Friday night was kind of a bust.

The place seemed more crowded than it was, mainly because of the presence of certain assholes.

I sat at the bar and had myself a Founder's Black Rye (32). I was pretty sure that I'd had this before, but the bartender didn't remember them carrying it. Well, I was right - I've had it before and I liked it okay.

Then some bullshit happened.

Then this one douchebag finally left the island so I moved my shit away from this one asshole and sat up there.

Coincidentally, or maybe on purpose, Rich O's also had Founder's Red Rye on tap. So I had one of those next (100). It was pretty good.

After a while, WomanRepellant came in and sat with me. Then some other people came and sat with us. Then some other people came and stood around us.

I was feeling pretty claustrophobic, and plus for some reason those two beers were going straight to my head.

So I went home.

On Saturday, SassyGirl called to see if I wanted to go over to the Cumberland Brewpub. Well, duh. Of course I did. They have such a yummy porter there.

I braved the weekend Bardstown Road traffic and met SassyGirl at about 6:30. I'd actually gotten lucky and I got to park right in front of the place. This is different than usual, when I have to park on Mars and then walk the rest of the way. So Yay!

I had a burger and fries, and a couple of yummy Cumberland Nitro Porters (160) while SassyGirl and I caught up on what's been happening since we last saw each other. We also talked about stuff like how her gaydar is quite accurate and mine sucks. I guess that makes sense though.

There was a chick at the bar that I thought was hot, and I was sure that SassyGirl would think so as well, but she once again baffled me by going, "Ehhh."

When we left Cumberland we went down the road a little to this place called Willy's. I'd never been there before, but I'd heard that they had a lot of beer on tap.

Well that part was true. Here's a picture of some of their 68 taps:

Pretty impressive, but also quite hard to read all those taps. Luckily they had a beer menu so we checked it out.

Proving once again that great minds think alike, except when it comes to which girls are hot, we chose the same beer:

Bert Grant's Perfect Porter (24)

(draft) I guess this place has gone out of business. Hmmm, I wonder how long this beer has been sitting in the keg. The first thing I noticed was that it was quite thin. Like water. It took me a long time to figure out how to describe the flavor. That's because there was nothing. It was all roasted malt. I think I'd have liked this better if it wasn't so old-tasting.

SassyGirl had to get ready for work, so we left Willy's at about 9:00. I took this picture of the dance floor on the way out:

Apparently there's a giant iguana that lives under there. Those are Mannequins of The Blues Brothers. Weird.

So I dropped SassyGirl back off at her truck and headed back to Indiana.

First thing I did, because I was in a mischievous mood, was go to Buckhead's. I didn't really plan to heckle my friend who recently started working there, but I wasn't feeling averse to making her think I was going to heckle her. For a minutes anyway.

Well, she wasn't there, but sometimes shit happens even when it's not the shit you were expecting.

MixedSignalGirl was there.

I was walking around the bar, looking at all the waitresses to see if my friend was working, and I nearly ran into MixedSignalGirl. She'd been walking around the bar, in the opposite.direction, looking for me.

Okay, to be fair, she wasn't quite looking for me. Just wondering if I was there. Well, I was. And so was she.

We spent a good few minutes joking about how fate had once again thrown us together. That's kind of a theme with us.

But she couldn't stay. She'd ordered food for herself and the asshole, so we went our separate ways.

It was still early, so I went to Rich O's next.

The place was actually pretty dead. I loved it. I sat at the bar and had a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (873) and talked for a bit with ElPresidente.

Once the PBDs cleared out, I had a bit of an episode. I looked at this...

...and felt a little nostalgic. Okay, a lot nostalgic.

Luckily that wave of emotion passed through me quickly, and I felt fine after that. I came home and shot some pool until about 4:00.

Okay, this is still a work in progress.

I'd wanted to get the entire site revamped before I went live with this new look, but it's taking me forever.

I decided that I didn't want to wait any longer. I wanted to provide commenting capabilities.

So, as of right now, the main blog has a new look that is still being tweaked, but all of the other crap on this site still has the old look.

There are zillions of things left for me to do, I know.

But the commenting seems to be working.

(continued)

I'll tell you what I wish. You won't be surprised.

I wish that I'd met MixedSignalGirl about six months earlier.

Because that way, see, my heart would already have been awakened, but it would not yet have imprinted itself on anyone. And by anyone I of course mean you know who.

Yes, I wish I'd met her earlier. Before it was too late. There was beautiful potential there. There really was.

I was sitting at Hooter's tonight waiting for my cousin Jeff to arrive and give me a ride home. He came in when I typed (to be continued) earlier.

Jeff and I sat and talked with each other and with the pretty bartender. It was good to see him. It was especially good to see him away from his usual haunt, which is the Hooter's in Jeffersonville. When Jeff's away from his normal hangout he's more like his old self.

Let's see, I ended up having a couple more Newcastles (1884) and a Diet Coke.

Obviously, I was in more of a mood to write earlier than I am right now.

At least I finished the thing.

The bartender just dug a pen out of her purse for me. She must want it up the ass. Not the pen though. Or maybe the pen. I dunno, but I bet she wants something up the ass.

I'm sitting at the Hooter's in Clarksville, having just dropped my truck off at the nearby Toyota dealer. They're having a recall so they can replace some steering doohickey. Apparently, these doohickeys are prone to breakage and causing hilarity on the highways. Yikes! I'm also going to get my A/C fixed in the thing.

Oh yeah, I'm having a yummy Newcastle (1848) and it's yummy. So take that, Roger!

I was sitting here thinking about, wondering about actually, what would have happened if I'd taken the advice of so many people and just went for it. Or, "Whipped it out," as it was more often suggested.

I don't know why I was wondering about this. I already know what would have happened. I've known all along. Even when it was still easy to know, even then I knew there was no future for us.

A couple of weeks. Maybe a month. Maybe a little longer because I'm stubborn and because she's so incredibly fucking beautiful and wonderful, but that would be all.

I'm having another Newcastle (1860) now.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Nowhere.

