toward Chris, and caught a glimpse of him falling off the deck. Then about a half-second later, I saw the extremely heavy wooden bench fall off the edge of the deck right after Chris. There were several loud thuds and maybe even a crack.

I think that, for a second or two, every single one of us figured Chris has just been killed right in front of us.

Dina, being younger, was faster than I was in getting up and running to where Chris had fallen. I was about a second behind. Chris's wife (my sister Neisha) was in the pool, as were all the kids.

But before anyone (except Dina) could really start to freak out, Chris announced, "I'm fine."

And, apparently, he was. Despite falling several feet at an odd angle and then having an 800-lb bench fall on top of him, Chris stood up, did a quick count of limbs and digits, and again announced that he was fine.

In fact, he was in much better shape than Dina was, what with the fifteen simultaneous heart attacks she was having. But all ended well.

So, whew! right?

The theory I came up with is that Chris is indestructible. Seeing several rocks, sticks, and other assorted improvisational weapons scattered about Dina's yard, I suggested that we should test my theory.

It would have been fun, I thought. But nobody else wanted to do it, so I left and went to Red Lobster for dinner instead.

I wake up underwater. I'm asleep one second, then the next second I'm disoriented and drowning. Struggling to survive, wondering if I have the strength, wondering if it's worth it.

So, that's not a lot of fun.

---

I've mentioned before how I can't stand to be away from my phone, for fear that I might miss a call or an email or a text from someone important. As this past week has been especially dramatic, I've taken to having my phone shoved up my ass when I shower, just so I'm sure that I won't miss anything.

Then, yesterday afternoon, I went to get my empty trash can from the end of my driveway. I'd been sitting in my garage, contemplating shit, and I left my phone where it was. I even remember telling myself, "Self, you idiot. Now just watch you'll get a call while you're getting your precious trash can."

So then I walked to the end of my driveway and back, and looked at my phone, and the fucking thing was blinking.

I only dropped it twice, fumbling to enter the password, so I'm getting better at that.

---

I did get another call later on. MixedSignalGirl called to check on me and say hello. We talked for an hour or so. I really screwed up with her, but she's happy now, and that's all that matters.

---

Then I got to go on a Super Top Secret Mission of Mystery, fraught with peril. It was fun, and there were no hitches. It was all very sneaky and clandestine. I wish we'd have worn ninja costumes, though. That would have been cool.

---

When I got back home, I sat on my swing and had about a bottle and a half of Left Hand Goosinator (115) and thought about the past and the future.

Not the present, though.

Fuck the present.

---

Friday night I rated my 496th beer. I've been thinking a lot about my 500th rating, which will probably happen this week. I want it to be something crappy, just because I think it would be funnier that way.

Because LaptopGirl is my official swill consultant, I have charged her with selecting the beer that will be my 500th. She suggested Lone Star. That's a good choice, though I'm not sure if I can get it around here. Her backup suggestion is Sapporo.

(Update: Her emergency fallback selection is MGD.)

(Update again: Or Mad Dog. I see her evil plan now. She's trying to drown me in swill. One way to get rid of me, I suppose, but there are more humane methods. I bet the Geneva Convention strictly prohibits drowning-by-swill.)

Anyway, I guess that's it.

So last night I reposted an old entry about blindness. Then, this morning, I awoke to find myself blind in my left eye.

Pretty crappy coincidence, right?

Right.

I guess a few days ago, maybe Sunday or Monday, I either got something in my eye or I scratched my eye. Something happened, because it started to feel a little uncomfortable when I'd blink or whatever.

Over the past couple of days, It's gotten a little worse, as I'd poke and prod and just generally fuck with it. I checked it out thoroughly. I also washed it out under the kitchen faucet. I neither saw nor obviously dislodged any debris, so I figured I must have scratched it.

Anyway, last night I reposted that stuff about blindness, then this morning my left eye was almost completely swollen shut.

I looked like I'd just gone ten rounds in the boxing ring. Or I guess I looked like Will Smith did in that Hitch movie.

I couldn't see out of my left eye, because of the swelling and the mucous and whatnot, so I did the next best thing. I poked and prodded and fucked with it all morning. As RockGirl pointed out, I have a spare eye for when I ruin one.

