Some of them you want to protect. Some of them you want to hug, and smell their hair. Some of them you want to watch in awed silence while they sleep beside you. Some of them you want to kiss, ever so softly, and some of them more passionately. Some of them you want to hold their hand. Some of them you want to get lost in their eyes. Some of them you want to fuck. Some of them you want to lick.

Some of them, you want to do all those things.

Those are the best ones.

Why is a dog different from a cat?

Sure, both are furry, and both make good pets, and both will shit on your floor from time to time, but they really are completely different creatures.

So why is this time different from the last time?

Same reason. It's a completely different creature.

This time it's a crush. It's as simple as that.

(girl*smolder)+(guy*lonely+straight)=crush.

The last time, the last time it was something else. Something terrifying, something fascinating, something dangerous.

((girl+sparkles)^unknown)+((guy*clueless)^unknown)=unknown^2

Whatever it was, it most certainly was not a crush. And fuck anyone who tries to dismiss it as such. I was there. I lived through the fucking thing. I died through the fucking thing.

Lately, people talk to me, or they read what little I allow myself to post, and some of them start to think to themselves, Oh shit. Dave's going off his rocker again. Then they either try to talk some sense into me, or they sit back to enjoy the show that they're sure is about to start.

Either way, they're wasting their time. Because this is different. This is normal. This is nothing. Yet.

Fuck. I didn't mean to write the yet part.

Please disregard it.

Thanks.

I've got an idea for an entry.

Actually, I've got another idea.

The first idea was just wrong. It would have been too much. For you to read. For me to post. It was something I wrote in another journal. I'd thought about posting it here, but I changed my mind at the last minute.

That entry doesn't belong here. Even though I've recently stolen a couple of entries from that other journal and posted them here, publicly - this one I just couldn't do. That entry was not written for you, my readers. That entry was written for her.

Besides, I've picked at the bones of that journal enough. I need to let it rest in peace. Just because I murdered the person who wrote in that journal doesn't mean that I shouldn't still show some respect for the dead.

But anyway.

That sudden restraint left me with nothing for this journal. There I was, listed on the JS front page as a reader's pick, and my mind was blank. Blanker than usual, I should say.

Now though, now I've got an idea, for an interesting entry. Maybe even a good one. Wouldn't that be something?

So jodiechalese, a hot Australian girl who much to the dismay of men all over journalspace has apparently vanished, left me a very nice parting gift. She nominated me for the JS reader's pick thingy.

And there I am! Yay for me!

Once the initial shock and gratitude begins to wear off, however, I know that I'll be faced with a problem. A problem that will become painfully obvious to anyone venturing over to my journal because of this publicity.

I'm not very good.

At least not lately.

I'm sitting here, exposed like a fly on a plate, and I've got nothing. No drama. No pain. Not even any joy.

It's just me and my poemish things and my amateurish comics and my mundane entries about my mundane life.

It used to be better than this. I used to be better than this.

So there is some decent stuff in this journal. It's just a lot more difficult to find than it used to be.

Good luck.

This was expected.
I have been waiting for it,
Anticipating.
This is what I have yearned for.
Just a little distraction.

This morning I faced an eight hour work day, and I dreaded it.

Right now, I face a long entry, and I dread it just as much.

Not because it's anything bad, but just because it's a little bit boring to everyone but me.

So I don't think I'll write a long entry or two about last night. I'll just hit the highlights.

After I left Lenscrafters, I went over to the Bluegrass brewpub and had some dinner. With my burger and fries I had a BBC Dark Star Porter (174) and a BBC Alt (220). Both were quite yummy.

I text-messaged SassyGirl to see if she was working or not.

At about the time I left the brewpub, MixedSignalGirl called me.

I didn't call her, she called me.

I just want to make that clear to those readers that have been giving me shit for leading the poor girl on.

Anyway, she was just wanting some company and she wanted it to be me. As it turned out, she's been having a problem with her ex-boyfriend (also named Dave) and she figured that my truck parked in her driveway would do some good.

We talked for a while and ended up going to Red Lobster where I managed to eat some cheesesticks despite already being full from eating at the brewpub.

That was it. We talked about nothing much, and we ate. It was nice though. There was no massive drama bubbling away beneath the surface of either of us.

