It's recently come to my attention that I write boring stuff. Especially when it comes to my beer reports. There are, in fact, surprisingly few people who care what I drink when I go to the bar. And even fewer care about where I sit, or who I talk to while I'm there.

So I'll try to be less boring. But I can't make any promises.

Saturday night at Rich O's wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. The Daytonians who usually overrun the place on the first Saturday of Gravity Head were, apparently, diverted to Columbus. At least most of them were. Only a half-dozen or so made it here to New Albany and, as luck would have it, they were the polite and charming half-dozen.

So that was nice.

Let's see, my first beer was an Avery The Beast (22), and my next two were Koningshoeven Quads (376).

MusicalYuppieDude was on the rag over something or other. Probably some chick, they're all trouble. Too bad they control the world's pussy supply.

I found out that WomanRepellant's mom passed away last weekend. That really sucks. They were quite close, and he'll get my full condolences when I run into him again.

Oh yeah, this one dude ordered, I shit you not, an NABC Community Dark. This is an odd enough thing to do during Gravity Head, but get this - he ordered the thing with a fucking lemon wedge. The obvious yet unstated request - that the bartender also spooge into the guy's glass - was not granted. And for that I'm grateful. Nobody wants to see that. Except for LemonWedgeGuy I guess.

Anyway, as I hinted at a couple of entries ago, when I left Rich O's I went over to see WeirdGirl. I've changed her nickname because, well, because she's weird. I mean, two weeks ago when she found out how old I am, she basically accused me of being a child rapist. Now I guess it's okay. She says it doesn't bother her. I think maybe she gets off on it. Or maybe she figures I'll die in the throes of passion and she'll inherit my kingdom.

Sunday morning I didn't feel like going home. So I decided to go for a drive. I asked WeirdGirl if she wanted to go, but she declined. Fine with me. I needed to do some soul-searching anyway. Needed to try to find myself as I seem to have gotten lost lately.

Well I drove all the way to St. Louis and back, and I never did find myself. I'm a slippery bastard I guess.

I should have written this entry when I got home last night, but instead I wrote an email to RockGirl and, by the time I finished that, I was too tired.

So now I've got to try to go by memory. There was a lot of stuff. I'm sure I'll leave something important out. As an excuse I offer up the indisputable fact that I'm old.

Anyway, last night was the start of Gravity Head 2007, which is the annual Rich O's beer festival featuring high gravity (as in high alcohol) beers. The first weekend of Gravity Head is typically the busiest time of the year at Rich O's.

I'd planned to go there at my more-or-less regular time, like maybe 8:00. But when I was on my way home from work my sister Dina called and said that she was probably going there because she was bored. So I stopped by my house just long enough to change clothes and do a little straightening up, then I went to Rich O's. I got there at 6:30 or so.

I parked on Mars, and to help kill some time during the trek from my parking spot to Rich O's, I called SassyGirl and told her that I'd arrived early.

Inside, it was of course crowded as fuck. The special people section was full of PBDs, and the loser area and the front area were all full of strangers. Inside Rich O's proper, it was packed as well, but not as bad as I'd feared. It wasn't quite standing room only.

Dina was sitting on the loveseat talking to GlassesGirl. I sat on the coffee table and ordered my first beer. Koningshoeven Quadrupel has recently become one of my all-time favorites, and this was the first time I'd seen it on tap. So of course that's what I had first (356).

Then this one chick left the kiddie table so I moved over there. TallLady was in the throne, so I talked to her and to Dina and GlassesGirl. The chick who's seat I'd taken came back and we talked for a bit as well.

Some strangers left the sofa at about the time that SassyGirl and JauntyGirl and SassyBoy arrived, and they sat there. TallLady left the throne, so I sat there. Dina's husband Kenny had also arrived by that time. My second beer was a new one for me.

Kasteelbier du Chateau Triple Blonde (10)

(draft) Hazy dark ruby-colored. Minimal head. Mild fruity aroma. A smooth and creamy mouthfeel and flavor, with a hint of an alcohol bite at the end. Damn good.

At about 8:15, I drunk-texted HatGirl to complain that everyone was at Rich O's except for her and LuckyFucker. After a shorts series of questions and answers about how crowded it was, then about an hour of waiting, they showed up.

HatGirl!

Yay!

First thing I had to do was introduce Dina to HatGirl. So now Dina can stop worrying that I'd just conjured HatGirl up in my imagination. As unlikely as it may seem, she's real.

Let's see, at one point I got a weird picturemail of some meat from NotHideousGirl. What was even more strange was that when I went to reply, I got FutureDude's cellphone instead. FutureDude checked his phone, and he'd certainly not sent me any meat pictures, or any other pictures. So that was very strange, and eventually I'll talk to NotHideousGirl and asked her (a) What's with the picture of the meat? and (b) How'd she do that?

My third beer was another new one for me.

Schmaltz HeBrew Genesis 10:10 (10)

(draft) A very nice surprise. Dark clear amber. Minimal head. No detectable aroma. The yummy malty and fruity flavor came out of nowhere. There are supposed to be citrus adjuncts but I couldn't detect them at all.

