Over here at barenada.com, that whooshing sound, the sound of everybody leaving very quickly, has lessened a bit today.

One of my stalk, er, readers has come back to me and sent me a PM.

I'm very excited. More than is warranted, I know, and I also know that she will be quite embarrassed to be mentioned here.

I'm irresistible I tell you!

(UPDATE: I've added a new example, thanks to Sensorium for reminding me, and I've added comics! Everybody loves comics!)

Now I'll be the first to admit that I'm not perfect. I've screwed up many times in the past, and I'll screw up in the future. I fully expect that there will be times when a significant other will be upset with me, and that I'll either fully deserve or at least understand what's bothering her. And I'll probably apologize, and then we'll have make-up sex or something.

But sometimes, sometimes there can be no apology. How do you express regret for something that you never did? Consider the following:

The Misunderstanding
The other day VigilanteGirl and I had a misunderstanding over a potential date. I thought she was blowing me off by not answering my invitation, and she thought I was being an asshole by not following up on her acceptance.

Like I said, it was a misunderstanding. A communication failure. I simply didn't get her message. Once I realized this, I stopped being irritated with her. Once she realized this, she for some reason decided to stay angry at me.

The Preemptive Pout
MixedSignalGirl was the queen of this. She'd imagine some time in the future when I'd anger her or make her sad, so to save time she'd just go ahead and get mad or sad right away. Asking a woman in this condition what's wrong will get you the standard "nothing" for an answer, but in this case it's actually true. There is nothing wrong, but there almost certainly will be at some point, so she's just beating the Christmas rush.

The Dream
Probably my favorite. This is where a woman is allowed to punish a man for something he did wrong in a dream that she had. In my life, I've been punished for everything from calling a woman fat to murdering and eating her parents, and for everything in between. Apparently my dream-self is a real asshole. But does he have to pay for his misdeeds? No way. I have to pay for them. Over and over and over.

The Old Wound
This is when something you do reminds her of her last boyfriend, husband, or whatever. The only way to be sure to avoid this situation is to only get women by rescuing them from convents.

So, what's a guy to do when faced with these situations?

Easy. You've basically got a free pass. You're already being punished, so you may as well earn it. Go out drinking with the guys all night. Eat a shitload of White Castles right before bedtime. Flirt with her sister. Call her precious poodle a yapping rat-dog. Give her something real to be upset about. You'll feel better, and she'll feel justified.

And then you'll have something to apologize for, and then you can move on to the make-up sex.

Okay, I'm plagiarizing myself here, but it's okay - I gave myself permission.

I hate the Fall.

Too many things have happened to me at this time of the year. There are very few good memories, only memories of death and dying and loss and pain.

I look out my window, and I see that everything around me is dying. The sky is gray, the grass a dull brown. My yard is littered with fallen leaves.

The only things giving color to the world are the leaves. Many of them still cling to their branches, but inevitably, they too will fall and join corpses of their brothers on the ground below. And when they fall, when they spin or glide or spiral through the air, that is when they're at their most beautiful. The death of each leaf is a dance.

I like to stand outside my building at work, when the ivy leaves are falling. Sometimes, a leaf will get caught in the winds swirling around the buildings. Sometimes, a leaf will take a long time to fall, and it will dance in the air for me. If I'm quick enough, and if the winds are just right, I can catch a leaf before it hits the ground. Before its dance is over forever. My grandmother used to tell me that it was good luck, catching a falling leaf. I'll hold the stem between my thumb and forefinger, and I'll twirl it for a bit, then I'll open my hand and let it finish its fall. Let it finish dying.

Sometimes I envy those leaves. Their most beautiful moment comes at the end of their lives. They don't have to keep living and remembering how wonderful things used to be. And when they fall, they don't have to get back up.

You know what my problem is?

Ha ha. Very funny. Shut up and let me write.

My problem is that I'm always in a hurry. To start things. To end things. I hardly ever want to actually do anything, so I rush through it and move on to something else.

See, that way I can pretend that I actually accomplished something without the hassle of having to work at it.

For example, I usually sit down here at my desk with an idea of what I'm going to write about, but instead of following through with that plan, I just start typing and once I figure I've got enough words strung together I submit the thing.

See, I've typed almost a hundred words already and I haven't said a damn thing. But it's still going to count as an entry when I'm done. It'll still bring in readers. Hell, it might even get some comments.

I was going to write this brilliant entry the other day, but instead I went off on a stupid tangent. I sat down here 10 minutes ago to write another brilliant entry but once again I'm out here in la-la-land, nowhere near the vicinity of my intended subject.

