So I chickened out tonight. I stayed home, drank a bottle of Rare Vos (40), watched Apocalypse Now.

Just basically hid from the world, the idiots, the whores. And the disappointment and the pain and the anger.

Sometimes those things are all that I see. Or all I that I let myself see.

It's not you, world. It's me.

Some of my readers may know that I have two other journals. I mean, besides this one which exists in two places but which I only count as one. A somewhat fewer number may know, or strongly suspect, where those other journals are.

One anonymous journal is devoted to a love which was lost, the other to, well to a something that never got off the ground. They're both pretty much dormant now. Tombstones marking thoughts and feelings that might otherwise have never safely left my head. Words which needed an anonymous outlet lest they burst unbidden and unwelcome and unappreciated into my life and onto this more public journal.

Now, I'm thinking of starting another journal. About something else. Something new. Something bad.

It's too soon, I'm told. Wait and see what happens, I'm advised.

Sound counsel, certainly. But perhaps not appropriate for me, right here and right now.

See, I've learned a lot about myself over the past couple of years. And one particular thing that I've learned, one nugget of knowledge that has been beaten into my head over and over and over and over, is that I cannot stop myself from expressing myself when I'm sad.

Something bad happens, I need to complain about it.

Something good doesn't happen, I must lament its lack.

Something terrible might happen a year and a half from now, I am compelled to worry and obsess and be haunted by that possibility. And write about it. At length.

These thoughts and feelings and words will find an escape. It will happen.

The only remaining question, the only thing I can still somewhat control, is the form which that escape will take.

So I'm thinking of starting another secret journal.

Maybe you'll stumble across me there. Feel free to say hello, but don't expect an acknowledgement.

I got an email from SassyGirl this morning. She hinted that she and JauntyGirl may be coming back soon. I don't know if it would be for a visit or to stay for good though.

Either way, yay!

---

Last night we got what I'm sure will go down in history as The Blizzard of '07. I got a whole 3/4" of snow at my house. And, as if nature hadn't already tortured us enough, they're forecasting another inch tonight. Good thing I've got four-wheel-drive on my truck.

---

My kitchen sink is pretty close to being completely clogged. As of about a half-hour ago, I've dumped about 15 gallons of Drano into the thing over the last couple of months. End result: Nothing.

It may be time to get a plumber in here with one of those snake thingies.

---

Last June Rich O's held a beer festival in my honor, called DaveFest. I might have mentioned it here. With that honor, as it turns out, I get some responsibility too. I'm one of three judges deciding who gets to have the next Rich O's customer appreciation festival. So I've got these essays to read through. Then we judges will get together and try to pick a winner.

It would be a lot simpler if they'd just have DaveFest every year.

---

Yesterday I talked to this girl during lunch who looked almost exactly like Sarah Silverman. In other words, hot. In even more words, fucking smoldering hot.

I got her number, but when I called her today she flaked-out on me.

There's a lot of flaking going around lately.

---

Tonight, unless I chicken out, I'm going to eat ground beef. In yummy taco form. This will be the first time I've had ground beef since my explosive illness the second week of January.

---

I guess that's it.

Right now, I'm sitting here feeling myself shut down. It's a familiar feeling to me. Too fucking familiar.

I see the blow that life is throwing at me, and I feel myself reflexively turn away. I might just run and hide while there's still time.

If people knew what the fuck I was rambling about this time, I know what they'd say.

"A lot can happen between now and then," they'd say.

I know this because that's exactly what I've been trying to tell myself for the past two hours.

Everybody's right, of course. I'm right.

A lot can happen. It's just that I can find little solace in that particular platitude.

I'm too busy being a selfish prick, feeling sorry for myself.

I don't remember much about Friday night. I'd been deprived of a nap by some unsettling news. I remember that Rich O's was crowded as fuck, and that I had some Wostyntje (149), and that I left early.

---

On Saturday, well at least she called. To tell me that she wouldn't be able to accompany me. Even though it was a negative RSVP, it was still was very nice and considerate of her, and it kept me from thinking that she might be a bitch or something. So that's good. I don't like thinking bad thoughts about people.

---

Plan B was DooRagGirl, but she was, understandably, hesitant to attend a party where she wouldn't know anyone but me. I am, apparently, not good enough on my own. Oh well. Story of my life, right there.

---

I had no real plan C, so I decided that I wouldn't be attending the party at all. Instead I was going to go to Louisville and hang out there for a while. Maybe talk to CoolHairGirl and see if she'd liked the Newcastle she'd finally tried.

But nooooooooooooooo!

I got a text message from HatGirl, leting me know that they were going to Rich O's.

So I went to Rich O's, where I sat with HatGirl (yay!) and LuckyFucker. He was being a dick for some reason. I don't know why. I had myself a couple glasses of Wostyntje (169) and talked to HatGirl about what lousy drivers we used to be.

After the happy couple left, I talked with DooRagGirl for an hour or so. I had another Wostyntje (179). I really like that beer. Plus, it's nice and light. I seem to have some kind of mental block about dark and heavy beers. Ever since my illness. That, and ground beef. Ugh.

Anyway.

Once DooRagGirl left, I became concerned that some weird people were going to try to talk to me, so I left too.

(Note: I have been working on being more sociable. It just doesn't seem to work very well at Rich O's.)