After I left her house, at around 9:30. I went to send her a text-message thanking her for the company, and I saw that I'd missed about 46 phone calls from SassyGirl. I'd had my stupid phone turned to "completely silent" instead of "vibrate" as I usually do.

Duh.

SassyGirl was at Rich O's, and I went there. While I was on my way, HatGirl text-messaged me asking me where I was. I hadn't expected HatGirl to be there last night, so that was a nice surprise.

The place wasn't too crowded at all, but that was at least partly because I arrived at around 10:00.

To drink, I had a couple glasses of Piraat (155) and a glass of Gulden Draak (140). All were quite yummy.

I think that's all I want to say now.

Told you it was boring.

Your heat warms the room.
And yet you're not self-conscious.
You smile, the world stops
To contemplate your beauty.
I don't know how you stand it.

I mentioned to DooRagGirl Friday night that I was going to buy new glasses. She asked me if I was going to buy evil glasses. I don't know what that means. I picture either a monocle or one of those glasses-on-a-stick thingies. I think I'll stay with regular non-evil glasses. Just some that are a little more fashionable than the ones I've had for five years. Maybe some thin rectangular ones.

---

So Saturday afternoon, determined to (a) get off my ass, and (b) leave my house, and (c) actually do something, I went over to Lenscrafters to get some new glasses.

I went in, and looked around at some frames that kinda looked like what I was looking for. A saleslady approached me, and after a bit she told me that I couldn't buy glasses because my prescription was too old. I told her that my vision hadn't changed since the last time I'd bought glasses, but she said that I was in no place to make that determination - her computer said that my prescription had expired.

*sigh*

So I went over to the doctor's counter and filled out the sheet with all of my personal information, then waited for about a half-hour, then got my vision checked. Guess what?

My fucking prescription hasn't changed.

Armed with this new information, I went back to the same saleslady as before. I picked out a frame that I liked - not really rectangular, but moreso than my current pair, and definitely thinner.

This is when the bitch decided to tell me that they were so backed up that anything I ordered today wouldn't be available for pickup until Sunday.

*sigh*

So I told her to suck my dick*, and I left and went to another Lenscrafters, over in Louisville this time.

After about 15 minutes of standing in that store, and being completely ignored, I overheard some people talking. It turns out that you can't get a salesperson to even look at you, let alone help you at this particular store, unless you sign in first.

So I fucking signed in.

About 8 million years later, a salesguy called out my name.

I took him back to the display that had a couple of frames that I liked. I told him that I was hoping that his vast experience would be able to help me choose between them. One frame was more rectangular, and one was more oval. Both were a lot thinner than the glasses I currently wear.

The guy reaches deep inside himself, and calls upon his years of experience and deep knowledge of what frames look good on which people, and said, "Your face is oval, you could go with either frame."

Gee, thanks. Asshole.

Now, this is the part where I started to get pissed. Well, maybe not, but the groundwork for getting pissed was definitely laid at this point.

I picked the more rectangular frames. The guy said that, "With these frames, you have several options."

I swear he used the words "with these frames."

So he started rattling off options about featherweight lenses and scratch-resistance and anti-glare coatings. Eventually he said that I could get the featherweight scratch-resistant anti-glare for $280 with those frames.

I swear that's what he said.

with those frames.

After about another hour, which the salesguy spent typing my information into his computer, he suggested that he should go check and see if the frames that I wanted were in stock.

No shit, Sherlock.

I agreed that he should check, otherwise he was wasting my time.

So the guy comes back and they do have those frames in stock. He starts keying in numbers and eventually announces the total.

Eight zillion dollars.

It turned out that, despite what the fucker had said to me several times, that the cost of the frames was completely separate from the cost of the lenses. So my $149 frames, plus his lenses, added up to eight zillion dollars.

Or it might as well have.

I was not prepared to spend that much. Not so much because of the price, but because of the principle of the thing. It's a pair of glasses, not a new heart or set of lungs.

I told the guy that he'd mislead me, and that eight zillion dollars for some lenses was ridiculous, and that I'd rather stick with my boring old 1990-vintage glasses.

Then I left.

* - I didn't really tell her that, but I thought it.