Started out the night by journeying to Hooter's in Jeffersonville for some Newcastles. More and more I'm finding it to be a real shame that my regular bar, one of the best beer bars anywhere, pulled this fine beer from its draft rotation two years ago in favor of a much blander substitute that just happens to be more profitable for them. Per glass, anyway.

It's just sad, really.

But I digress.

There was this unbearably annoying guy working the kitchen at Hooter's. I don't know if he was some kind of manager or what. Whatever his official title, his job last night, as he saw it anyway, was to ring this loudass bell and scream at the top of his lungs, "WE'VE GOT FOOD AT THE WINDOW, LADIES!!! AMANDA! TIFFANY! JESSICA! AMBER!"

This happened approximately every 2.5 seconds from the time I walked in until...

At one point this dipshit decided that he wasn't getting the respect he deserved, so, instead of ringing his fucking bell, be took an empty tray and slapped it against the bar with great force. "LADIES, WE'VE GOT FOOD AT THE WINDOW!!! JULIE! BRIDGETTE! AMY! CARRIE!"

It's been estimated by scientists that when Mount Mazama exploded about 7,000 years ago, forming what is now Crater Lake in Oregon, it was the loudest noise ever heard by humans.

This guy slapping his fucking tray on the counter is probably in second place. A close second. It sounded like someone had fired off a cannon into an ammo dump in my head.

Half the place jumped, the other half had mild heart attacks. One of the former, a customer sitting about five feet from this jerk, rose to his feet and quite calmly said, "If you ever do that again, you're going to have that tray shoved up your ass, then we'll see how loud you can really be."

So now this guy is my fucking hero. And that of a lot of others I suspect, because loudass guy was much quieter after that.

Once that little drama was over I headed to Rich O's and sat at the bar talking with MusicalHippyDude while I enjoyed a Rogue Smoke Ale.

Rich O's was about two-thirds crowded. There were a bunch of strangers in the living room, and a bunch of PBDs at the island. Nobody I knew very well.

My next beer was an Orval, sort of recommended by a friend the other night.

Orval

(bottle) Huge head, bordering on the ridiculous. Taste, as I expected, was that of a fairly mild Belgian. A little less sweet and a little more hoppy than I'd generally prefer, but a very good beer anyway.

Bubbles came in and she and MusicalHippyDude went over to the island to talk with the PBDs. I ended up talking with some guy that I'm sure has a name, but I could not (can not) remember it, and I had myself an NABC Haggisdaddy Stout.

NABC Haggisdaddy Stout

(draft) First time drinking the non-bourbonized version of this stout. I got an almost overpowering sense of chocolate - both in the aroma and the flavor. Pretty good, but would probably be too much for me to wrap an evening around. I was pleased to detect no coffee or licorice at all.

After talking with MisunderstoodGirl for a few minutes I left Rich O's and listened to some karaoke with my cousin Mike for a while before heading home.

One of the things I enjoy doing is checking my web server logs to see what search strings are leading people to my site. Because my 'blog covers such a wide range of topics, I see a wide range of search strings in my logs.

Well today I encountered the search string of all search strings. One that may never be surpassed for weirdness:

I like to smell my own butt

There's nothing I can say about this - it speaks volumes all by itself.

As his feet touch bottom, he instinctively jumps. He is surprised - these waters had seemed a lot deeper the last time. His head and shoulders break the surface, and once again he gasps for air. A quick turn of his head reveals land, perhaps a small island, off in the distance. He dares to have hope, and once again begins to sink.

I hadn't even planned to go to Rich O's last night.

Well my plans for a night in Cincy fell through, partly because of the uncertain weather forecast but mostly because of MixedSignalGirl's unwavering propensity for indecision.

At around 9:00 RealTrainGirl called from Rich O's demanding to know where I was. I told her I was on my way, and indeed I had been in the process of getting dressed when she called.

Rich O's was just barely standing-room-only when I arrived, with an even mix of regulars and strangers. I stood at the end of the bar talking with RealTrainGirl and GreenBeerDude, who looked like they had a jewel heist or something to go to after the bar closed.

GreenBeerDude was also asking everyone he could find what the best and/or cheesiest pickup lines they'd used and/or heard were. Here are three that came to mind:

That sweater looks great on you. It would look even better on the floor of my bedroom.

(In Las Vegas) This is a city just full of beautiful women, yet you make me stop and gasp for air.

(Lick finger and touch their shirt) Let me help you out of those wet clothes.

Rich O's finally had Rogue Smoke, promised to me since Tuesday, on tap, so that's all I drank. Still very good, and actually becoming my favorite rauchbier because it's not that intense.

After a while the throne and the sofa opened up so we all went over there and I stayed until 12:30 or so mostly listening to everyone else talk but also trading a few text messages with LaptopGirl.

While I was (I thought) wrapping up the night listening to karaoke the phone rang. There was an apology, then an invitation. I actually just got home, so I guess I did get to break out of my rut a little, and I guess things between us are actually progressing a little.

At least until the next time.

So the other day I'm talking with this girl and she tells me that she had endured a mutual acquaintance for hours that day. These two had met once, when we ran into him at a bar. This apparently gave my friend all the opening he (felt he) needed. He stopped by her work and spent a couple of hours doing whatever it his he does when he's trying to be "on."

One of the more interesting things that she told me about her ordeal was he had asked her out on a date.

On a date!

Now, my friend knows that this girl and I are not a couple, but he also knows that there is something going on. Exactly what - that's not the point. The point is that he knows I'm interested in her and still decided to ask her out.

She declined the invitation, to my great relief.

Once I got home I found myself calling the guy about it. "You asked her out?" I asked him. "What planet are you from where you're allowed to do that? You know I'm interested, but what, you don't care? You've known me for decades and you think I won't mind something like this?"

I got several semi-apologies and several excuses. My favorite excuse was this one:

I was actually just testing her out for you. Just to see what she'd say.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

I read this somewhere recently. It's very good advice.

Unless you see an actual baby emerging from between a woman's legs, try not to assume that she is pregnant, and if you do make that assumption, for God's sake do not mention your suspicion to her.

VigilanteGirl told a mutual friend that I'm a retard. I asked her about this and she said no, I'm a turd not a 'tard. I don't know which is better.

This (including tomorrow) will be the first full week of work I've put in since before Christmas. Between Holidays and sickness and vacation I've become quite spoiled recently.

Anyway, the other day I told myself what I needed to do. This weekend I'm going to check out a different path. Just a slight scenic detour. I have to work Sunday morning so I'll probably be back Saturday night. But Friday - Friday I'm going to tear across the desert and risk something, or break something, or fix something. Just do something about the ennui that's settled over me. I'm hopeful that whatever I find, good or bad, boring or exciting, will at least be enough to snap me of this little rut.

I need to do this. Wish me luck.

Our tour starts off, appropriately enough, with the main entrance to Rich O's.

The losers all sit here.

Upon entering, and briefly checking out the loser area, I usually check the beer board right away.

On busy nights the regulars will overflow to this front room. Sometimes I sit here even if the bar area isn't completely full - just to get some breathing room.

To enter Rich O's proper, you pass through this doorway. Every single time someone darkens this door I get a brief spark of hope.

The toilet seat from the blue bus, a local landmark.

The view from the throne, where I usually sit if it's available and there aren't any idiots on the sofa or the loveseat.

One of the two tables in the red room. I couldn't get the whole room because there were people sitting at the other table and I didn't want to take their picture. The red room seems to be mostly used by couples. MixedSignalGirl and I sat here once but I think that's the only time I've ever been in the red room.

The small four-seater bar. Only pleasant if the place is empty. Plus, it messes up my nerves.

The island, where I usually sit if the living room area is full of strangers. My seat provides a good view of the bar and the living room area.

Your host for this brief tour. I'm drinking a Gulden Draak here in case you're wondering.

During the first Gulf War, I switched to Diet Coke from regular Coke and lost 30 pounds in a month. Gained it all back over the next few years.

In 1993, I began work as a bartender and lost 20 pounds in five weeks. Gained it all back, and then some, over the next decade.

Last August I thought I was losing some weight.

Last month I started doing something I hadn't done in years. I started wearing a belt to hold my pants up.

Two days ago I did something else I haven't done in years. I started buckling my belt one notch further in.

I'm wasting away here, people.

I've managed to lose 21 pounds since the late Summer by doing the following:

1. Increase my beer intake.

2. Decrease my sleep.

3. Increase my stress level.

I think what I've managed to do is up my metabolism. Those several weeks that my mind raced along about my troubles - I think some of that excess energy spilled over to the rest of me. It's like my internal thermostat got bumped up to a higher level or something.

Some of the shit that pops into my head late at night - it's no wonder I have chronic insomnia.

Back in 1992, before I got out of the Air Force completely but after my security clearance had been pulled, I spent some time filling in at our unit's administrative office.

One of my tasks, given to me as the new guy in the office, was to measure the men who were in what was affectionately known as the fat boy program.

These people, who were at or near their maximum weight, would have to come in once a month or so to get measured.

After getting their height and weight, I'd run a tape measure around their neck and stomach, then look up the results in a body-fat chart.

There seemed to be a fairly constant stream of these people coming in to be weighed and measured. I must have measured the stomach size (touched the stomachs) of several dozen men. I didn't measure the women, the new girl in the office had that task.

So my most optimistic estimate is that I've touched the bare bellies of men more often than those of women by about a five to one margin.

C'mon, ladies! Help me out here!

Chest heaving and heart pounding, he fills his lungs with sweet, sweet air. All of his senses activate at once. He relishes the sight, sound, and smell of his brief surfacing into the world of light. Before going under once again, he uses the last of his precious air to scream out a name. The depths are peaceful, but he knows they will kill him eventually. He begins to sink, smiling.

Like a bottle of Coke that's been shaken up, I've had some pressure building inside my head for quite some time now.

I figured I'd take this opportunity to vent a little of that pressure.

These thoughts are things I should have had the courage and/or courtesy to say out loud. If you know me well enough, you can probably figure out who most of these thoughts are/were directed toward. There are about a dozen people in all.

I do love you, but I'm not in love with you.

You are the most obnoxious and immature and abrasive person I've ever known. Grow up, already!

I am so proud of you. I don't think I could have done what you've done.

If you get any more beautiful they'll have to slap an R rating on your forehead.

I miss you.

Get out of my head, you fucking slut!

Your happiness is staring you in the face each time you look in the mirror.

After starting out so screwed up, you've turned into a very mature and interesting person - one that I wish I knew better.

Recently I've found myself afraid of you, and I don't know why.

If you fuck this up for me I'll never speak to you again.

Please treat her well, she's been through enough bullshit in her life.

Why won't you call?

I find myself a little jealous that you took a chance and got so lucky.

