For the most part, this was a boring and safe week for the girls. I think that reality may have set in after seeing two girls get sent home last week.

2/28 (Girls)

Katharine: She sang some song I never heard before and sang the fuck out of it. Wow. Maybe a little too safe? (85 points)

Kinnik: I don't like her. Nope, I don't like her at all. (0 points)

Lisa: Another song I never heard before. She sang a little too quietly - the music and the background vocals drowned her out a little. What I could hear was great though. (80 points)

Melissa: Hot. The song choice was stupid, and the performance was painful to listen to. (50 points)

Heather: Looked hot. This week, her voice matched her face. A flawless but safe performance. (80 points)

Brenna: She kept forgetting what key she was supposed to be singing in. Some keys were good, but most weren't. (45 points)

Paris: She started with this artificially low voice that I don't like, then she kept reverting back to it for random syllables. I can't believe I didn't like her tonight. (65 points)

Ayla: She's got that Disney vibe again. A little shaky in parts. (70 points)

Kellie: Still smoldering hot, but the performance seemed shaky and/or uninspired. I gave 5 bonus points for being so damn cute. (75 points)

Mandisa: She started out a quarter-note behind the music, but once she caught up she did pretty well. A perfect song for her. (80 points)

Even though Mandisa did much better this week, I still stand by the elimination choices I made last week. I think that Mandisa and Kinnik need to get off my TV.

I think that if I could pick a mental illness to have, I'd pick Tourette's Syndrome.

That way, when I thought some girl was a whore, I could just scream out, "WHORE!!!!" and then when she got mad I could say, "Sorry, I got this Tourette's thingy. Whore. Slut. Bitch. Oops."

Then maybe she'd feel sorry for me and then the whore would give me some pity sex.

On Wednesday, SassyGirl and TacoBell are flying to Peru.

This seems like a strange thing to do, but then again I might just be jealous.

I asked them what their plans are for while they're down there, and I was told something like, "Ride a llama, sleep on a llama, have sex on a llama, and eat a llama."

So that settles it. I'm definitely jealous.

Hasta la vista, chicas!

This chick at work has gotten into the habit of bringing me the daily Jumble puzzle to try and stump me. I don't know why.

This morning, I took a look at the first set of letters, endom, and for some reason the first word that popped into my head was monde. The second set of letters, snifi, looked like finis.

I told the chick that I didn't think both words were correct (The first one turned out to be demon.) because both were more or less foreign words. I said that she might have accidentally bought the wrong paper.

She then asked me, "Are you Catholic?"

I answered that I wasn't.

That was the end of the conversation.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Women are strange.

BamaGirl: One of the newer regulars at Rich O's. Married to BamaGuy. She used to have a terrible nickname but I changed it after I'd spoken to her a few times. Very sweet. This nickname is because of where they're from.

BigWheelGirl: One of LaptopGirl's friends. She drove us to see Screech. The nickname is because of a story that LaptopGirl told me.

Bubbles: A Rich O's regular. She just has a bubbly personality.

CanadianGirl: She used to work at my company, and she'd show up at Rich O's every now and then. She moved to Omaha. The nickname is because she's from Canada originally.

CannonGirl: Another name for TrainGirl. She used to work at this historical place with cannons.

CuteAsFuckGirl: She grew up in Washington County. She wants me. The nickname is self-explanatory.

CuteBlonde: One of the regulars at Rich O's. She's married to some guy who's name I can never remember. Another nickname that needs no explanation.

Dina: My sister.

DooRagGirl: FutureDude's girlfriend. DooRagGirl was also one of the first people I ever met at Rich O's. She was friends with my sister Neisha back in High School. She used to wear these scarves on her head all the time. She hardly ever does anymore though.

EnglishGirl: I spent several hours talking with her in Boston. Extremely nice. I should have given her my email address. She's from England.

EwokGirl: Our cubicles are next to each other. Sometimes she brings me free germs. She told me to use EwokGirl as a nickname.

ExoticGirl: A smoldering hot girl that comes into Rich O's sometimes. She's married. She's got sort of a Middle Eastern look to her, hence ExoticGirl.

FilleFransaiseSexy: One time, CanadianGirl brought some French people into Rich O's. I asked one of the French dudes how to say "hot French girl" in French, and this nickname is the result.

GlassesGirl: Another friend of Neisha's from childhood. Now she's dating MusicalHippyDude. She wants a new nickname because she doesn't wear glasses any more.

HatGirl: A smoldering hot girl that I have a bit of a crush on. She has a boyfriend named LuckyFucker. The nickname is because she likes to wear hats. Bet you didn't see that one coming, did you?

HotBartender: She worked at The Great Lost Bear in Portland Maine when I was there. The nickname is self-explanatory.

HotEuchreGirl: Just this girl that I've talked to a couple of times and that played euchre with us one night. I think she's dating LonerBoy. She's hot, and she plays euchre.

HotRedHead: GlassesGirl's friend. She's dating one of the bartenders. The only girl with red hair that I've ever found attractive. Self-explanatory.

HotRedHeadGirl: See HotRedHead.

KidneyGirl: Just this weird girl that may or may not have tried to pick me up at The Pub once. The nickname is because of the old urban legend about waking up in a tub of ice with your kidney missing.

LaptopGirl: Sigh. There's nothing I feel like writing here. The nickname is because she was typing into a laptop the first time I saw her. Great, now I'm sad.

LibertyGirl: A semi-regular at Rich O's. She has a 'blog, but she never updates it. The nickname is a bit of a play on her real name.

LibraryGirl: A friend of SassyGirl. She works at the library.

MaineGirl: A really cool chick that I spent several hours talking to in Portland last Spring.

MisunderstoodGirl: One of my good friends that I never get to see any more. She used to work at Rich O's, and she used to be SassyGirl's girlfriend. Now she never comes around at all and I miss her. I call her this because many people don't make the effort to get to know her, and so they never understand her at all.

MixedSignalGirl: Sigh. My ex-girlfriend. I really let her down I'm afraid. The nickname is because of a malfunctioning traffic light we encountered on our first date.

Neisha: My youngest sister.

OddlyFamiliarGirl: This is DooRagGirl's sister. That's why she looked familiar.

PictureGirl: I had a fling/thing with her in Las Vegas. Just cute as hell. The nickname is sort of from how we met.

PigtailGirl: I had a one night stand with her in Las Vegas. She's from Portland Maine. She had pigtails.

ProbableLesbian: This girl used to come in to Rich O's all the time, but I haven't seen her in months. A self-explanatory nickname.

RealTrainGirl: See SassyGirl.

RedHairGirl: See HotRedHead.

RedRoomGirl: Just this chick that was hot that sat in the red room one night.

RioGirl: We went swimming together, and she told me that she liked my hair when it was mussed up. She worked at The Rio in Las Vegas.

RockGirl: My kindred spirit. I've never met her in real life though - I just know her from the Internet. The nickname is because she sent me a rock.

SassyGirl: My lesbian girlfriend. She used to be TrainGirl's girlfriend, and she was MisunderstoodGirl's girlfriend for a while. One of my best friends at Rich O's. Her nickname is because of this new short hairstyle she's sporting.

SpoonsGirl: My sister Dina's friend. The nickname is from a very dark day in her life.

StupidGirl: Just this waitress in Las Vegas. She was stupid.

SunburnGirl: See MisunderstoodGirl. One night I changed everybody's nicknames, just to mix things up a little.

TacoBell: SassyGirl's new girlfriend. Works at (duh) Taco Bell. Has a very pretty smile.

TallLady: One of the regulars at Rich O's. Very nice except when she's trying to get me to smile, then she's too pushy. The nickname is because, duh, she's tall. Like over six feet I think.

TracingGirl: See VigilanteGirl. One night I changed everybody's nicknames, just to mix things up a little.

TrainGirl: She used to be SassyGirl's girlfriend. She was really nice to talk to, but she moved away so I don't get to see her any more. When I first met her, I got her and SassyGirl mixed up, so I thought she worked for the railroad. Once I found out that I'd mixed them up it was too late to swap nicknames.

VigilanteGirl: We used to flirt with each other a lot. Now, not so much. The nickname is from a story she told me when we met about chasing down some gas thieves from where she works.

WorldsHottestGirl: She used to come into Rich O's a lot, but she stopped. The nickname is self-explanatory.

ZodiacGirl: See LaptopGirl. Sigh. One night I changed everybody's nicknames, just to mix things up a little.

On Grant Line Road, in New Albany Indiana, just South of I-265, there is a Burger King. Just like uncountable Burger Kings scattered all over creation. You either like the food, or you don't. You either like the convenience, or you feel that it's too high a price to pay for what places like that do to local mom and pop restaurants. You certainly don't go there for the atmosphere and the ambience.

At least most people don't go there for those things.

I'm not like most people. And, to me, that Burger King on Grant Line Road is not like most Burger Kings.

To me, that place is haunted.

Not haunted the way Rich O's is, with memories of better times, and a sparkling presence that sits beside me when I feel alone, and a million reminders of what was, and a million more reminders of what might have been.

Nope, not like that at all. That Burger King is haunted by me.

For that Burger King, on Grant Line Road, in New Albany Indiana, just South of I-265, in the third parking spot on the right when you pull in, that's where I died. That's where pieces of my shattered heart fell onto the pavement on that night back in October 2004. That's where my long scream began. That's where the echoes of that scream are the loudest.

When I go there, I always park in that same spot if it's available. It usually is. Like it's waiting for me.

I remember, back in Junior High, walking through the field at Gettysburg during a field trip, and imagining all of those that had perished there. Trying to pick up any sensations from souls that might still linger around that blood-soaked ground.

I wasn't able, back then, to feel anything out of the ordinary. Maybe that's because it just didn't seem real to me, and I had no connection to those poor soldiers, and it had all happened so long ago. Or maybe there was truly nothing there to feel. Maybe it's all a bunch of mumbo jumbo.

