There's a saying.

If you don't have anything nice to say, then say nothing at all.

Or something like that.

I think that will be my motto for tonight.

Here's a picture of Paco the Alpaca, brought to me all the way from Peru by SassyGirl.

Paco is admiring my second yummy bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (606).

I had a couple of remarkably similar conversations tonight, with two different friends. The subjects were similar, as was the advice I offered. The other thing that was similar was that I'm pretty sure that both conversations ended with my friend thinking, Wow, what a fucking hypocrite Dave is.

I believe that my friends were thinking this, because I was certainly thinking it.

...

I was going to write a lot more, and I have written a lot more. I've deleted hundreds of words three or four times.

It was all bullshit.

I was going to write that I've thought things over, and that I no longer believe that I'm a hypocrite. I was going to write that too much time has passed for me to take my own advice. I was going to write that 18 months ago I did try those things that I suggested tonight.

I was going to write a lot of things. I did write a lot of things. But I deleted it all several times.

It was all bullshit.

I guess the motto of this little piece of drivel, if you feel like you need one, the motto would be, Do as I say, not as I do.

I tell myself that it's too late for me to take my own advice. I've been telling myself that for over a year. I've told myself so often and with such conviction that I've managed to make it true.

I am an idiot.

Use that for a motto, if you prefer.

Every now and then, not as often as before but still often enough to be noticeable, I feel a little bit like a fly on a plate.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: That sentence really seems familiar to me. Not the words, but the general flow of the thing. I think it might remind me of Moby Dick. I'm not intentionally plagiarizing anyone though, so I guess it's okay.

Years and years ago, when I used to be one of the best pool players in whatever bar I happened to be shooting and/or hanging out in, I guess I got used to that feeling. Of being in the spotlight. Of everybody watching me. All the time.

I guess I got used to it, and I guess I kinda liked it even. It probably motivated me to excellence and shit.

But that was a long time ago. In the years since then, the spotlights have come from completely different directions, for completely different reasons.

These days, my friends at Rich O's often look to me to set the mood. To tell the jokes. To keep them entertained. These days, more often than I really care to speculate on, I seem to be in charge of whether my friends enjoy themselves.

Talk about pressure!

For the most part, I think, my friends eventually figure out that I'm a bit of an asshole. At that point they either stop talking to me or they at least stop relying on me to be their only source of entertainment. This is perfectly fine with me. I cannot be "on" all of the time. It's exhausting.

My family is an entirely different matter.

The thing about my sisters, and of course I love them like sisters, is that they just don't seem able to accept the fact that I'm not the same person that they know from before. Hell, I'm not even close.

Back then, I was introverted, and friendly, and caring, and patient.

These days, these days I'm not.

Patient? I don't have fucking time for that.

Caring? What's in it for me?

Friendly? As long as you can prove that you're not an idiot within 10 seconds of meeting me.

Introverted? Okay, fine. That's still there. It's just not as noticeable as it used to be.

So, basically, like I said up above, I'm an asshole. I'm self-centered, and I'm kind of a beer snob, and I'm so easily annoyed by strangers that I make Boo Radley seem like Richard Simmons in comparison.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Mr. Simmons was just the most extroverted person I could think of on such short notice. There are probably several people who would be better suited for the purpose for which I wrote the above.

Anyway.

This weekend my sister Neisha is supposed to be coming to Rich O's. This is such a fantastic and rare occasion that I'm a little worried that the denizens of Hell may be at risk from frostbite.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Now would be a really good time to open a Winter clothing store in Hell. Or maybe go down there and hang a shingle proclaiming myself as a personal injury attorney. But then again, Hell is probably already full of lawyers, so I should just stick with the Winter clothing store idea.

So, even though it's still three days away, and I remain aware anything could happen between now and then, I'm a little excited about the prospect of Neisha coming into Rich O's.

I'm also a little nervous about it.

Not because my sister is coming. Nope, I'm a little nervous because she's bringing a friend. She's bringing a friend from out of town specifically to meet me.

Talk about pressure!

I have no idea what my sister has told her friend about me. I can only imagine. Probably the usual stuff.

Dave is funny.

Dave is charming.

Dave is smart.

Dave can juggle.

Dave walks on water and performs other miracles.

