Out of the blue I got voicemails from two people I haven't heard from in a long time.

First, TrainGirl proved that MiddleNameGuy is full of shit by not only remembering me, but actually calling me.

Second, a flame from over seven years ago somehow got my cell phone number. I'm trying to ignore the stalkerish implications of this and am actively rehearsing the conversation that will take place when I call her back.

I wonder what the hell I'm doing here.

Not here in this universe, in this life, or in this screwed up head. Those questions are better left to the philosophers and psychiatrists.

What I wonder is what the hell I'm doing sitting in this chair, writing in this 'blog.

It's not even a 'blog at all is it? Nope, it's an online journal. Completely different, but I didn't know. And it's too late to change now.

But I digress.

What is it that makes me want to sit here in this chair and write out my innermost feelings and my most mundane activities for all the world to see? Why, even during times like this - times when I'd just as soon dig myself a nice deep hole to sit and cry in, why do I instead choose to sit in this chair and type?

I don't know why I have to do this. I just know that I do.

I once again find myself at the center of a whirlwind of emotions, grabbing desperately, trying to pull these feelings in.

This is not the entry I had in my head.

I'm actually in a good mood. I mean, I'm depressed as shit, but I'm kind of happy about it. Not that I expect that to make any sense.

Maybe to at least one person out there, it will make sense.

Maybe that's why I'm sitting in this chair.

For years all of the dreams ended the same way.

We'd be supremely happy. Blissfully happy. Then she'd leave. And I'd be sad.

There have been several different she's in my dreams over the years. There have been several reasons for her leaving. Usually she'd find somebody new. Somebody better. Sometimes she'd just up and leave. Just like that. And I'd be sad.

Now my dreams are different.

Now, when she leaves me in my dreams, I go after her.

Someday I might even catch her. Get her back.

Then I'll wake up happy for once, until I remember.

Until I remember that it was, after all, just a dream.

My Monte Carlo is sick.

It rarely gets driven in the Winter, and this past winter it didn't get driven at all because of a "check engine" light that came on in November.

So it's either sick or pouting.

My battery is shot, or maybe my alternator. One of my exhaust pipes has a split in it. My cousin says he smells something that indicates the catalytic convertor may be bad.

I took it to the garage and dropped it off with a note that I'd call about it in the morning.

I'll be happy if I end up spending less than two thousand getting it back in tiptop shape. I don't really have a choice. I promised myself when my dad died that I'd either take proper care of the Monte Carlo or I'd sell it to someone who would take care of it.

And I don't want to sell it.

Let's see, an uneventful weekend. Can I make an entry about it anyway?

Friday Rich O's was full of strangers. I spent a good amount of time standing in the annex area talking with Roger and drinking an NABC Noble Smoker. It turns out that they've tapped the last keg of this beer, so I tried to really savor it.

After a million years or so the idiots left the living room area so I went and talked with LibertyGirl for a while until DooRagGirl came in and then they just talked with each other.

I also had an NABC Tunnel Vision.

Friday's lesson learned:

Way too many women have had a certain person's dick inside them. It really doesn't matter how pretty or sweet or smart you are otherwise - if you have voluntarily let that person's dick get inside you, then you are a slut, and I have no interest in you.

On Saturday, Rich O's was dead. The fact that they were closed for Thunder Over Louisville may have had something to do with it. Sportstime, however, was open so I went there and had a Noble Smoker while I pondered the weirdness that is that side of the building.

After a while NotGeorge came in and we talked about our favorite subject for a while. I had an NABC BourbonDaddy which was quite good.

ActualGeorge came over and sat with us for a while.

Saturday's lesson learned:

There are a lot of pretty girls at Sportstime. Most of these girls would never dream of going into Rich O's. But that's okay, because they're all stuck up bitches anyway.

I guess that's it.

What's the difference between murder and manslaughter?

Intent.

What the difference as far as the victim is concerned?

Nothing whatsoever.

When somebody types my name into google, gets led to my site, and then doesn't bother to say hi.

Since I'm suffering from mental constipation I thought I'd try putting in some entries from the past.

As a test I did this one and surprise, it worked!

Of course, I may get bored with this, and I will certainly have to guess at some dates, but it should be interesting. To me at least.

Not really sure how to (or if I should bother to) announce that there are new old entries like this. I suppose that it's just safe to assume that anything dated before September 2003, when I started this 'blog, is a new old entry.

Oh, yeah. Some of these will be taken from my memory, but others (starting around 1980) will be from actual paper journals.

I will probably get tired of digging up old memories fairly quickly.

Purchased some tickets to a couple of shows to see next month in Las Vegas.

On Tuesday I'll be seeing that new Ka show at the MGM Grand. I've heard that it was pretty cool.

I also wanted to see O at the Bellagio again, but there are no decent seats available. Next I tried to see Mystere at Treasure Island again, but there are no seats, period, for that one.

So I'm going to see Zumanity at the New York New York. It really seems like more of a couple's show, but I've heard that it was pretty good.

There are some shows that I'd like to see that aren't so artsy-fartsy. Maybe a comedian, maybe a magician. I'll just see how that turns out once I get there.

(response to message)

I've replied here. The city is your password.