Back in 2003, it took me four days to write this entry about my dad. But it didn't take so long because I was carefully choosing every word and phrase. It wasn't because I wanted everything to be just right.

Nope. It was because it was painful to write the thing. If it hadn't been for that, I'd have rushed through it just as I rush through everything else.

I want answers. I want quick fixes. I want resolution, absolution, retribution, and evolution. And I want them now now now now!

What's that you say? Sometimes the best things are worth waiting and working for? Well fuck that. I ain't got time to wait and work. I'm in a hurry here, to move on to something else.

What happened to the best things in life are free? Huh? Answer me that.

But do it quick, 'cause I don't have all day.

I bet if I just start typing, then before I know it I'll have an entry to post. That's usually the way it works, anyway. I have no idea what I'm going to write then my fingers just start rambling.

So we'll see.

Seeing as how I was promised an answer to my date proposal by 3:00, and seeing as how it was 8:30 and I hadn't heard a thing, I used my incredible deductive reasoning skills to determine that VigilanteGirl and I would not be visiting the haunted sanatorium last night.

This meant that I was free to do whatever I wanted. So I decided to forgo Rich O's and spend the evening instead at Buckhead's in Jeffersonville. I had visions of yummy Weihenstephaner lined up in front of me, and lovely eye-candy to talk to while I drank.

But noooooooooooooooooo!

The phone rang, and it was SpikeBoy, wondering when I'd be at Rich O's. I thought about telling him that I wouldn't be going to Rich O's, but he just sounded so damned lonely as he told me how dead the place was. Sometimes I feel like SpikeBoy puts a little too much pressure on me to be interesting, but he's probably my best friend at Rich O's, so I told him that I'd be there shortly.

The place wasn't that dead. SpikeBoy and CoffeeDude sat in the living room area. BamaBoy and BamaGirl (new nicknames for those two) sat in the red room. Some dipshits sat at the bar. I sat on the sofa and ordered a Rogue FestivAle (40), then I sent the following text-message to VigilanteGirl:

So, I guess that's a "no" then?

I never got her message, so I assumed that she was blowing me off. She never heard back from me, so she assumed that I had changed my mind about going.

The moral of this story is: Text-messaging is unreliable. Make an actual phone call if it's something important.

So now I feel like a real dick for jumping to conclusions.

As the night wore on, more people arrived. BamaCouple were joined in the red room by a hot blonde girl. Speaking of blondes, CuteBlonde came in and sat at the bar with a friend of hers. At one point, lo and behold, LibertyGirl made an appearance. I guess we had all figured that she'd gotten married or went to jail or something, because she hadn't been seen in months.

So, with the gang more or less all there, we proceeded to yak and yammer about whatever single and lonely people yak and yammer about.

My next beer was a Smithwick's (600).

At one point, my friends bet me that I wouldn't go talk to BamaCouple's hot blonde friend. They don't know me very well at all apparently. I went over to the red room and introduced myself. I told them this joke I'd read in Jill Soloway's new book, and also the interrupting cow joke.

One thing was kind of funny. BamaGirl and I were talking about her encounter with SuperShitHead last weekend. I guess he was really trying to impress her and telling her how integral he was to the operation of the Brewery. I straightened her out on the SuperShitHead situation.

Anyway, because I'd gone and talked to HotBamaBlonde, that meant that LibertyGirl had to go talk to this dude that was sitting out in the loser area that she'd had a crush on for years. She did, and she may have actually gotten a phone number for her efforts. Good for her!

I'm going to wrap this up now as I'm getting quite bored.

My last beer was a yummy Weihenstephaner (199), which had snuck back into the draft rotation when I wasn't looking. After that was gone I stopped at White Castle and came home.

Another weekend gone.

Just some random shit here.

I don't believe in fate, but if there is such a thing, it is conspiring against me right now.

I had my 3000th JS reader today, but I haven't decided what to do about it yet.

I got my leather jacket back, finally.

I missed her tonight, first time in quite a while.

I wish I could draw, but I can't.

Last night I had a semi-sexual dream about a JS member. That was pretty strange, mainly because it wasn't who I thought the first such dream would be about.

I think there must be something in the water in Alabama that makes women beautiful.

White guys with huge afros suck.

That is all.

Question: Why now? Why this girl, and not the one before? Why is knowing so important all of a sudden?

Answer: You don't understand. It's not that she's important, but that she isn't. I don't care what the answer is, and for once I'd like to find out before I do care.

