This is just some crap I wrote tonight at Sluttopia. I'd had this great idea to write some moving and uplifting entries, but then, on the way there, I was reminded of three things. Two things that pissed me off, and another that caused me great concern.

Anyway, here's what I came up with. In case you can't tell, I was in a bad mood by the time I got to Sluttopia.

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I thought it was a simple request, and I thought I'd asked it clearly. But, maybe not. So I'll ask again.

Please. Stop. Fucking. Interfering. With. My. Personal. Life.

There.

I don't know how I can make myself any more clear. Maybe if I throw in the word fucking a few more times.

Please. Fucking. Stop. Fucking. Interfering. With. My. Fucking. Personal. Fucking. Life.

If this simple request of mine continues to be ignored, I think that the circumstances will pretty much force me to reassess some friendships. And I don't want to do that. It would suck.

These latest instances of meddling, while perhaps oriented toward a different goal, are no less dangerous, no less disruptive, and no less despised than that last round of meddling.

I am actually teetering on the edge right now, between frustration and outright anger. And I don't like myself when I'm angry.

I don't want to lose friends over this. I really don't. But I will lose friends, if that's what I'm driven to do. If that's the choice I'm forced to make, then there is no choice.

My priorities are clear.

To me at least.

Some other people think they know my priorities. They think that they know me, because they've talked to me and/or read my drivel.

But they don't know shit. They only see the surface, what I allow them to see.

They haven't seen with my eyes or listened with my ears or felt with my touch. They haven't lived in my world, every perception distorted and only then interpreted by the tangible and intangible senses that make me who I am. What I am. How I am.

Conspiratorial whispers and blatant attempts at manipulation - does that crap really work? I mean, besides with children and idiots? I am neither of those things.

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Then, I stopped writing, because I was starting to feel mean. I started to write a different entry, something much less controversial and more irrelevant, but my mood was already shot to shit by then.

1. Get up at 6:00.
2. There is no step 2.

Dedicated stalkers readers may recall that I was supposed to have a date tonight. ArtGirl and I were supposed to go to see some band at some place.

Well, that didn't happen. The band wasn't going to start until midnight, and that was way too late for me, since I have to work in the morning. Plus, I never could get ahold of ArtGirl.

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Tonight, I went to Rich O's and I held my breath for three hours. Then, at about 10:00, I breathed sweet refreshing air for about ten seconds. Then, I held my breath again.

For what it's worth, I will not apologize for things I cannot change. I've already done enough of that, and it's never done anyone a bit of good.

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So my mood held fairly steady at content for most of the night. Maybe, there at the end, it might have jumped up a notch. Maybe.

But there was a brief period earlier when, for about ten seconds, I was filled with joy. That struck me as patently unfair, that something so trivial could affect me that much. I mean, I'm getting way more than I'm giving. The same thing happened last night. I got to be deliriously happy, and the best anyone else got was to have to put up with me.

It just doesn't seem right. I've felt guilty about it, a lot, over the past twenty-four hours or so.

You know what it's like?

It's like I'm a closeted gay guy in a men's locker room. Or a pedophile working as a janitor at an elementary school.

I'm enjoying my life way too much, and nobody is the wiser. I feel like I'm taking advantage of things. Taking too much advantage.

I do not like it, and I do feel guilty about it. But I will not apologize for things I cannot change.

Early Friday evening I was, as is quite often the case lately, trying to convince myself to do something besides go to Rich O's. I was toying with the idea of maybe going to this Sergio's place I've heard about. I was thinking about maybe going down to our local casino on the river. I even thought about just staying home and watching some movies.

It's just that sometimes I don't get the point of that place, and I felt like I needed a break. Even if it's just to prove to myself that I can take that break. Plus, I'm on-call this week, and that always sucks the life force right out of me.

But then HatGirl texted me that she was on her way to Rich O's, so what little willpower I might have possessed evaporated like spit on a summer sidewalk.

I had to park on the far side of Mars. This was a bad sign. Another bad sign was that there was an unlikely abundance of huge 4WD trucks in the Rich O's lot, all with those lift kit things that make you need a ladder to get into them. It was like Rich O's had turned into a redneck bar. Or that there was a tiny-penis convention taking place. I wondered if they would try to block my entrance.