I'm just killing time here.

I continue to be astonished by the fact that I'm still alive. That this news didn't kill me. In many ways, I'm more perplexed and surprised now that I was back when all this shit started. Oh, back then that took me by surprise, sure, but since then I'd begun to think that I'd gotten to know myself fairly well. Well enough to know the difference between that which would completely devastate me and that which I'd simply shrug off.

Well, I was wrong. Again.

I'm thinking about having that engraved on my tombstone. Like this:

Anyway, to jump back to the beginning of this sorry excuse for an entry, there was never any real possibility for a future between us. My brain has always known this, but it took time for my heart to finally shut the fuck up long enough that my brain could be heard.

You know what I wish?

Of course you do. You have my entire journal memorized. Plus, you can read my mind.

(to be continued)

Look into an emergency.

Look into another emergency.

Attend a meeting.

Look into the second emergency some more.

Explain why you aren't looking into the first emergency.

Attend another meeting.

Hand the first emergency off to someone else.

Fix the second emergency.

Attend yet another meeting.

Look into the third emergency.

Fix the third emergency.

Repeat for ever and ever.

...should be Thursday.

That is all.

Right now, right this second, I'm actually in the mood to write something.

This is a good thing, I believe. At least for me it is.

I was really starting to wonder if this mood would ever strike me again.

Anyway, here goes.

---

I don't know who you are anymore.

I'm not sure that I ever really did.

Your face has become murky, your body nondescript. Your voice, your eyes, your hair - I can no longer imagine any of them with any consistency and not with any certainty. I don't know who you are.

For the longest time, longer than I care to remember with any accuracy except that just I happen to know the year and the month and the day and the hour and the minute when it began, I knew exactly who you were. What you looked like. How your voice sounded. How your eyes sparkled. How you'd smile at me, and my heart would stop, and a part of me would silently wish that it would never beat again, so that I might die in such a perfect moment.

Well, sometimes wishes don't come true, and sometimes I end up being grateful for being denied that which I'd wished for.

Like right now.

I was so sure that she was you, so sure that you were her, that I stopped looking for you altogether.

I was wrong. I see that now. If you were her, if she was you, then you'd be here beside me right now, and I wouldn't be writing this drivel.

You're still out there somewhere though. I imagine my future and I can almost see you lying beside me. I can almost hear your voice as you tell me that you love me. I can almost feel the heat from your body as I hold you close.

Hope is a strange thing. It exists only to disappoint, for once it's fulfilled, it vanishes. But hope still drives me. It drives me to keep looking for you. Misjudgments and misconceptions and miscalculations, and failure and collapse and loss, they might slow me down at times but they will never completely deter me.

You are out there somewhere, and I will find you.

And when I do, and when I do I will take your hand in mine. And I'll look into your eyes. And everything that's been missing in my life will be found. And all of the pain will fade away. And I'll know in my heart that it was all worth it, all worth it so that I could be standing there with you at that moment.

And you'll feel the same way.

Because you're the one.

What am I supposed to write about when there's nothing to write about?

Fuck if I know.

I hate the thought of this becoming nothing more than a simple and boring chronicle of my simple and boring existence. Of course, it's often been that despite my best intentions, but every now and then it became something more. Something important for me to write, and something equally important for me to read.

Now? Now, not so much.

Enough whining. On with the drivel.

I've spent a good chunk of the last few days working on my website. What started out as a simple desire to add commenting capability has evolved into a full-blown site restructuring. Problem is, the more I change, the less I like it. Can't quit now though. I only quit the important things in my life.

Dammit, asshole! I said that's enough whining!

Today after work I stopped by Rich O's. I had a Smithwick's (746) and I talked with Roger for a bit about DaveFest. I guess that Rogue Chocolate Stout may be arriving late - so late in fact that the entire thing might get pushed back to the second week of June. We also talked about t-shirts. I don't know what's going to happen with that.

GlassesGirl and MusicalHippyDude came in just before I left. I guess they had a party Saturday night and tried, in vain, to contact me. I told them that it was nice of them to think of me.

I guess that's it. Would the last person to leave please turn out the lights?

They just had one of those human-interest stories on the morning news.

The Possum Lady of Southern Indiana.

This old lady had possums all over the place! People bring her possums from all over the area! She let the vile things crawl all over her!

I guess I should applaud her. I could never do what she does. Those damn beady eyes...

Once again, I'm taking the lazy way out. I took notes last night.

8:20
Rich O's is closed, so I'm going to this Mac's place that I don't like very much. They have Newcastle on tap, and maybe MisunderstoodGirl will be there.

8:45
There's nobody here but fuckheads and idiots. Not even Newcastle is worth putting up with these people. I'm outta here.

8:55
I'm at Sportstime, the sister business of Rich O's. At least they have the decency to be open. LIke I always say, it's weird over here. I order a BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (204).

9:05
This is so boring.

9:10
The guy at the next table and his beard are drinking LIndemann's - a popular chick drink. I don't think she'll be getting any dick tonight. At least not from him. Maybe they'll just cuddle or something.

9:14
It's like a million degrees in this place.

9:15
Idiots leave and new idiots immediately fill the void. There's no end to the cycle of idiots.

9:18
Everybody thinks that one girl is hot. I don't know why. She's shaped like a potato.

9:20
That one chick better hope that the fire marshall doesn't come in. Her hair is so big it's blocking all the escape routes. Nice tits though.

9:25
I'm moving to another table. One with better airflow.

9:27
Much better!

9:35
The sign outside the brewery says "Cone Smoker 4/26." The would be a very welcome addition to the NABC lineup.

9:38
The board also mentions something called "Hoosier Daddy." Firstly, I don't know what that is, and secondly, that's a stupid name.

9:40
Upon further review, the board does say "Cone Smoker" but there's no date next to it. Figures. How dare I get my hopes up that they'd make a beer that I actually like? It's already been a zillion years.

9:44
The server doesn't know what "Hoosier Daddy" is either.