Then today at lunch, I was having AlliGirl check out my eye. She said it looked "a little bad." Since this morning it had looked "really fucking bad," I went to the restroom, braced myself, and looked in the mirror.

It's a lot better now. I'm not nearly as hideous as I was this morning. Hideousness being totally relative, of course.

And it doesn't hurt as much when I fuck with it.

So I've cancelled my appointment to have my glass eye fitted. At least for now, I'm binocular again.

Update: I had the nurse at work flush it out with some battery acid. That hurt a lot, but now my eye is almost back to normal. Yay!

Please don't do it.

I wish I had some magic words, but I've already said too much. Way too much, and it still wasn't enough.

---

Got a nice black leather sofa from BadPickleGirl today. It's in my basement, where it will displace this one ugly chair, after I move the shelves away from that wall.

My cat Nugget is scared of the new sofa, of course. I'm hopeful that his fear will keep him from shredding it to bits. At least for a couple of weeks, until he figures out that it's leather and therefore edible.

---

Dammit, this is supposed to be my fucking journal. My fucking outlet. It's not supposed to be some stage where I perform for my audience's amusement. And there's definitely no fucking script.

---

One of the ways that I know I'm in a very weird mood is when I start thinking in metaphors. Like tonight, I started thinking about how I jumped out of a perfectly good lifeboat because I thought I saw the glimmer of a lighthouse on the horizon.

The lifeboat moved away, and the glimmer proved false, and now my lungs fill with water.

Sometimes metaphors are fun. And sometimes they're useful.

And sometimes they're nothing but stupid.

---

I pretty much have to accept that people lied to me for years. I wonder why they did that. Was it to make me feel better? Was it to get me to shut the fuck up?

Or maybe, just maybe, they didn't know they were lying at all.

---

I've been on-call all week. It blows.

---

Speaking of glimmers, I like this entry, from 2005:

When you live your life in total darkness, it doesn't take much.

The smallest spark, the slightest flash of light, can capture your full attention. Even after it's gone, the memory of that flash lives on.

Sometimes that flash is welcomed, but most times, most times it's only reminding you of what's missing.

A man gone blind does not always wish for sight, for there can be comfort in the dark.

Acceptance. Tranquility. Peace. All erased by a spark, a glimmer, a splash of light that does nothing but burn the retinas and leave ghost images floating and intruding.

A flash is nothing by itself. It's over in an instant. But the memory of it lingers, and the blind man sometimes wishes he could forget.

---

I should try to sleep now. I hope I don't dream.

So today was probably the last AlliDay ever. Though I guess there may be one more, next week. AlliGirl is changing shifts and won't be working Wednesday day-shift anymore.

Wednesday. What a boring word that is. And, from now on, it will probably be a boring day.

My Newcastle (10200), by the way, was yummy.

Went to Rich O's today, after work. And, for the first time in a long time, I saw absolutely nothing appealing on the board. I'd been kinda craving a Weihenstephaner, but that keg had blown. I'd kinda been craving a draft Marzen, but that keg hasn't arrived yet. Yesterday I had an NABC Flat Tyre (1009), but I didn't feel like having another one today.

The beer board looked so uninteresting to me that I actually considered having an Arrogant Bastard. But then I remembered that I don't like Arrogant Bastard all that much.

So I ended up just driving home.

At least tomorrow is AlliDay, so I'll get to have a yummy Newcastle.

Okay, so I've lost all motivation for this journal. For a lot of things. I need to step back for a while.

Crap crapity crap!

So there I was, sitting on my swing and enjoying a lovely Malheur 10 (96). Counting lightning bugs, glaring at my phone, whistling for the neighbor's dog.

I was having a nice night, but then something horrible happened.

My fancy Gulden Draak glass, still almost full of yummy beer, suddenly leapt from its position between my thighs and flung itself onto the bricks at my feet.

Shattered, into a hundred pieces. The beer draining into the spaces between the bricks before I could even think of getting my tongue down there.

It all happened so fast.

Why? Why did my glass take its own life like that?

*sniff* I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

I wish I'd known that something was wrong.

I wish I'd known what danger signs to look for.

And I definitely fucking wish it had waited until it was empty, instead of taking ten ounces of yummy Malheur 10 with it.

Such a waste.

You ever find yourself at an airport with some time to kill, so you just sit around watching people?

Yeah, me too.