----

So I went over to Louisville. CoolHairGirl wasn't working, so I didn't get to see her. I went over to the pub and got to talking with EllaGirl. She actually remembered my name this time, so that was cool. After a while, we all went to this little dive bar so everybody could unwind. It was okay I suppose, but I'd cut myself off hours ago, so I could only sit and watch while EllaGirl and her friends got shitfaced while I drank Diet Cokes.

At 3:30 or so, I came home alone. By choice.

---

On Sunday, I didn't do much except play pool and watch a couple of movies. I watched Sleepy Hollow. HatGirl had told me before that she looks like Christina Ricci, but she's wrong. Christina Ricci fucking wishes that, on her best day, she looked a gazillionth as pretty as HatGirl looks on her worst day.

---

Sunday night I had one of the beers that I purchased the other day.

Unibroue Trois Pistoles (25)

(bottle) Black, revealing amber only when strongly backlit. Huge creamy head. Aroma of oak and malty apples and cherries. Flavor is like the aroma, only better. There's something else there, maybe grapes of all things. Pretty damn yummy.

Oh yeah, it's freaking cold here. It's supposed to get down to single digits tonight, with a wind chill of minus 8,000,000 or some crap like that. Also, it snowed all morning, but there's not even a light dusting. What a waste of cold weather. I hate Winter.

I got my first-ever anonymous gift from a reader a couple of weeks ago. At least I assume it was from a reader. There was no note with the gift. No email has arrived to explain anything. Just a box from amazon.com, with a copy of The Game inside.

Weird, huh?

The book somehow manages to be both intriguing and repulsive. It's certainly interesting. It's kind of inspired me, actually. Not to be one of those guys or act like one of those guys. Instead it's inspired me to simply open up a little. Be more friendly to people around me. Not be such a grouch all the time.

So I've been doing that, and I've been in a much better mood lately. I'm no longer pretending to be a normal and friendly person, I'm actively working on becoming a normal and friendly person. It's tough at times, talking to people that I don't know. Especially when they're idiots. But it's kinda fun, too.

I've also noticed that my urge to write here has suffered. Perhaps I'm only allowed one outlet for expression at a time. Perhaps this is merely a lull. Perhaps it's growing pains.

Today I was eating lunch, and these two hot girls came in to The Pub. Because I'm trying to work on my friendliness, plus I like to meet women, I waved at them from across the bar. Even though I'd never seen them before. Hey, you never know, right?

The more exotic girl didn't even see me, but the girl with the flowing dark hair, that girl gave me a weird look and kind of stuck her hand up at me in a semi-acknowledgement. A pseudowave.

I watched them eat together. The girl who'd pseudowaved at me was just so lively, and so pretty, and so expressive, and so happy. I developed a ginormous crush on her. She was just fascinating to look at, even though she was sitting at least twenty yards away from me, and I had to squint a little.

Every now and then she'd catch me looking at her, and then she'd either give me another pseudowave or she'd smile or something.

After about a half-hour, she went to the bathroom and then when she came out she walked right up to me and said, "Hi. Do I know you from somewhere?"

What I was supposed to say was the truth. That I'd only waved at her because she was pretty and I wanted to meet her. That meeting her had become my goal for the day. That I'd have loved a chance to talk to her and get to know her.

But that's not what I said.

What I said was, "I'm sorry, when you first came in I thought you were someone else. My mistake."

Why would I say such a thing? A beautiful girl smiles at me, and waves at me, and then walks up and talks to me, and I blow her off?!?

What kind of pickup artist am I, anyway?

Well, I'd been thinking, as I watched her eat with her friend. Thinking is, of course, always a bad idea. But I'd been doing it anyway.

I'd been thinking about how much she reminded me of MixedSignalGirl when we'd first started going out. And of MixedSignalGirl the last few times I'd seen her. And how starkly those beginning and end times had contrasted with all the times in between. I'd been thinking about how I'd made MixedSignalGirl so sad, and I'd been thinking about how the last thing I'd ever want to do would be to do the same thing to this pretty girl with the incredible smile and the flowing dark hair. Turn her into some brooding and sulking thing.

It would have been an unforgivable sin.

I'd been thinking that I couldn't do it. That I'd gotten lucky once. MixedSignalGirl had recovered. I had no way of knowing what harm I'd cause this new girl, if I were given that opportunity. How permanent that harm might be.

So, I blew her off.

And she accepted my explanation. And she walked away smiling. I hope that her life keeps her smiling for a very long time.

The other day I announced loudly to my coworkers, "I'm too damn nice."

I waited about thirty seconds. I got nothing. So I said it even louder.

"I'M TOO DAMN NICE!"

This time I got a response.

"Yeah you are," came the muffled response from the back of the room.

Thank you! That's what I wanted to hear.

I'm too damn nice.

The bullshit I put up with. The other cheeks that I turn.

But at some point, even I run out of patience.

You know what I wish?

I wish you would stop lying to me.

Because I can forgive lie after lie after lie after lie until, all of a sudden, there's one lie too many. This camel's back breaks.

And then, then I'm not so damn nice anymore. And then I'll never believe another word you say.

Just tell the fucking truth. It can be yes or it can be no. It's almost never maybe, though that's the answer you keep shovelling at me.

It's simple. I ask the question. I expose myself. I do the hard part.

All you have to do is answer the question, and answer it honestly.

Why is that so much to ask?

Yes. Or. No.