9:50
I'm dying of thirst over here! Hello, ServerDude!

9:51
At least PotatoGirl dresses nicely. Everybody else looks like they got smuggled in inside somebody's car trunk.

9:53
They're out of Weihenstephaner, so I order a Baltika 6 and cross my fingers.

9:54
They're fucking out of Baltika 6 too, so I order a BBC Alt and cross my fingers and my toes.

9:55
Yay! I have a BBC Alt (232).

10:00
Piss time.

10:11
The 1970s called, and they want their hairstyle back.

10:16
Boring, I tell you!

10:25
Piss time.

10:26
I get another BBC Alt (244). The first one was yummy, so why not? I also order a pizza to go.

10:34
Such a lovely copper color!

10:37
I'm watching a fucking basketball game. That's how bored I am.

10:40
I think PotatoGirl might be pregnant. If so, it's not my fault.

10:47
Pizza is here. I'm leaving.

Last night was just strange.

The parking lot was full. The lot across the street was full. The lot at Kroger was pretty fucking full.

Not a good sign.

So I walked into Rich O's. The loser area was completely packed. The front area was completely packed. Rich O's proper was...

surprisingly, not packed.

So I sat in the throne and wondered what was going on with the crowd. There wasn't a single familiar face in the entire establishment except for the bartenders and the two people sitting on the sofa. It was like I'd walked into the wrong bar or something.

Pretty damn weird.

My first beer was an Upland Winter Warmer (180). This beer would later prove to be my downfall.

I talked with the couple on the sofa about nothing much. SassyGirl called to let me know that she'd be in later. WomanRepellant showed up, as did a few of the PBDs.

But mostly the place was full of strangers and assorted idiots. I ended up theorizing that these were people that had come to the area for the big Thunder Over Louisville air and fireworks show. At least that's one possible explanation. Another might be that the universe hates me.

My second beer was a yummy BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (184).

By the time SassyGirl showed up, I was already starting to regret drinking the Upland. Not that it's not a great beer - it just seemed to hit me harder than it ever had before.

So I ordered a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier but I only drank a little bit of it (856). I ended up coming home a little after 11:00.

Now tonight the place will be closed because it's always so dead in there when they have the stupid Thunder show. So I don't know what, if anything, I'll do tonight.

...I am not dead.

That's too bad, actually, because now I'm left with no reasonable excuse whatsoever for not posting anything for two days.

The truth is, I've done nothing but work and watch TV and sleep.

I wish I could draw.

I'd draw a lot of things, but the first thing I'd draw would be a wall. A very high wall, completely unscalable. The wall would also extend to the sides forever and ever.

The wall would block a long road. It would be impossible to even guess, let alone see, what was on the other side.

I'd also draw myself standing on that road, at the base of that wall.

I'd be looking up, my mouth open in a silent scream.

I wish I could draw.

UPDATE: The next best thing to being able to draw is having a friend who can draw. My friend RockGirl drew this 22 years ago, and it's been waiting for me ever since.

Well, that was a load of drivel.

I'm not rewriting it though. I kinda sorta managed to make my point.

Most of it anyway.

I guess the other thing I was trying to say, what I didn't quite manage to convey, is that it's not hopeless. We're not all doomed. Pain from long ago can sometimes wash over us, but that doesn't mean that we're going to have to relive it all. Sometimes scars just itch, and all it takes is a scratch to make it feel better.

I think that what people need to understand, what people should understand, is that the old adage time heals all wounds is utter bullshit.

Sure, some wounds may heal. Some wounds may fade away so completely that there's no trace left of them. Sometimes we even forget about them ourselves.

But not always.

Sometimes they leave scars, and sometimes those scars stay with us forever.

Things that happen to us, maybe things that we do to other people, they can leave scars either physical or emotional and there's not a damn thing we can do about them except learn to live with them as well as we can. If we can.

I've got a scar on my nose. When I was 5 I ran through a sliding glass door.

I've got a scar on my foot. When I was 12 I stepped on a nail.

When I was 20 a thrown plate shattered against my left arm and severed an artery. I almost lost my arm completely. That scar still itches, from time to time.

These things are now a part of me, and in a way they made me the person that I am. But these small scars only changed my physical appearance. They are nothing.

At some point in the coming weeks or months or years, somebody will see me smile. It's bound to happen. Somebody will see me smile and that's all that they'll see. They will assume that I'm happy.

When I was 16, my first real girlfriend killed herself.

When I was 21, my marriage ended.

When I was 22, my mother died after a long illness.

When I was 27, my wife and I split for the last time.

When I was 33, my grandmother and my father died within weeks of each other.

When I was 39, I finally knew what I wanted from life, but it was ripped away.

At some point in the coming weeks or months or years, somebody will see me cry. It's bound to happen. Somebody will see me cry and that's all they'll see.

They'll assume that I'm sad, but they won't know why. Maybe they'll ask.

And then I'll tell them that my scars are itching.

Time does not heal all wounds. Sometimes they leave scars, and sometimes those scars stay with us forever. Sometimes healing is nothing but an illusion.

I've often wondered how I would know that this was over. Or even if I'd ever know.

What started as screams are now nothing but whispers, and even those soft voices are fading fast. One by one the demons inside me are going silent. They do not leave - where would they go? Instead, they sleep. They sleep and they dream of sweet things.

I wonder, will they ever wake up, and once again tell me about their dreams?

Okay, I've let you all suffer long enough I suppose.

Nothing lewd or lascivious happened.

Me and the bathroom girls and the Romanian girl just sat outside and made fun of all the idiots, then they wanted to go to some club I never heard of, and I let them go.

I took a cab back to where my truck was and then went back to the hotel to sleep.

Sunday morning I drove home.

And thus ends another Easter weekend trip.

I had fun. St. Louis was a good choice. I stayed busy, but I never felt like I was in a rush to see everything. Like if I ever go back to D.C. I'll be really stressed out because I'd need at least a week to see even half the stuff I'd want to see. Fuck, I could spend an entire week at The Smithsonian.