You ever see a guy in purple parachute-pants, a yellow wife-beater shirt, and the name "Adrian" tattooed on his arm, and say to yourself, "Self, there goes the gayest guy on Earth?"

Yeah, me too.

Then did you ever turn your head at a squishy/slurpy sound, and see a guy walking down through the airport with four dicks in his mouth? And then did you say to yourself, "Self, you were totally wrong before. That's the gayest guy on Earth, right there."

Yeah, me too.

---

Anyway, I'm back home now.

I was up to Saturday night with these ramblings, and then I stopped. I don't know why I stopped. Because, after all, absolutely nothing happened Saturday night. I myself stayed home and made gift baskets for orphans all night long.

If you think that anything happened Saturday night, then you're clearly smoking crack and you should seek professional help.

---

So then Sunday I ended up going to Don Pablo's for dinner. I got to see NotHideousGirl for the first time in a million years, and I got to eat yummy food. So there.

Then I went across the street to Hooters and had some Newcastles (10008) and talked to this one dude I went to school with.

You may notice that I passed 10,000 ounces of Newcastle. This doesn't count, though, because I was supposed to save that occasion for AlliDay. I screwed up, and it was only because AlliGirl is so nice that I was given a do-over.

---

Let's see, Monday night I had one of the new beers that I'd bought Saturday at Barley Island.

Barley Island Bourbon Barrel-Aged Oatmeal Stout

(bottle) Black with thin tan head. Mild aroma of bourbon. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor more intense and bourbony that the aroma had hinted. As an oatmeal stout, there isn't much flavor except for the bourbon. Pretty good, though gimmicky.

Then yesterday after work I had another new beer for me.

Victory Golden Monkey

(draft) Pours clear and golden with a large long-lasting head. Nice aroma of apple peels and malts. Smooth and creamy mouthfeel. Flavor more malty than most tripels, maybe some caramel in there that coats the mouth. Quite damn good.

---

And then today, for AlliDay, I had my official 10,000th ounce of Newcastle (10028). There was a big party with balloons and dancing girls. It was fantastic.

Okay, what really happened was that AlliGirl bought my beer for me and gave me a hug. Still pretty damn cool, though.

---

The dude I talked to Sunday reminded me that my high school reunion is approaching in less than three weeks. I guess I don't care. I had originally planned to go, but I don't want to go by myself.

So, basically, waaaaah!

---

Tomorrow I go to Atlanta. It might be fun, but I doubt that I'll find myself in Atlanta, either.

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah, at the stupid depressing park.

I'd gone there, as I'd gone to Polly's Freeze earlier, looking for myself.

I wasn't at either place. I remember running into myself once a long time ago. At Rich O's of all places. That was nice, but that was also the last time.

Anyway, by the time I'd returned home from the floodwall park, it was clear to me that there was a 0% chance that anything good would happen Friday night. Understandable, but of course disappointing. Because of this, I saw no reason to bother leaving my house at all. So that's precisely what I didn't do at all. Instead, I sat on my swing and I glared at my phone and I had three yummy bottles of Delirium Nocturnum (157), and that was it.

Then by Saturday at around noon, I'd once again gleaned that there was a 0% chance of anything good happening. Still understandable, still disappointing. But whereas on Friday that 0% had caused me to lose all motivation, on Saturday I couldn't run out the door and jump into my truck fast enough.

Luckily, I always carry a spare pair of pants in my truck, for times such as that. When I don't want to waste time putting on pants before I leave my house.

What I did, and this really was a spur of the moment decision, was I drove up to Noblesville, Indiana. To the Barley Island brewpub, specifically. Just something to do, really. I might just as well have picked Oaken Barrel, as it's slightly closer to home, but I had Barley Island on my mind because LaptopGirl had been raving about their Barfly IPA.

The drive up took a couple of hours. It was uneventful, though I felt bad because I kept getting emails but I was driving and couldn't type my responses very well. I managed to survive the drive* though. I even managed to respond to some of the emails, when the traffic and the rain let up enough.

The first thing I noticed, upon entering the brewpub, was that it was really dark. Like being inside a cave at midnight with my eyes closed and a bag over my head. But then my eyes started to adjust, and I was able to grope and stumble my way, around a bunch of empty tables and up an unfortunately-placed step, to the bar area.

