Just when I manage to convince myself that I am indeed losing weight through some mysterious means some guy at work puts up a picture of me looking like a lardass.

Saturday night, while we were waiting for GeneralElectricGuy to show up, LaptopGirl talked about a turtle that wouldn't stay where she'd put it. I said I wondered how annoyed animals (cats, dogs, turtles, etc.) must get when people just pick them up and carry them around.

Like the other day I was going to take a nap on the couch. Buddy always takes a nap with me, and when he didn't come when called, I went and picked him up and took his ass to the living room.

How would we humans feel if there were some higher (or at least much larger) form of life that would just pick us up whenever the mood struck? I don't think we'd like it very much at all.

I can't remember if this conversation happened before or after the conversation that LaptopGirl and I had about whether I was weird or not.

I actually prefer the term "eccentric" as it just seems classier.

I've found myself thinking about my life in terms of metaphors lately. I was comparing some of my recent past to being on a high wire, desperately flailing my arms, afraid (for good reason) to fall in either direction for despair awaited on both sides. This is the worst situation to be in, but it's not the only type of balance I'd had to maintain in my life while dealing with people - especially those of the fairer sex.

When I was young I walked a line painted on the ground. There was no real penalty - other than embarrassment - for stepping off the line. I could just get right back and try again.

A few times I've found myself approaching a cliff's edge, where I could either risk falling or simply turn around and be safe. I've tried both options with varying results. I say varying but here I sit single so I guess the variance was mostly a matter of how long of a drop I had during those times when I did fall.

My marriage was akin to a ledge on the side of a tall building. I knew that if I jumped there would be pain, but I couldn't really stay where I was forever either. Eventually I jumped and, despite the pain I suffered on landing, I'm certainly better off now that I'd be if I were still standing on that ledge.

And now I'm back to my high-wire. Winds buffet me from either side, and every now and then some jerk starts jiggling the wire. He wants me to hurry up and do something so he can have his turn.

The outlook does not look rosy. I could fall to one side and lose what little I have. I could fall to the other side and gain much more - only that side leads to eventual almost certain doom as well. It's just a longer drop on that side. One that I may not survive.

So what I try to do is what we pretty much all try to do at one time or another. I'm buying time. I'm trying to keep walking, as the abyss on either side gets deeper and deeper, and I hope that the wire will eventually get wider. Or that someone will provide a safety net so I can let myself fall and see what happens.

Which way would I fall? That depends on which way the wind is blowing.

em-pa-thy
n.
1. An identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings, or motives.

ram-bunc-tious
adj.
1. Boisterous and disorderly.

boon-ies
slang.
1. Rural country or jungle.

Last night, appearing in the role of BigWheelGirl, was yours truly.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, was to accompany LaptopGirl and her friend GeneralElectricGuy to a party at TrainGirl and RealTrainGirl's house - and, I believe, by my presence dissuade GeneralElectricGuy from getting any ideas.

I did choose to accept the mission as, even though it seemed to be a disaster waiting to happen, it did at least represent a promotion from carpool dummy.

Despite starting out with this, perhaps the worst idea in history, everything turned out very well. There were a lot of people at the party and I got to see and do things that just don't come up in my normal boring life:

1. I got to show LaptopGirl the field in Maplewood where I grew up.

2. I got to see a bunch of women mud-wrestle in various stages of dress and undress.

3. I got to hear LaptopGirl play a guitar and sing karaoke. She's just so damn cute when she's shy like that.

4. I got to spray a bunch of muddy women with a hose to remove mud.

5. Finally, I got to verify a legend of sorts when one of my friends from Rich O's did indeed get naked at a party.

My beer last night was a growler (half-gallon) of Smithwick's. Actually I think I had about half of it. It ended up tasting pretty good but I cut myself off pretty early because I'd need to return LaptopGirl to her car in New Albany.

GeneralElectricGuy seemed to me to be a genuinely nice and smart guy that may just be a victim of bad timing. He went to a party where he only knew one person and seemed to enjoy himself. I actually decided that I liked the guy enough that I wouldn't try to lose him in the Southern Indiana sticks as he followed LaptopGirl and me back to New Albany.

stalk
v. tr.
1. To follow or observe (a person) persistently, especially out of obsession or derangement.