It was a very nice night. I got to see my sister and SassyGirl and HatGirl all in the same night. I got to drink some good beers. It was such a nice night, in fact, that I only caught myself missing LaptopGirl and MixedSignalGirl a few hundred times each.

One time I went outside to make a phone call, but HatGirl followed me and I ended up talking to her for a while instead. Got some shit off my chest, but mainly I urged her to not read too much into what I'd written Thursday night. Pointed out that I'd been drinking when I wrote it.

Then Dina and Kenny left, and HatGirl and LuckyFucker left. SassyGirl told me that they were leaving town Saturday (today) instead of Sunday, so there was much hugging and wailing when they left.

My fourth beer was yet another new one for me.

Regenboog t-Smisje BBBourgondier (10)

(draft) Clear dark copper-colored. Decent head and lacing. A dry fruit aroma and flavor. The alcohol is hidden very well. Pretty damn good.

Then FirstLady and ElPresidente came and sat on the sofa, and I talked to them for a while. Those nicknames are no longer accurate, but I'm not changing them. FirstLady told me that reading my blog makes her want to kill herself, so that was interesting. I told her what was supposed to happen was that people would read my shit and then feel better about their own lives.

At about midnight or so I gave Roger a ride home, stopping at White Castle on the way, then I came home myself.

It was a good night.

Mindfreak is the show that the illusionist Criss Angel does. My Tivo records it all the time, and it's a good show. That guy is amazing.

Tonight I watched an episode where he was levitating people. He'd start out by hypnotizing them, asking them to imagine their perfect moment and relax into it. Then he'd levitate them. Like I said, the guy's amazing.

So of course I searched my memory to find my own perfect moment. It didn't take long before I found it. The most perfect moment out of a thousand similar moments.

There was a night, back in the Summer of 2004. Rich O's was packed with strangers and weirdoes, and I was sitting on the loveseat being miserable. Then she came in. She came through the door into Rich O's proper and she kinda frowned when she saw how crowded it was, but then she saw me and she smiled and then she sat with me.

When she smiled, that was my perfect moment.

As I once wrote, it most certainly was not a crush. And fuck anyone who tries to dismiss it as such.

This entry brought to you by Brother Thelonious (75) from the North Coast Brewery.

I have a feeling, a near certainty actually, that this entry isn't going to be published. It's not going to be good enough. It's not going to be worthy of the thoughts and feelings driving its creation. So, I figure, maybe I'll just use this as a practice entry. I'll save it in my drafts folder and then some night I'll be drunk or lonely and I'll rewrite it as something worthy of being published.

Or maybe not.

So SassyGirl is back in town for a visit. I wish I could describe here how fucking wonderful it was to see her Tuesday evening, and Wednesday evening. How much I look forward to seeing her tomorrow night at Rich O's. I wish there were some words that I could use to adequately describe how happy I've been to see her. Words that I could use without fear of people reading the wrong feelings into my words. I doubt that such words exist, and if they do, they continue to elude me.

It is just a visit though. I can't let myself get too satisfied with my life. Such as it is. In a few days or maybe a week, everything will go back to the way it's been for months. Me vs. the world.

You know, I used to never have any friends. All I ever had was acquaintances. They came into my life, and they left my life, and I noticed that they'd gone, but I didn't care. Not really.

All of that changed with LaptopGirl. Sure, I may not have been much to her, but she was my friend. And she came into my life, and she left my life, and I definitely noticed. I may have written about it from time to time, how much I fucking noticed. I don't see her anymore. I've seen a girl who looks like her, and sounds like her, a couple of times. But it's not her. It's not my friend. I don't even think that person ever really existed, except in my head. And my heart.

Anyway.

I met SassyGirl about a month after I met LaptopGirl. In this blog, I used to call her RealTrainGirl. That seems like a million years ago. SassyGirl is so much more fitting. Anyway, that time, the relationship was pegged from the start to remain a platonic one. That time, I never had any of those pesky romantic feelings get in the way.

And you know what?

It was wonderful.

Then SassyGirl left, and once again, I fucking noticed. I was sad. But it was okay. She'd said goodbye. We said goodbye to each other. And besides, it was never going to be forever. We'd see each other again.

Like six months later. Like Tuesday evening.

So that was cool. And it will continue to be cool, like I said, for a few more days or maybe a week. Then we'll say our goodbyes again. And it will be okay, because we'll know that it won't be forever.

Now, this next part is going to be a little tough for me to write. Tough because it's a tough subject for me, and tough because I can just about guarantee that it's going to be misinterpreted.

But I've got to write this. If I don't, if I don't then I'm going to explode some night.

The thing is, everybody leaves.

I think that at least a part of me has known this for a long time. Nothing lives up to the expectations originally hinted at or hoped for. Nothing lasts. Nothing.

Ahem.

HatGirl is leaving.

In either fifteen months or in ten months, she is leaving. The deadline varies but its meaning to me and my life - such as it is - is as steady as a rock.

When HatGirl leaves, it's going to destroy me. It's going to destroy me and every bit of the progress I've made since LaptopGirl left. And I think that there's not a thing I can do about it. I could start to pull away right now, but that would not lessen the blow. I could strive to make every day that I have left count, but that would only delay the inevitable.

It's my fault, of course. It's pretty much always my fault.

It's not love, I once wrote, but it's something.

Something that I should have seen coming. Something that I should have nipped in the bud, as they say.

And now, now I find myself unable and/or unwilling to write anything more about this. What else could I say?

HatGirl is leaving. Those three words. Those three fucking words.

They sear my soul.

June 10th through 15th!

Yay!

It's at The Venetian though, so I have serious doubts that there'll be any good beer. Maybe no beer at all. Probably just foo-foo drinks and wine and champagne, and nothing but caviar to eat.

But I'll get by. I always do.

Vegas, baby!

Jordin: Boring but good. (70 points)

Sabrina: She gets prettier each week, and her singing is steady as a rock. She needs to keep working on her depth though. (75 points)

Antonella: Not very good. Bad, in fact. I will miss her because she seems sweet. (25 points)

Haley: Smoldering hot. Sang some song I never heard before. Good but not great. (75 points)

Stephanie: She's back! Yay! Just awesome. (90 points)

LaKisha: Seriously, just give her the the fucking title. I took off 10 points because I'm a little concerned that she can only sing huge songs. (90 points)

Gina: She's fucking awesome. She has horrible luck with that one background singer though. (95 points)

Melinda: I really like Melinda, but tonight she seemed a little too gospelly for my tastes. She's still great though. (85 points)

A couple of days ago I read on The Dilbert Blog that Scott Adams used the Google Alerts service to keep tabs on what people are writing about him.

I'm familiar with the service. I use it myself. Basically, you tell Google what text to watch for, then when the service finds that text, it emails you with a link.

I use it to looks for my own name, my domain name, and the names of some people who are important to me. Scott Adams uses it to look for the words "Scott Adams Dilbert."

The cool thing is, that by typing that last sentence, I've triggered an email to be sent to Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert. Rich and famous Scott Adams.

That's the cool thing. The fucking cool thing is that, as Scott admits in his own blog, he carries his Blackberry in his pocket.

So, by typing that sentence up there a couple of paragraphs ago, there's a good chance that I've startled Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert, and caused him to derail from whatever train of thought he might have been on.

Maybe he was thinking up his next comic. Maybe I messed that up. Maybe, because of me, it won't be nearly as funny as it would have been.

Or maybe, maybe I jolted him from an idea that was sort of funny to one that's absolutely fucking hilarious.

Maybe he'll be so grateful that he'll start paying me to derail his thought train every now and then.

So what if that lottery thing hasn't worked out? I've got a new retirement plan now.

So I suppose there's a chance that the next time you hear from me, I'll be dead.

Anyone, of course, can say that at any time. Nothing in life is guaranteed, not even life itself. Especially not life itself.

I have managed to royally fuck something up. Physically I mean. Something is not only not right, it's downright wrong.

But I don't know what it is. Maybe it's, as I thought this morning, just a pulled muscle in my back. Maybe I slept weird or something. But if that's all it is, well then it's the worst such case of soreness I've ever felt.

Now don't freak out (especially if you're one of my sisters) but today I fell to the floor in pain. Fucking twice. That brings the number of times I've done that in my life to two.

In other words, it fucking hurts.

In more words, a fucking lot.

Specifically, the pain is about halfway down the left side of my back. It hurts like a motherfucker right now, even as I sit here typing this sentence. Ouch.

So I can't help but wonder if maybe it's not just a pulled muscle caused by sleeping weird. I can't help but wonder if it's something worse. Maybe something that will kill me tonight after I (hopefully) drift off to an aspirin-induced slumber. Aspirin and Rogue Smoke (658), I mean.

Earlier tonight, I took a long hot bath. Even though I was at least a little bit afraid and/or certain that I wouldn't be able to get out of the tub when I was finished, it seemed to be worth the risk. The hot water did seem to help, for a while at least.

And it's not like I didn't take any precautions.

I made sure that the phone numbers for my friend Eric and my cousin Jeff were on speed-dial, and that my phone was right next to the tub. So if I couldn't get out of the tub I could call one of them for assistance. Because while I'm sure that my sisters love me and that they would drag my naked carcass out of the tub if necessary, that activity probably wasn't on their wish-list when they started their day.

But the hot water did make me feel a little better, and I did make it out of the tub my myself. I'm fucking Superman, apparently. Wait, that doesn't read right. I am most certainly not fucking Superman. How about I am Superman, apparently. Yeah, that's better.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL ASIDE: I wonder if Supergirl's hymen is as indestructible as the rest of her. That would suck for her, and for any of her boyfriends. Better, I think, would be if she were like that chick on Heroes, where her hymen would just automagically repair itself whenever the need arose.)

Anyway, I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's just another sign of old age. All I know for sure is that it fucking hurts to be me right now.