This should be a brief entry. I don't feel like typing anything.

Saturday night started out weird. The first reason it started out weird was that I arrived at 7:00 instead of my usual 8:30ish time. The second reason it started out weird was that I went into the Sportstime side instead of the Rich O's side.

Both these bits of weirdness had the same cause. My sister Neisha, and her husband Chris, and her friend that was visiting from up North, were all there.

That side of the building is just strange, but at least they have the same beer list. I started out with a Guinness (1137) which I drank while everybody else had pizza. I had already eaten, plus I've pretty much given up on the pizza at Sportstime.

Three people that I know from Rich O's had expressed interest in seeing Neisha if she ever came in. The only one I knew how to contact was DooRagGirl, so I texted her. HotRedHead came in on her own, so she got to see Neisha, and I guess she also called GlassesGirl.

After everybody was done with their pizza we went over to Rich O's, stopping on the way to say hi to my cousin Jamie. He was sitting out front.

So, this is boring.

We sat in the living room area and talked and drank some. I had myself a Gravity Head beer:

Christoffel Werelds Winterbier (10)

(draft) Poured a lot darker than I expected. A pretty good beer. No spices or adjuncts that I could detect, so I'm not sure that I completely agree with the "Winter Beer" classification. Good though.

GlassesGirl arrived about two minutes too late. I tried to call Neisha to see if she wanted to turn around and come back but I guess I fat-fingered my phone and I ended up leaving a message at her home number. Duh.

I think that it was about this time that I had another Guinness (1157).

I talked with DooRagGirl and GlassesGirl for a while. Eventually I had myself a Weihenstephaner (618).

I came home fairly early myself because I had to work early Sunday morning.

I could write about more shit from Saturday but I'm not going to.

I remember when I used to be able to come home from the bar and write out halfway decent crap. Tonight makes two nights in a row in which I'm afraid to write anything for fear of making things worse than they already are.

Yeah, like that's fucking possible.

Yesterday we had to go to our local Caesar's for this work thing. I really don't get the purpose of these things. It's like there's this perception that nobody likes each other, but that would all change if we could somehow be forced to spend time together away from work.

Brilliant.

Not.

The people that I like I still like, and the people that are assholes are still assholes.

Actually, I think I like most of the people that went yesterday, so if there was an asshole among us it was probably me.

Anyway, I turned my $10 into $110 playing blackjack. It was quite boring though. My dealer's name was Chance I shit you not. What a stupid name, but if you're going to be a casino dealer I guess it's not too bad.

I'd considered just staying at the casino Friday night, because Rich O's has been so full of idiots lately, but by the time we got released from our team-building stuff I was just too tired. So I called SassyGirl and let her know that I'd be at Rich O's later if she got off work and wanted to come by.

Then, then I got home and I had an email that put me in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

I got to Rich O's a little after 8:00. It was of course standing-room-only. So I stood at the end of the bar and ordered my first beer. I had a sip or two of this a long time ago, but this was my first official tasting:

Urthel Samaranth Quadrium (12)

(draft) This beer is evil. Pure evil. To taste the way it does, which is actually fairly mild, but to pack that much alcohol - well like I said it's evil. As I said, a fairly mild (and fairly standard) Belgian taste. A slight alcohol finish is the only thing that hints at the wolf underneath this sheep's clothing.

"That Guinness, it's only for little girls and pregnant women. I can't stand that stuff," he said to his posse of fuckwads. They all chuckled of course, and I decided that I hated them all.

So, of course, I ordered myself a Guinness. I looked all the fuckwads in the eyes and waited for one of them to say something. They didn't though, because they're all fuckwads.

I drank my Guinness (1117) fairly quickly, and I was considering ordering another one just to push the fuckwads over the edge, but some strangers left the loveseat so I picked up my shit and went over there.

That was, in retrospect, a stupid thing to do, but I guess it was at least better than standing. Maybe.

I finished my Samaranth, and ordered another Gravity Head beer:

Founder's Blushing Monk Belgian Razz (5)

This really sucked.

Some other shit happened. There were idiots all over the place. I did my best to keep to myself, and I came home fairly early.

There's a saying.

If you don't have anything nice to say, then say nothing at all.

Or something like that.

I think that will be my motto for tonight.

Here's a picture of Paco the Alpaca, brought to me all the way from Peru by SassyGirl.

Paco is admiring my second yummy bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (606).

I had a couple of remarkably similar conversations tonight, with two different friends. The subjects were similar, as was the advice I offered. The other thing that was similar was that I'm pretty sure that both conversations ended with my friend thinking, Wow, what a fucking hypocrite Dave is.

I believe that my friends were thinking this, because I was certainly thinking it.

...

I was going to write a lot more, and I have written a lot more. I've deleted hundreds of words three or four times.

It was all bullshit.

I was going to write that I've thought things over, and that I no longer believe that I'm a hypocrite. I was going to write that too much time has passed for me to take my own advice. I was going to write that 18 months ago I did try those things that I suggested tonight.

I was going to write a lot of things. I did write a lot of things. But I deleted it all several times.

It was all bullshit.

I guess the motto of this little piece of drivel, if you feel like you need one, the motto would be, Do as I say, not as I do.