I find myself irritated that she was so sweet and you pushed her away.

I'm so sorry.

Why did I feel closer to you when I lived 2,000 miles away?

If only I'd met you first.

Your smile is the last thing I want to see before I die.

I can define, but I cannot adequately explain, my feelings for you.

You had it made and you drank it all away. How could you be so stupid?

At first we all thought you were too good to be true. Now we know you're just good. Thanks for being there for her.

The potential I see in you cannot be expressed in words alone.

My intentions toward you are not completely honorable.

If only he'd been more of an asshole, then maybe I could have justified being with you.

You are one of the geniunely good guys. I'm honored to know you.

I'm sorry, but you really creeped me out back then, and I've never quite felt comfortable about you since.

Our timing was horrible. I meant what I said though.

I can't help but wonder what you've been told about me.

(response to message)

That was a long time ago, and I honestly haven't thought about it in years. All is forgiven.

What I'd really like to know is this: The night before, did I miss a hint?

I'll kick myself if I did, but it would also help me to understand your behavior.

I really had no idea what I was getting you into.

I just wanted to show you off a little.

How could I have suspected that a person could decrease in maturity as they aged?

I know you can take care of yourself, but this is something you shouldn't be faced with.

I know you'll let me know if I need to intervene.

Was it the first time you saw her smile?

No.

How about the first time you heard her laugh?

Nope. Not then either.

The first time you were disappointed that she wasn't there?

No.

The first time you smelled her hair?

Not yet.

The first time she touched you, hugged you, kissed you?

No, no, and no.

The first time you woke up next to her, and watched her as she slept?

Not even then.

How about when you first heard her cry?

That's when it happened. That's when I knew I was in trouble.

Went and picked up a couple bottles of Blue Moon Belgian White so I could do a proper tasting.

Blue Moon Belgian White

(bottle) A commonly-available beer that I put off drinking simply because of its availability - reasoning that something so widely accepted must be bland and boring. I was quite wrong (see Newcastle for another example of my flawed logic). This is a very nice beer that went down very easily. I think I could drink it all night, and that's not something I could say about most Belgians.

Also had the De Dolle Ara Bier that I had in my 'fridge.

De Dole Ara Bier

(bottle) Pouring this into a glass resulted in about a 5/1 head/beer ratio. I actually lost patience waiting for the head to dissipate and ended up disrupting it with my finger. Once I got to the actual beer I really enjoyed it. A little lighter in both flavor and ABV than other Belgians I've enjoyed, so more suitable as a session beer. Black flecks that settled to the bottom of my glass turned me off a little.

Finally, one more from De Dolle:

De Dole Boskeun

(bottle) Fizzy, hazy orange. Citrus undertones that I didn't care for at all. MIght be okay on a hot Summer day. My least favorite from this otherwise wonderful brewery.

(I just corrected a typo in this entry. I'd had the word Belgina instead of Belgian in the first sentence. Belgina, what a lovely name that would be for the daughter of a beer lover such as I.)

(Yes, I'm kidding.)

A little bit different tonight.

Rich O's was my second stop. My first stop will remain private.

Anyway, at Rich O's I had an NABC Tunnel Vision, a Hitachino ricey beer (can't remember the name, but I find it oddly appealing) and finally a Gulden Draak.

Rich O's was moderately crowded but I was able to grab a seat at the bar before my second beer.

One of my friends is in a band, and they were playing a gig at this dive down by the river so I went there. MisunderstoodGirl and OddlyPrettyGirl came in a little after I did and joined me.

One of my friends being all dainty and ladylike and shit.

My friend Tim rockin' away.

While there, I tried my very first Blue Moon Belgian Ale. I actually liked it a lot, but my taste buds were a little overworked from my earlier beers so I'll hold off on doing an official review until another day.

I'm home fairly early because the place where I've been going to listen to karaoke was mysteriously closed.

Friday night Bob and I spent an hour or so at the hotel bar doing some final reminiscing before he returns to Arizona. I had a couple of the BBC porters and Bob drank MGD for some reason.

I want to state again, for the record, that it was very cool to see my old friend again. We'd kind of drifted apart a little during his last days in Omaha, and of course there'd been no contact for 14 years after that, but Bob was a big part of what may very well turn out to have been the best years of my life, and that little blast from the past that seeing him brought was very refreshing.

After I left the hotel, and took care of a little drama that's been developing nearer to home, I went to Rich O's and had myself an Upland Winter Warmer. Rich O's was only about half full at that late hour. I waved at GlassesGirl and sat on the throne, then talked with GrammarLady and her husband for a while.

GrammarLady told me that she'd never seen me looking so worn down and with such dark circles under my eyes. Gee thanks, GrammarLady. Just the pick-me-up I wanted.

Once my companions left I spent a few fruitless minutes trying to make eye contact with RealTrainGirl or MisunderstoodGirl, but they were, shall we say, busy.

Stopped at the karaoke bar on the way home. I'm finding it to be a nice way to end out an evening.

Several years ago I drove from Seattle to Las Vegas to see some friends that were playing in a pool tournament. The drive through Nevada on that hot August day consisted of seemingly endless stretches of flat highway, punctuated only by an occasional mountain range.

I'd get a kind of highway hypnosis on those flat stretches, and my car would often ease up to over a hundred before I'd catch it and let off the gas.

When I'd arrive at the hills, there'd be several minutes of interesting scenery, and there'd be a timid, almost undetectable curiosity about what would lie beyond the hills.

It was always the same - another long stretch of blacktop, with another range far in the distance.

To cross one range, and see before me nothing at all between me and the next range, to know that the next hour or so of my life would mean nothing and would contain nothing of interest - that's a pretty good analogy for what's going through my head this morning.

Except that instead of an hour, sometimes I feel like I can see the next forty years. And instead of hills in the distance, there's nothing.

I think I need another vacation. I know what I need to do in order to break out of this rut.

I need to get off this road, shift my truck into four wheel drive, and go tearing across the desert. I need to risk something, break something, fix something, do something. I need to take a fucking chance, and steer toward a different horizon.

Here are some of the pictures that have accumulated in my camera phone over the past few days.

Some strangers at Rich O's

More strangers.

The way I wish it would look, sort of.

My old friend Bob from my Omaha days.

This bartender at Rich O's is camera-shy.

So is this one.

This glass has a cartoon of a pig flossing its ass with a towel.

Please come see me. I need to talk to you.

That's what the text message said. No contact from MixedSignalGirl for a week and now this. A little ominous if you ask me.

So I left the tournament site (I was a little bored anyway) and drove back to Indiana where, of course, she was nowhere to be found. Two attempted phone calls only got me a recording saying that her voicemail was full. So I sent a text message and went to Rich O's.

I walked in and immediately turned around and walked back to my truck. The crowd was unbearable, and since the tournament site has been so crowded I really felt the need for some space around me.

Once I got back to my truck, though, I realized what a baby I was being so I went back in and ordered a Delirium Tremens. The strangers sitting at the island left and I grabbed a perch.

I spent a good part of the night sitting there checking out the various cute brunettes in glasses - there must be a convention in town somewhere, and after a while CoffeeDude showed up and joined me and some dude I don't know.

I had an Upland Winter Warmer and asked the bartender to put an Alaskan Smoked Porter on ice for me.

Yawn. After a while we grabbed seats in the living room area and I got to talking with some guy about computer storage. Very exciting stuff.

Once I had finished my porter (yummy) I tried MixedSignalGirl one more time (still full voicemail) and came home.

Thursday was sort of the last night of my vacation. Tonight it reverts to just a regular weekend. Man it will suck to have to put a suit on again.

(response to message)

Yes, that's the guy. E-mail me with your contact information if you'd like me to pass it along.

(response to message)

I never got that impression (the second term) from you at all.

(Update: The definition given by the quiz people is not the definition I learned in school. I retract my statement above.)

(Second update: All may not be as it seems. I'm thoroughly confused now. This is in opposition to all the other times when I'm only partially confused. This would be a pretty big coincidence, I have to admit.)

(Third update: A coincidence it is then. As penance for my invalid assumption I will hum It's a small world after all for one hour.)

What if, as the movie title suggests, this really is as good as it gets?

What if I've met the love of my life and I've let her slip through my fingers? What if I never have another friend that I trust implicitly? What if the best years of my life are truly behind me?

Can I survive for another forty years looking backwards?

My 100th beer rating at ratebeer.com:

De Dolle Oerbier

(bottle) Highly recommended by several people, but I'm not really sure why. I've never had cherry wine, but I'm convinced that I now know what it would taste like. Very sweet, very winey. No bitterness to balance the sweetness at all. Not very good.

Before this I had an Upland Winter Warmer, one of my favorites from last Spring. Yummy.

Was going to go out to the tournament site, but decided to stop by at Rich O's first. Had an NABC Tunnel Vision and decided to skip the (boring to me) one-pocket night at the tournament.

RealTrainGirl and MisunderstoodGirl joined me and we talked for a while about nothing much.

I'm pretty close to my 100th rating at ratebeer.com so I did something I normally wouldn't do - I had an Arrogant Bastard.

Stone Arrogant Bastard

(draft) Roasty, malty, hoppy, weirdness. I'd like this more without the bitter finish.

Next I had a Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale.

Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale

(draft) One of the better IPAs, but that's not saying too much for someone like me that doesn't like the style. Just decent, nothing more. Not bitter but a little sour.

To end the session I had one of those Hitachino ricey things that I had before. It's weirdness is a little endearing.

Came home at 8:00 and practiced some more 9-Ball.

(response to message)

...you are officially strange.

If you want a private response you need to tell me what password I should use. Perhaps your middle name.

Or just call - it won't kill you. Or just e-mail me.

Your apparent obsession with my food intake is both impressive and disturbing.

Italian sausage and roasted garlic is the answer you seek. If Arni's is the source then pepperoni and sausage. For Papa John's I like chicken and mushrooms.

MisunderstoodGirl wants to know how you're doing.

So do TallLady and RealTrainGirl.

We all miss you, and we all hope that your absence is justified in the end by your happiness.

(If you are not the person you are pretending to be, then never mind, and go fuck yourself.)

I'm sitting here at my computer, waiting for the dryer to dewrinkle my shirt so I can go over to the tournament, and I really want to write something.

I'm not sure exactly what I want to write. I just know that I want it to be good. I've had too many bland entries lately and those entries reflect the blandness of my life. If, I theorize, I can think of something interesting and exciting to write about, then maybe I won't be such a loser.

Wait, that's not right. I'm not a loser.

You have to play to lose.

I am a bench-warmer in the game of life.

So I've met several people (at the tournament) these past few days that only know me from my 'blog. People from the local area, from Russia, a group of Canadians. I even signed my name on one guy's poster. These are people, pool players, that went to this site for the pool movies and articles and then strayed over to this 'blog. Now they keep coming back, and they think that they know me from what they've read. They come up to me and ask me how I'm doing, if I'm really over her leaving, if the flu has made a reappearence. Hell, one girl asked me how much weight I'd lost. She could tell from my videos that I used to be heavier than I am now.

Of course I know that people read this thing. And I know that they're not all relatives and friends. The majority of the readers here are complete strangers to me. Even though I know this it's still pretty surreal to actually meet these people in person. I mean, I don't even know their names and they know all this shit about me.

I find it kind of odd that I don't really care how my 'blog reads to my friends, or to my relatives, but I find myself caring deeply how these strangers are perceiving me. These are people that read this thing because they want to read it, not because they know me and feel an obligation to read, and not simply because they want to know what's going on with my hair, my love life, my liver, etc. They're reading because they're getting to know me and want to know more. Weird, huh?

This 'blog is all that these strangers know of me, and I feel that I owe it to my readers (and to myself) to, at least every now and then, post something brilliant, or insightful, or scandalous.

I want to keep paying this tab, this debt I owe my readers. I want to be funny and compassionate and thoughtful, and I want to be perceived as all of those things.

I want people to like me I suppose. That's pretty normal, right?

Calm and relaxing. Nice and pleasant. These are the words that describe me and my life now. Excited and apprehensive were replaced with tortured and grieving, and they in turn were replaced with mundane and boring.

Well, the dryer just beeped at me, signalling the time to head back to the hotel.

This isn't the entry I wanted to write, that entry is still inside me. I can feel it in my head, rattling around, trying to work its way out.

Not just yet.

Sunday night, still at The Executive West for the tournament, I went to the hotel bar with my friend Bob and his friend Mike. I had a couple BBC Porters. Last year I had this (it's the only decent beer the hotel bar carries) and didn't care for it too much, but this year it is excellent. I don't know if it's because my tastes have changed or because last year it was simply a bad keg.

Anyway, Bob and I caught up with each other a little and talked about the olden days in Nebraska. It was all very nice and pleasant.

Monday night I had a beer with my friend Fred and then sat around the bar having a couple more porters while I did some people-watching. It was also very nice and pleasant.

Life's too nice and pleasant lately.

I need some drama dammit.

...one where empathy exists.

Oh yeah, seeing you was really nice too.

Off tomorrow (yay!) so I went to Rich O's and celebrated virtual Friday.

Well, maybe celebrated is the wrong word. Perhaps observed would be better.

Rich O's was fairly empty and I sat at the island by myself all night. A few of the professional beer drinkers were scattered around, and three semi-cute girls were sitting in the red room, but that's it. Nobody I cared to talk to was present.

Determined to try new beers, and only new beers, tonight, my first selection was a Ridgeway Santa's Butt Porter. Here's what I said about it at ratebeer.com:

(draft) Probably the blandest selection that Rich O's Saturnalia has to offer. A bit of a chocolate smell and taste that's followed up by a very watery finish. Decent but not memorable at all.

Next I had a Hitachino Nest Red Rice Ale.

(draft) Tastes like a pilsner until you swallow, that's when the funkiness takes over. I guess the funkiness was due to the sake yeasts used on the rice. My enjoyment of this beer grew with each sip, but by the time the glass was gone I still didn't like it enough to order another pint.

Finally, I had a XX Bitter De Ranke, a beer with a scary (to me) name.

(draft) The hop aroma was very evident and I was surprised to find such a tame flavor behind it. This is a beer I could drink all night, but I wouldn't want to because it's pretty boring.

So I had a very pleasant and relaxing night, disturbed only by VigilanteGirl's continuing perkiness. My castle walls have been completely rebuilt so she's wasting her time trying to get in. My loss, really.

Just a quick note to say that my vacation starts tomorrow and I'm starting to get pretty pumped about it.

It's not so much the time off work, though that's certainly a big deal.

What I look forward to most is the opportunity to be around pool players again. To be around hundreds of other people that understand, and share, my obsession with poking balls around with a stick.

I'll try to keep up with my messages, and I'll try to even post a new entry every now and then, but I'll make no promises. Especially Friday through Monday, when the Banks tournament is going on, I'll be spending almost all of my non-sleep time at the tournament site.

Those of you who just need to read something here every day should head on over to my pool 'blog as I'll be updating that more regularly with tournament updates, observations, and such.

I went to the Gas-N-Stuff this morning, as I do every work morning, and while I'm paying for my soft drink this dingbat (a past, and so far only, Dumbass of the Day recipient in this 'blog) asks me, "Are you in a good mood today?"

I frowned and answered that I was, and she countered with, "Well you sure don't look like it?"

"Well, maybe I was in a good mood before you asked me that stupid question. At any rate, my mood is actually none of your business."

"Man, maybe you should go home and get up on the other side of the bed."

"Maybe you should go fuck yourself."

Having my mental state questioned by a perfect stranger first thing in the morning, while annoying enough in itself, reveals a bigger problem. It seems that VigilanteGirl has been making my mood a topic of conversation at work.

I may need to give her a spanking or something. That would certainly cheer me up.

After work today I went and ordered myself a pizza and had an NABC Tunnel Vision - which is back after a brief absence.

I was sitting and talking with CuteAsFuckGirl about her growing up in Washington County when, lo and behold, UnfortunatelyNamedGirl came in and joined us.

Now neither of these girls has the slightest interest in me. I know it, and they know it.

So why, I ask, did they both begin competing for my attention?

I took a picture of CuteAsFuckGirl so I could send it to her phone, and UnfortunatelyNamedGirl told me she'd lost my number. Losing it would have been a little hard because she never had it in the first place - she was just trying to establish that she'd seen me first.

I ended up taking a picture for UnfortunatelyNamedGirl as well, and shortly after that CuteAsFuckGirl just happened to find some pictures in her purse she wanted to show me so she had me move over next to her.

Then UnfortunatelyNamedGirl dug my sister's name out of her memory and further established her deep relationship with me by asking me how Dina was doing.

Then CuteAsFuckGirl countered by talking about how where she grew up was near where my other sister lives.

At about this point all of the dirty looks passing back and forth between these girls was really starting to freak me out a little.

Two psychos in the same evening is a stretch even for me.

The other night a guy at Rich O's recommended an author (Ayn Rand) to me that I'd never read before. As I'm always looking for new people to read I made the trip to Barnes and Noble on Saturday to check her out.

Nothing by her on the shelves. I guess she's been inactive lately.

Of course that didn't stop me from spending $250 on books while I was there.

I'm with books the way some women are with shoes and some guys are with tools. I simply cannot leave a bookstore empty-handed.

These are just the books in the basement. I've got two more of these shelves, full of technical books, in my office, and another 50 or so books scattered about the house.

I will say that I've read nearly all of the fiction books. I usually go through a book a week. Right now my unread book stack has about a dozen books on it - including the six I bought on Saturday.

My temperature's been back to normal since Friday evening, but I may have had a slight relapse in the middle of the night last night.

I got a phone call from an unexpected person, and I was a little short with her.

When I got up this morning I felt guilty about it, so I picked up the phone to call and apologize.

Thanks to my phone's calls log, I saw that there was no call.

It'd been one of those feverish delusions - like what I was having Thursday when I dreamed/imagined that I went to the kitchen about a hundred times for water but I actually only made it once.

Anyway, I'm a little bored, can you tell? Just want to write something no matter how mundane.

Spent the first part of tonight listening to MixedSignalGirl spew forth some of the most screwed up logic I've ever heard.

As near as I can figure it, and my translation skills are a little rusty, I've been the victim of preemptive pout.

Also fired was a preemptive guilt trip bomb but that had no effect on me as my immunity for such things remains strong.

I guess she and I have things back to normal though. Whatever that means.

So I've mentioned before that my Uncle Wayne has a karaoke business. I've gotten into the occasional habit of going to the little bar/restaraunt where he's working just to listen to the performers.

I will not be performing myself. No thanks.

What I've noticed is that all karaoke performers fall into one of these categories:

Actually more of a Saturday beer report as Friday I stuck to Diet Coke, but let's not get too picky, okay?

Friday night I arrived late, mainly to get some food for my flu-ravaged body. The place was incredibly crowded.

Even after 10:00 it was mostly standing room only.

At one point, however, I did grab a quick seat on the loveseat and I and some people I didn't know got to comparing cell phones.

I took this picture of the cute blonde sitting on the sofa and sent it to her phone eventually. My first attempt went to some random number and some guy called me back and asked "Who's the blonde? She's hot!"

This picture was not from Friday night - it was just in my phone from the week before or something. These are a couple of my Rich O's friends.

OddlyPrettyGirl paused long enough to smile for the camera.

After I'd left Rich O's and eaten some food I felt a lot better so I went to where my Uncle Wayne does karaoke.

This is my Uncle Wayne and my Aunt Carol and some Hispanic guy that I don't know.

On Saturday I felt pretty much back to normal so I went to Rich O's and had some half-pints of several beers.

Some other stuff happened but I'm keeping it to myself.

Well I don't have mono. I went to the doctor this morning and I just have a regular flu.

This one features a fever that's lasted longer, and been higher, than anything I've been afflicted with in the past decade. Not fun. I can put up with a lot, but a high temperature is one thing that really knocks me out. It's amazing what a difference a few degrees can make.

If my temp goes back down to normal I will force myself to get to work tomorrow. It's been a pretty bad time for me to be away - as evidenced by the fact that I've had 2,356 phone calls over the last two days, while a normal two-day period would yield a total of less then a thousand.

Being sick just sucks.

Went to the store tonight and, as I pulled into the lot, I saw her car.

So I avoided the situation and went to a different store.

I'm still a little irritated over the mixed signals, plus I might have mono now and I really didn't want to have that discussion with her.

I stayed home from work Wednesday with a fever. It eased up somewhat tonight (that's when I went to the store) but last time I checked I was back to 101 so I'm going back to the doctor tomorrow. I just saw the guy Tuesday about my wrist, and I guess I could have caught something from someone in the waiting area.

Two doctor visits, for two different problems, in a three-day period.

I'm falling apart at the seams here.

(response to another message)

Yes, when I first met them I got their occupations switched around in my head. Hence TrainGirl then RealTrainGirl.

What I neglected to mention in that last rambling entry, and what will perhaps turn out to be the biggest obstacle to my new hint-taking goal, is that, right off the bat to start the new year, I'm getting very conflicting hints.

This has certainly softened my resolve a little, though I continue to be hopeful that I won't give up completely. The chance for happiness is a worthy goal after all.

One of the things I'd like to work on this year (to call it a resolution would imply a stronger, um, resolve than I actually have) is my ability (or the lack thereof) to take a damn hint from the fairer sex.

Nearly every unpleasant thing that's ever happened to me (and there have been a lot) in my dealings with women (wife, girlfriends, friends, drinking buddies) was undoubtedly preceded by a series of hints. Hints that grew stronger and more obvious until even I couldn't help but recognize them.

Most times I can think back (I do a lot of thinking back) and clearly see the trail left behind (the crumpled grass and the bent twigs and the footprints and the discarded cigarette butts) marking the path that led me to whatever mess I'm currently in. It actually seems like the more fucked up things are, the more I should have known ahead of time. Girders do not generally fall from the sky to land on a person's head, there's almost always a warning - contruction area - hardhat required sign around somewhere.

I know I absolutely could have prevented a lot of my past turmoil if I'd just been better at seeing the damn hints.

So turmoil-prevention is one thing I'd like to accomplish with my newfound hint-spotting skills, but there's actually another (and much more important in the long run) benefit that I could gain.

Not all hints are bad.

I remember sitting in a bar quite some time (many many years) ago with a friend of mine. This person was perhaps the most beautiful person (inside and out) that I'd (up to that time at least) ever known. So wonderful was this person (and so far out of my league I knew) that (though the physical attraction I felt was quite strong) I never even (seriously) considered that kind of a relationship with her.

So anyway, I'm sitting at the bar, and (out of the corner of my eye) I keep seeing her looking at me. I'd turn to her and ask, "What?" Her response (invariably) would be, "Nothing."

This happened several times (over the course of several weeks) and I remember feeling quite self-conscious. Besides, whenever she was looking at me I couldn't be looking at her and that's what I really (craved, needed, required, longed for) wanted.

Well time passed by and as relationships (even the best ones) often do, ours eventually ended. She found a (lucky bastard) soul mate and I moved on (though not for the same reason) as well.

Some time later I was talking with a (mutual) friend about the old days and the people we'd known. He hadn't known the girl as well as I had, but he did know (or claimed to know at least) something that I didn't.

She had a crush on you, you know.

My initial (and the safest) instinct was to simply laugh this off. People like that simply do not have crushes on people like me. I'm not a male model, and I'm not an asshole. I'm neither a rock star or a billionaire, or any of the dozen other types of men that women say they're not looking for but you still see them with the same types of guys again and again.

But I digress.

I told my friend that he was nuts. He countered with some very good arguments. He told me that I'd apparently been the only person in our circle that didn't (or couldn't, or wouldn't) see that she wanted (to at least try) a deeper relationship with me.

With me, of all people.

I've since talked with a few other of our mutual friends, and they actually all agree - I did have a chance at something more with that beautiful person. Nobody (at the time) could figure out why I was holding back.

Funny (ha ha, real fucking funny, Dave) thing is, I remember seeing hints from all of my friends back then, trying to push us together. I'd thought that they were trying to push her to me but it was actually the other way around. They were trying to help her by pushing me.

I wish they'd tried a little harder. A baseball bat to the head might have done the trick. I just didn't know. I hadn't dared to hope.

I didn't see the hints then, but they were there. I can almost list them in my mind as I sit here writing this entry. The coy glances, the hair shakes, the touching. Even when she began to pull away from me and my (obliviously indifferent) lack of responses, that was a hint too. That was a hint that time was running out for me. For us.

And I still didn't see it.

I started this entry writing about a certain kind of hint. The Pain-Avoidance hint, I'll call it. I need to work on my ability to recognize those. Even more, I need to work on my ability to see this other (rarer) type of hint. The Chance-For-Happiness hint.

I don't know what my old friend is doing these days. For all I know, she's googled my name and is reading this entry.

If you're out there, know this:

I had no idea. I'm sorry for your hurt feelings, and I'm sorry for my seeming indifference. I think it would have been wonderful.

(response to a message)

Is that TrainGirl's last name? I don't think I ever heard it, and with her gone now I never got a chance to ask her.

This little survey has been popping up all over the 'blogs I've been reading.

Yay! Now I'm an official 'blogger because I posted this silly survey!

Just a quick entry about Saturday night.

Rich O's was closed again, so I ventured to Jeffersonville in search of some good beer. They almost always have Newcastle on tap at Hooters.

I'd been hoping to meet up with my cousin Jeff (one of my resolutions is to see more of people from my childhood) but alas, he was trying to load up on as much college football as possible in preparation for the upcoming dry season.

While I sat and drank my Newcastles (I remembered to ask for an unfrosted glass), I had ample opportunity to check out the local talent. I came to the following three conclusions:

I am an old fart fast on his way to becoming a dirty old man.

Somebody in the area is making a very good living supplying breast implants to girls that undoubtedly looked a lot better without them.

Even though it's Hooters policy that their waitresses wear those skimpy outfits, some girls really should at least lose the baby fat before dressing up like that.

Each of these conclusions mangaged to get me in an irritated mood so I decided against my earlier plan to finally try a Blue Moon ale and left at around 10:00.

While I was contemplating my irritation I got a call from MixedSignalGirl who, as usual, promptly decided to attribute my irritation to her own actions of the night before.

I let her have her little fantasy.

When I was in Jr. High - I think it was eighth grade - first period was gym, and second period was history.

It was nice to have gym as the first class of the day because I'd get to shower after that class, and that meant I could skip washing my hair and sleep for a few extra minutes in the morning before school. A little gross, sure, but I was a kid.

Anyway, one day I guess I'd eaten something for breakfast that disagreed with me. Maybe milk that was a little past its expiration date, maybe cereal that was a little stale. All I knew for sure was that I wasn't feeling very well when gym class started, and that I was feeling even worse when it was over.

It'd been one of those dodgeball days, with a lot of running around trying to keep from getting killed. I ran around a lot when we played dodgeball. I never won, but I was always one of the last three or four people standing.

On this particular day my stomach was giving me fits. All that running around combined with whatever I'd had for breakfast - ugh.

I was sitting in history class when it happened. The contractions. The spasms. The taste of vomit rising ever higher in my throat. I felt my cheeks fill up, and I did what was necessary.

I got up, ran to the trash can next to the teacher's desk, and just let go into it.

I sold Buicks. I blew chunks, I did the Technicolor yawn, curled and hurled, introduced my friend Ralph to the class, had facial diarrhea.

Needless to say, this wasn't exactly what the teacher had in his lesson plan for the day, but he handled it with great aplomb. Calm as shit, like people turned themselves inside-out every day, he suggested that I might want to go to the nurses office. No shit, Sherlock. It was either that or spontaneously burst into flames and die, and that wish wasn't coming true. So I went to the nurses office, emptying along the way an estimated 200 gallons or so of my insides into fun little exhibits of modern art every few feet along the way.

Well obviously I lived through that day, but for the rest of the year I was The Vomit Kid in history class. Thankfully, none of the kids were mean about it. I suppose that they were all really grateful that it hadn't happened to them, but it was a stigma that stayed with me for quite some time.

I had a point here, what was it...Oh, yeah.

I got sick back then because of what I'd eaten and what I'd done that morning. Once that morning was over I felt fine. The breakfast and the dodgeball had no further impact on my life.

When I've gotten sick over the years, I have never once said to myself that I really wished I hadn't eaten that cereal or played that game of dodgeball back in Jr. High.

Nope, I can separate the past from the present. Even though I still get sick sometimes, it's always for a new reason. The Vomit Kid has been dead for 25 years.

Some of you, my dear readers, really need to work on that ability. For you see, the guy that was in all that turmoil in the Fall - that guy was erased with a single phone call in November. Just like The Vomit Kid, he doesn't exist anymore.

Believe it or not, I am quite capable of having a thought that's completely unrelated to my turmoil of the Fall. Believe it or not, I am quite capable of being in a bad mood, or a good mood, or an irritated mood, or whatever, without my mood being related her.

Also, and this is the part where those of you with weaker minds may want to look away, I can actually think about things that once made me sad without getting sad again.

This ability goes by many names. Gaining perspective. Learning from our mistakes. Moving on.

I just call it progress.

What prompted me to write this entry was a series of messages I've received over the last few days. I wrote an entry about being unable to grade the year 2004, and an entry about how New Year's Eve didn't go quite the way I'd wanted. People sending me messages keep assuming that these are all related to my Wednesday entry. I can almost hear the gears turning in peoples' heads:

Dave's in a pensive mood. It must be because of that girl.

Dave's plans didn't work out. He must have been hoping to hear from that girl.

Wow, I thought Dave was getting better, but that Wednesday entry sure proves otherwise. He's still obsessed with that girl.

Well you know what? Fuck that girl.

Now of course I don't mean that, but I know what most of you, upon reading that last sentence, will be thinking:

See, he's just so emotional about her! I knew he wasn't over her!

What I'm trying to say here, in my roundabout way, is that I've put that pain behind me. At some point in the future, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, I will be in a sad mood again. I'm sure of it. What I'm also sure of, however, is that my feelings for you-know-who will not be the reason. Just like I'm sure that the bad breakfast I ate in the 1970s will not be behind my next illness.

Now I'll type this next part real slow so everyone can understand.

Everything is fine. I have gained perspective, and I have learned from my mistakes, and I have moved on. I know exactly where things stand, and I'm at peace with it. Really and truly. Everything I wrote was the absolute truth at the moment I wrote it, but things do change over time. Feelings soften. New evidence comes to light. New people enter a life and fill the voids left by others. Some times you just build up an immunity for things.

A perfect example of the point I wanted to make with the entry is this:

I'm irritated right now. I'm irritated because I felt that I needed to write this long-winded entry. This irritation has nothing to do with LaptopGirl at all.

Damn this is a long entry. And the sad thing is that it won't make a bit of difference. People will continue to think what they want to think, and to hell with the truth.

The truth is boring, but it is the truth.

plan
n.
1. A proposed course of action or sequence of events.

I guess there's a reason we usually refer to our plans for the evening instead of something more concrete like agenda or schedule.

We do this because while we may know what we'd like or expect to do, we really don't know what's actually going to happen.

Last night, as I'd planned, I went to the home of the FirstCouple for their annual New Year's party.

I'm not really sure why I chose that venue instead of the party a friend of my sister was having. I just sort of decided sometime during the day which one I'd attend.

I drank most of a bottle of Delirium Noel while I mingled with the two dozen or so people in attendance. It was a nice time, but I still don't feel like I really know any of those people, so I didn't feel too bad when I left at around 10:00.

The second half of the night didn't exactly go as I'd planned, but I was pleasantly surprised and I enjoyed myself. It turned out to be exactly what I needed to close out 2004 and say hello to 2005.

Now I get to see what the aftermath is. The nice thing is that I'm invincible, at least for a while.