I only took one picture, and it's a pretty crappy picture, even by my standards.

The first thing I did, after seating myself, was order a trio of small samples, of the three available draft selections that I hadn't had before.

Barley Island Sheet Metal Blonde

(draft) Color of hazy grapefruit juice. Light citrus aroma. Very light citrus flavor, with a bit of sourness, like grapefruit juice. Good, not great.

Barley Island Blind Tiger Pale Ale

(draft) Clear light brown. No detectable aroma or flavor. There was a slightly bitter hoppy finish, but not enough to be completely disgusting. A waste of my time.

Barley Island Barfly IPA

(draft) The color of clear weak tea. Light aroma of floral hops. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor decent but mild. The slightly bitter finish went away after a few sips. Maybe a good session beer.

I went ahead and ordered a full glass of the Barfly (20), and enjoyed that with my yummy burger and fries. I traded a bunch more emails with LaptopGirl, and a few with RockGirl.

I relaxed fairly well I suppose, but I could already tell that I wouldn't be staying. I guess I'd been hoping to find myself, up there away from all of the distractions of home. But I wasn't there, either. I'm still a slippery bastard I guess.

So next I had a Dirty Helen (400), which is one of my favorite brown ales. And then I had something I wasn't expecting. The place had a couple of guest beers available, and one of those guest beers was an all-time favorite of mine. So my last beer was an incredibly yummy Two Brothers Domaine DuPage French Style Country Ale (310).

Before I left, I bought a couple of bottles to have at home sometime. I also picked up a growler of the Barfly for LaptopGirl.

The drive home was uneventful.

* - Poet and don't know it.

Then, after I visited the creepy zombie clubhouse, I continued the short distance down the road to the park.

I'm pretty sure that the park has a name, but I can't remember what that name is. Probably named after some dipshit with money.

Back when I was a teenager, right after the last ice age, I'd come down to the floodwall fairly often. Note that it was the floodwall then, not a park. At least once every weekend we'd go down there. Lots of kids my age went down there. We'd shoot the shit. Drink our illegally-obtained beer, smoke cigarettes like chimneys. Make out, have sex sometimes. We were kids - we did kid stuff.

But then, shortly after I left home to join the Air Force, a lot of crap happened down at the floodwall.

Some assholes decided to make it into a park.

And not only that, they decided to make it into the worst park ever.

It closes at dusk now. Before, the fun didn't even start until hours later. Now, I think they're allowed to shoot you if you go there after dark.

They constructed all this new shit. Seating and a bandstand and shit like that. Before, it was just a bunch of concrete pillars you could climb on.

Anyway, here are some pictures I took.

This is the Sherman Minton Bridge. It's how I-64 connects Indiana and Kentucky. Everyone takes pictures of this bridge, when they're down at the floodwall park. I think it's a rule or something. I drive across this bridge every day going to and coming from work.

Looking upriver, once can see another bridge. I think this is the K&I bridge, used for trains only. Though I think I've heard mumblings about maybe opening the old car lanes up to pedestrians and bicyclists. I have very dim memories of riding across that bridge with my parents when I was very young. I remember that you could see right through the road into the water, as the road surface consisted only of metal grating.

By far the most noticeable "improvement" they've made down here is this monstrosity.

Again, there used to be nothing here but pillars you could climb on. It was a gazillion times better then.

At the very top of the earthen floodwall, there's a platform thingy. I climbed to the top and took this next picture.

Dedicated stalkers will, of course, recognize my truck parked way down there on the road.

The top of the floodwall used to be reserved for starry-eyed couples. Now they've gone and made it accessible for everyone.

But hey, it's not all bad I guess. That playground looks kinda fun.

---

The whole thing was just very depressing to me. Yet another part of my adolescence that's gone for good.

There was an old man. He was sitting on a bench near where I parked my truck, just sitting and watching the river flow by.

I imagined him as a future version of myself. Just sitting and watching the water pass him by, and remembering everything else that had passed him by over the years.

The old man glared at me when I parked my truck, for intruding into his world like that. I think he just wanted to be left alone, so that's what I did.

When I climbed to the top of the platform thingy, he was gone. Maybe he jumped into the river, or maybe one of his girlfriends came and picked him up. I'll never know. Either way, I'll never see that old man again, nor he I. And that makes me sad. I bet it'd be cool to have a beer with him.