At 12:25 today I sent out the following message to my co-workers:

I have twelve bottles of one.6 Chardonnay. I'll give a bottle each to the first twelve people to tell me the names of my three cats.

Hint: Google is your friend.

At 12:33 all twelve bottles had been won, and I had another half-dozen or so correct entries that came in too late.

I think a few of the winners may have been a little too fast - like they already had the information memorized or something.

Scary.

stu-pid
adj.
1. Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
2. Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
3. Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless: a stupid mistake.
4. Dazed, stunned, or stupefied.
5. Pointless; worthless: a stupid job.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. - Chinese Proverb

Fool me seventy-three times, what kind of a dumbass am I anyway? - Siltz Extension

Late last Saturday night I was convinced that I would become a social hermit and never again allow myself to be mistreated again.

By Sunday afternoon I had begun to adopt a more reasonable attitude, and that trend has continued throughout the week.

One of my old friends - who taught me a lot about pool and life in general - used to say that to let anyone else's actions affect your own mood was your own fault - not the fault of the other person.

I seem to have forgotten that over the years, along with a lot of other things he taught me.

The thing is, even if though I seem to constantly complain about people and events when I write in this 'blog, I still keep putting myself in the exact same environments week after week. Then the exact same things occur, and I have the exact same reactions.

So who's really at fault here?

I am. I do stupid things for stupid reasons and then I act all surprised when bad things happen.

Since it would be unreasonable to expect that I could stop doing stupid things, I'm going to try the next best thing. I'm going to try to at least stop doing these things for stupid reasons.

Take tonight for example. I COULD go out and see if things are any better - if last weekend was a fluke - but that would be a stupid reason. I know it wasn't a fluke. An example of a non-stupid reason would be to go out because I enjoy it and look forward to it each weekend.

Based on that oversimplified logic I should stay home tonight.

So that's what I'll do.

I think.

A new image made last night that took over 18 hours to render for some reason.

I've noticed that my last several images have been of a similar theme. What I don't know is whether they're supposed to represent a journey towards something or away from it.

Alternatively it could just be that I'm finally developing a more realistic sense of scale and distance in my renderings.

What if I'm not even the one driving?

What if I find out that the driver is a maniacal serial-killer, leaving a trail of death and destruction behind us? Should I jump out of the car while I still can? Would that be rude? Would it be safer than staying in the car with the lunatic?

And what if the person driving is only using me to be able to use the diamond lane?

Huh? How about that?

December, 1995. I was relocating from Seattle to New Orleans for a six-month contract. I packed up my Audi as much as I could and started heading East on December 8th. I was looking forward to the drive at least as much as I was to the destination. I've always liked driving cross-country.

Anyway, after spending the first night in Spokane, I took off early Saturday morning towards the Rockies.

Everything happened so gradually that I just didn't notice until it was almost too late.

At one point - perhaps 10:00 PM or a little later - I realized a few things:

1. I hadn't seen another car in several hours.
2. I was making fresh tracks in about 10 inches of snow.
3. It was snowing very hard.
4. I was in a mountain pass in the winter.
5. I was an idiot.

I briefly considered pulling off the side of the road and waiting for the weather to clear, or for a snowplow to go by, but I really couldn't tell where the edge of the road was. My only indicators were guardrails on one side and steep hills rising up on the other. I had visions of falling asleep in my car and then being buried alive or knocked into a ravine by a passing plow. Perhaps they'd find me in a thousand years and the descendants of Americans would demand that their alien overlords return "Idiot Man" to his sacred burial place inside the Audi.

The slightly better option was to just keep going. After all, this wasn't 1846 and I wasn't the Donner party. The chances were good that I'd see an exit or at least a rest stop before I had to eat my own arm to stay alive.

Several times (too many) my car would hit a particularly slick patch of highway and I'd suddenly be going sideways. Or backwards. These were surreal times - everything seemed to happen in complete silence and in slow-motion. Each time this happened I'd manage to straighten out and continue onward like nothing had ever happened.

All of this repeated several times. I never saw another car. I eventually passed the Continental Divide and entered Montana, but by this time I was pushing my way through at least 2 feet of fresh snow. I did eventually pass a couple of signs promising "Exit 50 - 2 miles ahead" or some such but everything at ground level was completely featureless. I knew I'd be as likely to drive off a cliff as I would be to navigate an unfamiliar exit ramp that I couldn't see.