At least I don't have to worry about the Dave is HOT thing because (a) I'm not hot, and (b) it's my sister.

Saturday night, I need to be on my best behavior. Saturday night, I need to do whatever I can do to keep my sister from being called a liar.

Saturday night, I need to be on.

You know what I like about my life right now?

I like the fact that, for the first time that I can remember, I seem to have the entire gamut of emotions at my beck and call.

This is really pretty cool, this place that I find myself in. Even though I complain about it what seems like all the fucking time.

Q: How do you know Dave is complaining about something?

A: Because he's awake.

Here's a little challenge for you. Pick an emotion. Give me a minute, and I can be experiencing that emotion.

Some are easier than others, of course. Some I might even call difficult. But not impossible.

A friend of mine asked me today if I ever felt hate. That's actually one of the tough ones for me. But I can do it. I have to reach far back - years and years - into my past, and think about things that I'd rather not think about, but I can do it. If I'm completely honest with myself, then I have to admit that I do hate her for what she did, over and over and over and over and over and over. Without remorse. Without anything that could even be remotely considered as being anything similar to regret. With nothing but pure selfishness. I hate that fucking whore.

Yes, I do hate her. For who she is, and for the coward that she turned me into.

Love, the one emotion that I always figured was impossible for me to feel - that's the one that turned out to be the easiest of all. That's the one that I live with, that's a part of me, that I cannot completely shake even when I want to do so. I try to run from it, and I try to hide from it, and I try to deny that I ever felt it. Feel it. But there's no use running, or hiding, or denying. It always catches up. It always finds me. It always stands right in front of me and does a little dance that always makes me laugh. This is what I feel when I let my mind and my heart relax and stop trying to escape the inescapable. That such a person can exist in this world. It's just so amazing to me. She is just so amazing to me.

I do love her. For who she is, and for the hopeful idiot that she turned me into.

And, between those two emotions, and between those two very different women, I have the full range of emotion available to me.

Like I said, it's pretty cool.

This isn't really an entry.

I'd planned on writing a real entry tonight, but now I'm not so sure that either of the ideas I had are worthy of your majesties' attention.

Maybe I'll have a beer and see how I feel after that.

I didn't even watch the guys last week. Mostly because they're guys and therefore largely irrelevant to me, but also because I was busy.

Anyway, I did watch the girls sing tonight, and here's what I thought.

3/7 (Girls)

Paris: She sang a stupid song. She's awesome though. Maybe a little too sweet. (75 points)

Lisa: Some song I never heard before. Good, I guess, but I really think she can do better. (80 points)

Melissa: Hot. I love her voice this week. She also picked a perfect song for her voice. (85 points)

Kinnik: She sucks, so I fast-forwarded through her performance.

Katharine: She seemed a little full of herself this week, and she sang a stupid song. I gave her 10 bonus points for having nice tits that I somehow failed to notice before tonight. (80 points)

Ayla: Wow. I can totally imagine hearing that performance on the radio. Damn good. (85 points)

Mandissa: I fast-forwarded through her performance because I don't like her.

Kellie: Still smoldering hot. Just an average performance but I don't care because I love her so much. (75 points)

After I wrote down my notes I went back and listened to the judges comments. For the most part, the judges are wrong.

I hope.

I keep saying this. I'll say it again. Mandisa and Kinnik need to get the fuck off my TV.

1. Get dressed.
2. Drive to store to buy a soda.
3. Talk to cute girl that works at store.
4. Drive to work.
5. Walk into work.
6. Attend a meeting at work.
7. Go to the bathroom.
8. Look in mirror.
9. Notice that your shirt is on inside-out.

There's this thing that I want.

This desire started, I dunno, maybe last Wednesday or so. And it's become stronger every minute of every hour of every day since then.

I actually want one so badly that I've found myself tempted to ask for it here in this journal. I know that several of these things must exist - I only want one. I'll even settle for a copy of one.

I know that there are probably several of my readers that can get one for me. I mean local readers, not the ones scattered all over creation.

I really can't just ask though. It wouldn't be proper at all. I'm thinking that I may try to trick someone into giving me one.

Somebody here in New Albany might be, right now, reading this entry while in possession of that which I crave. If you're out there, and you've been reading me long enough, you may even be able to guess what it is that I want.

If you're out there, and you have one, why not help a guy out?