I tell myself that it's too late for me to take my own advice. I've been telling myself that for over a year. I've told myself so often and with such conviction that I've managed to make it true.

I am an idiot.

Use that for a motto, if you prefer.

Every now and then, not as often as before but still often enough to be noticeable, I feel a little bit like a fly on a plate.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: That sentence really seems familiar to me. Not the words, but the general flow of the thing. I think it might remind me of Moby Dick. I'm not intentionally plagiarizing anyone though, so I guess it's okay.

Years and years ago, when I used to be one of the best pool players in whatever bar I happened to be shooting and/or hanging out in, I guess I got used to that feeling. Of being in the spotlight. Of everybody watching me. All the time.

I guess I got used to it, and I guess I kinda liked it even. It probably motivated me to excellence and shit.

But that was a long time ago. In the years since then, the spotlights have come from completely different directions, for completely different reasons.

These days, my friends at Rich O's often look to me to set the mood. To tell the jokes. To keep them entertained. These days, more often than I really care to speculate on, I seem to be in charge of whether my friends enjoy themselves.

Talk about pressure!

For the most part, I think, my friends eventually figure out that I'm a bit of an asshole. At that point they either stop talking to me or they at least stop relying on me to be their only source of entertainment. This is perfectly fine with me. I cannot be "on" all of the time. It's exhausting.

My family is an entirely different matter.

The thing about my sisters, and of course I love them like sisters, is that they just don't seem able to accept the fact that I'm not the same person that they know from before. Hell, I'm not even close.

Back then, I was introverted, and friendly, and caring, and patient.

These days, these days I'm not.

Patient? I don't have fucking time for that.

Caring? What's in it for me?

Friendly? As long as you can prove that you're not an idiot within 10 seconds of meeting me.

Introverted? Okay, fine. That's still there. It's just not as noticeable as it used to be.

So, basically, like I said up above, I'm an asshole. I'm self-centered, and I'm kind of a beer snob, and I'm so easily annoyed by strangers that I make Boo Radley seem like Richard Simmons in comparison.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Mr. Simmons was just the most extroverted person I could think of on such short notice. There are probably several people who would be better suited for the purpose for which I wrote the above.

Anyway.

This weekend my sister Neisha is supposed to be coming to Rich O's. This is such a fantastic and rare occasion that I'm a little worried that the denizens of Hell may be at risk from frostbite.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Now would be a really good time to open a Winter clothing store in Hell. Or maybe go down there and hang a shingle proclaiming myself as a personal injury attorney. But then again, Hell is probably already full of lawyers, so I should just stick with the Winter clothing store idea.

So, even though it's still three days away, and I remain aware anything could happen between now and then, I'm a little excited about the prospect of Neisha coming into Rich O's.

I'm also a little nervous about it.

Not because my sister is coming. Nope, I'm a little nervous because she's bringing a friend. She's bringing a friend from out of town specifically to meet me.

Talk about pressure!

I have no idea what my sister has told her friend about me. I can only imagine. Probably the usual stuff.

Dave is funny.

Dave is charming.

Dave is smart.

Dave can juggle.

Dave walks on water and performs other miracles.

At least I don't have to worry about the Dave is HOT thing because (a) I'm not hot, and (b) it's my sister.

Saturday night, I need to be on my best behavior. Saturday night, I need to do whatever I can do to keep my sister from being called a liar.

Saturday night, I need to be on.

You know what I like about my life right now?

I like the fact that, for the first time that I can remember, I seem to have the entire gamut of emotions at my beck and call.

This is really pretty cool, this place that I find myself in. Even though I complain about it what seems like all the fucking time.

Q: How do you know Dave is complaining about something?

A: Because he's awake.

Here's a little challenge for you. Pick an emotion. Give me a minute, and I can be experiencing that emotion.

Some are easier than others, of course. Some I might even call difficult. But not impossible.

A friend of mine asked me today if I ever felt hate. That's actually one of the tough ones for me. But I can do it. I have to reach far back - years and years - into my past, and think about things that I'd rather not think about, but I can do it. If I'm completely honest with myself, then I have to admit that I do hate her for what she did, over and over and over and over and over and over. Without remorse. Without anything that could even be remotely considered as being anything similar to regret. With nothing but pure selfishness. I hate that fucking whore.

Yes, I do hate her. For who she is, and for the coward that she turned me into.

Love, the one emotion that I always figured was impossible for me to feel - that's the one that turned out to be the easiest of all. That's the one that I live with, that's a part of me, that I cannot completely shake even when I want to do so. I try to run from it, and I try to hide from it, and I try to deny that I ever felt it. Feel it. But there's no use running, or hiding, or denying. It always catches up. It always finds me. It always stands right in front of me and does a little dance that always makes me laugh. This is what I feel when I let my mind and my heart relax and stop trying to escape the inescapable. That such a person can exist in this world. It's just so amazing to me. She is just so amazing to me.

I do love her. For who she is, and for the hopeful idiot that she turned me into.

And, between those two emotions, and between those two very different women, I have the full range of emotion available to me.

Like I said, it's pretty cool.

This isn't really an entry.

I'd planned on writing a real entry tonight, but now I'm not so sure that either of the ideas I had are worthy of your majesties' attention.

Maybe I'll have a beer and see how I feel after that.