Inside, the place was beyond packed. I nodded and waved at several people who were sitting around the living room. MusicalYuppieDude, TremensGirl, PlantDude, PearlGirl, PearlGirl's hot friend, probably some other people.

HatGirl and LuckyFucker were sitting at the bar, the only two seats available in the place, so I went over and stood behind them.

HatGirl!

Yay!

After about a million years, two cool things happened. First, some chick left the bar, and I grabbed the seat, Second one of the bartenders caught a glimpse of me through the crowd and took my beer order.

After a bit longer, UPSDude left the bar, so I took my NABC Flat Tyre (463) and slid down closer to LuckyFucker and HatGirl.

After a bit longer, some strangers left the loveseat, and PlantDude left the throne, so we all moved down there.

The next couple of hours were quite pleasant, talking to HatGirl and LuckyFucker. He's finally going to make an honest woman out of her, or vice-versa. I'm happy for them, but I know that the world will mourn when HatGirl is officially and legally off the market.

By the time HatGirl and LuckyFucker left, I was on my third Flat Tyre (503), and I'd moved over to the kiddie table because HairDude had stolen the throne when I went to pee. That was okay, though, I'd been starting to feel a bit claustrophobic because of this one chick from the sofa.

So I was sitting at the kiddie table with TremensGirl. It was a strange conversation we were having. Like we were breaking up or something. But we weren't, I probably just felt primed for that activity because WeirdGirl and I had just broken up over the phone. Something about my priorities and hers not matching up often enough. Oh, well.

Anyway, then LaptopGirl came in and, after TremensGirl left, sat at the kiddie table with me. We proceeded to have a very nice conversation about all sorts of relevant stuff. I had a half-pint of the Flat Tyre (513) to close out the night.

Oh yeah. MusicalYuppieDude said that the band that ArtGirl and I are supposed to see tonight doesn't start until midnight. We'd been told before that they would start at 7:00 or 8:00. So I called ArtGirl to let her know, in case that would affect her plans. She hasn't called back. I'll call her this afternoon.

Oh yeah again. NotHideousGirl came in for a while. She missed HatGirl by about twenty minutes, and I bet she was disappointed by that. It was nice to see her.

There was this one opportunity, for something not quite definable, where I totally screwed up. I blew it, and tonight I was reminded that I'd blown it.

I already knew that I'd blown it. So, it wasn't a big shock or anything, being reminded. Maybe a little mean, but still honest, and therefore acceptable.

Like I keep saying, timing is everything.

I'm not, and I never have been, one of those everything happens for a reason people. Those people are, by and large, idiots. But sometimes I can almost concede their point. Sometimes, it's very tempting for me to blame fate or God or whatever for those things which have happened or not happened in my life.

It's tempting, but I don't do it. I won't do it. Everything is my fault, everything has always been my fault, and everything will always be my fault.

People misinterpret me all the time. This is bizarre to me, because I keep no secrets, if only I'm asked the right questions.

The people who really understand, I love every one of them. Even as I hurt them, I love them. Because they know why I do the things that I do, say the things that I say, want the things that I want.

Sometimes, people seem surprised by the things that I do and say. This is bizarre to me, because I keep no secrets, if only I'm asked the right questions.

It's really quite simple, to define me and the things that are important to me. Explaining those things, now that's a much more difficult task.

I bet RockGirl could do it. Probably better than I could do it myself. She's all eloquent and shit.

I just realized that she didn't even tell me the date of the wedding. I don't know if they've even set a date. Probably my birthday or something fucked-up like that.

It probably shouldn't matter. But dates are important to me, for some reason.

I want to know the date, so I can plan to be sad, and to have a legitimate reason for my sadness.

That will be pretty rare, I think.

I get to be sane, on that day.

Whenever it is.

Doing is, of course, much harder than saying. Or writing, in this case. That's my disclaimer - I have no realistic expectations of ever actually doing this. Perhaps someone will read this, someone with more strength than I possess. Perhaps this will do someone good.