Okay, so Friday sucked, Saturday sucked, and Sunday isn't looking too good, either.

Is that enough? Does that count as an entry?

No?

Okay, fine.

I already mentioned that I went to the river Friday. Specifically, I went to this depressing little park that they've built on the river-side of the floodwall.

But before I got to the park, I stopped at this creepy little building and took some pictures. See, RockGirl has been sending me pictures of all these neat scary old buildings where she lives. So I figured I'd reciprocate a little.

That's a little building next to the river, on the same road that the park is on. I must have passed it a zillion times in my youth, but I'd never taken a good look at it before.

I like the way they did masonry back in the olden days. Even for a crappy little building like this, they added some class and took pride in their work.

One very weird thing was that I saw an old potty chair through the partly-open door.

Whereas the old abandoned buildings in RockGirl's area are huge zombie fortresses, she said this building looked more like a zombie clubhouse. But I guess it's actually just an old pumping station. A zombie clubhouse would be cool, though.

I think I'll put the stuff about the actual park in another entry.

I've recently been told that, as a blogger, I'm actually expected to write stuff.

So okay fine. I'll write something. Plus, I'm waiting for some clothes to dry.

I wasn't going to write about this at all, but my hand has now been forced, and I'll look like a wimp if I don't write about it. So, like I said, I'll write something.

The other night I was out on my swing. I love my swing on the warm Summer nights. I can sit out there with a nice beer and I can play fetch with the neighbor's dog and I can contemplate the universe.

I can also have nice little email conversations and occasional phone conversations, though the latter are fairly rare these days.

So the other night I was having a nice little email conversation with LaptopGirl. I think I must have bored her because she disappeared on me. Then, the next day, she said she'd fallen asleep. I've heard of this sleep thing. I even seem to have some vague memories of doing it myself, but I can't be sure. Those may be false memories implanted by aliens, or the media, or maybe the alien media.

Anyway, after I'd bored LaptopGirl into Snoozytown (pop: everyone but me) my phone rang. A number that I don't have in my phone's memory. Instead, a number that's burned into my brain.

MixedSignalGirl.

Yay?

We had the world's shortest phone conversation. And that was probably a good thing because I was having a hard time holding onto the phone anyway. Because our last conversation hadn't gone very well. This one was better, and shorter.

Me: Hello?

MSG: Are you at home?

Me: I'm out on my swing.

MSG: Save me a seat.

Me: Don't come here.

MSG: I'm on my way. (click)

So I figured that I had some choices.

First, I could spontaneously burst into flames. I tried that for a few seconds, but I must have been doing it wrong because all that happened was that I peed my pants a little.

Second, I could run into my house and turn off all the lights and hide. I didn't really consider this, once I remembered that MixedSignalGirl probably still has a key to my house and she knows the alarm code.

Third, I could be a man and just sit and wait for her. That's what I decided to do. I mean, what was the worst thing that could happen?

The next day I emailed RockGirl about the visit. Here's an edited version of that email.

Well, she came over. Just like she still did it all the time. Just like she still had every right to come over whenever she felt like it.

I didn't know what to expect. I thought maybe she was going to throw herself at me and say she was moving back here. I thought that maybe she was going to show up with her boyfriend and force me to meet him. (deleted)

It wasn't nearly as dramatic as any of that. It was a lot like the olden days. She pulled in the driveway and parked in front of the detached garage. She waved at me on my swing. She got out of her car and plopped down next to me and said , "Hi!"

Just like it hadn't been a million years, since she'd sat on that swing with me.

We had a couple beers. She stayed until a little before 3:00. Nothing happened. We just sat and talked about the olden days and what had gone wrong and what had been happening with her and with me. (deleted) She told me about how wonderful her boyfriend is, and I managed to be happy for her about that. Even though I don't believe it, not really. We talked about my nephew Cory and how Dina is still struggling to deal with that loss.

All she really wanted to do was see me and make sure I didn't hate her for moving away and for finding someone new. And her boyfriend is arriving in town today, so last night was the only opportunity she had to see me. I told her that of course I didn't hate her. But I also didn't tell her that I love her. (deleted)

I gave her a hug when she left. I think she was feeling better. I'm not sure that I was, but at least I wasn't feeling any worse.

And now I've written something.