So I kept going, navigating as much by feel as by sight. The snow flying off my hood allowed only the rarest glimpses of the little reflective markers that lined the right side of the road and were my only friends that night.

I eventually saw that I was going down in elevation more often than not, and that the snow had lessened considerably. At about 4:00 AM I finally saw civilization again. I think it was near Missoula but I'm not certain. I came down a hill and saw a couple of snow plows and a police car facing West and parked at the side of the road. A brightly-lit sign informed any Westbound travelers that I-90 was closed due to inclement weather.

No shit, Sherlock.

A short drive later I finally found myself on a plowed road and I took the first exit I saw and checked into a motel for what was left of the night.

It was certainly an interesting journey, but not one I'd ever want to repeat.

Which brings me to 2004.

Right now I find myself in an eerily similar situation.

There's no mountain pass, no snow. I'm not even sure where I'm supposed to be going, but I still find myself in nearly the same situation.

I've read many times that dreams are metaphors for life. That the brain, trying to make sense of the nearly random firings of neurons that occur during sleep, will often conjure up imagery and sensations that, while not exactly relevant to the waking world, are often a very close approximation. At least if you tilt your head and squint a certain way.

I think that sometimes life can provide its own metaphors.

Like the one I'm experiencing right now.

I once again find myself on a road that, while it was perfectly safe when I started, has become fraught with danger. Unknown obstacles wait around every turn.

I don't even know what I'm doing on this road. I just followed the stream of traffic, thinking perhaps that all these other people knew something I didn't - that there was something worthwhile up ahead.

Every now and then I'll pass a car lying in a ditch, perhaps aflame, a sign of a traveler who should have stayed home. Where it was at least safe.

I know I should get off this damn road. It's leading nowhere, and the snow has started. I should be in my basement shooting pool and watching reality shows instead of out here with all the other lemmings.

Sometimes, however, the right thing is not the easy thing. I'm not alone on this trip. Along the way I've picked up a few hitchhikers. Usually survivors from the crash sites I've passed, but also an occasional fresh-faced youth who seems completely unaware of the dangers ahead.

On that night in 1995 I was responsible only for my own actions. I could have pulled over and hoped for a rescue, but I chose to drive myself out of the mess I'd gotten myself into.

In 2004 I cannot make that choice as easily. I have a responsibility for my passengers. People who for one reason or another want to continue their journeys and expect me to be with them along the way.

I'd love to find a different road. A nice, flat, boring one. One where every hitchhiker isn't a potential serial-killer.

I bet that road would lead somewhere nice. Even if I got there alone, at least I'd get somewhere, and I probably wouldn't kill anyone or be killed along the way.

I can't make up my mind.

With every mile traveled it gets harder and harder to stop, and more impossible to turn around. Some landmarks can only be passed in one direction.

If I just jump out of the car I would certainly be hurt, but would I be hurt more if I kept driving? Would my passengers stop to help, or would someone take the wheel so they could continue unhampered by my misgivings?

What would I WANT them to do?

A couple of rather similar images.

mis-in-ter-pre-ta-tion
n.
1. The act of interpreting erroneously; a mistaken interpretation.

tim-ing
n.
1. A suitable or opportune moment or season.

ob-so-lete
adj.
1. No longer in use.
2. Outmoded in design, style, or construction.

un-be-liev-a-ble
adj.
1. Not to be believed; incredible.

fed up
adj.
1. Unable or unwilling to put up with something any longer.

Tonight I did not have a particularly great night.

One item of interest that I feel like sharing is that I had a Fantome Pissenlit. My review at ratebeer.com:

I was expecting something different, and perhaps even better, from this beer. What I got was, to me anyway, a bland, somewhat dirty tasting belgian. I certainly don't understand the hype.

I don't feel like writing anything else.

So there.

sub-par
adj.
1. Not measuring up to traditional standards of performance, value, or production.

beau-ti-ful
adj.
1. Having qualities that delight the senses, especially the sense of sight.
2. Excellent; wonderful.

use-less
adj.
1. Being or having no beneficial use; futile or ineffective.
2. Incapable of functioning or assisting; ineffectual.

I started Friday unsure if I was ready for a night drinking at Rich O's or not.

After work I went to shoot some at The Bank Shot and I really stunk up the place. I suppose I'll write about that session in my pool 'blog, but after I finally quit I figured that the night was already going so badly that going out drinking wouldn't be much of a risk.

Rich O's was very crowded, with about 50% strangers and the rest regulars that I kind of know. I sat at the island with TrainGirl and RealTrainGirl who invited me to a party next weekend. I plan to go after I go to this Brew at the Zoo thing that I've been looking forward to.

While I talked with the train girls and later LaptopGirl and some other regulars, I enjoyed my first beer of the night - a Robert the Bruce. I'd had one of these Monday, and while this time it didn't seem quite as refreshing, it still ended up being a good choice. At one point I noticed DeadLady sitting at the little table, and I was glad to see her still hanging in there.

Once a bunch of strangers left the living room area we moved over there so LaptopGirl would feel more comfortable.

On ElPresidente's recommendation I had an Avery "The Reverend" which I thought was a stupid name but the beer was really good. Perhaps not as complex as the Great Lake's Anniversary Ale but with a flavor that's as good as any belgian I've had.

Several people seemed to drift in and out of the area. CoffeeDude boldly went where I feared to tread - he attempted to cheer LaptopGirl up. ExBartender also did whatever it is that he does. I pretty much stayed out of the way since the last time I tried to make things better I ended up getting yelled at.

I decided to stop after just the two beers and switched to a Diet Coke. After another hour or so, spent mostly talking with MisunderstoodGirl and LaptopGirl about how mean MisunderstoodGirl is and whether Lewis and Clark had to fight alligators and ferns before they could even start on their expedition, I left pretty abruptly when nobody wanted to listen to my fascinating story about my Extreme Home Makeover dream.

This morning I don't have a hangover. I'm becoming cautiously optimistic that perhaps my recent problems with alcohol were just a temporary thing.

I had this well-written and eloquent entry about Friday night all ready to be posted when I accidentally hit the escape key and wiped it all out.

I'll rewrite the stupid thing tomorrow.

Yesterday after work I decided to kill some time before grocery shopping and have a couple of beers at Rich O's.

Since Monday's experiment of ONE beer went well I thought I'd try TWO beers and see what happened.

My first beer was a BBC Organic Amber. CanadianGirl has told me several times that this is her favorite BBC beer. She can keep it - I thought it was horrible. Chewy Budweiser.

My second beer was a Smithwick's that tasted okay, but not as good as it has in the past. I blame the poor showing on my senses being rattled by the BBC beer.

Anyway, these two beers didn't kill me, and I didn't have a hangover this morning, so I may be ready to risk Rich O's sometime this weekend after all.

My original plan to wait until September when NABC Cone Smoker came back has been scratched because it now looks like Cone Smoker won't be back until late November.

dis-turb-ing
adj.
1. Emotionally or mentally troubling; upsetting.

per-vert-ed
adj.
1. Deviating from what is considered right and correct.
2. Of, relating to, or practicing sexual perversion.

damned
adj.
1. Condemned, especially to eternal punishment in Biblical Hell.

I am, as it turns out, a horrible person.

I didn't plan to end up this way - it just happened.

Hopefully, now that I've identified the problem, I can make efforts to eliminate or at least reduce its impact on myself and others.

The other day I briefly wrote that a friend of VigilanteGirl had been in an accident.

This was a very serious accident as it turns out.

I stopped to see VigilanteGirl after work yesterday, and as I hadn't seen her since Sunday morning, I asked her how her friend was doing.

Her friend is alive, but pretty well fucked up. Probably for life.

VigilanteGirl demonstrated all of the cuts, breaks, internal injuries, etc. that her friend had suffered after being hit by a drunk driver.

VigilanteGirl used her finger to trace, along her own body, long elaborate paths of carnage that had nearly killed her friend in front of her eyes.

(This is the part where I'm a horrible person.)

As VigilanteGirl traced her imaginary cuts and breaks along her arms, down her face, and pretty much everywhere on her body, I actually became strangely aroused.

I actually had to avert my eyes, lest some twinkle in them betray my sickness.

I certainly wasn't glad that the poor girl (who I've never met) had sustained these horrible injuries. I also wasn't at all intrigued by the actual injuries themselves. They sounded truly horrific.

It was the tracing that got me.

Ahh, the tracing.

I've seen lap-dances in movies that were less erotic than VigilanteGirl's little destruction demonstration.

If this doesn't condemn me to eternal damnation I don't know what would.

Today I watched a show about a place. A place that a person used to work.

The show reminded me of the person, and I found myself watching the show (taped years ago) for a glimpse of the person.

The person did not appear on the show, though I'm pretty sure the person worked at the place during the filming.

I'm a little pissed that I couldn't watch the show without thinking about the person.

Today I started work on an entirely new 'blog software suite.

I've gotten to sick of all the typos and other errors on my posts - errors that I sometimes don't discover for months.

I was first just going to work on the spellchecking function of my existing software but in the end decided that it would just be easier to start from scratch.

I hope to have the new (email based!) software ready for production use this weekend. Hopefully nobody will even notice the difference except that it might be a little faster.

The hardest part will actually be converting all of my old posts to the new format. I haven't quite figured out how to do tackle that problem yet.

pull
v. tr.
1. To apply force to, so as to cause or tend to cause motion toward the source of the force.

This past Friday and Saturday I could feel my favorite bar calling to me as I drove home from Louisville.

I was able to resist that calling, telling myself that if I couldn't even spend one weekend away from Rich O's then maybe there was indeed a problem.

Today, on the way home from work, I felt the pull again, and this time I relented.

I stopped and got myself a pizza, and while I was waiting I decided - what the hell - I'd have myself a beer.

What I had was a Robert The Bruce scottish ale. I'd never had this before, but I was definitely intrigued by its scottish name. After my experience with the Pyramid Tilted Kilt ale in June I'm not very likely to pass up any scotch or scottish (I forget the difference) ales anytime soon.

This was really good. If it's still there when I next make a weekend trip to Rich O's I'll definitely be having more. I actually noticed three things that really stood out. First was the reddish color that revealed itself when I held the glass up to the light. Second was the slight gritty feeling that continued until the head had dissipated, and third was the slightly bitter aftertaste - something new to me in my limited experience with this style of ale.

gran-di-ose
adj.
1. Impressive because of unnecessary largeness or grandeur.

My sister Dina bought this smimming pool. It's about half the size of her house. My other sister described the view of the thing from the kitchen as looking like The Great Wall of China ran through Dina's backyard. I have to agree.

Too bad it's been so cold here - she might have to wait until Spring to enjoy it.

ME: You didn't show up last night. Nine or ten more times and I'll start to take it personally.

VIGILANTEGIRL: My friend got ran over by a car last night. She's still in intensive care and might not live.

ME (THINKING): Wow, this foot sure tastes terrible.

And now for something completely different.

To see this post go to the bottom of the page and enter the password into the search field.

(crossposted from pool 'blog)

Just a follow-up on the theft of my PDFs and videos by another site.

I've had two conversations with the owner of the business with the website. He's assured me that all of my files will be removed from their site during a change of their outsourcing company. That change will take place within the next few days.

They're changing outsourcing companies at least partly because that company was, I believe, responsible for putting my stuff on the site to begin with.

I believe that the business with the website had no idea that this was being done, and I'm giving them several days to make the changes we've talked about.

I check my own website access logs regularly, and today I was able to follow the trail back to what looks like a new version of one of the offending pages. So far, it's exactly the same except for a little blurb at the end about how the videos came from www.barenada.com.

I don't know if the plan is to leave things that way, but if so, those plans will not be acceptable to me. My files are still there, and I want them gone.

Please people, just put up a link to some pool pages. Don't copy their files to your own site.

This while thing still has several days to get straightened out.

It's surprising how many attorneys are pool players. I've been contacted by several. I just tell them what I told the guy - if they remove my material from their site then I'm quite willing to drop the whole matter.

VigilanteGirl has invited me to this new club this coming weekend.

I've asked around at work, and nobody has heard of the place. Since the people at work are generally the same age as me - maybe a little younger on average, I'm convinced that I'll be the oldest person at the club.

Hopefully there won't be too much staring and pointing.

Or laughing.

Or screaming.

I need to tell VigilanteGirl that she's taking me waaaaay out of my element, and that she's in charge of keeping me entertained and making sure the night doesn't take a Logan's Run type of turn.

There are too many damn shows that I watch on Tuesdays.

I need more TiVos.

Tonight I find myself trying to watch seven different shows between 8:00 and 11:00.

Last Comic Standing (Finale) 8:00 - 10:00

Extreme Home Makeover 8:00 - 9:00

Big Brother 5 9:00 - 10:00

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy 10:00 - 11:00

Thing I Hate About You 11:00 - 12:00

Joe Schmo (Finale) 9:00 - 11:00

The Amazing Race 10:00 - 11:00

I've ended up skipping the last half-hour of Last Comic Standing, and I'll Tivo Queer Eye during its 1:00 AM showing.

Man, I have a pretty exciting life don't I?

(crossposted from pool 'blog)

Today I got an email from someone I didn't know telling me to check out another pool site.

What I found there were copies of my PDF files and videos. Exact bit-for-bit copies even.

I received no credit, and if not for my URL at the bottom of every page in the PDF, and the fact that it was me shooting in my basement in the videos, there would have been no mention of me or barenada.com on the entire site. The files were clearly meant to look like they belonged to the company with the website.

After a few phone calls I spoke to someone at that business. He assured me that they had no idea that the site contained copyrighted material, and that he would take care of it.

Time will tell I suppose.

For now I'm not sure whether to feel violated, or proud, or both.

Last night LaptopGirl was talking with her friend about "This old man that seemed nice but would probably hit on her at some point and gross her out" or something like that.

For a second there I thought she was talking about me but she wasn't.

Or was she?

This stuff is funny to me.

This morning I told VigilanteGirl that I was going to Burger King for breakfast. When I offered to pick something up for her she promised to "love me forever" in a jesting tone.

In my imagination I heard her promise to "love me long time" which would actually be a very different promise - and one that would probably be easier to keep.

un-com-fort-a-ble
adj.
1. Experiencing physical discomfort.
2. Ill at ease; uneasy.
3. Causing anxiety; disquieting

2. doomed
adj.
1. Marked for certain death.
2. In danger of eternal punishment of hell.
3. Marked by or promising bad fortune.

I didn't even want to go out tonight.

My body seems to be rejecting alcohol. Last weekend I got quite a hangover from three beers - this weekend I got quite a hangover from just two beers. Clearly something inside me is telling me to stay away.

Just as clearly, I'm not listening, though I hope to change that.

Tonight Rich O's was about as dead as I've ever seen it. This may be in part due to the incredible boringness of the beer board. IPA this, ESB that, not the best arrangement for someone with my tastes.

My first attempt at a beer was an NABC Beak's Best. Something was incredibly wrong with this beer. The bitterness was almost eye-watering. I could only take a couple of sips before returning it.

While I had a Diet Coke to calm my stomach back down I talked with LaptopGirl and her friend FLAZNCGuy. Actually I sat feeling uncomfortable while they talked. After a little while I got the idea that a Belgian ale might make me feel better so I had a Mad Bitch.

I was right - this helped a lot. By the time it was gone I was feeling like myself again so I ordered an NABC Tunnel Vision.

I think I've had this before, but I didn't remember much about it.

I liked it. The pale color scared me to death but this beer proves that you can't always judge a book by its cover.

Anyway, at one point we were joined by NotGeorge and CoffeeDude. I welcomed them both as they gave me something to do besides stare at my feet.

A bit of comedy was introduced when a bachelor party showed up at Rich O's. The poor groom had a bowling ball chained to his leg to symbolize his impending nuptials. Even though the ball and chain was cleary done in jest, I thought LaptopGirl had a good point when she said she'd never want to marry anyone that thought of her that way.

Anyway.

I've clearly screwed something up, and I feel like I'm under a microscope - everything I say or do is being noted and analyzed. People are making unwarranted assumptions about me, and while I suppose in some ways that's better than being ignored, it's still not welcome.

This, combined with my body's new behaviour of punishing me for every drink I take, has led me to the following decision.

I need to lay off.

I need, for a short while at least, to stop going out to the bar every weekend night.

This drastic measure would hopefully accomplish two things.

First, it would allow my body the time to heal from whatever the hell is causing alcohol to affect it so much.

Second, it would let me prove to myself and others that things I've been saying are true. I'm tired of being looked at with concern and pity.

I'm fine.

I don't believe in this stuff at all, but an old roommate of mine used to swear by his astrology books, and I remember he'd always tell me how August was my opposition month (I'm a Pisces) and how that opposition would tend to throw one obstacle after another at me. It was up to me to overcome these obstacles.

I'm not sure that "avoiding obstacles" would really count as "overcoming obstacles" but it's the best plan I can think of at the moment. This whole situation sucks and I have nobody to blame but myself.

mis-in-ter-pret
v.
1. To interpret erroneously; to understand or to explain in a wrong sense.

Apparently I've screwed up.

I wish I hadn't, and I hope the misunderstanding can be resolved.

I thought I was being completely honest and that I was doing all I could to avoid this misunderstanding, but I guess I didn't do a good enough job.

Anyway, today after work I went to The Bank Shot to shoot for a while. This was the first time I'd been there in several months, and I guess it was good to see that not much had changed. I suppose I'll post about my play in the pool 'blog.

I got to Rich O's at around 10:00 and, like it's been lately, the place was filled mostly with strangers.

There were a few people I knew, and I spent some time talking with them while I had my boring beers.

NotGeorge explained to me that I had fucked up.

CoffeeDude assured me that he was doing just fine.

MisunderstoodGirl reported that her sunburn was healing nicely.

I had a Fischer's and a Stone Smoked Porter, and that's it. I'd last eaten at around 4:00 and I didn't feel like I was ready for anymore alcohol.

There were several Russian girls at Rich O's. I was semi-interested for a bit until they started talking about how much they all hated cats.

What kind of person hates cats?

Not the kind of person I want to know.

One of the Russian girls had pretty cool hair though, and I urged MisunderstoodGirl to grow her hair out like that. I doubt she will.

This is the tale of two people who happen to inhabit the same body.

The other day I was driving to the doctor to get my dog bite looked at. Sharing the bridge with me and several other vehicles was DrunkOrStonedAsshole in a little black Neon. This guy was driving at about 30 MPH and was weaving across all three lanes, nearly causing a half-dozen accidents. Once I finally got in front of this jerk I felt safe enough that I called 9-1-1 and reported his ass to the police. I gave his license number, vehicle description, and a basic description of the driver. I told the police that he'd taken the first New Albany exit and just when I told them that, the guy sideswiped another car and just kept going. I hope they caught the guy before someone got seriously hurt.

So that was GoodCitizenDave, defender of the roads. I felt pretty good about my little bit of crimefighting, and I made sure to tell VigilanteGirl that she'd inspired me with her earlier adventure.

Now fast-forward to Thursday, and I'm sitting at a red light.

For 10 minutes.

With no cross-traffic in sight.

The light was obviously broken, but I still tried the old backing up/pulling forward trick several times trying to get the light to notice my truck and change to green.

It didn't work, so I ran the thing.

Of course I made quite sure that it was safe to proceed, but for the rest of the way to work I couldn't help but look in my rearview mirror every three seconds for the flashing lights that knew were inevitable.

The lights never appeared. I seem to have gotten away with my little crime spree, but I'm sure that VigilanteGirl would kick me out of the SuperFriends if she got word of my alter-ego, CommonCriminalDave.

ra-bies
n.
1. An acute, infectious, often fatal viral disease of most warm-blooded animals, especially wolves, cats, and dogs, that attacks the central nervous system and is transmitted by the bite of infected animals.

One of my neighbors has this dog named Dino.

Dino is a very friendly Black Lab that always "helps" me mow my lawn.

By "helps" I mean he follows me around and barks at my mower, and whenever he sees a stick he picks it up and places it directly in front of said mower. If he doesn't see any sticks he'll go into the woods and get some.

That way, see, I'll have to stop and throw the stick to keep from running over it, and Dino (a Black Lab, remember) thinks that thrown sticks are The Greatest Things In The Universe.

Sounds like a pretty smart dog, right?

Maybe, and maybe not.

One of Dino's less brillant activities is to wait for small sticks - those not worth being moved out of the mower's path - to be thrown by the mower blades. When this happens Dino recognizes the sound immediately and rushes out to try to catch these fast-moving little missiles.

