Yay!

Didn't want to call you or text you or email you. Didn't want to freak you out, not even for a second.

But I know you'll read this.

It turns out that I've got your 25 Romantic Classics CD here. Just the CD - I couldn't find the box for it.

Please let me know how and when you'd like it returned. Feel free to call if you want. I won't freak out.

Sidelong glances that burn into me.

I could tell you about every freckle on her skin, but I couldn't tell you what color her eyes are.

My gaze was always too wide with her. My focus, too unfocused.

I saw her as a distraction from a distraction from a distraction, and I questioned her worthiness for even that.

I should have looked into her eyes. Then I would have had no questions.

And now questions are all that I have.

...most of the emails being sent to be are bouncing.

In fact, RockGirl tried to send me an email and it bounced back to her saying I didn't even exist.

Well I'm pretty sure that I exist, so I called my hosting company.

They grudgingly admitted that I might be having possible problems with email. Maybe.

They have also agreed to look into it.

UPDATE: Looks like I exist again. Whew!

So I bought NotHideousGirl a t-shirt from the Hard Rock in Indianapolis on Sunday night.

I then lugged that thing all the way home.

I then lugged it to work yesterday, then to The Pub during lunch.

NotHideousGirl didn't show yesterday, so I lugged it back to work and then back home.

Today I lugged it back to work, then back to The Pub at lunch.

At 12:20 or so, I figured that NotHideousGirl was going to be a no-show again.

It is, believe or not, quite difficult to look cool and carry a bright pink shirt around at the same time. So I came up with a new plan.

Instead of continuing to lug that t-shirt all over the place for a girl who, according to all available evidence, I was never going to see again as long as I lived, I decided that I'd carry the t-shirt another way.

Specifically, I'd wad it up and stuff it into the front of my pants.

That way, see, I could have my arms free for whatever random arm-requiring opportunities might arise. Plus, the new bulge in my pants would be sure to garner some long-overdue attention from the women of Louisville.

I figured that I'd change tactics. I'd make the t-shirt available to the first attractive woman who wanted it, but - and this is the fun part - I'd make her dive in and get it herself.

It was a brilliant plan, if I do say so myself. And I do.

But noooooooooooooooo!

Just about when the grin spreading across my face had reached its maximum evilness, NotHideousGirl showed up.

It was good to see her. Even though it meant the end of my evil/brilliant plan. I'm sure that I'll come up with other plans. Someday. Maybe.

Anyway, I gave NotHideousGirl her t-shirt, and we both laughed at the thought of her wearing pink, like an actual girl.

Then I moved on to more serious business.

You may remember that I tried, Sunday night during the drunk-dialing/drunk-answering fiasco, to apologize to NotHideousGirl for something I'd failed to do Friday night.

Well, today at lunch I apologized again.

And she said that, had I done that thing which I was apologizing for not doing, then she would have beaten the shit out of me.

So, anyway, whew!

Haley: Wow. Nice legs. Nice tits. Nice ass. Nice Smile. I think she sang something. (70 points)

Chris R: I've always liked that song. Chris didn't mangle it too badly. (75 points)

Stephanie: Another great song. I thought she oversang it. Still good though. (71 points)

Blake: He sucks. I took off a million points for the beat box crap. (negative 999,970 points)

LaKisha: She picked the wrong song. I'm still a huge fan, but tonight she sucked. (35 points)

Phil: Stupid song. Bad karaoke performance. (55 points)

Jordin: Strange song, but she did great. I adore Jordin now. (95 points)

Sanjaya: I muted my TV because he sucks. They showed one audience girl who was crying because he was so bad. Then they made her hug him. She's probably killed herself by now. That's a shame.

Gina: Stupid song. Performance was frantic and chaotic. Not very good, dawg. (35 points)

Chris S: Good song. Perfect tone and control. I thought this was his best yet. (90 points)

Melinda: Some weird song nobody ever heard of before. She growled her way through it. I didn't like it much. (55 points)

All in all, a pretty pathetic night.

So Sunday night, when I was about three beers deep into my evening, I drunk-dialed NotHideousGirl from the Hard Rock.

It was mostly just to see if she was feeling better than she'd been feeling Friday night.

Mostly.

I talked to her briefly. Asked her if she was feeling better. Asked her for her t-shirt size because I was about to buy her a pink Hard Rock t-shirt.

Pink!

That's hilarious, if you know NotHideousGirl.

I also apologized to her for something I didn't do on Friday. I kinda feel like I dropped the ball then. She took my apology with the grace and confusion that were to be expected.

Okay, then tonight I talked to her for a bit. Told her that I had her shirt, and that I was holding it hostage until she agreed to have lunch with me and not be freaked out over my semi-drunken apology.

She didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

See, I'd drunk-dialed her Sunday night, but she'd drunk-answered me.

So now, I've got to go through the whole apology again.

I'll do it during lunch, when I know she's sober.

I've got so much to catch up on here. It's too much to try to tackle it all in one entry. For me to write it, and certainly for anyone to read the thing.

So I'll just do one subject at a time.

Back in the Fall, BadPickleGirl stole two of my favorite beer glasses. My Delirium Tremens glass, which had great sentimental value because its mate is with LaptopGirl, and my Gulden Draak glass, which was just a cool glass. Or maybe it was a Corsendonk Christmas Ale glass. Either way, cool glass.

Okay, so maybe saying she stole the things is stretching the truth a bit. How about if I say she used her feminine wiles to distract and hypnotize me, and thus caused me to leave those glasses at her house?

That's a little better. And, if you add the fact that she then dumped me so brutally that I became afraid to speak to her, let alone ask for my property back, well maybe that's a little more realistic.

Okay, so maybe she didn't brutally dump me. Maybe there was nothing to dump. Maybe I don't know what the fuck happened with her and/or us. What I do know is that (a) She stopped all contact with me, and (b) She still has my beer glasses.

Well, I'm nothing if not a problem solver.

My first, and most obvious choice, would be to be a man. To call BadPickleGirl and ask, nay, demand, that she return my beer glasses. And maybe that she sleep with me to make up for some of my pain and suffering.

I went in a different direction.

I bought some new glasses to replace the old ones.

I bought a new Delirium Tremens glass a couple of weeks ago, and I bought a new Gulden Draak glass this evening.

So, ha ha! That'll teach her. Or not.

When I came in, WeirdGirl was at the other end of the room. But of course I saw her right away.

I stuck my hand up and smiled at her. If, I figured, things were going to be weird between us, now would be the time to find out.

She stuck her tongue out at me.

So I did the exaggerated pouty lower lip thing.

She did it back to me.

Then after I sat at the bar she came and said "Hi" and asked how I was.

I said I was fine.

She said she was too.

So that was exciting I guess.

One of the more obvious requirements for any person calling themselves a writer is also, at times, one of the most vexing. And, to be clear, blogging is writing. It just writing without any of those pesky assumptions of accuracy, or that annoying expectation of eloquence.

To be a writer, one must write.

Even if there seems to be nothing worth writing about, bloggers still have to come up with something, anything, on a fairly regular basis. Even if it's stupid.

Even if privacy concerns would demand complete silence, bloggers too often feel compelled to at least touch upon whatever, um, touchy subject is currently foremost in their head. So they'll often resort to crypticism and metaphors and little inside-jokes and innuendos. Or maybe they'll write about stupid and boring things and just pretend that the real topic doesn't even exist.

Such as I'm about to do right now.

See, there is something on my mind right now. A herd of related somethings, actually. And that herd has certainly beaten a path through my brain these past few days.

But, for now, I'm going to pretend that nothing unusual is happening. Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away.

Anyway, I am incredibly, inexplicably, still hung-over from Sunday night.

It's not that I drank a lot of beer Sunday night. Certainly no more than what is normal for me on any decent weekend night. I may be wrong, but I'd even guess that I had quite a bit less than normal.

Usually this is about where I'd start to list the beers that I had, but right now it seems too daunting a task. To actually open my notebook and transcribe my beer reviews. Ugh, the sound of rustling paper just might kill me. And I might like it.

I'm pretty sure that what I'd find in my notebook would be that I didn't drink a lot of beer. Nope, what I did was drink a little bit of a lot of different beers.

And that, apparently, was bad.

I'm sure I'll get to the specifics in a later entry.

If I live through this hangover.