The next trip is already in the early pre-planning stages. I'm thinking that I'll go to Cleveland next. Or maybe Detroit. That way I could cross Michigan off my list.

Like I said, it's in the early pre-planning stages. I know that I want to go somewhere. I just don't know where yet.

I need these little trips. I need to get away from here every now and then. And on May1st I'll start out fresh with three weeks of shiny new vacation days.

I still want to use one of those weeks to go to Hawaii in the Fall, but the more I think about it the less likely it seems that I'll be going. There are just too many things that the money could be better spent on.

I don't have any Las Vegas trips scheduled until late November. I'm not sure if I'll be able to wait that long. Maybe I'll take a short trip out there and see PictureGirl. Maybe.

Oooooh! New Mexico! I need to go there so I can cross that state off my list too. The owner of Rich O's just spent some time in Albuquerque, so he can give me pointers on places to visit there.

New York and Atlantic City and Myrtle Beach are all on my short list. I suppose Phoenix should be on that list too, but I doubt that I'm quite ready for that.

We'll see.

I just have to stay motivated to actually go and visit some of these places instead of just wishing I would do it.

For my final night in St. Louis, I decided that I wanted to experience Laclede's Landing. So I took a cab back over to the Morgan Street Brewpub.

I took notes.

7:45
The bar is packed. The street is packed. I steal a stool from a guy that got stood up and I sit. I order a yummy Morgan Street Irish Stout (16) and a Diet Coke. I know I'll need to pace myself tonight.

7:47
The exact same bartenders are working - two hot girls and a neo-nazi and a punk rock guy.

7:50
This one bartender with the pigtails reminds me of someone. I don't know who though. Somebody hot I guess.

7:55
I didn't pace myself very well today. I think it was that Scotch Ale that messed everything up.

7:56
This beer is more roasty than I remember from yesterday. Still yummy though.

8:00
I missed HatGirl's party today. That sucks.

8:03
Piss time.

8:07
I'm ordering some smoked duck in wontons. I don't know why - I guess it just looked intriguing.

8:09
One of the hot bartenders asked me what I was writing about. She asked me if I was writing about what I ate and drank, and I said that I was. She then asked if it was because I was on a diet. Ouch.

8:11
The guy I stole the stool from is talking on his phone. He's talking about his dick and how he makes it go grocery shopping and check his mailbox for him. It's hilarious.

8:17
OMG this duck stuff is delicious!

8:24
The last one was burned. Oh well.

8:26
DickGuy and LongHairedHottie are talking about tans and the lack thereof. They both, at the same time, pointed at me and said, "Now that guy is white!" So now I'm a fat albino. Great, just great.

8:39
The brewer's name is Mark Gottfried, according to LongHairedHottie.

8:47
I spent the last 10 minutes telling a guy what he'd just sampled and explaining the differences to him. He then went and asked the bartender the exact same questions. WTF? I'm wearing a shirt that says "Beer is Food" right on the front so that should be a slight indication that I know what I'm talking about.

8:49
LongHairedHottie and PigTailHottie just tore ass out of here. They're probably going home to masturbate while fantasizing about my fat albino ass.

8:55
Piss time.

8:58
OMG The World's Most Lickable Girl is sitting right behind me!

8:59
DickGuy just now ended his phone call.

9:03
The new hot girl that took over for LongHairedHottie must be new. I'm dying of thirst and she's just standing around looking pretty.

9:07
I order a Winter Lager (40) and I move to the outside seating. It might be too dark to write out there.

9:08
It seems like it may storm soon. Cool.

9:10
I guess I'm in the Morgan Street patio area, not the street seating. It's boring here.

9:13
I'm moving to the street seating.

9:16
I've been sitting out here two minutes and I've already been interrogated twice. I'm staying until somebody want to sit here and eat.

9:21
These streets seemed a lot more rowdy 20 years ago. Nice everybody is nice and tame. I wonder where the woohoos are. I guess it's still kinda early though.

9:23
This Winter Lager stuff is fucking yummy!

9:26
It's an older crowd here than I would have expected. Some of these people are even older than me if you can believe that.

9:27
I feel sorry for these horses that have to pull idiots around all day.

9:29
I finally, just now, heard my first "WooHoo!" of the night. About fucking time.

9:34
I might vomit now, because this chick walking past me is gross.

9:35
Crisis averted. I closed my eyes and thought about MixedSignalGirl, and how we were always supposed to come to St. Louis together, until the skanky gross chick had gone by.

9:36
Guess who I miss now.

9:38
I'm taking my shit back into the bar because I have to piss.

9:40
Piss time.

9:42
LongHairedHottie and PigTailHottie are back. They just went to get something to eat. Or so they say. I'm sticking with my masturbation theory.

9:50
LongHairedHottie keeps talking to me. She wants me. Can't she tell that there are like three or four other girls ahead of her in the line for my affection?

9:51
I wish I was a poet. I could write a poem now.

9:55
The gay hockey fans just arrived.

9:57
LongHairedHottie has a nice ass, but it's not as nice as the girl's from last night.

9:58
The gay hockey guys are woohoos.

10:00
Either the lights just dimmed or I'm having a stroke.

10:01
Whew! It was the lights.

10:04
Under the arch there's a museum. In the museum there's a stuffed bison. The bison is posed with its tail slightly raised, so its asshole is exposed. The taxidermist must have spent a lot of time perfectly preserving that bison's asshole. Maybe my job isn't so bad after all.

10:10
I'm cutting myself off. I'm such a good citizen.

10:14
I kinda want to stick something into one of PigTailHottie's orifices. I don't really care what I stick, or where I stick it. My toe in her nose? That would be awesome.

10:33
I just spent 15 minutes talking to some Romanian chick. I must be the first person that's ever talked to her in her entire life because she wouldn't shut up.

10:40
Piss time.

10:45
The chicks that were in the bathroom have asked me to joined them at their table outside. I have to stop writing now so I can go sit with hot girls. Woe is me.