So yesterday Dino is helping me mow as usual and the mower kicks up a stick that's about 4" long and 1" thick.

After he caught the stick Dino started making gagging motions. I thought he'd managed to catch a stick in his throat so of course I got off the mower to help him.

Well the stick wasn't in his throat, but it was lodged in his mouth pretty well. One end of the stick had been impaled by a tooth, and the other end was lodged against the roof of his mouth.

It looked quite painful, and there was some blood.

I must have tried for 15 minutes to get that damn stick out of his mouth, but all I accomplished was to make it hurt more.

He didn't really bite me.

All he did was reflexively close his mouth while I just happened to have both thumbs jammed in there trying to get the stick out.

I don't blame him a bit. Hell maybe his fuzzy dog brain thought I was trying to jam the stick in even further.

I gave up on trying to get the thing out myself and called my neighbor. While I was inside putting hydrogen peroxide on my thumbs I guess Dino managed to remove the thing on his own, because when I went back outside to finish mowing he was right there to help some more.

Today I have a lovely bandage on each thumb, but they're more precautionary than medical. I probably won't need them beyond maybe Wednesday.

im-pro-pri-e-ty
n.
1. An act of undue intimacy.

un-fit-ting
adj.
1. Not in keeping with what is correct or proper.

pa-thet-ic
adj.
1. Arousing or capable of arousing sympathetic sadness and compassion.
2. Arousing or capable of arousing scornful pity.

Wow what a rambling mess that last entry was.

I just had a couple more thoughts that I thought were worth recording.

LaptopGirl, normally a very outgoing and friendly person, suddenly became quite shy when it came time to ask Screech a question about his old show. It was really quite cute when she said that "we" (she motioned to BigWheelGirl and me) had a question "we'd" been dying to ask.

Also, there was a guy in the back of the room that was some kind of lameass heckler. I'm pretty sure this guy has been at the Comedy Caravan every time I've ever been there. I think he must be on staff and they pay him to heckle the performers.

Also, I really don't like it when comedians use politics or other controversial subjects to get cheap applause or boos. I like it even less when people in the audience reflexively react to these obvious ploys.

This is not the WWE where everyone has to be a heel or a face to be successful. Just tell some damn jokes. Entertainers using their position in the spotlight to push their own agendas make me sick.

Also, and this may have just been because I was sitting in the back seat of a fairly large vehicle, BigWheelGirl's driving really made me nervous. I kept wishing she'd just pick a lane and stay inside it.

Finally, LaptopGirl got a call that was a wrong number or something that evolved into a 15-minute conversation during which I don't think she quite told the stranger on the phone her address or Social Security number.

It was a fun night. A little strange to be out without drinking though.

Add awkward ending here.

LaptopGirl asked me a couple of hours ago, "What are you going to write about tonight, Dave?"

I sit here now completely unable to answer that question.

Total writers-block.

Not that I'm a real writer or anything.

Well maybe I'll just start rambling and it will all make sense.

Or maybe not.

Tonight we went to a comedy club to see the guy that played Screech on TV years ago.

When I say "we" I mean LaptopGirl and I, but this was not a date. LaptopGirl's friend BigWheelGirl came as well, probably to make sure I didn't get any ideas.

It was kind of fun to watch them interact - I usually only get to see LaptopGirl interacting with regulars at the bar.

So anyway, this was the first time I'd gone to the club in a long time. Several years ago it seemed like I went fairly often with family and friends but that all stopped for various reasons.

There were three performers, and all were pretty funny. The second guy did a Barney Fife impression that was hilarious.

The people sitting at the table in front of us were assholes - talking to each other during the entire show. Why do people pay money to see a show then completely ignore it?

Because that's what assholes do.

LaptopGirl seemed quite determined to get one of the comedians to go to Rich O's, but I think they all thought she was a little too SwimFanish or something and they kind of blew her off.

I didn't drink anything but Diet Coke all night - my hangover was still enough of a presence that even the whiff of beer I got at Rich O's waiting for LaptopGirl to arrive made me ill.

I had fun though.

There.

I guess now the question of what I'll write about tonight has been answered.

And the answer is:

Nothing much.