Anyway, I think I might know the secret. This entry is part one. Part two is still sloshing around in my head like milk in a churn. Eventually it will solidify and I'll take my knife and smear it across the internet.

That's a good metaphor. I like it.

Anyway, the secret of the secret, it goes back to that first paragraph. The part about expectations.

Expectations are bullshit. You should never have them. Instead, let yourself be astonished by everything that ever happens. Especially the good things.

And hopes? They're even worse than expectations, for they bring with them an emotional bond to your heart and the emotions therein. And, when hopes are dashed, as they are so wont to be, guess what happens to your emotions.

Wishes? Wishes are acceptable, I think. As long as that's all they are. But it's so easy, so fucking easy, for a wish to turn into a hope. I don't know how to stop that transformation, that evolution. I wish I knew.

Every fucking day, I wish I knew.

Not expect. Definitely not fucking hope.

I just wish.

It happened twice tonight. While I was watching my tivoed recording of American Idol and drinking a yummy Schlenkerla Urbock (320) and mentally kicking myself for, once again, letting my nap run on for far too long.

I don't even think I dreamed tonight. That's strange, because usually there's something about sleeping on my back, on my couch, that gets the old eyeballs moving rapidly. But not tonight, I don't think.

So, I was sitting there on my loveseat watching mostly bad singers, hoping for a good singer, or at least a hot girl to look at. During the boring parts of the show, I'd think about things. Do some navel-gazing, basically. And twice I was completely overwhelmed. I was completely overwhelmed and nearly incapacitated. The first time it was sadness that washed over me, the second time it was joy. Each time, it was perfect. Just incredible unblemished emotion. The first time a single sob left my lips. The second time, it was a laugh.

Tuesday, I talked to ArtGirl about experiencing every moment. Good, bad, or neutral, all moments of life should be lived and experienced in their entirety. Because they're not going to happen again. Ever. So, may as well pay attention to them. They might be important. They probably are important.

Tonight I had two perfect moments. One was good, the other was bad. I wouldn't trade either of them for anything. Perfect moments are our most precious gifts to ourselves.

Anyway, this all got me interested, so I did a search on my blog for the phrase perfect moment. I found one promise, one declaration, and one memory. I'd have thought there'd have been more. It certainly seems like the kind of thing I'd write about more often.

I think that the whole purpose of this entry was to put that link in. I think that I just wanted to prove that I used to be able to write decent drivel, even if I can't seem to do it anymore.

I feel all deep and contemplative tonight. Like I could really grab hold of something and make it important through thinking about it and writing about it. I'm not really sure what that something might be, but I'll be up for a while longer, so maybe it'll come to me.

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I had the strangest dream earlier. It was all bits and flashes. I was married to some famous chick, and the dream was a bunch of snapshots of our life together. But it wasn't sequential at all. We'd be old and retired on a beach, and then we'd be young and just meeting for the first time. It was kinda like a documentary or something, but really weird. Like this one time I was in bed, and I opened my eyes to see this thing coming toward me. You know those inflatable boxing dudes that you punch and they keep standing back up? It was one of those things. It was coming towards me from the far end of the room, holding a shotgun. But then my wife came in and popped it with a knitting needle. That was nice of her.

In another, much later scene, we were at some fancy party, and my wife was crying because she was supposed to sing (I think that's why she was famous, for her singing) but some whore had just sang the exact song she was going to sing. So my wife was very upset and crying. She was so upset, in fact, that she dove into this trash barrel to vomit and hide. I ended up rolling her back to our suite (I think we were at The Rio in Las Vegas) and the police were there asking questions about the popped boxing dude.

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ArtGirl and I are supposed to go see some band Saturday. I never heard of the band before - it's called Rufus Huff - but MusicalYuppieDude highly recommends them. I'm kind of excited about it. I haven't been to see a band for a song time. Plus, I like ArtGirl. It should be fun.

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Tonight there were all kinds of storms around here. The tornado siren went off for about two hours straight. All I got was some hard rain, though. Enough to get some water in my basement. I hate it when that happens.

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My sleep schedule is seriously hosed.