---

I should just stop this entry right here. I had one hot bartender, one Romanian chick, and two hot girls that like to go the bathroom together - all interested in me.

I should just stop writing and let everyone's imaginations run wild.

Everybody told me that I just had to go to Schlafly's bar slash brewery.

So I did.

I went there at around four I think. I drove myself, figuring that I could always take a cab back to the hotel if the situation warranted.

It's a pretty big place, and at first I thought they might be closed because the parking lot was almost completely empty. Inside was almost empty too. There were just two people sitting at the bar. Some dude and some lady.

I recognized the dude!

It was EvilLou, a pool player I know from my days on the rec.sport.billiard newsgroup and also from the Derby City Classic.

Man what a small world it is.

Of course I knew that EvilLou lived in St. Louis so I guess I shouldn't have been that surprised. I, on the other hand, surprised the shit out of him.

So I sat at the bar and talked with EvilLou and his wife while I had some beer.

Schlafly's Hefeweizen (20)

It's always a crap shoot as to whether a hefeweizen is in the true German style or the crappy American style. This was American, so I didn't like it. As with most beers, however, this did get better as the glass got emptier. By the end, it was passable. This is not the beer's fault - I just don't like the style.

My next beer was much better:

Schlafly's Scotch Ale (20)

More malty than other Scotch Ales I've tried, and that extra maltiness was needed to help mask the alcohol. A very good beer.

The place I went to was called the Square One brewpub.

I guess they're affiliated with the Augusta brewery because all of the coasters were from that place.

I had myself some yummy beer-battered chicken tenders, and a beer sampler tray. They had a Belgian Red listed, and that sounded intriguing, but the waitress said they were out. Oh well.

Square One Nut Brown Ale (6)

Pretty good. Malty with a hint of cola to balance it out. A lot like Goose Island Hex Nut Brown Ale.

Hoppy and malty, with a bitter finish. Common is a very good name for this beer - there are a zillion just like it, and I don't like any of them.

The aroma is fantastic, as is the flavor. Maybe a bit more mellow than other German-style wheats. A very good beer.

A typical dry stout. Nothing wrong with it at all but nothing great either. Quite roasty, and better than average I suppose.

I ended up taking a cab back to the hotel.

Saturday morning I was, remarkably, not hung-over.

I know you were all worried.

I had a 12:40 ticket to go up in the arch, but I woke up at about 8:00, so I spent some time walking around downtown St. Louis looking for something to eat. I was really craving an omelet and sausage, but I settled for Burger King. It was good though.

At around 10:00 I walked down to the arch. I took more pictures. The sky was really cool looking. Even my crappy cellphone camera did a good job.

This is my favorite picture out off all of the ones I took. This was looking straight up at the arch while I was standing in the security line.

If you've never been under the arch before, there's a whole Westward expansion museum down there. It's pretty cool, and I don't understand why I didn't take any pictures. I just dicked around for an hour or so while I waited for 12:40 to arrive.

I was pretty excited to be finally going up in the thing. I must have visited the arch a dozen times in my life, but I never went up in it before.

At about 12:20, I got in line. The chick that was checking everybody's tickets looked at me and asked me if I was alone. I said, "Yes I am. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

That's one of my standard jokes.

Then ArchGirl told me that they had an opening for a single in the trams that were leaving next, so she gave me a red boarding pass and I got to walk right by all those other suckers and go join the group that was just getting ready to board.

I really had no idea what to expect. I mean, I knew enough to know that regular elevators would not be able to negotiate the curve of the arch, but I guess I was expecting something that at least looked like an elevator from the inside.

Nope.

What they do is, they have you climb through these tiny doors into these tiny compartments. It must be an awful lot like climbing into a front-loading washing machine would be. Sharing compartment #5 with me were some dude and his two cute daughters. In compartment #6 was the guy's wife and their four other kids. Wow.

The littlest girl kept asking her dad if she was going to be "sceered." It was the most adorable thing I'd ever heard.

Her father told her that she might get a little "sceered" once the thing turned upside-down. That was funny.

I didn't take any pictures of the capsule thingies either. I don't know why. I guess I was just too excited.

The ride up was pretty cool. There were tiny windows in the tiny doors and I could look out and see the staircase that people had to use back in the olden days. Actually I think the stairs looked like fun. I wish they'd have given us the option of taking them on the way down, but they said that the stairs were only for emergencies.

After about a four-minute ride, we reached the top.

Yay!

The observation deck is pretty small, and this chick to the left didn't help matters.

Of course I took pictures out the windows of the thing:

This next one is looking straight down:

A British guy asked me to take a picture of him and his wife, so I did. Then I asked if they'd take mine, so he did. An added bonus in this picture is BritishGuy's finger:

Another thing that was funny was that I told the little girl who'd been in my capsule with me that the maintenance hatches in the floor were actually trap doors. Her sister asked me why on Earth they'd put trap doors in the arch, and her dad piped in with, "They let people bungee jump through them. Didn't I tell you? We jump in ten minutes."

Both girls ran screaming to their mother.

On the way back down I had to share a capsule with the fat chick from the picture up above. That's karma for you.

Friday night after the game I hailed a cab and took it to this Growlers place that I'd heard about.

It's easy to get to: You just go to the Moon and then take a left.

That means that it's pretty far away from downtown. The cab ride cost me forty bucks with tip.

Anyway, I did something kind of stupid, but there was just no way I could have known.

I sat at the bar.

There was a constant crowd of people standing all around me, leaning all over me as they tried to get the bartender's attention to order their drinks. I got extremely claustrophobic and I actually started regretting my decision to come to the place.

But I had to justify that forty buck cab fare, so I drank.

The place has a pretty impressive beer menu, both in selection and in price. The selection part is a good thing. The price part is not so good. They charged $8.50 for a bottle of Delirium Tremens. That's just ridiculous.

But I wasn't going to be drinking bottled beer anyway, so no skin off my back. I checked out the draft selections. There were maybe 30 beers on tap, almost all of which I've had before at one time or another. There was nothing that really jumped out at me, so I just had myself a Newcastle (1856).