I started out last night not knowing what I was going to do. I was thinking about maybe just staying home for once and watching some movies that I've purchased but never watched. Just a nice quiet night, me and the cats, a preview of my old age.

Thankfully, it didn't come to that.

I don't know why I wrote thankfully there. I guess because I'm still of a mindset that staying home on a weekend night would imply a failure of some type. Wouldn't a real failure be going out and returning home alone, with no prospects, and nothing to show for your evening except a bit of a hangover?

Anyway, RealTrainGirl called last night and told me that they were all up at Cumberland, so I went out to see them. I sat with her, MisunderstoodGirl, and GreenBeerDude. I don't think we really talked about much. There was tension in the air, tension that was not my fault, but I think we were all affected.

I had a Cumberland Nitro Porter (100) and enjoyed it immensely. I wish the place were closer to my home, so I could get that beer, and enjoy the crowd, more often.

After a while the girls (ha ha) wanted to go to some place downtown. After much deliberation I decided that I was just going to stay. The tension was bringing me down, plus I wanted another porter.

So I moved up to the bar and ordered another pint (120). Yummy. After a bit, this cute blonde chick sat down next to me. She sort of looked familiar but I've met so many people that I'm never really sure. I was trying to think of something to say besides the clichéd "Haven't I seen you someplace before?" when she turned to me and asked, "You work at XYZCorp, right?"

Okay, so mystery solved. We work at the same company. I talked to her for a few minutes, letting her sample my porter, until her date showed up and gave me dirty looks. Then they went and got their own table, and I was left to finish what I'd started before the chick had interrupted me - assessing body parts of the cute bartenders and mentally taking the best of each and building The Perfect Woman. This is something I can never do at Rich O's. Only guys work there. Except this one chick that kind of gives me the willies.

After my two yummy beers, I'd been halfway planning to stop by The Pub and have something, but it was nearing 11:00 and I ended up going to Rich O's instead.

The place was about a third full, typical I guess for last Friday night. I had something new for me:

Rogue FestiveAle (20)

(draft) Poured dirty orange. Aroma was musty - reminded me of a lambic. Taste also reminded me of a lambic, except this wasn't particularly sour. There was quite a bit of complication behind the obvious mustiness of the aroma and the flavor. I liked this beer.

It was kind of boring.

(response to messages)

Got them and responded using your password.

The way this works is, I get an e-mail sent to me saying that somebody has left a message at my site. Once I get to a computer, I see the e-mail and then I read the message. Then I respond if I feel like it. None of this is instantaneous. Perhaps in the future I'll have a cattle prod up my ass that will shock me when someone leaves a message. But, until that glorious day, it may take time for me to respond.

I get anywhere between 50 and 100 of these private messages a day. I read them, and respond where appropriate, as quickly as I can. But I do have a life.

I wasn't going to write about this, but she told me it would be okay if I did, so I guess I will. I just won't say who she is.

Every Thursday morning one of our local radio stations has a Better Business Bureau guy on to do this Scam of the Week segment. This is where he talks about the latest scam to hit our area, and how people are being fooled.

Stuff like "Congratulations! You've won $235,245,233,344,344.87 in the Canadian Lottery that you didn't even enter! Just send $10,000 to our P.O. box and we'll give you your winnings! We promise!"

Or maybe "Pay us $15,000 and then we'll come back tomorrow and fix your storm-damaged roof! Really! We will!"

Whenever I listen to this guy I'm appalled that anyone would ever fall for this shit. I mean, what kind of a person would be so, so stupid?

I know this one person. A person who I never thought of as being particularly dumb. Until now. Now I'm rethinking some of my earlier opinions. This person fell for one of these scams.

The one that goes "Hi, this is PayPal. Please give us all of your personal information or some bad stuff will happen! Really, it will be terrible! The only thing that can save you is to click here and enter all of your information!"

So this person gets this e-mail, clicks the link, and happily enters all of her personal information. Bank account number. Debit card PIN. Social Security Number. Bra size. And more.

You might imagine what happened next.

Her bank account was cleaned out.

Now of course that's no laughing matter, but it looks like the bank will refund her money after all the red tape is cut through. She just has to prove that she was at Chuck-E-Cheeses last night, and not in Europe buying army surplus stuff.

And, as an added bonus above and beyond not having any money for a while and having to deal with the embarrassment of falling for this scam, she now gets to closely monitor her credit for the rest of her life, because she typed in her social security number!

Oh well, at least she's got a new hobby to enjoy.