Sometimes I really hate it when I'm right.

I'm having a shitty day.

I don't feel like doing anything at all, and I haven't done much of anything. Shot some pool and played with my cats. Caught up on Survivor. Ate a bowl of cereal. Clipped my toenails.

Usually, when I get like this, it's because I feel like it's all a waste of time. But today it's a little different. Today everything seems like a really really bad idea.

Like anything I might do would only end up being a big fat disappointment.

Or, perhaps, I'd manage to screw up a good thing by doing or saying something stupid.

To have something turn out to be nothing more than a waste of time, that would be a welcome relief right about now.

Hmmmm, Wednesday already. Seems like I haven't posted anything in days. And it's only been since late Monday. Or just a few hours, if you count the shaved pussies entry.

My cats Buddy and Happy seem to have taken their groomings in stride. But Nugget, my other cat, is catatonic. He doesn't recognize his friends at all, and he's done nothing but cower in the basement since yesterday. I feel bad, and he's going to feel really stupid when he figures out that he's been so freaked-out and it was Happy and Buddy all along.

Anyway, SassyGirl is back in town! Yay!

She called me yesterday after work, and so of course I went down to meet her and JauntyGirl at Rich O's. The reunion wasn't as poignant as the one in March had been, but why should it have been? It's only been a few weeks this time. Still, it's always very cool to see her.

Oh yeah, she told me that her parents have admitted to reading this journal. So, Hi, SassyGirl's parents! You raised one hell of a good daughter there. I hope you're proud.

Other than seeing SassyGirl, and having two of my cats shaved, not much going on around here. At least nothing much that I can think of at the moment.

Anybody watch Heroes Monday night? That Parkman guy turned into a real dick, didn't he?

I guess that's it for now.

Before:

After:

I wrote some crap today. Spent a lot of time on it actually. But it's not finished yet. I think I might revamp the whole thing before I post it.

So, instead, you get this nonsense.

I think I might be what you'd call an old soul. An old something, that's for sure.

I'm like the stereotypical old woman, haunting her own house, alone, surrounded by photographs of days gone by, and of loved ones gone bye-bye. The memories they invoke - they bring her happiness, or they bring her sadness. But they always bring her something. And something can be everything, when the alternative is nothing.

So what if my photographs are all in my head? That makes little difference, I think.

I'm so glad that it's finally warm outside. I can go out and sit on my swing in the dark, when it's warm. I like it out there. I can be completely alone with my thoughts, or I can imagine that I'm not alone, that someone sits beside me, and the darkness of the night hides my deception from myself.

Sometimes people worry about me. They don't need to do that.

I'm just fine.

I think I'm just acting my age.

So why do I keep spouting the same drivel over and over, even long after it's become perfectly clear that it does more harm than good?

Because it feels right in my head. Because it fits onto my heart like a glove fits onto my hand. Because it belongs.

Because one night I leaned against a railing, and I looked at her as she sat and cried on this little wall...

and I broke through the clouds, and I saw how far I was going to fall. And I knew, right then and right there that my life would never be the same again.

That's why I keep writing crap like this.

Because I was right. Everything changed then.

Anyway.

My next stop, after Buffalo Wild Wings, wasn't the BBC after all. It was the Haunted Highland Tap Room. I had a couple Newcastles (4682) and had a little séance. Funny, we only came here once, but this place seems as haunted as any other. Maybe even more than Rich O's, because there are fewer memories competing for attention.

Next, I went over to The Pub. Actually I went to Hard Rock first, but CoolHairGirl wasn't working, so I went to The Pub and had yet another Newcastle (4702) and talked to BikerGirl for a while.

My sister Dina called to see if I was going to Rich O's later. I hadn't really made any plans to go there, but I told her that I'd meet her in about an hour. I invited BikerGirl to come to Rich O's when she got off work at 8:00. I wrote down directions for her, just in case. I think going to Indiana was about tenth on her list of possibilities for the evening.

But at least she didn't laugh when I invited her. So that was cool.

Got to Rich O's a little after 7:00. I sat at the kiddie table with Dina and had another Diet Coke. Her husband Kenny came in after a while. BadPickleGirl came in with some dude, but I think it was just a coincidence that they came in. Unless she's stalking me.

Eventually, I had a bottle of yummy Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1805). Once everyone else had left, I waited until about 9:30 to see if BikerGirl was going to show up.

Then, some fucked-up shit happened.

Then, I stopped at White Castle on the way home.

Yesterday I was all excited to take a trip somewhere. Or maybe not excited exactly. But at least not ambivalent. And that's pretty good for me lately.