The place was a freaking madhouse!

While I had my Newcastle I kept looking around for a more private place to site, and eventually one of the tables opened up, so I hightailed it over there. I had that table to myself for maybe five seconds before three people joined me. I'll call them OriginalDude, PlayaDude, and SweetAssGirl. These three ended up being my companions for the rest of the evening.

My second beer was a Fat Tire (105). I hadn't had this in a long time. It was good.

The three of us sat around for a while and talked. They all knew each other but obviously they didn't know me. I told them about my Easter trip custom and shit like that.

My third beer was another Fat Tire (125).

Here's the view from where I was sitting. Those are barrels up there. It's kind of hard to tell though.

So, as near as I can figure it, OriginalDude and SweetAssGirl have been friends for like their entire lives. OriginalDude is clearly in love with her, but SweetAssGirl is either clueless about that fact or she's just choosing to ignore it. She actually spent most of the night either flirting with me or with PlayaDude.

Towards the end, PlayaDude was falling victim to SweetAssGirl's charms much more readily than I was, so I spent most of my time talking with OriginalDude.

My fourth beer was a Guinness (1217).

At one point these four chicks joined us. I think they knew SweetAssGirl and OriginalDude from before. One of them was quite pretty - she actually looked a lot like this girl.

Oh yeah, I had myself some very yummy blackened chicken quesadillas.

My fifth beer was a Diet Coke. I cut myself off after that Guinness.

I guess Missouri must have some draconian blue laws in place, because the place was still packed as shit when they did last call and eventually kicked us all out.

The cab back to the hotel cost me another forty bucks.

When I went back to my room to get my ticket to the game, my phone started vibrating.

It was SassyGirl!

Yay!

She's not dead after all!

Yay!

I guess she just took a little trip, and even though she thought she'd told everybody that she was going, she actually didn't tell a single solitary soul.

I wasn't the only one that was worried.

After I left Morgan Street, it was time to hit the Cardinal's new park for the game.

It was fun. I always like going to games. Of course the Cards lost, but I guess technically I'm supposed to be more of a Reds fan anyway. I didn't tell anyone that though. I even bought a Cardinals cap.

Anyway, I took some pictures.

The new park is a pretty confusing place. Parts of it are like a maze. I think it might be my least favorite of the new parks I've been to as far as getting around goes, but it's got a lot more character than the new parks in Cincinnati or Chicago, so I like it.

Both Friday and Saturday were quite busy, so I'll be breaking this trip report up into several entries. Otherwise it's just seems like too daunting a task and I'd probably never get to it.

So, Friday afternoon. I checked into my hotel. It seemed like a cool place at first.

But I quickly discovered that the "free Internet access in every room" was simply a myth to lure in customers. I had no signal in my room, and when I called them to complain they basically told me that I was SOL, and why not just take my laptop down to the lobby? There's a strong signal there.

So that sucked, but I wasn't supposed to be sitting at my computer all weekend anyway.

Once I'd checked in, I took off down the hill to see the arch. Should that be capitalized?

The Arch?

I dunno. Or care.

I took a shitload of arch pictures. I'm only going to post a few though. You'll thank me later.

This next one is semi-interesting. This was the first time I'd touched the arch in twenty years or so. I didn't cry though.

As I'd expected, the ride to the top was completely sold out, so I bought a ticket for 12:40 on Saturday. Then I walked over to Laclede's Landing to check out this Morgan Street Brewpub place. Behold my photographic prowess.

While I was at Morgan Street I figured what the heck, I'll have some beer.

Morgan Street Honey Wheat (4)

The bartender didn't know if it was a German-style or and American-style wheat, so I just had a sampler glass. It's American-style, so I didn't like it. The honey was not apparent except that the usual hop bitterness I find in this style was not there. Bland and boring.

I also had a sample of this Winter Lager stuff (4) which I'll get to in a minute.

Morgan Street Irish Stout (16)

Fucking yummy and chocolately and yummy. Whoever says that there's no good beer at Laclede's Landing is an idiot. This beer was worth the trip all by itself.

Quite boring and generic. No hint at all of the strangeness that I usually associate with this style. I see no point to even making this beer.

Despite the name, this is an oatmeal stout aged in used Jack Daniel's barrels. The bartender says that every beer in the place is "lager-style" which to me means yeast. Whatever they call it, this beer is yummy.

(Written Friday morning)

I guess the drive wasn't too bad. It was long, and it was boring, and after the first hour or so, it was hot, but it felt kind of good to be actually doing something.

I used to, over twenty years ago, make the drive between Western Illinois and Southern Indiana at least once a month. Even after I got married we still enjoyed going to my parents' house as often as we could.

One place that we always stopped at was this Hardee's in the middle of Illinois. I stopped there yesterday, and it was still there. Not much has changed in that part of Illinois.

I keep having to remind myself that it's really been more like 15 years since I've spent any time in the St. Louis area - not 20. During the period between 1989 and 1991 my ex-wife and I were back together, living in Nebraska, and we'd go visit her parents in Illinois or my Dad in Indiana. I really don't remember much about those trips though.

It still takes a tank of gas to get from the Georgetown Indiana exit to the Scott AFB Illinois exit, so I found myself taking that old exit and looking for a gas station. It would have been cool if I could have gone onto the base to check it out, but of course I couldn't do that. So I just drove around a bit and ended up at a gas station in Belleville.

This time my journey didn't end at the Scott AFB exit like it used to. This time I got back on I-64 and drove those extra 20 miles to St. Louis. Those extra 20 miles took about an hour and a half due to road construction. I'd been having this internal debate with myself about whether I wanted to go back to the Scott/Belleville/Mascoutah area on Saturday to explore. I think the road construction has made my mind up for me. There's just not really anything there that I need to see. It was all too long ago. It was another life, and not a particularly good one.

So I'll just dick around St. Louis, and I'll let those things that are in the past stay in the past.

I'm writing this Saturday morning. This will test my memory.

