Today was Wednesday, otherwise known as AlliDay. One of the highlights of my week, when I can sneak away from work and go have lunch at The Pub and talk to BikerGirl for a bit. Work has been crazy lately, but today I did manage to spare an hour. I had a nice Newcastle (8109) for lunch, and talked to BikerGirl for a bit.

At the end of the day I got my hairs cut, then I stopped at Rich O's for a quick Schlenkerla Marzen (2056). I don't think that my spiffy new good mood quite fits in with going to Rich O's after work anymore. I haven't felt happy there after work for a long time.

Anyway, I had a dream tonight. I think I can remember enough about it to describe it. I'll try.

I was at Rich O's. But it wasn't the real Rich O's. It was the same one from this dream. Instead of there being a single living room area, with couches and stuff, there were dozens of them scattered about. I was sitting in one such area when she came in.

Some hot blonde girl. I never saw her before in my life, but she seemed to know me. She certainly acted like she did. Within about 10 seconds after her arrival, we were making out like teenagers. So, pretty much exactly like my waking life. Not.

The blonde girl and I went outside for some reason. I asked her what her name was. "Zwanka," she said.

So that was weird.

When we came back inside, there was a huge crowd waiting to hear some band play, and Zwanka and I got separated. I was looking around for her and I saw a baby sitting on the floor all by itself.

I somehow knew that this was LaptopGirl's baby. But I hadn't seen her anywhere around, and nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the baby. I was afraid that somebody might step on it or abduct it or something. So I scooped it up and started walking around looking for LaptopGirl.

The baby and I talked as we walked around. He was about a year old, but quite a good little talker. He helped me look for his mother, but it seemed that just about every girl in the place had dark hair and glasses, so we kept going on little wild goose chases. It was fun though. I remembered thinking that I hadn't held a baby in a very long time.

Then I saw that Dan was bartending, so I asked him to put the baby up on this shelf behind the bar. That way, if LaptopGirl came in, she'd be sure to see her baby up there. I asked the baby if he wanted to go play with Uncle Dan for a while, and he agreed. So Dan put the baby up on the shelf, and I went looking for Zwanka some more.

I never did find Zwanka, but the next time I glanced at the bar, the baby was gone, and Dan gave me a thumbs-up.

But, Zwanka?

Where did that come from?

Okay, so I was in the restroom at work when it happened. By it, I of course mean that my building burst into flames.

Well, maybe not really. But I couldn't really know that, could I? I was in the restroom, busily doing restroom stuff. There were storms in the area, and there was a very loud crack, and then the fire alarm went off.

I have some questions. If you're taking a shit, and you fear that your building has just burst into flames, what actions should you take before you run screaming from the restroom?

Should you wipe? Pull your pants back up?

Should you wash your hands?

These questions, they haunt me now.

Anyway, it turns out that lightning had struck our building in such as way as to set off the fire alarm, but we didn't find that out for a while. Because it was raining pretty hard, we only mostly evacuated. We went to the bottom floor, near the door but not quite outside the door.

Then all the firemen (I actually do think it was all of them) came and started checking everything out. I texted NormalGirl that I might be late for our date, because my building might be on fire.

Then one of the firemen told us about how our building wasn't on fire, so we went back to work, and I texted NormalGirl back that I'd be on time after all.

---

Later, as I was leaving work, I got a message from NormalGirl that she was on the Sportstime side. So, that's where I went. It's weird on that side.

I'd been hoping that NormalGirl wouldn't wear anything cute, so that I might be able to get to know her better without all the distractions, but alas, she was wearing a cute hoodie and had cute sunglasses on top of her head. But I persevered. We had a nice time, I think. I poured on all of the charm I could muster, and I think we were each genuinely interested in what the other had to say.

It was fun.

Let's see, to start off the evening, I had a Delirium Tremens (1053). NormalGirl was having an Upland Wheat. We shared a pizza and some conversation. For the next beer, we split a bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (2279) on my recommendation. She seemed to like it okay.

As the conversation continued, I had a bottle of Schlenkerla Marzen (2022). I had NormalGirl try a small sample of that. She didn't gag, so that was cool.

We have agreed that, since I chose the time and the venue for this date, she will be in charge of the next one. I hope that the next one happens. I like what I've seen and heard so far.

---

After NormalGirl left, I went over to Rich O's and talked to MusicalYuppieDude while I had another Marzen (2039).

Despite all outward evidence to the contrary, my fantastic mood continues. I mean, I've become even more aloof around my friends, sometimes I don't bother to go out at all. My tolerance for idiotic behavior has never been lower. I tend to blow off people who try to talk to me.

It's not that I don't care. And it's not even that these people are not relevant. Even though they're not, for the most part.

It's just that I know, for an absolute fact, that none of them are going to make me feel any better than I already feel. It's simply not possible. That's not to say that they will make me feel worse - it could be a status quo type of thing.

But, why take that chance? It just doesn't seem worth it. There's no reward with that risk, because I already have everything I could ever need. Wants are, of course, a different matter entirely. And my wants still vary. I kind of hope that they'll continue to vary, because I can imagine that, by doing so, they could inject some much needed drama into my life. I'd really hate to get bored with all this happiness, though the irony of it would definitely elicit a chuckle or two or a million.

Almost nobody knows me anymore. The vast majority of the people, who think they know me, they only know me as I was for the past couple of years. They've never seen me like this.

I'm no longer a sad guy who might get into a good mood every now and then, shocking friends and misleading strangers.

I'm an actual happy person, and feeling bad or sad or mad - even though those feelings will certainly continue to make appearances, those feelings are no longer the norm for me.

It used to be that even the tiniest things would send me plummeting back into the abyss. Not now. Now, I'm possessed of my own intrinsic buoyancy.

The weight of a lost friendship?

Nothing.

The burden of mounting work pressures?

Inconsequential.

The near-constant load of financial obligations?

This too shall pass.

I am happy, dammit.

And, also, a little surprised that the shock of this transformation didn't kill me.

A little while ago I got an email from RockGirl. Earlier today, we'd been discussing various meal choices, in particular my own preference for eating a lot of a single thing instead of a small amount of several things.

RockGirl asked me what I'd serve if a hot girl (she specified a certain one, but it's not important for this exercise) came over to my house for lunch.

It took me about a half a second to come up with an answer.

Homemade chocolate pudding. Then I'd say that I had no clean bowls or plates or spoons, and so we'd have to just lick it off each other's bodies.

I'd probably get away with it, too. Because in this fantasy universe of yours, wherein a hot girl comes to my house for lunch, anything at all is possible.

Maybe I'll sue myself later. I'd probably settle out of court, though. I wouldn't want to give myself too much hassle.

I'm a little bit torn right now. There are several things that I'd like to write about. But it's late, and I'm tired. So I have to be very brief.

---

I got to see HatGirl - Yay! - tonight, for the first time in a million zillion gazillion years. It was very nice to see her.

---

There was about a 40/60 ratio of girls to guys at Rich O's tonight. That would be strange enough, but what made it even more strange was that the entire 40% consisted of hot girls. There wasn't a bowser in the bunch.

---

I had four bottles of Schlenkerla Marzen (2006) tonight. All were yummy.

---

There were a lot of weirdoes tonight. Many more than usual. The presence of all the hot girls somehow turned all of the guys into weirdoes. Wouldn't be the first time, but I've rarely seen such outbreaks at Rich O's.

---

Toward the very end of the night, I began to feel some of my recent resolve deteriorate. Luckily, they declared last call before I did or said anything stupid.

---

It was a nice night. I was in a good mood even before I got to see HatGirl, and after that I was in a fantastic mood. A couple of people and events tried to spoil it, but tonight my mood was invincible. I don't expect this invincibility to last very long. The good things never last.

---

Okay, that's it. I'm tired.

The other day I said that I felt like I was doing something wrong at the most basic level.

Well, today I decided that I was correct. There are were two things that I was doing which were just incredibly wrong. I am now trying to correct those things, but only time will tell if I'm successful.

First, my left hand should never ever ever ever be used to support the guitar. My left hand's sole purpose is to form chords. If I feel the need to support the end of the guitar with my left hand, then I'm doing something wrong. I'm out of balance somewhere. My left hand needs to be completely unencumbered, so that it can reach all of the strings easily. Supporting the guitar with my left hand is a distraction at best, and a total hindrance at worst. Usually, for me so far, it's been the latter.

Second, strumming should be about 95% elbow action, and only 5% wrist action. This particular problem is a little harder to describe, but I'm still sure that I'm right. It has to do with how and/or if I hit the proper strings when I strum, especially on my upstrokes. I'm working on this, but it's proving to be really tough for me.

It's fun for me to pretend that anyone cares about this crap.

I'm dewrinkling some clothes now, so I have a little bit of time to kill. This one stupid shirt probably won't get dewrinkled, and I'll have to iron it. I hate it when that happens.

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment. It was routine, except for the girl who did most of the work. She was far from routine. She was gorgeous. Way too pretty to be working in a dentist's office. I mean, I generally like for any girls sticking their fingers in my mouth to be of reasonable appearance. I wouldn't want some old hag doing it, neither would I want a super-model doing it. At least not in that context, super-models should all feel free to stick fingers in my mouth at other times. And this chick was as pretty as any super-model I've ever seen. Especially when she had her cute little mask on, and all I could see were her incredible eyes.

So I spent all of my time in that chair thinking about baseball, so I wouldn't spring an erection and distract the poor girl as she worked inside my mouth with sharp metal utensils.

The greatest moment that I ever personally witnessed in baseball was several years ago. The Mariners were playing the Indians, and Kenny Lofton had spent about a week calling Randy Johnson a headhunter. When the game started, Lofton was the lead-off batter, and for the first pitch Randy threw a fastball straight at Kenny's head.

A big to-do ensued. There was no fight, but there was a lot of arguing. The umpire gave Randy a warning not to do that again, ever, young man.

Things settled back down, and the game resumed. For the second pitch of the game, Randy threw another fastball straight at Lofton's head, then he walked off the field. Classic.

Anyway.

Last night I went to Rich O's. I hadn't been planning to go, but LaptopGirl wanted me to take a look at her computer. That's not a euphemism. Her computer has been acting up.

So I had a nice pleasant evening talking with LaptopGirl. It didn't seem as surreal as it has lately, so I guess maybe I'm getting used to this new reality. I hope so.

Her computer is running Vista, and it's got some crap wrong with it. I managed to correct one glaring problem, but the rest will have to wait until we can scan the thing for spyware. I'm fairly convinced that's what's causing most of her computer woes. Also, the damn thing bluescreened on us three or four times. I didn't think Vista was ever supposed to bluescreen, and I'd definitely thought that Microsoft would have done away with that particular anachronism by now.

Like I said, it was a nice night. I had most of two bottles of yummy Koningshoeven Quad (722), and I had most of three bottles of yummy Schlenkerla Marzen (1938). LaptopGirl had the rest.

Later, the place turned back into a sausagefest. I stayed around for a little while, though. Talking to MusicalYuppieDude and a couple of other guys. I left just before they started kicking every out.

Crap.

I had this really clever thing that I was going to write about. It was going to tie in perfectly to my current life, and it was going to set me free.

Problem was, once I actually wrote it, it ended up saying pretty much the exact opposite of what I'd originally thought it would say. I blame beer for this lapse in judgment.

In this case, see, the fucking glove fits perfectly. Like my own skin, it fits. So acquittal is out of the question. Guilt is certain. Beyond a reasonable doubt. Even beyond an unreasonable doubt. Beyond a shadow of any kind of doubt whatsoever.

I'm guilty as fuck.

It really was a good idea for a while, though.

There. I think this is cryptic enough to pass my internal censors.

Lately, I never seem to know how to start an entry. I know what it is that I want to write about. I know all of the major points that I want to make. A lot of times, I know what the last sentence will be. It's that first sentence that's eluding me. I want the first sentence to grab people, and to not let go of them until they've read the entire entry.

Tonight, I wanted to write about overflow. And, for a first sentence, I whined and complained. That's just not right at all. But, lately, I don't seem to be able to do any better. And that's the point I was making with that first sentence.

Anyway.

I've been doing this blogging crap for over four years now. I don't even want to count how many entries I've written, but MoveableType tells me that this is the 2,422st entry in my barenada.com blog. Off the top of my head, I'd guess that there are another 100 or so entries scattered about my other blogs.

Over 2,500 entries. And you know how many have been readable, meaningful? You know how many have been completely honest and candid?

A couple of dozen. Maybe, If I'm feeling generous, maybe three dozen.

I can go back and read those entries, the ones that are readable. And I do go back and read them fairly often, for various reasons, most of which are of interest only to me. But one of the reasons is to remind myself and prove to myself that I'm capable of so much more than what I normally write.

Sometimes, it's like I transcend my own abilities. It's really an amazing feeling, when everything falls into place, and all of the right words just flow onto the screen. I know that I can write, every now and then. The trick seems to be in doing it all the time. Or, at least, doing it more often than not.

The people who know me, they know what I've gone through. And most of those people know what I'm going though right now. And yet, I continue to write mundane irrelevant drivel. Because, for now, that's all I can write. Because, for now anyway, I can contain myself.

Eventually, I manage to fear and hope with nearly equal intensity, eventually these words and thoughts inside my head will no longer be contained. They'll overflow my mind and run down my arms and out through my fingers and onto my keyboard and into the world. I will become a like a mountain spring. A spring of what, exactly, I'm not sure.

Honesty.

Candor.

Passion.

Sorrow.

Love.

Hate.

Anything, anything but drivel. I'm so fucking sick and tired of drivel.

Damn, I want to be free of these shackles. But, I fear, I'd be dangerous without them.

This isn't the entry that I thought I'd write.

It never is.

I was positive that I'd already written about this, but I couldn't find it, so I'll do it now.

Let's review.

1. Becomes a Jesus freak and pretty much stops all contact with a drinker sinner like me.

2. Moves halfway across the country, and then breaks a promise to call me.

3. Tells me, in both words and actions, that my friendship is not worth the time or effort required.

4. Goes to West Virginia, of all places, and breaks off all contact. Again.

5. Decides, out of the blue, to get back together with her old boyfriend.

6. Becomes an asshole. Or, possibly, unleashes the inner asshole that was already there.

7. Becomes a slut. Or, possibly, unleashes the inner slut that was already there.

8. Pisses off the bartenders so many times that he doesn't come into Rich O's any more.

9. Allows a woman to come between us.

Hmmm, I thought there'd be more. And there would be, if I hadn't limited myself to the last three months.

If I had a friend, then odds are that I either don't have that particular friend anymore, or at least that the friendship has taken a sharp turn for the worse.

But I'm not really complaining. People leave all the time. I'm not complaining, but I am certainly noticing.

It's like all of the rats are leaving a sinking ship. And I'm the captain of the ship.

At least that's one analogy that I came up with.

The other analogy is that practice is over, and all of these people are just clearing the field, because the real game is about to start.