First, I had got to do some stuff for work. There were three things to do, and I got two of them done. The third thing showed some potential problems during final testing, so I decided to put it off until I can research it some more. Because I'm all about quality control and shit.

Then, I took a nap. I dreamed about LaptopGirl, probably because she emailed me and woke me up right at that precise moment when I was about to drift off to sleep. Anyway, it wasn't a very good dream, because LaptopGirl was mean to me in the dream, and in the dream I got angry at her. Then when I woke up I was still angry at her for a while. Stupid, I know.

Then HatGirl and LuckyFucker came over for a while.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I took about 800 pictures of them. Standing in front of a tree. Sitting on my swing. Standing in front of another tree. I have no idea why HatGirl chose me to take the pictures. But it was still fun to pretend that I had a clue about what I was doing.

(Deleted)

Then, I went to Hooters and had a couple glasses of Newcastle (9910) and watched some baseball on TV.

Then, I came home.

There's still a chance that HatGirl and I will test my video chat capabilities tonight, but it's getting pretty late so probably not.

Friday night, LaptopGirl and I went to this Bier Prost 2008 thingy at our local riverboat casino complex. I insisted on calling this a date. LaptopGirl insisted that it was merely a thingy. But then I guess her mom said it was a date. So there. Majority rules.

I don't think that either of us was at all sure what to expect there. The flyer said something like, "Beer and food from around the world." So that sounded cool. right? I guess I was expecting it to be more beery than it was. I mean, they had a bunch of tubs with bottles of beer in them. We got cute little ceramic sample cups that would hold about two ounces of beer. Then we'd walk around and ask the bored people working the tubs for whatever we wanted.

None of those people knew about or cared about beer. The only brewery representatives there were from NABC.

It was like the people running the event just went out to a liquor store and bought a bunch of bottles and then put them in tubs full of ice. Even the other attendees seemed to be there just for the charity aspect.

But most disappointing to me was the food. It was just like they called some caterer and said we want some various stuff, and that's all they got.

But the point of the thing, for the people running it, wasn't beer and it wasn't food. It was some charity thing that I never heard of before. So they obviously wanted to save costs wherever they could.

The point of the thing for me, of course, wasn't beer or food either. It was to get to spend some time with LaptopGirl away from Rich O's. And that goal was very well satisfied.

Anyway, I did have some beers. Most of these were just 2-ounce samples. Here are the ones that were new to me:

Barley Island Flat Top Wheat

(bottle) Fizzy, with a nice aroma and a pretty good taste. Very light. More like a Belgian wheat than an American or German wheat. Pretty good. I'll look for this.

(bottle) Dark brown with a nice head. Aroma of dark fruits and maybe some chocolate. The flavor was surprisingly good to me. I will definitely look for this again. Probably today.

(bottle) Usually I know to steer clear of any beer calling itself a blonde, but this was listed as a Belgian Triple in the flyer, so I tried it. I liked it. There was nothing outstanding about it, but neither was there anything wrong with it. Maybe a watered-down Delirium tremens. Good.

(bottle) Straw and other dead weeds, in both the aroma and the flavor. Not very hoppy. Not very much of anything. Disgusting.

(can) Pretty metallic. Quite gross. I don't think that even people who like lagers would like this.

(can) Just gross. Smelled of rotten hops, and tasted very metallic. It tasted to me like it was skunked. Suprisingly bad.

(bottle) I know I'd had this before, but I'd never reviewed it. As a Baltic Porter, it of course reminds me of my beloved Baltika 6. Dark and roasty and chocolatey. Just a touch of alcohol burn at the finish makes me want more right away. Good.

Then we came back to New Albany, and LaptopGirl got this sudden intense craving to stop and eat at this one place I'd never been to before called Waffle House. Anxious to prolong the evening as much as I could, I readily agreed. So we sat and talked some more while she got something to eat, then I took her home and then I came home myself.

It was a really fun night for me. Kinda surreal, but really fun.

Of course I'm excited.

I just don't want to jinx it.

What a disappointment.

They weren't lingerie photos after all. Just bikinis.

Come to think of it, I might have been told that, when they first started flooding in. I just forgot when I saw all the Victoria's Secret URLs.

I'm supposed to help HatGirl pick something for a cruise, I guess.

I like the one in the lower right.