Maybe this is simply my imagination, yet another manifestation of my unwillingness to let all this go. Maybe this is just another symptom of my insanity.

But whatever. When I pull into that parking spot, I feel something there. Something that carries me back to that night and forces me to relive it.

I don't struggle, when my ghost bullies me like that. It's actually kind of nice, in a weird way.

Last night, the Daytonians invaded Rich O's.

They do this every year I guess for Gravity Head. This year, Roger sat aside the new front room for their use. Whether to give them special treatment, or to keep them away from the rest of us, I don't know. Whatever the reasoning, it seemed to be an idea that fell flat on its face.

The Daytonians crowded into Rich's proper and did what they do best - stand around and talk as loudly as they can.

Hell, the two or three times I went and looked into the new front area it was mostly just local PBDs in there.

Anyway, the place was packed, but my new best friends in the world MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl had semi-saved me a seat at the island, so yay! I sat my ass down and ordered my first beer:

t Smisje Kerst (10)

(draft) Looked like coffee with cream, I guess because the keg had been jiggled. Flavor was pretty good. Lots of berries and fruits. A fairly strong alcohol bite at the finish.

If anyone cares, my surprisaphobia was in full swing last night.

I pretty much just sat and drank and glared at the crowd and kept an eye on the entrance. I didn't feel like talking to anyone, and after a while talking would have been impossible over the noise from the crowd. My second beer was another new one for me:

Great Divide Hibernation Ale (10)

(draft) This beer was simply hard to drink. Part of the problem was that it really clashed with the beer I'd just finished, but most of the problem was that it tasted like cranberry juice. It did get better towards the end of the glass.

My last beer was one that's always highly-touted, but it was new to me:

EKU 28 (10)

(draft) Had a strange flavor that I've never been able to accurately describe in this type of beer. Very thick, almost syrupy mouthfeel. The alcohol was quite evident.

The night ended up being a bit of a bust, so once I left Rich O's I had this idea of going and trying to find VigilanteGirl. I have no idea why. I didn't find her, and that urge is thankfully gone from me now. But while I was at the little bar near my house I had myself a Newcastle (1836), and it was quite yummy.

warm

soft

moist

soft

wet

slick

hot

soft

I managed to become annoyed a couple of times last night.

Shocking, isn't it?

The second time I became annoyed, I was annoyed with myself. I was having this conversation, and a strange sensation washed over me. It was like I was standing off to the side, listening to myself babble on and on and on and on and on...

It wasn't so much the babbling that annoyed me. I'm used to that. I'm doing it right now actually, albeit in written form.

Nope, it wasn't the babbling, it was the topic.

I have no idea what mental defect caused me to do it, but I found myself babbling at length about you know who and how much it had hurt when she'd left, and how much it still hurt, and how confusing the whole thing was, and blah blah blah blah blah.

My conversation partner at the time did a very good job of staying awake and feigning interest, I'll give her credit for that.

I guess, like most people, I just have a need to be understood. People chat with me a few times, or they talk with their friends and compare notes about me, and they get the wrong ideas. Ideas like I'm some great guy that's got all his shit together.

I hate that. Even though I'm flattered, I still hate it because it's just so wrong. I'd rather people know the truth about me. That way I don't have to worry about disappointing them later, when they finally see my true nature.

The first time I became annoyed was during another conversation.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person on Earth with any moral values at all. I mean, I know that's not really the case, but it sure feels that way sometimes.

Why is it that, for some people in my little circle of friends and acquaintances, why is it that the fact that a girl is involved in a relationship with someone else is dismissed as irrelevant? And even if that fact is recognized as a problem, it's seen as a very minor obstacle, an inconvenience, a bump in the road.

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Sometimes people see my refusal to pursue a girl with a boyfriend/husband as fear. They tell me that I'm just using it as an excuse to keep from being hurt.

Why can't people just accept the fact, the simple fact that I don't want to be the other guy in someone's life. I want to be the the guy. No sneaking around. No guilt. No getting murdered in my sleep once the boyfriend/husband finds out.

This guy told me last night that if I liked this one girl, and if I thought that there was a chance that she liked me, that I should just go for it. That I was getting too old to be so afraid. He gave me that old nothing ventured, nothing gained crap.

He completely dismissed the very relevant fact that the girl in question has a boyfriend. That fact didn't matter to him, and he couldn't understand why it mattered to me.

I think this is one of those things that, if I have to fucking explain it to someone, then they'll never understand anyway.

So why do I even bother trying to explain?

Because I don't really like being called a coward, that's why.

I wonder, if I hadn't been cheated on so many times in the past, would I still feel so strongly about this? Or would I be like my guy friends, trying to get into the pants of every woman I saw?

Is this moral rule I take so seriously really nothing more than yet another defense mechanism?

I don't think so. And even if it is, I don't care. It's still the right way to act, no matter what the underlying reasons are.

So last night was the beginning of the Gravity Head festival at Rich O's. This is the biggest, and oldest, and most crowded festival of the three that they have every year.

This year there'll be four because of DaveFest.

Anyway, I spent some time yesterday feeling a little bit torn as to whether I'd go or not. There were two things that helped sway my decision. First, They've got this new seating area out front and all of the PBDs were supposed to use that area, hopefully lessening the crowd for us civilians. Second, NABC was unveiling a new beer and I definitely wanted to try it before it ran out.

So I got there a little before 9:00. It was pretty crowded, but not as bad as I'd feared. SassyGirl was sitting on the throne, and UplandWheatDude was at the kiddie table, and SassyBoy was in the new loveseat. I took the other kiddie table seat and ordered my first beer.

New Albanian Thunderfoot (10)

(draft) As with all Imperial Stouts, this one took a few sips before my palate was numbed enough to appreciate it. A little more subdued than I was expecting, absolutely drinkable. The alcohol was masked very well.

After a while, some assholes left the island so we moved up there.

Our conversation turned to a more recent subject. It was kind of funny I suppose. UplandWheatDude asked me what had ever happened between "that one girl" and me. I assumed he was asking about MixedSignalGirl, so I told him about her going back to her ex and how she'd just became tired of waiting for me to get over LaptopGirl and all that. At one point he said something about how young she was, and I said that she's 35. He freaked out and kept saying that he just couldn't believe she was that old - that he'd have guessed middle to late 20s for her age.

I had my second beer:

Dark Horse Sapient Trip Ale (10)

(draft) Absolutely nothing special about this beer except that it's an Abbey Tripel, so it's special by default. Very good, but not great.

He was talking about a completely different girl!

Duh.

So I had to update him on that situation, and that's an update that I'm not going to be typing up here for the world to see. Sorry.

My third beer was an NABC Bob's Old 15B (80). I hadn't had one of these in a long time. It was pretty watery after the two strong beers I'd just had.

We were joined, sort of, by GlassesGirl and HotRedHead. GlassesGirl wants a new nickname, because she doesn't wear glasses any more. If I think of a good one for her I'll use it, but for now it will remain unchanged.

My last beer was another Gravity Head offering:

Great Divide Oak Aged Yeti Imperial Stout (10)

(draft) I've never been a big fan of oak aged brews, but the oak undertones of this are subtle enough that they're hardly noticeable. Just enough chocolate and coffee flavor to almost mask the alcohol burn, but not quite. Pretty good.

So, the night wasn't too bad. Much better than I'd been expecting. There were no big surprises. The crowd wasn't unbearable. I wish I could have talked to SassyGirl more.

Tonight is the night that the Daytonians invade. They've been given the new front area for the night, but I bet the whole place will be very crowded. We'll see.

This is a boring entry.

I've got nothing.

I know, I always say that. I always say that then I usually still manage to shit out an entry. An entry about something, which by definition is not nothing.

Anyway, I wonder if I'll ever look back at this time in my life with anything even remotely resembling fondness. I really can't imagine it happening. I can't imagine ever thinking you know, that was a pretty exciting and interesting time for me, or boy, I sure learned a lot about myself back then, or at least I wasn't bored, or even that was a really tough period of my life, but I came out of it as a better person than I went in as.

Speaking of this whole something vs. nothing debate - If the word complicated is used to describe it, that makes it a something, right?

Right?

I mean, if it was nothing then why bother to assign an adjective?

But I digress.

Offer me a pill that would erase the last two years of my life, and I'd take it in a heartbeat. Show me a time machine that would let me go back, back to before I went out that night, and I'd sell my soul for a chance to make that trip.

Alternatively, if given a chance to jump ahead, to skip forward in time to some imagined day when all of this bullshit is in my past and exists only in my memory instead of forming such an integral part of my consciousness - well, you just try stopping me from jumping at that opportunity.

Most people are going to read this, and they're going to shake their heads. Nat will probably want to kick my ass, again. Most people will read this and they'll figure that I'm being a little too dramatic, again.

Most people who read this just aren't going to understand.

But that's okay, because I'm right in the fucking middle of it, and I don't understand it either.

I am learning a lot about myself. I won't deny that. But some lessons are too hard-fought. Some prices are too steep. Some stones are better left unturned. Some monsters are better left lurking in the shadows.

Let me go back to before, and I'll go. Let me move ahead to after, and I'll go.

I'll go. Either would be better than this fucking now I find myself standing in.

Every season, for the past couple at least, I do this. Usually, after a few weeks, I get sick of the voters being so stupid and I stop watching. There'll never be another Kelly anyway.

Anyway, since I don't plan to sleep until probably Sunday, I went ahead and watched the Tuesday and Wednesday performances.

These are the notes I took while watching. I take these notes before listening to the judges comments. The scores I assign are completely arbitrary.

