Got to Rich O's last night at around 8:00 I think. It was pretty crowded, and so I had to sit at the kiddie table. That put me in a bad mood.

Then I went to the bathroom and on the way I saw LaptopGirl, so that put me in a good mood.

Then I got to talk to LaptopGirl, so that put me in a great mood.

Then I got into an argument with a chick over the throne. The strangers had finally left the living room area and we both wanted the throne. I was closer, and I'd been waiting longer, so I took the seat.

She called me an asshole. I called her a bitch. But I gave her the fucking seat.

Then, after a while I felt bad about the name calling, so I apologized.

All of that crap knocked me back into a regular good mood.

Oh yeah, I had three yummy Rogue Chocolate Stouts (1292).

...my true love gave to me,

Eight ponytail holder thingies,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Okay, here's the deal.

Being all cryptic and shit, and beating around the bush, and censoring myself to the point where even I can't tell what the fuck I'm rambling about, those are all well and good.

At times.

But sometimes, sometimes I have to write something that makes sense.

Or else I just might explode.

And that would suck.

For me at least.

Anyway.

Tonight, I got to see LaptopGirl.

I got to talk to LaptopGirl.

She did not tell me to fuck off. She did not spit in my face. She actually talked to me.

She talked to me, and it reminded me, for a few precious minutes, of the friends that we once were. It hinted to me, for a few splendid and transcendent and illustrious moments, of the possibility of having that friendship again. Someday. Just maybe.

And that maybe, well that maybe was enough. More than enough.

It was everything.

Every-fucking-thing.

I've written before, about wants vs. needs. There's no need for me rehash that crap again. Go back and read it again if you want. It's not important, because my wants aren't important.

And they never were.

Tonight, I got to talk to LaptopGirl.

It was all that I needed.

I did not freak out.

Maybe later.

I promised.

I like this feeling, but I probably shouldn't.

It's dangerously close to happiness. Close enough that I can almost touch it. I can almost take that extra step, and shift my weight onto my leading foot, and see if it will hold me.

It looks fairly solid.

But what do I know about happiness?

It looks solid, but so does a cloud, until you get too close.

Wouldn't it be better to stand back, to admire this phenomenon from a safe distance? From far enough away that the illusion is maintained?

It's pretty fucking tempting though. To take that extra step. To see what happens.

So today I had to go over to our main campus to work for a while. This is relevant for a couple of reasons.

Reason the first, the "building" I was working in is actually a merging of three buildings. The floors don't quite match up, and neither do the structural supports. So there are lots of little stairways and twisty halls in the places where the buildings connect.

Reason the second, it's the main headquarters of a multi-national corporation. So there are people there. Important people.

Anyway, I'd finally finished up the work that had required my presence there, and I was making my way back to the exit. Specifically, I was making my way between two of these old buildings. Through a little twisty hallway with stairs in it.

I wasn't really running but neither do I fuck around when I walk. So I was moving pretty quickly.

As I rounded a corner, and went down some stairs, I gave very close to having a head-on collision with a man who was coming in the other direction. He, apparently, does not fuck around when he walks either.

We came within a few inches of killing each other.

No big loss, you might say.

And, in my case you'd be correct. But the man that I almost killed was the fucking CEO. Of the entire corporation. Where I work.

I bet he'd have been really embarrassed if he was killed by a peon like me. I bet I'd have gotten a posthumous promotion to Senior Vice President or something, just so it would look better in the newspaper.

Last night, just like last Sunday, I had a nearly overpowering urge to write something stupid. So last night, just like last Sunday, I went over to Louisville instead.

I started out at The Pub where I had a couple of yummy Newcastles (2838) and talked with some dude from North Carolina.

Next I had a Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald Porter (164), which I hadn't noticed when I first went in or it might have been all I had.

Then I went to The Hard Rock and talked to CoolHairGirl. It was sort of dead in there. I had like three Diet Cokes, and then one of those Winter's Bourbon Cask Ales (36), then another Diet Coke.

It was a nice relaxing evening. I wish I'd have taken my notebook with me though. Then I could have written something stupid in it.

...my true love gave to me,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Every Sunday the company that hosts barenada.com decides to suck. The site goes down, or gets really sluggish. Email sits for hours before being delivered. Sometimes email simply vanishes.

Such was the case this evening. I wrote an email to RockGirl, and it vanished, never to be seen again apparently.. That email said in part, I feel like something is terribly wrong. I feel like I should be doing something to make things better. But I can't because, for all I know, I'm the thing that's terribly wrong.

This, in case you were wondering, isn't the best feeling I've ever had in my life.

It kinda sucks.

Because if I am the problem, then there's not a thing I can do about it.

It fact, it definitely sucks.

I suppose the real start of this Saturday Beer Report would be when I was at Rich O's at 3:00 or so. I'd done my Christmas shopping and decided to reward myself with a yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (1222). I talked to Roger, the owner, for a bit. I expressed my frustration that, here in Indiana, we can't get Alaskan Smoked Porter at all, yet in Las Vegas the owner of the Freaking' Frog can simply call his distributor and get a keg from 1998.

Something is definitely wrong with this system.

Anyway, after that I came home and dicked around for a while, then I went back to Rich O's at 8:00. The place wasn't too crowded. At least Rich O's proper wasn't. The PBDs were having a party in the Special People Section. I stuck my head in. It looked crowded as fuck.

There were some weirdoes in the living room area, so I sat at the bar. I had an Upland Winter Warmer (200) which is still yummy.

Not a whole lot happened for a while. My next beer was a Delirium Noel (70). A couple next to me were having the conversation. It seemed to be mostly about everything that was wrong with the guy, but I wasn't really listening - only when the occasional snippet made its way into my ears. So he may have gotten some jabs in too.

I got a text message from HatGirl, saying she wasn't going to make it in, but I guess I made her feel guilty or something so she said she'd be there. Yay!

After the weirdoes left I moved over to the throne. That was about the time I had another Delirium Noel (80).

Then a little before 10:00 HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I didn't mention it before, but Friday night HatGirl was strangely dressed. On Saturday she was back to normal.

So we talked for an hour or so. I had a half-pint of Rogue Chocolate Stout (1232), and I came home shortly after HatGirl and LuckyFucker left.

There's something going on that just isn't right. I don't really want to elaborate. But there is context to all this random boring crap that I write.

...my true love gave to me,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.