I guess a lot of people must get Good Friday off work, because Rich O's was looking more like a Friday than a Thursday. The place was packed with strangers. I ended up sitting on the loveseat drinking a couple BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stouts (144) for the first hour or so. There were some idiots sitting on the sofa and the throne. I didn't talk to them because they were idiots and I didn't want to be associated with them.

I was quite bored. I tried, for about the millionth time, to call SassyGirl. It went straight to voicemail. Again.

After a long time, some strangers all got up from the island and left, So I bolted over there. For about .0003 seconds I had the island to myself. CoffeeDude ruined that by sitting across from me and attempting to start a conversation. A conversation which I quickly squelched by grunting a lot. For about 2 minutes CoffeeDude and I had the island to ourselves. But then about 8000 PBDs came in. They'd been having a brew club meeting out front and as soon as that was over they stampeded into Rich O's proper because people don't like to sit out front - it's cold and impersonal out there.

So for a while I was pretty irritated, mostly because this one PDB lady kept fanning herself with a menu and the menu kept smacking me in the ear. Right at about the time I was trying to decide between (a) moving elsewhere and (b) murdering the PBD lady, two cool things happened.

First, the PBD lady left and went to go assault somebody else.

Second, DooRagGirl came in and sat beside me.

A bonus cool thing was that I recognized her right away - first time that's happened since she got her hair cut.

So the rest of the night was pretty good. The crowd there at the island dwindled to a reasonable number, and we all sat around bullshitting.

I had myself a Weihenstephaner (850).

I think that just about the only other thing of note was that HotEuchreGirl was there and one of the PBDs that I was sitting with decided that he was going to help me pick HotEuchreGirl up. There were several things wrong with this plan, not the least of which was that her boyfriend was already standing right there talking to us.

Not cool, dude.

Now I've got a lot of catching up to do with my email and other messages. Then I've got a lot of shit to type. Then I've got to catch up on all the journals I've missed.

Man, after all this I'm going to need a vacation.

My hotel supposedly has Internet access in all the rooms, but it's wireless access and I've got no signal in my room.

I'm sitting down in the lobby typing this so my readers don't think I'm dead or anything.

I probably won't do any more updates until I get home tomorrow.

Bye!

Right now, I'm supposed to be writing my Thursday beer report. But instead I'm going to go to St. Louis.

I might write my Thursday beer report later today, or sometime this weekend. I might write an entry or two sometime between now and Sunday when I get back home.

But I'm not making any promises.

I'm taking my laptop with me. This is the first time I've bothered to take it on one of my Easter trips. But that doesn't guarantee that I'll be writing anything.

I may have fun instead.

At least three different women will read the title of this entry and assume that I'm writing about them.

Only one of them is right, though.

Just to ease some concerns and lessen some confusion: If I know your last name, then this is not about you.

Now that I've cleared that up, I thought that I'd say that there's this chick that I want to lick from head to toe, but she's got a boyfriend...

...and he seems to be kind of a dick...

...and he's taking her for granted...

...she could definitely do better...

...and I would love the opportunity to make her scream in ecstasy...

...but she's got a boyfriend, so I will do nothing.

This morning on the way to work I passed a car on the side of the road. The hood was up, and the elderly black lady standing beside was it doing the phone signal to the cars passing her. You know, with her thumb and her pinkie extended?

Genius that I am, I figured that she was wanting to know if anyone had a phone to she could call for help with her car.

Nice guy that I am, I pulled over at the first opportunity.

I walked back to the lady.

"Ma'am," I asked. "Would you like to use my phone?"

The lady looked at me, sneered a little, and said, "I'll get my own phone, Whitey."

As I walked back to my truck, I directed some thoughts at the lady. The most relevant was probably this one:

Please die, you racist bitch. The world will be better off when you, and people like you, are no longer a part of it.

I know this one chick, she's the maestro of the metaphor and the sultan of the simile.

Me, I'm neither. The best I can come up with is that tired old cliché phantom pubic hairs equal feelings.

Confused? It probably won't become any clearer.

Sometimes, I sit at Rich O's after work, and everything is almost perfect. The place is empty enough that I feel like I'm the only one there. My mood is decent but not good, subdued but not sad, alert but not anxious. The music is at a comfortable level, and it's not fucking Johnny Cash. The beer is yummy.

Almost perfect.

After work today I sat in the throne, drinking a pint of Spezial Rauchbier (1190), and it was as close to perfect as it's been in a very long time.

Too fucking close.

I found myself getting irritated because I'm not supposed to be content in that place. There are reasons that I go there, and those reasons do not include beer or conversation or music or any of that crap. That crap I can get anywhere, and that crap is not why I go to Rich O's.

I go to Rich O's because that's where it all happened. Because that was the scene of my crime. Because that's where the ghost is. Because I know without a doubt that Rich O's is the place where, if I have any chance at all of resurrecting anything even remotely resembling actual human emotion - it will be there.

So I go.

I sit in the throne or at the bar or at the island and I grasp at gossamer wisps of emotion, but they evaporate when I touch them.

I tug, ever so gently, on threads tied to memories of that place from so long ago, but those threads break with the slightest tension.

I pull phantom hairs out of my mouth, but I can never quite get a grip, and my fingers emerge from my lips with nothing on them but moisture.

A tickle in my throat, a quiet voice in my head, a tiny and brief rush of adrenaline when someone walks in the door. These are the new highlights of my life.

I am not heartbroken, though I should be. I am not happy, though I long to be. I am not sad, though I deserve to be. I'm finding, more and more lately, that I'm simply content.

Fucking content. What a load of crap that is.

A wise man once wrote:

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this - it just doesn't seem right to let things fade away. Some things deserve a grand exit. Some things deserve closure. Some things do not deserve to be pushed aside so they can fade over time and eventually be forgotten completely.

That is my fear. That the time for love is behind me forever. That I've missed my exit, and that I'll never pass this way again.

I just had to go and write about how my sleep was back to normal.