2/21 (Girls)

Mandisa: Stupid name. A blah, boring performance except when she missed notes, then she sucked. (60 points)

Kellie: Smoldering hot. She lost track of what key she was singing in a few times. I really like her voice though. (70 points)

Becky: Yummy. She mumbled her way through the song, and she seemed to use at least three different singing voices, and she missed some notes. I still liked her though, and I don't think it's only because she's so cute. (70 points)

Ayla: I thought she did a very good job, but I couldn't shake the Disney soundtrack vibe I got from her performance. (80 points)

Paris: She's just an adorable little thing, and a wonderful talent. She doesn't need this show. (95 points)

Stevie: Hot, and she knows it. She says the word opera too often. She seems a little full of herself. I like her voice - it's nice and pure. Pretty good. (75 points)

Brenna: Quite cute. I hate the song she sang, and her singing didn't make up for it. Not at all. She's funny and charming though. (60 points)

Heather: Quite hot. Weird, her voice doesn't match her appearance. Beyond that, nothing remarkable. (65 points)

Melissa: Wow, another hot girl. I love her speaking voice, and she carried that into her singing. She did mumble a lot though. I like her. (75 points)

Lisa: One of my favorites all along. She's another Tamyra Gray. Wow. (85 points)

Kinnik: Stupid name, stupid song choice, boring performance. (65 points)

Katharine: Hot. She looked like she was having a seizure while singing. She sang the shit out of the song though. (85 points)

If I were America, I'd eliminate Mandisa and Kinnik this week. Unfortunately for me, I'm not America, so I expect one or both of them to stay in while someone more deserving gets eliminated. Probably Heather and Ayla if I had to guess.

And, for the more important question - if all of the hot girls came to me and offered themselves to me sexually, and I had to pick just one, who would it be?

Kellie, without a doubt. She's marryin' material.

2/22 (Guys)

The guys are never as good as the girls on this show, and I don't think this season will prove me wrong.

Patrick: Great song. It's tough going first I bet. Good but not great performance. (70 points)

David: Cool name. A one-trick pony. This asshole will probably stay week after week while more talented singers get eliminated. I hate him already.

Bucky: Bucky? Are you fucking kidding me with that name? Great song, and he sang it very well. He's got a very unique voice. (80 points)

Will: Stupid song. This guy is probably good in his high school plays. (65 points)

Jose: The falsetto was a surprise, and not a particularly good one for me. This guy can do better than this. (70 points)

Chris: He looks familiar to me. He's one of my favorites. He sang a great song, and had a great but forgettable performance. He could go a long way in this competition. (85 points)

Kevin: The question with this guy is - Does he sing well enough to make up for being such a nerd? And the answer is no. A good song choice and a good performance. (75 points)

Gedeon: He spells his own name wrong, and he talks like a preacher. He sang well though. This was the first time I've liked him. (80 points)

Elliott: He seemed very nervous, and he picked a shitty song. A boring and forgettable performance. I do like his voice though. (65 points)

Bobby: Stupid song. This guy should be singing at weddings, not on my TV, and certainly not on my radio. (60 points)

Ace: Probably a finalist because the chicks like him. It helps that he sings very well. Second best of the night. (86 points)

Taylor: Great song. This guy is a great singer, even if he does seems a little cheesy at times. Best of the night, but just barely. (87 points)

The problem with making predictions for the guys is that it's all teenage girls doing the voting. I'd like to see David and Kevin go home, but because teenage girls are, well, teenage girls, I expect it to be somebody with more talent that leaves. Maybe Bobby and/or Gedeon.

If I live through this weekend, then I may truly be invincible.

I've been tagged to do this by stardancer2023.

1. I'm not really sure what I've been tagged to do. Write random crap, I guess. Just like always.


2. I'm going to count that last one, and this one too.


3. I told EwokGirl that some chick came by her desk to see her yesterday. I told her that she had brown hair and smiled a lot. This wasn't good enough for EwokGirl. Some people are just never satisfied. I mean, what does she want, the girl's name or something?


4. SassyGirl called me last night and told me that Rich O's had reduced the seating in the living room area by getting new, smaller, furniture. This strikes me as a wonderful idea. Not.


5. My surprisaphobia will peak this weekend, and then hopefully fade back to normal after that.


6. Is there a minimum number of these I'm supposed to do?


7. I'm going to count that one too, and this one. So ha ha.


8. This weekend is the start of Gravity Head at Rich O's, and I have to work. Just like I had to work in December when Saturnalia started.


9. I've got like eight hours of American Idol on my TiVo that I haven't watched yet.


10. I think that's it.

I'd normally just blame EwokGirl for this, but I'm sure that the fire drill we had at work yesterday morning had something to do with it.

She's right, of course.

I sometimes wonder what I'm doing here.

I mean, I know why I started doing this. I started doing this just because I wanted to keep an online diary. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Nothing interesting.

But sometime over the past couple of years my reason evolved into something else. Something much more difficult. Something much more rewarding.

At some point I went from wanting to write, to wanting to be a writer. Every now and then I feel like I manage that feat, but not as often as I'd like. And certainly never without some emotion behind it, fueling the words.

So I let my feelings start to flow again, and I wait for inspiration. Beyond that, I wait for new inspiration. And I get nothing but the same old crap that I've already rehashed so often that even I'm bored with it.

And this makes me wonder. It makes me wonder what I'm doing here.

This is a BaggyDraggs.

In four minutes, I'll have gone another birthday without a greeting from her.

It astonishes me that I somehow manage to be surprised by this.

Again.

I'd actually been hoping to leave work early today, because of my birthday.

But nooooooooooooooooooo!

We had a 1.5 hour meeting that magically turned into a 3 hour meeting, so I didn't get to leave until normal time.

After work I went by Rich O's to see SassyGirl, who I didn't get to see over the weekend at my pre-birthday thingy because she had to work.

I had a couple glasses of t Smisje Wostyntje Mustard Ale (74).

I got a Happy Birthday text message from HatGirl!

Yay!

And then, HatGirl called me!

Double-Yay!

And then, after a while, HatGirl came into Rich O's.

Triple-Yay!

We didn't talk much though, and she left rather abruptly.

I finished her Guinness (1097).

Then I went to Pizza Hut and then I called HatGirl to make sure she wasn't too pissed at me (To be fair, I had warned her that my recent reversion would turn me into a dick.) and then I came home.

Happy Birthday to me!

Okay, so the house in the lower left is mine, and the house in the upper left - two houses up from me - that house isn't there any more.

Pretty messed up.

Weird.

The house two houses down from me is burning.

At least that's what we all assume. The six fire trucks and the four police cars are sort of a dead giveaway. They've blocked off the street at my driveway, and again about a mile down the road, so you can't actually see any fire. A couple of hours ago the smoke was impressive though.

So I went down to Buckhead's for my birthday dinner. I was alone, but I kinda had a point to make, so I did.

With my meal I had some Newcastle (1854).

I came home to find nothing changed except that there's no more smoke. All of the fire trucks are still there, and the road is still blocked off. I walked out and asked the cop in front of my driveway if everyone got out okay, and he said that they did, so that's good. I don't know those people but their cat used to come and eat some of Spook's food back when Spook was alive.

Just a couple of things that I didn't write about already.

In December, when I was in Las Vegas, My friend Eric and his wife were, unbeknownst to me, also in Las Vegas. This sucks that they were there and I didn't know about it. It would have been so much fun to hang out and do touristy stuff with them!

One of the nice things about this, um, emotional reversion I've done is that not much can really bother me. It's given me a nice sense of perspective. Stuff that a couple of weeks ago would have pissed me off or made me sad - it is all nothing when I compare it to what I've already been though, and what I'm going through again.

So, world, throw your worst at me, you fucker. I can take it.

Having said that, it is a little annoying how I continue to find myself attracted to women that are inappropriate or unavailable. This is a defense mechanism that I'd really like to shake off.

I guess that's it.

(Part two)

Up to this point, we'd all still been sitting in the red room, but maintaining watchful eyes for any other seats to open up. I still didn't know who was going to show up, and the red room - even with both tables - will hold about ten people and that's it.

Once a couple of strangers (ha ha, take that, FutureDude!) left the island we moved there and took advantage of the more compact grouping to bullshit about various fluff.

I showed everyone my new rock.

My next beer was a yummy Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (510), which has I guess switched to twelve-ounce bottles for now. I actually had two more of these (534).

At one point my friend Eric came in. I hadn't seen him in like a million years. His wife had to stay home with a sick child, so Eric ended up completing the attendee list. So, to review:

1. My lovely self


2. SpoonsGirl


3. SpoonsGirl's husband SirTalksALot


4. My sister Dina


5. Dina's Fiance Kenny


6. My oldest friend Eric

1. MusicalHippyDude


2. GlassesGirl


3. HotRedHead


4. This other hot girl that turned out to have the worst taste in ex-husbands I've ever seen

1. HatGirl


2. LuckyFucker


3. SassyGirl


4. SassyBoy


5. TacoBell


6. SpikeBoy


7. My cousin Jeff


8. DooRagGirl

Eventually, as nights tend to do, this one wound down. Eventually it was just me and Eric. I had myself a half-pint of Guinness (1092). We were joined, at various intervals, by NoNicknameDude and ElPresidente and FirstLady, though they were there for their own reasons - not for my pre-birthday thingy.

Several people wanted to go over to Jack's once Rich O's closed. Eric was one of those people, and because it's so rare to see Eric anymore I agreed to go as long as nobody tried to force me to drink shots.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: There's still only one person one Earth that I'll do shots for, and her name is Holly, and she wasn't there last night. I miss Holly.)

So Eric and I and NoNicknameDude and HotRedHead all went over to Jack's. I had a couple of Diet Cokes, and we played a few games of pool. We ended up closing the place down. I'd planned on going to White Castle but the temperature was in the single digits so I came straight home instead.

One of the more unpleasant, but not at all unexpected, repercussions of having friends and family gather at Rich O's for an occasion like last night's pre-birthday thingy is that I'm roped into being the beer guru for the evening. At least for those VPs in the group that are, as Roger would say, flavor-impaired.

Of course, I'm the logical choice for this assignment, but that doesn't mean that I have to enjoy it.

So, first things first. DooRagGirl left me a voicemail at about 6:00, suggesting that I call Rich O's and tell them how many people I was expecting and ask them to reserve some seating for me. I didn't do that because (a) I didn't know how many people would be there, and (b) To ask for reserved seats, in last-minute fashion, for a Saturday night, in that ever-shrinking smoking section, well it's just not something I'd do. I may be evil, but I'm not an asshole.

I arrived at about 7:30, sporting my new WTF? t-shirt that RockGirl had included in my birthday package. It did shrink quite nicely, RockGirl. Anyway, the only people from my group there were SpoonsGirl and her husband, who were sitting in the red room. I was immediately asked to choose a beer for SpoonsGirl that was not bitter, or hoppy, are those the same thing?

Having my priorities in order, I went up to the end of the bar to order myself a beer first. ActualGeorge was sitting there, and we talked for a bit. I mentioned that it was my pre-birthday thingy, and that there were an awful lot of strangers clogging up the living room area. This is my standard gripe lately, as you all probably know, but for whatever reason FutureDude decided to give me shit about it. He told me that those people were there all the time, and that it pissed him off when I called people strangers. Gee, I wonder how he'd have felt if I'd called them assholes or fuckers like I usually do. My definition of a stranger is a pretty basic one: If I've never seen them before in my life, then guess what? They're strangers.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Also, if you crowd into the living room area, and you pile several hundred coats onto the throne, thereby eliminating that seat from the already small number of seats in the place - if, in other words, you don't have enough people to completely take over the area so you use coats to prevent anyone from sitting there and breaking the flow of your little circle-jerk or whatever you're doing - then you most definitely deserve to be called something worse than strangers.)

So, that was just great, FutureDude was on the rag, and I'd managed to piss him off, and I still hadn't even ordered my beer.

Still having my priorities in order, I took care of the biggest problem first. I ordered myself a t Smisje Mustard Ale (54).

By talking to SpoonsGirl and FutureDude, I gathered that she had already asked for a sample of almost everything Rich O's had on tap, and that she was probably about to send FutureDude out to the local liquor store to pick up more stuff to sample, when I came in.

Okay, so the problem wasn't me. Or it wasn't all me. SpoonsGirl was sampling them to death. I pitched a couple of proposals to her - she had already sampled and dismissed them. So I had her try some of my mustard ale and she liked it enough to order her own glass. So, yay! One down.

My sister Dina and her fiancé came in at about this time, and I was once again pressed into service. Dina didn't want to like anything either, but she was eventually, no thanks to me, able to find Lindemann's Peach tolerable enough to drink.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: When trying a new beer, it is sometimes necessary to do more than simply dip your tongue into it. Beer is meant to be experienced, from the aroma through the flavor to the finish. And sometimes it takes more than one drink before the full experience can be appreciated. To dismiss a fine beer like Bell's Kalamazoo Stout after only a token sip, well it just seems wrong to me.)

My next beer was what was left of Dina's Kalamazoo Stout (354).

(To be continued)

I don't know why the picture turned out so small. I guess the guy that took the picture messed something up.

Got out of the shower to the sound of my ringing phone.

It was MisunderstoodGirl!

Yay!

I haven't talked to her since forever. She was sitting at Rich O's talking to a couple of PBDs, and they told her that they were there for my pre-birthday thingy. She won't be able to stay, but she wanted to call and wish me a happy birthday. That was sweet.

Anyway, besides the coolness of hearing from MisunderstoodGirl, there was another thing I got out of that phone call.

There are people that are there already. At 6:00.

I won't get there until after 7:00 myself, so they'll just have to wait.

The other, more general thing I got out of that phone call is kinda scary.

There are going to be people there. To see me.

I used to, back when I was playing pool publicly, I used to enjoy being the center of attention. Now, not so much. Or not at all.

Plus, I've got a mild case of surprisaphobia going on.

I told RockGirl that I should just stay home, but she told me not to be a dork. So I'm of course going.

I'll just keep an eye on the exits, just in case.

It's snowing like a mother fucker right now.

Do mother fuckers really snow?

What am I, a piece of meat?

The bar was pretty crowded last night, but there was an opening at the left end of the bar. I sat and ordered one of those mustard beers that I like so much (44). There was a chick standing at the end of the bar smoking a cigarette, and she kept poking her head around the wall and looking at me.

So after about five minutes of this, the girl stepped two feet to her right, which put her right next to me, and just stared. After a few seconds, which to me seemed more like a million years, she asked me if I was okay.

I told her I was just ducky, and asked her why she wanted to know.

She said that I looked like I was deep in thought.

I told her that I'd be sure and stop that.

We told each other our names, and she began rubbing my arm while we talked for a few more minutes.

When she left to go rejoin her friends in the front area, she told me that it was nice to meet me.

That's what she thinks.

Weird.

The annoying part was that she was standing like a foot away from me, so all I could see of her was her face. She had a pretty face, but I couldn't check out the rest of her without being obvious about it.

Anyway.

I spent the next hour or so just sitting at the bar. I like sitting there sometimes. With my back to crowd, I can let my imagination out to play for a bit, and travel back to a time when Rich O's was a much happier place for me. To a time when she was there. It's a nice feeling.

WomanRepellant came in and took the seat next to me, and we talked for a bit.

I had a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (315).

After a half-hour or so, I noticed that there were about twenty people completely surrounding me. They were all talking to WomanRepellant. I don't like being closed in, so I picked up my shit and moved over to the throne.

Then, some people came and sat around me and started yakking, so I picked up my shit and went and sat at the island.

I had another Bell's (335), and eventually made my way back to the throne where I talked for a bit with FutureDude and ExBartender.

Came home a little before midnight and shot pool for a while.

I got a PM today, basically telling me that whoever it was liked me better when I'd been drinking because, and I'll go ahead and quote here, "You write much more good stuff when you have dranked alot and your drunk."

Okay, so I'll be a nice guy and ignore the obvious problems with this statement, and I'll instead focus on the underlying message.

Such as it is.

You, whoever you are, you are right, for the most part. I do write better when I've been drinking. I know this, and anyone that's been reading me for any length of time knows this. When I've been drinking, words flow out of me much more easily. When I've been drinking, my inhibitions are either lessened or completely neutered. When I've been drinking, what I write is always a lot closer to what I want to write than it would be otherwise.

So, I have no problem with anyone thinking that I write better when I've been drinking. Hell, I agree with them when they say that.

What I have a problem with, what I take slight umbrage with, what I simply must disagree with, is that I write better when I'm drunk.

The problem I have is this: I've never written a single word here when I was drunk.

The reason for this is simple. I don't get drunk. I am waaaaaaaay too much of a lightweight to ever get drunk, and on those very very rare occasions that I do drink too much, I find myself too busy trying to cope with the swirling and spinning world around me to even consider writing anything.

So there.

And thanks for reading.

I'm no longer upside-down on my sleep schedule. I managed to get back to normal last night. That's a good thing because I wanted to be able to go out tonight and tomorrow night.

Speaking of tomorrow, some people are supposed to go to Rich O's to pre-celebrate my birthday. I'm oddly nervous about this, as my family and my friends do not often interact. Maybe I should just stay home and let everybody sit around Rich O's and tell embarrassing stories about me.

I'm having a hard time deciding where I want to go for my Easter trip this year. I'm pretty much sticking with East coast cities, but if I want to arrive at a decent hour on Friday, and get home at a reasonable hour on Sunday, well it just doesn't seem to be possible. Maybe I'll just drive to Cleveland instead. Or St. Louis. But I'd really rather choose someplace I have to fly to. I dunno.

Meanwhile.

This is one thing that is certainly not my fault. I am, for once, not the bad guy. So people really need to stop looking at me like that.

That's right, suckers! I got a new rock for my birthday! And this one I get to keep!

So, ha ha!

This entry brought to you by:

Zinnebir XMas (25)

(bottle) The aroma was almost overpowering at first, but after that it was difficult to even detect. The flavor was mild and tasty. It was kind of strange to pull a cork from a bottle of beer and find something this generic inside. Good, but not great.

Really, I'm not.

I did this to myself, on purpose, with full awareness of what it was going to do to my mood. I knew what was going to happen, and I did it anyway. For several reasons. Eight or so that I've mentioned publicly, and at least one that I've kept private. I did it because it was necessary.

So I'm not complaining.

Just observing.

Observing that this can, and has, picked up exactly where it left off. I sort of thought that it might have faded a little bit after so many months. I sort of thought that, like a two-liter bottle of Coke, that things might have gone a little flat despite being so tightly capped.

Didn't happen.

The only thing that's different, the only thing that's different this time is that I seem to be able to withstand it better than I did before.

Which is, of course, not saying much, because before I couldn't withstand it at all. Because before, it was killing me.

Now, I think I just might survive. Whatever that means. However I might define who I am. What I am.

Lonely.

Heartbroken.

Empty.

Pussy.

But you know, that's okay. It's nice to feel something again. It's nice to just let things wash over me again. It's nice to just let these emotions flow through me and dictate my moods. It takes all the pressure off my brain when I let my heart run things for a while.

I'd thought that, once I'd proven my point, that I'd put those corks back in. I'd thought that, once I'd reassured myself that what was truly important to me hadn't changed one fucking bit, that I'd bottle these feelings back up and get on with my life again.

And therein lay the problem with my great plan. There might not be a life to get on with.

I once wrote these words:

For he died in the depths, and he was reborn in the depths. Without their cold embrace he cannot exist.

You know what? I miss her. I have no reasonable rationale for still missing her after all this time. I have no justifiable excuse for what happened to me when she left. I have no logical explanation for how these feelings can still flow through me so strongly.

And right now, right now I don't want any of those things.

Right now, I just want to lie back, and remember, and imagine, and wish, and smile, and hope, and cry, and long, and laugh, and wait, and dread, and hurt, and love.

What's a little insomnia if it gives me all that? That's a pretty small price to pay, if you ask me.

Well, I guess I'm sleeping better. I'm certainly sleeping more. Turning my schedule upside-down has allowed me to sleep when I want and/or need it the most - right after work. And, since I have TiVo, I'm not missing any of my favorite shows.

So the falling asleep problem has been eased quite a bit. The other problem, the waking up because a mouse farts somewhere outside problem is still there, and that is probably keeping me from enjoying the really deep sleep that I need.

Because of that, I'm spending a lot more time in REM sleep than normal. More dreams, and more weird dreams.

I was in my bed and I suspected that I might be dreaming, so I stuck my hand through the wall to make sure. I was indeed dreaming.

Like I usually do, I took off flying through the window and out into the world. Usually I'll just zoom around the neighborhood for a while, but this time I decided to go straight up. I went up until my house was nothing but a dot, and I hit my head on something.

The sky wasn't really the sky. It was like in the movie the Truman Show where it was just a painted dome.

I tried several times to pass through that dome, but it just wasn't working. This disturbed me a lot. My ability to pass through solid objects is one that I've spent a lot of time perfecting, and it's given me an awful lot of freedom. So I became angry, and started scratching at the ceiling, and I managed to dig into it a little.

Encouraged by this, I started ripping at the drywall and eventually had a fairly large section of it removed. Next there was a very thick layer of insulation to tear away, and after that there was a grating to pry loose.

Finally, I had a hole big enough to get through. I climbed up through the hole, and it was like being above a suspended ceiling. There was ductwork and machinery all over the place. There was no room to stand up, so I just started crawling. Eventually I reached another wall. Once again, I couldn't simply pass through this wall, so I had to kick away at this grating until it fell away.

I crawled through the new hole, and I fell into the snow.

Snow?

I found myself in a large open field, laying in about a foot of snow. There were trees off in the distance. It was pretty damn cold. I stood up and turned around to check out the hole I'd just come through.

On a railroad flatcar, there were a dozen or so suitcases. The carry-on kind with wheels and extendable handles. At the base of the suitcase nearest to me was a small hole, no bigger than my fist. I knew that this was the hole I'd just come out of. I also knew that there was no way I was going to be able to fit back through it.

A small part of my brain also registered that my entire world was apparently contained in a suitcase on a railroad flatcar in a snowy field in some kind of uber-universe, but that wasn't important at the time. What was important was that it was cold and I just wanted to get to someplace warm.

There was a passenger car in front of the flatcar, and a bunch of people got off. Nobody would pay any attention to me except this one guard. When I told him that I'd gotten there by accident, he asked me where I was from.

"Earth," I said. Then I added, "The year 2006."

So the guard nodded and pointed to a little shack off in the distance. He told me to go there and warm up, and somebody would stop by to help me later.

I went over to the shack, and I opened the door.

It was my bedroom.

I went in and crawled into bed, and I knew that I'd never really left.

It was really a riveting dream to be in the middle of. I remember thinking that they should make a movie out of it.

Not much of an entry tonight. It's mainly notable because I hadn't seen SassyGirl in about a million years.

Since I've turned my sleep schedule upside down, getting to Rich O's right after work meant getting there right at my bedtime. So I was pretty tired.

I had myself a t Smisje Mustard Ale (34) and then a half-pint of Flying Dog K-9 Cruiser (44). I'm really liking both beers, so they'll be gone soon.

I got a little Valentine's donut coupon from SassyBoy. This was the only thing I got this year except for an e-card from one of my readers that was quite sweet.

Anyway, we sat around and talked to this chick from Cincy that had made the drive to Rich O's just to buy some Dogfish Head beer that I've never heard of.

Then I came home and went to sleep.

Sleep. What a concept.

Everybody's knocking Valentine's Day.

It's The Big Thing, being all noncommercial and shit. Plus, some people think that they're being nonconformists by ripping on this holiday, so that makes them feel special.

Well, I just want to say, even though I haven't felt this way every year, I just want to say that I wish I had a special someone with whom I could exchange little tokens of affection and maybe take out to a nice dinner.

So what if it's become a Hallmark holiday? That doesn't erase its underlying message. That doesn't mean you have to stop observing it. That doesn't have to mean that your feelings for that special person are superficial as well.

Get over yourselves with your jadedness and your superiority.

I wish I had someone to share this day with, and I bet most of you, that don't already have someone, I bet most of you do as well.

Because (a) I was bored, and (b) I really appreciate the response these things get, I've gone and put all of my comics on a single page.

I still have some tweaking to do though.

Tonight I'm trying something new to get through this insomnia bout.

Everybody at work keeps telling me all of these drugs I should take, but I really don't want to become reliant on pills to sleep. I came very close to becoming addicted to sleeping pills back when I was going through my divorce, and I don't want to do it again.

EwokGirl, who knows me pretty well for a coworker, had the only sensible suggestion: Beer.

But that won't work either, because (a) It carries the same risk of addiction, and (b) Alcohol has never really made me sleepy because I'm too much of a lightweight to drink enough of it.

So tonight, like I said, I'm trying something different.

I came straight home after work, and I went to bed.

I slept for six hours. That's the most I've had in any one day since last Tuesday morning.

Now I'll just stay up until after work tomorrow, and see what happens.

I knew that I'd write something tonight.

I didn't have any idea what it would be, but I figured it would be something stupid, as usual.

I'm drinking this weird Jolly Pumpkin Firefly beer, and I'm jamming to Neela's radio station, and I've got my cat Nugget on my lap.

I had a realization.

I'm in a good mood.

But it's not the existence of this mood that's got my fingers tap-tap-tapping at my keyboard.

Nope, it's that I've realized, for about the millionth time, that every silver lining has a dark cloud.

When I'm happy, I want somebody to share it with. And there's nobody.

That'll teach me to be happy. It's a self-defeating mood for me.

Everybody go here and dance with Neela!

I always feel a little uncomfortable, walking into Hooters. I can't get two feet inside the door before some young hottie smiles at me and checks me out and welcomes me. So yeah, it's just like every other place I ever go in my life - except for those orange shorts.

Those orange shorts really make me feel funny in my special place. They need to come off, I say.

The other reason I don't feel comfortable at Hooters is that I like to consider myself a gentleman, and I know that I'll find myself staring. Staring is rude, but I know I'll do it anyway. I'll try to be discreet about it, but I'll still know even if none of the girls know. At Hooters I'm a dirty old man.

Speaking of dirty old men, I hadn't seen my cousin Jeff in a while, so I left my house extra early (like 5:30) so I could swing by Hooters and grab some dinner and catch up with him for a bit.

Everybody - all of you reading this - should get to know Jeff. Everybody loves Jeff. He is one of the world's truly great people.

And, last night, he was one of the world's truly drunk people.

So I had my dinner of a fantastic mushroom and cheese burger and inedible cold and stale french fries, and Jeff and I bullshitted for a couple of hours. The waitress was unfortunately named. There's a lot of that going around lately, but she understood my desire for an unchilled glass, so I decided to forgive her parents for choosing that name. Also, they probably didn't do it to spite me and make me feel sad twenty years later. Probably.

One of the nice things about Hooters, besides Jeff being there and having the opportunity to imagine the girls without their shorts, is that they carry Newcastle on tap.

I had four of the things (1824). In two hours. That's a lot of beer for me, but Newcastle is a fairly safe beer, and it really is quite yummy. No matter what certain owners of certain bars like to think. Hey, I should have put Newcastle on my list for DaveFest!

Jeff, of course, kept up with me easily. Plus he'd already been there for probably several hours. I don't know how he does it. It's like we average each other out. I get to be the lightweight and he gets to drink all he wants and never get sick. He gets to have Hooters girls fawn all over him and I get - well, I think we know what I get.

There was no way I was staying there all night long. UnfortunatelyNamedHootersGirl's top had developed this annoying habit of rising up and exposing her belly, and I'd developed an annoying habit of looking at her belly. So she kept catching me, then looking me right in the eyes and making a big show out of pulling her shirt back down. Like nobody had ever looked at her before I came in with my evilness and my lecherous thoughts.

Oh yeah, at one point I tried to call SassyGirl to ask her if she was going to be pissed at me forever and ever. But SassyBoy answered the phone. He was drunk as shit. I guess they're in West Virginia for some reason (not the wedding that we'd talked about a while back) and that was probably why SassyGirl hadn't been returning any of my calls. Spotty cell phone coverage in West Virginia.

After I got off the phone I told Jeff that I been *gasp* talking with an actual gay guy, and wasn't he worried that the gay cooties would travel through my phone and land on him and make him gay?

He didn't think it was very funny. Homophobia is really Jeff's only problem as a human being. He thinks they're all going to rape him and give him the gay.

I left Hooters at about 8:00. Jeff stayed, as I'd known he would. The girls probably fed him grapes all night or something. Everybody loves Jeff.

Hey! Guess where I went next! Guess guess guess!

Okay, I'll tell you. I went to Rich O's.

The place was about half full. All strangers of course. I ordered a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout and stood at the end of the bar and thought about how much prettier the staff at Hooters was.

After a while, the dude that looks like my grandfather left the end of the bar so I went over there and sat. I took some notes.

8:30
No points, I think. Maybe just half a point.

8:38
Who are all these people and what are they doing in my bar?

8:40
I think that my theory was correct, and that my experiment has been successful. I think.

8:45
It's funny how people change, and when they do, it's usually for the worse. Except me of course. I got better.

8:48
This chick to my left used to be a brewmaster over in Louisville. Her beers sucked, I thought.

8:50
Should I be happy about that? I think so. It's like going back to your old neighborhood. There's all this new construction and everything's different. You decide that it sucks, but then you see that one store that's still there, and it suddenly feels like home again.

8:51
ActualGeorge is here!

8:59
I got a Diet Coke. I have to pace myself a little because some friends are coming.

9:07
Piss time.

9:08
Wow, that girl just eye-fucked me. I feel violated. In a good way.

After that, HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in, so I quit writing in my little book. DooRagGirl came in and we all moved over to the island. HatGirl has cute new glasses and a cute new hat. A tough test for my theory, but it withstood that test, I'm happy to say.

Let's see. Eventually the strangers left the living room area so we all went over there. I ordered myself a Guinness (1082).

I'm sure that we all talked about stuff, but I don't remember a lot of it. Just normal stuff I guess. I remember thanking HatGirl for coming in even though I'd been such a moody jerk the last time she'd seen me.

My last beer was a Smithwick's (686).

So, it was a long night, starting at around 6:00, and ending at maybe 12:00. A long night, but a good one.

Nice and relaxing.

"Dave, cheer the fuck up."

She'll say those words, and she'll look at me with her head tilted a little bit to the right. Maybe she'll think that having her head tilted like that will give her the best view of my transformation. My emergence from melancholy to effervescence, all because of the magic of her words.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" I'll ask, my words dripping with sarcasm. "Just cheer the fuck up, huh? Damn. I've been such a fool all this time. It's so clear to me now."

"I'm just trying to help," she'll protest.

I'll sigh a little. "No you're not," I'll say. "You're not trying to help me at all. You're just hoping that I'll cheer up so you won't feel so guilty."

"Why should I feel guilty?" she'll demand to know. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't say that you should feel guilty. I just said that you do." My voice will soften a little. "And you're right, you didn't do anything wrong."

"And I don't feel guilty either," she'll say.

"Yes you do," I'll say. "You wouldn't be here otherwise. You'd be over there with those assholes. They'd be more than happy to flash their fake smiles and laugh their phony laughs for you. You know that you'd feel comfortable with them, but you came to me instead."

"How come you're such an expert on what I'm feeling?" she'll ask. "Maybe I'm just here because I care about you."

"That's pretty convenient, don't you think? You find yourself in the same room with me and all of a sudden you decide to care about what I'm feeling? I don't buy it."

"What happened to you?" she'll ask. "I thought we were friends."

I'll sigh again. "I thought so too, once."

"And what about now?"

"Now, I don't think so," I'll say. "Now I don't think we're anything."

"Doesn't that bother you?" she'll want to know.

"More than words could ever say," I'll respond. "But it's the way it has to be."

"If that's the way you want it..." She'll get up to leave.

I'll reach out and put my hand on her arm. "That's not what I said."

"What is it you want from me?" she'll ask. She won't sit back down.

"It doesn't matter what I want," I'll answer. "It never has mattered what I want."

"Well what about what I want?" she'll whisper.

"Just tell me," I'll say.

"I want you to cheer the fuck up."

Then she'll go over to where the assholes are sitting. She'll tell them that she tried to cheer me up. And they'll flash their fake smiles and laugh their phony laughs, and she'll feel comfortable with them.

Sometimes I think I should stop these beer reports. They're all so damn similar. As in boring.

But I guess I'll keep writing them. They at least let people know that I'm somewhat alive and that I have something of a social life.

My surprisaphobia was really acting up last night. Probably just from lack of sleep. I got to Rich O's at about 8:30. The place was about half full. For a Friday night, half-full is flipping wonderful to me.

So I sat on the loveseat and I ordered a Flying Dog K-9 Cruiser (34). After about 10 seconds the PBDs sitting around me tried to talk to me, so I got up and moved to the bar.

I was enjoying myself, reading some fiction that had won awards in a local newspaper's contest, when this dude decided to stand right behind me. I mean right behind me. I got the impression that the fucker wanted to sit in one of the two empty stools, but I didn't ask. What I did was pick up my shit again and move over to the recently-vacated island.

My next beer was a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (295). Some dude came over and sat on the other side of the island, but he didn't try to talk to me, so I let him live.

After a while, WomanRepellant came in, so I talked to him. See, I do talk to people sometimes.

For some reason, a million people all crowded around the island and started yapping at each other, so I picked up my shit and went over and sat on the sofa.

I ordered another Bell's, but I only drank a little bit of it (300). I guess lack of sleep is messing with my ability to drink, making me even more of a lightweight than I normally am.

I went to Wal-Mart and bought some CDs and DVDs, then I went to White Castle and came home.

If anyone had seen me, back then, I know exactly what they'd have wondered.

What the hell is Dave doing in Plattsmouth?

That confusion might well have been universal, for I certainly felt it myself. And, after me and my anonymous questioner, who was there? Who else mattered?

The Platte River makes its way Eastward through Nebraska, beginning who knows or cares where, and ending by dumping itself into the Missouri River. Near that junction is a small town called Plattsmouth.

The Platte is not much of a river. Wide enough, to be sure, but very shallow. I've been told that anyone with a sturdy enough four-wheel-drive vehicle, and sufficient cojones, can simply drive across the thing. Not that I'd ever attempt such a feat. Not me. I'd be the guy that failed, and that somehow got washed away by that sluggish yet steady flow.

So, not much of a river, and that town named after its mouth was not much of a town. Two main streets - three if you drank enough beer and squinted at the map just right.

At the corner of those two streets was a grocery store, and that grocery store was where I found myself one night back in 1987.

I had a reason for being there, you see. Two reasons, actually. The two most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen in my life. To be honest, the two most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, before or since.

Those eyes belonged to a girl, of course. A girl that I'm quite tempted to name right here and right now. But I won't. If she reads this, then she'll know that it's her in this story. If anyone else reads this, they won't care what her name was. Her name was important to me, and I'm assuming that it was important to her, but to everyone else it really doesn't matter.

What matters is that she was as beautiful as any movie star, and that she had eyes that were beyond description.

I'd met her a few weeks earlier, at a bar up near the base where I was stationed. We'd talked for a bit - I don't remember what we'd talked about. Probably just mundane bullshit. But at one point during the evening, she'd told me where she worked. A little grocery store in a little town called Plattsmouth.

I knew nothing of her work schedule, but fate smiled upon me that night. I entered the store and there she was, working one of the registers. I guess, if she hadn't been there, I'd have just gone back home.

She recognized me, and she took a break from her duties to walk and talk with me while I pretended to shop.

I paused for a while at the greeting card stand, and I searched for the card that I wanted.

She asked me if she could help me find what I was looking for.

So I said yes of course she could help. As a woman she would be the ideal person to pick out the card I was looking for. I told her that I'd met a girl. A girl with the most amazing eyes I'd ever seen. I told her that I didn't know the girl at all, but that I wanted to get her a card. Nothing that would freak her out. Something sweet. Something that would make it very clear that I was very interested in getting to know her better.

I tried to read her face as she listened to all this, but I couldn't read a thing. I couldn't get past her eyes.

Those damn brown eyes.

She did pick out a card for me, and when I opened it up and read what was inside I knew that it was the perfect card for the occasion.

She went back to her register, and I followed. I paid cash for the card and for the random crap I'd thrown into my cart, and I asked to borrow a pen.

I wish I could remember what I wrote. Probably some drivel. The point of what I wrote, the last sentence that I wrote, was this:

I told you I could be romantic.

---

A few months later I was inside her, and I told her that I loved her.

---

A few years later I saw her at a gas station. She'd aged a lot, as had I. She was married, with a kid or two I think. I was trying to rebuild a life with my ex-wife. We exchanged pleasantries as we pumped gas into our cars, and that was it.

---

There was a time when I thought she was the love of my life. Maybe, back then, she really was. I think about her now, and I don't remember much about her. What she was like as a person. What she was like in bed. What she possibly saw in me.

What I remember, what I remember are those eyes.

Those damn brown eyes.

They haunt me sometimes.

I guess SassyGirl is mad at me. I didn't go to their Gay Night thingy on Monday because I was too tired. Haven't been able to get in touch with her since. So of course I assume that she's pissed instead of simply working.

Thursday evening I went to Rich O's. It's pretty rare for me to go out on a Thursday, or any work night for that matter, but I'm supposed to work at 6:00 AM Sunday morning so I figure that Saturday night will be a bust and I made up for it Thursday.

Anyway, there was nobody I knew there. I sat on the loveseat and had myself a yummy Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (255) and listened to a couple of guys talk about computers. Neither of them knew the slightest thing about them. I got a kick out of it for some reason.

Also one of them was drinking three different beers at once. I shit you not. He had three half-pints in front of him, each with a different beer. He'd take a sip out of one, then the next, then the next. Very strange.

Once those dipshits left I moved over to the throne and read my stupid horoscope from Free Will Astrology:

Happy Valentine Daze, Pisces! Borrowing the words of poet Pablo Neruda, I've prepared a love note for you to use as your own. Feel free to give these words to the person whose destiny needs to be woven more closely together with yours.

I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.

I know writing is bad when even I can do better. But of course I won't bother because there's nobody. Waaaaaah!

Anyway.

This dude that looks like my cousin Robbie came over and we bullshitted for the rest of the time I was there.

I had another pint of the stout (275) and finished up with a glass of the Wostyntje Mustard Ale (24). It's pretty good. I think I like weird beers. I was one of the only people that liked that Hitachino ricey stuff when it was on tap.

I really don't want to go to Rich O's tonight. Which of course means that I'm probably going to Rich O's tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might, I wish I was able to fucking write.

And not just any old drivel. I wish I was able to write something - something good. Something profound and memorable and thought-provoking.

Something worthy of the thoughts that went through my head tonight.

I sat, and I watched the door, and I experienced hope.

Not terror. Not paranoia. Not disgust. Not even apathy.

Nope. I experienced hope of all things.

It doesn't matter that my hope was misdirected, unwarranted, ill-conceived, baseless, unreal, unfounded, inordinate, and maybe even stupid. It doesn't matter that the thing that I hoped for did not happen.

None of that matters.

What matters, what fucking matters, is that I'm still capable of feeling hope at all.

I would not have thought it was possible.

I am not, as it turns out, completely dead inside. I am not, contrary to popular belief, incapable of having a single solitary optimistic thought. I am not, no matter what else you might have read or heard or deduced or even simply felt, I am not a lost cause.

So, please, don't give up on me. Don't write me off. Don't turn away. Certainly, don't run away.

Because if I, after everything I've been through - if I can still experience hope, then anything is possible.

It's fucking amazing.

I wish I could write words to describe it.

I wish I may, I wish I might.

I wish, now more than ever before since all this shit started, I wish I could write.

I don't really have much to say. I just kinda want to write something while I wait for my shirt to dewrinkle in the dryer.

Insomnia has taken over my life. It's cost me a day and a half of vacation since yesterday afternoon, and I'm pissed about that because they're my last vacation days until May. Now all I've got left is a half day, and what am I supposed to do with that?

This morning I went in to see my doctor about my inability to sleep. He of course prescribed me some pills that will supposedly help me to relax. I don't think I'm going to bother getting the prescription filled though. I don't want to medicate my problems away.

That's beer's job.

Anyway, I managed to solve one of the mysteries that's been plaguing me for a couple of days. One of my friends had the audacity to (a) live in Phoenix and (b) send me an anonymous message. So I freaked out a little, but that mystery has, like I said, been solved.

The other mystery may remain unsolved for a while, but you never know. Once my shirt dewrinkles I'm going to go do a little sleuthing.

One simple, stupid thing. That's all I asked her for. That's all I'd ever asked her for. I asked her to not leave, again, without giving me a chance to say goodbye. Again.

I asked, and she agreed.

I reminded her over the phone the next day, and she agreed. Again.

I actually fucking believed her.

That was the last time I ever spoke to her, heard her voice. Two days later she was gone. Again. There was no goodbye. Again.

Was she fucking with me all along? Did she ever have any intention of granting me that one simple thing that would have lifted my spirits to heights I'd been unable to even imagine a week earlier? Was it a conscious decision? Was she laughing at me the entire time?

When she planned out her trip, did she specifically write Crush Dave. Again. on her calendar and circle the date? Did she look forward to that day when I'd realize what had happened, even more than she looked forward to seeing her friends and family, and visiting her old hangouts? Is her only regret that she couldn't be there to see me finally crumble? To shit on me one last time?

That was the first thing I ever asked of her. I thought it would also be the last thing, but it wasn't.

The last thing was six months later, when she showed up. Again. I ran out the door, and I sent her a text message, asking her to leave me alone.

Because I'm on this poll again over at Ella's journal, I figured that I'd post some pictures.

I also owe you an evil update.

So I'll kill both birds with one stone.

I'm all efficient and shit.

Tonight I was downstairs making a little practice video for myself, and when I was finish with that, I took advantage of the camera and the lighting to check out my evilness.

I guess I'll keep it for a while longer. It's still got some filling in to do.

These are naught but echoes of screams from long ago. There is no need for concern. I've simply paused to listen to them one last time before they fade away forever.

I think.

...to be allergic to sleep?

I wonder, what did she see when her eyes met mine, that night last Spring?

It was only for a second, a half a second maybe. She'd walked in the door, her eyes scanned the room, and her eyes met mine.

When, at that moment, when she looked into my eyes for the first time in months, did she see anything?

Did she see that I was holding my breath? That I was fighting back tears? That my heart had stopped beating? Did she see the horrible truth that I myself had only realized two seconds earlier?

Did it frighten her? Is that why she let her gaze continue sweeping the room, like I wasn't even there? Is that why she sought out and greeted those people that had spent the past six months making fun of her, while I sat stunned both by my own reaction to her presence and by her lack of reaction to mine?

Did she see something in my eyes? Did it frighten her?

Because I saw nothing in hers, and that frightened the fuck out of me.

It will be better this time. This time, I'll be able to weather the storm. This time, I will not be washed away.

I still manage to hold on to a smidgen of hope that this can all end well. Or end badly. I don't care as long as it fucking ends. If I continue to ignore it, and simply keep it bottled up, then it will be with me forever.

I'm becoming worried that I may be about to be tested again. I'd like to be at least a little bit prepared for that test. I'll probably still fail, but maybe not quite as spectacularly.

I was getting a little bit too complacent. I was patting myself on the back a little bit too much. Now, if I can do it again, then I might be justified in feeling a little smug.

Sometimes I just think that this is the way things are suposed to be, and that fighting and ignoring the issue is useless.

I'd rather face one large problem, even a huge problem, than a thousand tiny nuisances.

I just think it would be better for everyone around me if I turn my anger back where it belongs for a while. Hating everyone and everything that I come in contact with, while loads of fun, just isn't a fair way to handle things. Refocusing my anger and disappointment back to myself, where it belongs, is the right thing to do at this time.

I'm not, as it turns out, a complete robot. That's good news I suppose. Too bad it takes totally fucked up shit happening to get me to realize it.

And on a completely unrelated topic...

For the record, I want to state that this is a horrible, terrible, absolutely flat-out bad idea. Not quite as bad as going to that damn concert was, but still, just incredibly bad.

This will not end well.

Okay, normal insomnia is bad enough, but this is sooooooooo much worse than normal insomnia.

I laid in bed, and for some reason, this stupid song got stuck in my head.

Now it won't leave.

We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no friends of mine
I say, we can go where we want to
A place where they will never find
And we can act like we come from out of this world
Leave the real one far behind
And we can dance

I say, we can dance, we can dance
Everything out of control
We can dance, we can dance
We're doing it from wall to wall
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody look at your hands
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody takin' the cha-a-a-ance

Safety dance
Is it safe to dance
Is it safe to dance

(response to message)

Welcome back.

I don't know why it happened. I really don't.

A combination of alcohol, and frustration over unrelated things, and annoyance about people that should not matter to me but still manage to do so - all of these factors and more combined to cause me to shrink back from the world bearing down on me. Caused me to seek comfort in the familiar and steady thoughts and feelings that I turned my back on so many months ago.

I don't know why it happened last night, and not at any other time over the last few months. I do know, however, that I kind of like it.

Like an animal raised in captivity, when I became too afraid of the opportunities and obstacles presented by my newfound freedom, I ran back into the comfort and safety of my cage.

But it's okay. I feel safe in here. I feel like myself in here. In here, everything is perfectly clear. All of my hopes and dreams and desires, in here they're all the same. There are no wrong choices in here. There are no choices at all.

And the important thing, the most important thing, is that the cage door is unlocked. I can come and go as I please.

I think I might stay here for a while though. Freedom is scary. Freedom is frustrating. Freedom is exhausting.

(Transcribed from notes I took as the evening progressed. This is the lazy way to make an entry, I know.)

9:15
I arrive. The living room area is full of strangers. The bar is full of PBDs. I sit in the red room and make small talk with CoffeeDude. Mostly about DaveFest. I order myself an NABC Community Dark (200). I'm thinking that tonight might end up being more about the quantity than the quality of the beer. Not that there's anything wrong with the Community Dark.

9:19
I miss out on everything when I sit back here.

9:20
CoffeeDude says that a bunch of them are going to Steinert's to listen to some band later. He's thinking that I might want to come. I'm thinking that it will be nice when some of these people clear out of here.

9:25
If the idiots leave the living room area then I'll probably move over there, but I don't know why.

9:26
I had a dream today where she showed up as a blonde. She was hot as a blonde.

9:28
I think I'll write an entry about what I said vs. what I meant and/or didn't say. For example:

I said: I am your friend, but I have to go now.
I meant: I am your friend, but right now I can't even look at you.

9:30
Some dork and his semi-hot date just took the other red room table. I'll predict a Corona for him and she'll settle for Spaten Lager after being told there's no Bud Light.

9:33
She ordered a White Zinfandel. Well la dee fucking da your majesty.

9:34
Okay, my psychic skills are crap tonight. He ordered a Bell's Two-Hearted.

9:36
Maybe I'll wait for the bar to clear out and sit there instead. That way I'll still be able to write shit.

9:40
Here's another example:

I said: It's good to see you. What's it been, two weeks?
I meant: It's been twelve days, twenty-two hours, and fourteen minutes, since I last looked into your eyes. And now I'm afraid to do it.

9:46
The sweetness of this beer is coating my mouth. I don't think I'll have another one.

9:50
OddlyPrettyGirl is here.

9:51
Piss time.

9:53
I have a couple of small samples of beer that I've never had before.

Flying Dog K-9 Cruiser (4)

(draft) A mild aroma and flavor. There was a hint of spice at the finish. Quite interesting. I liked it.

(draft) Kind of funky aroma, which was to be expected I suppose. A mild mustardy flavor. Interesting enough that I'll probably try it again some night.

9:59
I order a half-pint of the Flying Dog (14) and move over to the loveseat.

10:10
I ended up on the throne instead. Everybody left but HotRedHead and her boyfriend.

10:18
Sorry guys, but Gay Night is Monday.

10:20
I order myself a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (464).

10:30
It's hard to write when I'm sitting in this chair.

10:39
This beer is yummy.

10:42
I'm not interested in the free live porn show, so I'm moving to the island.

11:12
I just spent a half-hour listening to EuchreDude tell his tales of Internet dating disasters. Scary stuff!

11:17
All these memories keep flying back at me. So far they're bouncing off. So far. I take another drink.

11:20
I want to see her. Right now.

11:22
Another example:

I said: I hope you feel better soon.
I meant: I want to hold you, and rub your back, and stroke your hair, and make you feel better. But I won't, because I might not be able to stop, and then you'd have a whole new set of problems.

11:25
I order a Diet Coke so I can kill some more time here.

11:30
A bunch of people have surrounded me so they can use the ashtray. That one girl is hot!

11:31
You wanna know a secret? I think I want a baby in my life.

11:33
Yay, I miss her! Wait, I mean shit.

11:34
To be perfectly honest, this feels right. This feels natural. This just fits.

11:40
At least I'd know, if I uncorked all these bottles, at least I'd know what I was up against.

11:41
This one chick that just sat on the sofa has nice tits. Fake, but nice.

11:45
I dreamed that she was a blonde, and that she was beautiful, and that I wasn't afraid.

11:48
Fuck.

11:51
I was ready to leave but SpikeBoy came in, so now I'm going to stay and bullshit with him for a while.

I don't want to go.

There's nothing forcing me there. I could just stay home tonight, the way I stayed home today despite all of my grandiose plans for a road trip to Indianapolis.

A long time ago, over two thousand miles away, I did stop going. Sure, it felt weird for a while, like I was just wasting my free time by just hanging around my home. But after a while, after a while I noticed that I didn't miss going at all. In fact, it got to where when I did go I felt like I was wasting my valuable home time by going out to be surrounded by idiots.

Back then, nobody even noticed that I wasn't going anymore. Back then I was able to quietly slip away and just not come back for a week. Or a month. Or six months.

These days, I don't have the ability to just quietly slip away. These days, people would notice. And people would think they knew why I was gone. They'd start assigning blame. They'd sit there with their knowing nods and their gossip and their "poor Dave" and they'd all feel glad that it wasn't them that was staying away. That was such a pussy.

If I didn't go tonight, people would think they knew why. They'd be wrong, but I wouldn't be there to tell them that. They'd all enjoy their gossip and maybe even get a good laugh out of everything.

I'm not going to try to bullshit myself or anyone else by saying that their opinions would be completely unfounded. It just that, to paraphrase something I read recently - They can't see the forest because they're in love with the trees. One certain tree, in fact.

So I don't want to go tonight, but I'm going anyway. I'm going to show them all that I have not been defeated.

Yet.

How many false sunrises do I have to look at before I stop being fooled by them?

I guess I should write about last night. Just to get it over with, if nothing else.

I shouldn't have gone out at all. It was a waste of time. Less than a waste of time, actually, because I probably managed to alienate most of the people that tried to talk to me.

Oh, well.

This entry isn't going to make anything any better. There are things that I will not write, just as there are things that I will not say, and things that I will not do.

Last night was mostly about not doing and not saying, and this entry is about not writing.

Anyway.

To drink, I had myself an Upland Winter Warmer (140). It was of course good, but I'd been hoping for something new on the board. Something interesting and appealing. Didn't happen.

I spent a bit of time not talking to HatGirl and LuckyFucker and GlassesGirl and MusicalHippyDude and WomanRepellant. They'd all saved the throne for me, even though I'd tried to just sit on the end of the loveseat where I wouldn't feel like the center of attention. Where I wouldn't feel like it was up to me to keep everyone entertained. But they'd saved the damn seat for me. To not take it would have been rude.

I was feeling pretty claustrophobic, so I'd get up and go outside for a while to try to clear my head a little. I did this a couple of times, but I don't think it helped.

My second beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (430), which was actually quite yummy.

Once InterruptingCow sat at the kiddie table and started, well, interrupting every conversation I attempted to have with anyone, I'd had enough. I went and stood at the bar. InterruptingCow took over the throne.

After a while, HatGirl, probably quite disgusted with me and my behavior, came and told me that she and LuckyFucker were leaving. I apologized for my mood. What else could I do?

Nothing, that's what.

Eventually, InterruptingCow left the living room area, and I went back over there and sat.

I had another Weihenstephaner (447).

GlassesGirl tried pretty hard to get me into a conversation, but I don't think it worked. I did tell her that the 18th of this month is probably the best chance she'll have of seeing my sister Neisha at Rich O's this year. My birthday is Monday the 20th, so I imagine I can talk some of my friends and family into coming to Rich O's for a while on the 18th.

That's it I guess.

That eternity,

was over in an instant.

That single instant,

seemed to drag on forever.

I longed for what I dreaded.

No, my dad hasn't come back to life, reincarnated by some cruel twist of fate as a Bud Light drinker.

Though I suppose I wouldn't complain if that did happen. There are worse things to be reincarnated as. Pubic lice. Opossums. One of Michael Jackson's kids.

Anyway, that little scene depicted above happened back in 1995 or so. Dad's favorite beer, Falls City, had been sold and had its recipe changed. Out of protest Dad switched to Bud Light for a while. He liked to say that he only switched back once the recipe had been changed back to what it was, though I doubt that he really believed that.

I think he simply realized that, in his own way, he was a bit of a beer snob, and to drink mass-produced industrial swill, even in protest, was just too much for him to do.

I know the feeling. I'm a beer snob myself. The only difference is that I choose to drink good beers, while Dad was content to stick with what he'd grown up drinking.

Since I'm the son of an alcoholic, and since I'm also someone that's been known to imbibe occasionally myself, you might be surprised that in my life I only spent maybe six hours total in bars with my dad.

I spent the first fifteen years of my adult life living all over creation, and when I did come home to visit, I'd usually hang out with my sister Dina. Or, when Dad had some time off work, we'd go hang out at one of his places in the country.

When I did finally move back home, Dad died shortly afterwards. That sucked.

I've been thinking a lot today about Dad. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because a few days ago would have been his and Mom's 43rd wedding anniversary. Maybe because I'm tired of thinking about women. Maybe there's no reason except that I had a dream with him in it a couple of days ago.

I've often been accused, mainly by my youngest sister Neisha, of turning into my maternal grandfather. I guess this is because I'm a grouch sometimes, so I'll concede that there is some slight resemblance. Sometimes.

But the biggest resemblance, I like to think anyway, is with my dad.

I already know that many of my interests I got from him. I already know that we shared the same tastes in humor, and books, and movies. I already know that he was a romantic at heart, and that's something I've discovered about myself over the past couple of years. He valued his privacy, maybe even more than I do.

I know what kind of person he was. He was the best. But what I don't really know is what he was like. I mean, we'd hang out at his cabin or in his apartment, and we'd talk about whatever, but there was almost always that father/son vibe going on. I never really had many chances to see what he was like when he stepped outside of his role as my father.

I wish he was still alive. That goes without saying. I wish I'd had the chance to know him as others knew him. To know him as Dave instead of as Dad.

And that brings me back to the bar.

Did he, like me, have a few people who he'd hang out with, or was he more of an everybody's friend type of person? I'm certainly the former, but I don't know how Dad was.

Would he sit at the bar by himself, contemplating life, and be perfectly content doing it? Did he hate crowds of idiots as much as I do? Could he spend an entire night talking with a single person, and feel uncomfortable in a group of more than just a few people? Would he get quiet during those times and just listen to everyone else and make sarcastic comment in his head? When he got bored or disgusted or depressed, would he just get up and leave, like I do?

It really bothers me that I'll never know these things.

If Dad was alive, and we hung out at the same bar, would people guess that he was my father? There was certainly no physical resemblance, but what about the other things? Am I enough like him that people, upon hearing about our relationship, might nod their heads and say, "I knew there was something similar about you two!"

Could I go down to Ramsey's bar in Derby, and talk to one of the regulars there for a while, and have him say, "You know, you remind me a lot of a friend of mine. His name was Dave, too. He died seven or eight years ago. He was a great guy."

Do I carry enough of him around inside me that, in a way, he lives on even today?

I'd like to think so, but I just don't know. And now, now I doubt that I ever will.

There's something that you just don't seem to understand.

When you're in the elevator and it stops at your floor, and the doors open, you seem confused. Allow me to ease that confusion.

At that point, your job - nay, your sole reason for existing, is to get out of that elevator as efficiently as you can

Not to continue yakking with the person next to you.

Not to dig in your purse for your keys.

Not to slowly walk out with your friend while you continue yakking with her.

Not to slowly walk out backwards as you continue yakking with the person who is remaining on the elevator.

Not to almost leave the elevator, but then turn around and block the door so you can continue yakking with the person who is remaining on the elevator.

Just get out of the damn elevator so I, and the others that have been waiting, can get in and get on with our lives.

Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.

You stupid bitch.

(This entry brought to you by Alaskan Smoked Porter.)

Stay away.

If you value, even a little, whatever good mood you might happen to be in, then just stay away from me for a while.

I will ruin your mood. I will open my big fat mouth, and I will vomit the truth all over you, and it will not be pretty.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Often, when I write something like this, my sister calls me and asks if it's her that I'm ranting about and/or to. If, for example, I write about how pissed I am at someone, she'll call me and ask if it's her that I'm pissed at. Of course I tell her that it's not. I wonder why, when I write about some all-consuming love or even some mild crush that I'm feeling, she never calls me then to see if that's about her. I guess there are limits to her paranoia.

Anyway, I don't think that I want to hold anything back anymore. At least not for a while.

Holding things back has gotten me exactly nowhere. Telling the truth has gotten me exactly nowhere.

But at least, if I tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth - at least then I might be able to sleep at night. Instead of being up all fucking night when I have to work the next day. Again.

I want to be able to sleep again. I really do.

So just stay away from me.

Seriously, back the fuck off.

Wow, I'm at 6,976 JournalSpace readers.

So I'll probably hit 7,000 sometime today.

For some reason, I want it to be for a real entry. Not a stupid list. Not a comic. I want it to be something a little bit deeper.

I don't really have anything deep, so this will have to do.

A friend and I have been discussing the ignore game lately. The ignore game is quite simple: Whoever initiates contact - an email, a phone call, a text message, whatever - gets one point. The goal of the ignore game is to have the lowest score.

I am a champion at this game.

I almost never contact anyone first. I always respond when contacted, but that's it. For me to actually initiate contact is pretty rare.

I guess I should point out that this game is played mainly against people with whom you have a crush or other romantic interest, or at least against someone who you suspect has such an interest in you. You play the game to find out if your opponent is interested in you or not. It's not as quick as simply asking, but it's a lot safer to the ego.

It is very important, and I cannot stress this enough - the other person must not know that you're playing.

Because then it's just a stubborn contest, and it can last for years.