I was going to go to either Indianapolis or Nashville. I was going to drink some good beer, eat a good meal or two. Spend the night in a hotel, then come back this afternoon all refreshed.

But nooooooooooo!

About ten seconds before I walked out the door, I remembered that I had to work this morning.

So my trip was cancelled before it started. I decided to play tourist right here close to home.

My first stop was this Buffalo Wild Wings place in Louisville. I'd been craving their naked tenders and spicy garlic sauce since I'd first discovered that combination in Indianapolis a few weeks ago. There are, as it turns out, several million of these places in Louisville. I picked the one closest to the BBC because I thought that I might go there next.

I had a heterosexual Blue Moon (490) and six naked tenders with spicy garlic sauce. I also tried the parmesan sauce. It was all very yummy.

During this time, I also traded a couple of emails with RockGirl. Told her about my aborted trip. She said that she sometimes envied my ability to just up and take off. I replied with this lump of drivel:

Don't envy my travels too much. It's really nothing more than running around in circles, arms flailing, trying to escape this existence.

Some people may wonder why I continue to write crap like that. Why I don't just shut the fuck up already. I suppose, to some people, I might seem to have a pretty decent life. I make pretty good money doing something I mostly enjoy. I shoot a good game of pool, and I get a lot of pleasure from playing. I'm at times surrounded by beautiful women who actually like me, as long as I don't get any ideas. I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone and end up with a new friend.

So what if it's all superficial?

So what if I end up dying alone and unloved?

There are some who would argue that I deserve that particular fate.

Friday seemed like a waste to me. It was a night of going through the motions of being a person.

I got to Rich O's a little before 8:00. The place was full of strangers and/or weirdoes. I sat at the kiddie table and had a couple pints of Smithwick's (1614) while I waited for something to happen. Nothing in particular, just anything at all.

Well, nothing ever did happen, so I went over to that stupid Mac's place to see MisunderstoodGirl and listen to karaoke.

That place was pretty packed. At least the bar was. There were a lot of empty tables. I sat at the far end of the bar and vegged out for a while. I talked to MisunderstoodGirl for a bit before she had to start getting the karaoke stuff set up. She was wearing a Jamaican wig. It was pretty cool.

I ended up having a couple glasses of Newcastle (4650) and talking with two bombshells who'd come in and sat next to me. They're semi-regulars at Rich O's, but I don't think they recognized me. Imagine that. I bought them a round of beers, they bought me a beer. It was pleasant, but I was still just phoning it all in.

Once the Bombshells left, I got bored. I switched to Diet Coke and waited for NotHideousGirl to show up. I called her at one point to make sure that she was still coming. She was, so I waited around.

But by the time she showed up my boredom had reached epic proportions, so I left. I was going to go over to meet WeirdGirl at this new Rock Bar place, but then I remembered that (a) I'd broken up with WeirdGirl and (b) for a reason, (c) even if it was a stupid reason, and (d) I still can't afford to develop feelings for WeirdGirl.

So I went instead to this Jack's bar next to Rich O's and had half a PBR (42) before coming home.

I've thought about it, and I've decided that it's bullshit.

That I don't deserve it.

That I don't like it, and that I shouldn't have to like it.

That I have every right to be irritated.

That it doesn't have to make sense, even to me.

That I'm too fucking nice.

That there's probably a proverb that covers this situation, but I can't think of it right now, because I've been drinking.

That I should have just stayed home tonight.

That it's a pretty clever title, but that I probably should have saved it for a longer entry.

Got in the elevator today, after lunch. Heading back up to my luxurious penthouse cubicle.

The elevator was empty. Except for me.

So imagine my surprise when a voice spoke to me.

"Hello?" The voice asked.

That was weird, I couldn't help but notice.

"Um, hello to you as well," I answered. To the empty elevator.

"Hello, can you hear me?" the voice asked.

"I can hear you," I answered.

"Is this God?" I had to ask.

If the voice had answered yes, I realized with alarm, I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. But I also vowed to ask some rather pointed questions myself.

"No," The voice said. "This is Mr. Smith from XYZ Corporation. Who is this?"

"I'm Dave of course," I told the voice. "Are you invisible? How'd you do that?"

"I'm looking for Ms. Jones from ABC Corporation," the voice, er, Mr Smith answered.

Turns out that it was the emergency phone in the elevator. This Mr. Smith guy had called my company's main operator, and been accidentally transferred to the elevator in my building.

Mr. Smith and I had a nice laugh over the situation.

But now I can't help but wonder. If it had been God, or some invisible man, then wouldn't that whole Mr. Smith on the elevator phone thing, wouldn't that have been the perfect cover-up?

So, just in case, no more picking my nose in the elevator.