So, just to teach me a lesson for being too satisfied with my life, the universe decided to knock me out at 7:30 and not let me wake up until 12:30.

So now I'm sort of upside-down again, at least for tonight.

That'll teach me.

Now, now I'm going to drink a beer. A good one, but not the Alaskan Smoked Porter. Not yet. I'm going to drink a beer and then I'm going to try to write a decent entry.

I still haven't been able to get close to the new black cat that lives under my deck, but the neighbors who had their house burn down have a cat, and he's been coming over to see me lately. So that's cool. I like cats.

---

It's supposed to be 90 degrees in St. Louis this Friday. I guess I'll be wearing shorts and blinding everyone.

---

It's been almost 14 years since I've explored the area around Scott AFB Illinois. I'll probably get totally lost.

---

I think I'm taking Thursday off too. That would mean that tomorrow will be virtual Friday, so yay!

---

I've got one bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter left in my fridge. I really really really want to drink it, but it's the last one, and hhere probably won't be any more until the Fall, so I have to wait. Waiting sucks. ANd don't give me that good things come... bullshit either. I'm not in the mood.

---

This time of year is that annoying season when I still need to have the heat on at night, but if I forget to set it to A/C before I leave in the mornings I roast to death when I get home.

---

I used to have this friend named SassyGirl, but I'm pretty sure she must have died in the storms last week because she hasn't fucking called me back to let me know she's alive.

She was cool. I'll miss her.

---

HatGirl told me that she's got some classes or something coming up so she's basically never going to Rich O's again in her life. I'm thinking that this doesn't change much.

---

My sleep schedule is totally back to normal now.

---

People are PMing me to yell at me for not updating my pool 'blog very often. I wonder how come nobody yells at me about the cat 'blog. That damn thing hasn't been updated since like last Summer.

---

If I were truly the stat whore that some people think I am then I'd have posted each one of these tidbits as a separate entry.

I wonder why it is that the only people you see eating Lean Cuisine are fat people. Shouldn't there be some skinny people eating it if it's such a great product?

I also wonder if fat people are ever embarrassed to buy the stuff. It seems to me that when you're loading your shopping cart up with Lean Cuisine you might as well wear a t-shirt that says Danger, wide load or something.

Or maybe it could be one of those shirts with the arrows that points to the side but instead of I'm with stupid or whatever it could say I was with somebody. He was delicious.

I think that Lean Cuisine should be sold in plain brown wrappers so fat people aren't forced to call any extra attention to themselves.

And don't even get me started on those adult diaper things.

(response to message)

You choose, I can't decide.

Doesn't matter because they're all hot.

Okay, you dream experts figure this one out for me. I have no clue.

I was a black kid. This wasn't particularly important and I probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all except that my mother and my grandfather and my older brother were black.

I got the sense that I was around ten years old.

We were living in a trailer park somewhere in New Albany, and we were all outside. It was a warm day. My brother and I were playing on the jungle gym and my mother was grilling steaks, and my grandfather was listening to something on the radio.

He had headphones on.

The sound of gunshots filled the air!

One of the neighbors called out, "They've got guns! Everybody DOWN!"

So I hit the ground and pretended like I was dead while the sounds of running and screaming and bang bang bang moved past me.

When I raised my head, I saw that my mother was lying on the ground with blood pouring from her head. My grandfather was still sitting in his chair with his headphones on and a small bullethole in the center of his forehead.

I looked around for my brother, but I didn't see him anywhere.

At first.

The gunshots started coming close again, so I laid back on the ground and tried to stop breathing so it would look like I was dead.

That's when my brother walked up to me and said, "You always were a little shit."

Then he shot me.

The first thing I noticed last night was the hot girl sitting in the loveseat.

The second thing I noticed was the other hot girl sitting on the sofa.

The third thing I noticed was that there were about a dozen other people crammed into the living room area. All strangers. Some kind of wedding reception or something. Classy.

So, there was no place to sit at all. I stood at the end of the bar for a while and talked to some of the PBDs. I had myself a Spezial (1170). Once this one lady left the other end of the bar I went and grabbed that seat.

So, I'd been there like 15 minutes, and I was already sitting in my new favorite seat. Not too bad I suppose.

My second beer was a Stone Smoked Porter (220). I sat with my back to the strangers and didn't talk to anyone for a long time. That's the way I like it though.

The strangers kept getting louder and louder. Eventually they progressed beyond simple loud talking and entered the WooHoo Zone.

So of course I decided that I hated them.

I hated them so much, in fact, that I'd pretty much decided that I would leave when my beer was gone.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

It was HatGirl and LuckyFucker!

Including HatGirl! Yay!

There was only one seat open at the bar, and HatGirl was going to take it, but this old fucker that I already hated made me hate him even more by taking that seat so he could eat.

So the three of us went out front and sat at a table for a while and talked mostly about the vacation they just finished.

I had myself a Weihenstephaner (816).

Once the WooHoos left we went in and sat in the living room area.

It was nice I guess. It's kind of hard work pretending that I'm talking to both of them with equal interest.

ElPresidente and FirstLady came in and joined us. Then ExBartender and Bubbles joined us. I started to get claustrophobic and I stayed that way until the crowd thinned out a little, but by then it was time to leave anyway so that's what I did.

For a while, you distracted me. But now there's nothing to distract me from, and you shine as brightly as ever.

So now, now you threaten to blind me and so I cannot risk looking at you the way I long to look at you.

Don't act so shocked. You're not stupid. This should not surprise you.

Timing is everything, they say.

I think I might have that engraved on my tombstone.

I had a bit of a realization a short while ago. Nothing Earth shattering, but surprising nevertheless.

I'm not going to tell you what it was.

Well, maybe some other time. Right now I'm just trying to kill a few minutes while my shirt dewrinkles.

I can't get this one song out of my head. It played on the radio while I was on the way home last night, as the universe was trying to be funny or ironic or something.

I'm not going to tell you what the song was, either.

At least not any more than I already have.

Man, I'm just full of secrets this evening. And shit. