There are always excuses. Always. Sometimes they're even good ones. Believeable ones. But not very often. Most of the time, they're lies.

Cruelty isn't nearly as common, I don't think. But perhaps it's its relative rarity that makes it sting so much.

Most of the time, I see right through the lies to the truth. Most of the time, I pretend to be a believer, because to cast light on the truth would make the liar feel uncomfortable. Because I would be doing it for the wrong reasons. Because it would be not for truth, but for validation. Because it would be cruel.

And I'm not cruel.

Most of the time, I ignore the cruelty when it comes my way. Most of the time, I bite my tongue and I wait for the excuse that will surely follow. Or for the lie that will surely follow. And then I close my mouth and I pretend to swallow.

Most of the time. But I fear that I'm about to be cruel. I'm teetering on the edge. Like, the next time someone lies to me, I feel like I may just call them on their lie. Or, the next time someone says something cruel to me, I may just blurt out the first response that pops into my head.

I think that everyone needs to stay away from me for a while. I'll do my part, I hope that others do theirs.

For the record, I do not like what has become of me lately. I seem to have reverted to my 23-years-old self. I don't like it one tiny bit.

Sometimes, I think that I must have unnaturally strong finger muscles.

Maybe that's why I'm still surprised that most people can ever seem to lift a fucking finger, when that's all it would take to brighten my day and lighten my mood. Make this bullshit I use for a life seem worthwhile.

Maybe, for most people, it's hard or even impossible to lift a finger. Maybe I should stop expecting the impossible.

May as well expect people to start shitting solid gold bricks.

'Cause that's not gonna happen either.

My best friend on Earth, who I've never really met, gave me a t-shirt for my birthday a couple of years ago.

It's a gray t-shirt with the letters WTF? emblazoned in black. I'd post a picture of me wearing it, but that shirt is dirty and wrinkled right now. Come to think of it, I'm dirty and wrinkled right now. So no picture, sorry.

Anyway, lately, I've found myself wishing that I had a dozen of those shirts.

Because then I could wear them every day for the rest of my life, or until that question finally gets answered. I'd be able to go through life and I'd never have to open my mouth. I could just point to the front of my shirt.

I want to ask my boss, WTF?

I want to ask my sister, and I want to ask NotHideousGirl, and I want to ask MixedSignalGirl, and I want to ask LaptopGirl, and I want to ask BadPickleGirl and WeirdGirl and I even want to ask TremensGirl.

I want to ask them all, WTF?

The actual question would be different in every case, but the actual wording of the question could be the same. It would be all efficient and shit

---

Meanwhile, today it will be six weeks since MixedSignalGirl left. I'm still waiting for that fact to really hit me. I am in such deep denial, I'm surprising even myself.

Nobody really knows what this is about. Except for my best friend, who I've never really met.

As I write this, I'm sitting at Hooter's in Clarksville, notebook in hand. Or notebook on bar actually. It's my pen that's in my hand. I bet it would be a lot harder to write if those positions were reversed.

The perverts next to me keep hitting on the pretty bartenders and scaring them away. This really sucks for me, because I'd kinda like to surreptitiously drool look at the pretty bartenders, but I can't when they keep getting scared away to the other end of the bar.

Anyway, I'm here with my notebook because I'm thinking that a change of scenery might do me some good. Inspire me or something, maybe. I probably could have written something last night after I became superfluous and moved from the living room area to the bar. But I didn't have my notebook with me. Oh well. Probably for the best. I was in such a crappy mood, and I bet that anything I'd have written would have reflected that mood. Unlike the light and breezy stuff I ended up writing after I got home last night.

You can all thank me later, if you'd like.

So I'm in Clarksville at this Hooter's because it's kinda on the way home. Kinda. A couple of hours ago, I was at a friend's house watering dogs and feeding fish and (inadvertently) scaring a cat. Poor kitty.

Then, I went to Famous Dave's for some dinner. And now I'm here. Like I said, kinda on the way home.

Pretty exciting stuff, huh?

And now I'm going to stop writing because BadPickleGirl has called me to see if I want to go hang out by a swimming pool with her.

Duh.

---

Well, that was fun. False (inferred only) advertising though, as she was fully-clothed at all times. So no bikini action. There were also two dogs there, so between my friend's three dogs earlier and these two dogs tonight, I'm pretty much dogged-out.

Plus, my cats are all afraid of me now because I smell like dogs.

Okay, when I was sitting at Famous Dave's this evening, having some yummy catfish tenders and a yummy Newcastle (7327), I noticed this coaster under my glass:

This struck me as being really funny. Because whoever made this up probably thought it was a good slogan which would cause lots of Miller Lite to be sold.

Anyway, I turned over the coaster, and found this:

And this struck me as being even funnier. Because saying Best American-Style Light Lager is kinda like saying swilliest swill or pissiest piss.

Somebody needs to tell these Miller people, who keep bragging about this award, somebody needs to tell them that American-Style Light Lager is NOT a classification.

It's a diagnosis.

It was, semi-recently, suggested to me that I will die alone and unloved. Basically because I'm an asshole who deserves that fate.

And so I, as politely as I could, requested that those words never be said to me again. That would make it twice. There will not be a third time.

Anyway.

It's come to my attention lately, or been brought into focus lately, or whatever, that I probably will die alone, but not because Adolf Hitler hasn't been around to tutor me on being a better person. Rather, I will die alone for the simple reason that I've lived alone, and I will most likely continue to do so.

This is who I am, how I am, why I am the way I am.

There are reasons for things being the way that they are, certainly. But I don't think that those reasons include the universe having a personal grudge against me.

That's pretty fucked up, right there. If I believed that for even a portion of a fraction of a second, well then I might as well just give up now and save everyone the trouble of having to put up with me.

---

I think about timing, and how it determines everything, and how often it ruins everything.

I think about shallowness and pettiness and vanity.

I think about suspicion and mistrust.

I think about my own commitment to an unrealized ideal.

I think about fear.

---

I'm pretty sure that, eventually, I will die alone. But when I do, it will be because I chose that particular fate, at least subconsciously. And so a part of me must want it to end up that way. I can't even begin to imagine what the reason for that might be, but there it is anyway.

---

I'm in a weird mood right now. I'm thinking about becoming a hermit for a while. But I've said that before, and I know that it probably won't happen. Because I still have hope for the future, for some reason.

I have no idea what that reason that might be, either

So I have this super power. Not this one. And not the one that developed after the toxic sludge incident of a few weeks ago. Nope, this particular super power is one that I've had for most, if not all, of my life.

See, I can tell, without a doubt, when I've become superfluous to those around me.

This super power is quite handy. Because the line between unnecessary and unwanted is such a thin one. The slightest push can cause me to cross it. Because of this super power of mine, I can usually manage to bow out before that push becomes necessary. I can save myself a lot of grief, that way. Because nobody ever wants to feel unwanted.

Tonight, I became superfluous at 8:45 or so. And, at 8:46 or so, I bowed out.

Fuck, I had something in my head a few minutes ago. Something that would have fit in quite nicely with this entry. But now I can't find it in my head.

Please bear with me, I'm gong to look inside my head for a few minutes. Maybe I can find its hiding place...

...

Crap, can't find it.

Oh well.

One thing that I wanted to say, though, was that it really sucks sometimes to realize that you're completely unnecessary. And that it especially sucks to realize it when you first wake up in the morning, or when you first walk into a bar, or when your friends first walk into a bar, or when you're noticed and acknowledged out of guilt and/or pity and for no other reason.

Okay, so it pretty much sucks all the time.

But it's still better than being pushed across that line, and going from unneeded to unwanted.

When I woke up, I remembered that they were starting a new beer festival at Rich O's. And that there would be three smoked beers from Schlenkerla on tap at the same time. And that NABC was unveiling a new smoked beer of their own. So I still didn't eat, because there was just no time for stuff like that. I just went straight to Rich O's. I got there at about 7:00, and I got to park in the main lot for a change.

It was about halfway crowded in there. I sat at the bar and ordered a half pint of the new NABC beer. Honestly, I didn't like it even a tiny bit. But I'm going to give it another try before I write an official review.

TallLady and MusicalYuppieDude were sitting on my right side. But they were talking with some people standing on my left side. This made me very uncomfortable, as TallLady's voice had to drill through my skull to reach its intended recipients. That discomfort eventually evolved into a little panic attack. In an attempt to stave off a full-blown attack, I picked up my shit and moved to the kiddie table. Then I went into the restroom to splash some cold water on my face, and when I came back somebody had stolen all of my shit. Luckily, it was just one of the bartenders thinking that I might have left.

So I got my stuff back, ordered a Schlenkerla Weizen (239) and waited an hour or so for the attack to subside. It really sucked. I hadn't had a panic attack since May. But it did eventually subside, and I felt a little better. I felt a lot better when some weirdoes left the living room area and I could move to the loveseat.

Back when I first started coming in to Rich O's, one of the bartenders tried to kill me. Well, last night I tried the Schlenkerla Urbock again, and revised my review:

Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Urbock

The first time I had this, I wasn't very impressed. Now, four years later, I see that my palate has become sophisticated enough for me to recognize this for what it really is. A truly great smoked beer. Can best be described as a more intense Marzen.

Oh yeah, speaking of very cool, when I came back from the restroom to the scene of the crime, there was a hot girl sitting next to MusicalYuppieDude at the bar. I didn't recognize her at first, but it was TremensGirl, with a sassy new hairstyle. She looked fantastic, and we all told her so, many times.

Let's see, I ended up chasing my half pint of Urbock with a full pint (47). Eventually this one dude left the throne so I moved there. I ordered a Spezial (1572) which was also on tap for the festival.

Various people came and went and talked about various crap. Eventually TremensGirl came and sat at the kiddie table so we could talk about stuff. Like how I need to be more animated.

We seem to have developed this disconcerting habit of talking with our faces just inches apart. In our own little world, whispering secrets to each other. It's really quite nice. As the night went on, I found myself becoming more fascinated by her lips with each passing moment. I mean, they were right there and I couldn't take my eyes off them.

Like I said, quite nice.

When they started kicking us all out of Rich O's, everyone else left to go to some other bar that I can't stand. So I came home and finished my new Orson Scott Card book.

My day started after about three hours of sleep, at the unholy hour of 7:00, when I got up to do some last minute pre-cleaning because VacuumLady was going to be there in the morning. Of course, after I'd showered and done that pre-cleaning, I saw the email telling me that she wouldn't be there until the afternoon.

But by that time I was already committed, and it was too late to try to get any more sleep. So I left. I paid my water bill and got a haircut and dicked around Louisville for a while. Then, at 11:00 I went to The Pub and talked to BikerGirl and waited for NotHideousGirl. I'd promised to buy lunch for the latter. Because I'm nice.

Had a Newcastle (7295) and then another one during lunch. I wasn't very hungry yet, so I didn't eat. Accordingly, I was only going to have a half glass of Newcastle next. But BikerGirl challenged my manhood - or maybe she just wanted to get me drunk - and so I ended up having a second full glass (7315).

After NotHideousGirl went back to work, I went to Red Star to wait for BikerGirl to get off. I'd bought some books at Borders, and so I sat at one of Red Star's outside tables and read part of my new Orson Scott Card book and had a yummy Paulaner Hefeweissbier (392). By this time, I was getting a little hungry, but I figured I'd wait for BikerGirl.

BikerGirl arrived at 1:45 or so, and we had a pleasant little talk and late lunch. I still didn't eat anything, because they fucked my quesadilla order up. But it's not like I was starving. I was more tired than anything else. Once this, my second lunch of the say without eating, was over, I went back to The Pub and had a Diet Coke. Then I came home and took a short nap.

All day yesterday I was craving these catfish fingers from a place called Famous Dave's BBQ in Clarksville. I'm not sure who this Dave guy is, but I'm pretty sure he's never had his own DaveFest. So I'm clearly the real Famous Dave.

So at 6:00 or so I went to said BBQ place and had me some yummy catfish fingers. I had a bottle of Newcastle (7275) with them, and I bought a couple more orders of fish to take home.

Rich O's was packed with strangers. Or fucktards, as I kept calling them. I tried for a while to sit at the island with some weirdoes, but most of the night I stood at the end of the bar (called the g-spot for some reason) and glared at the people in the living room area. Turned out that they were all from the New Albany High School class of 1971. Whoopee.

Anyway, I stood at the end of the bar and had a couple pints of Rogue Dead Guy (486) and glared at people. Then after a while NotHideousGirl's sister, OddlyFamiliarGirl, came in and stood with me. I talked to her for a while, and I traded text messages with NotHideousGirl.

Then, because I'm nice, I took some cigarettes and a gluten-free beer to NotHideousGirl. We talked for a while, then I came home and ate the rest of my catfish fingers.

To finish the night, I sat on my swing and almost managed to finish a pint of Dead Guy (504) from a growler I'd bought the other day and then forgotten about.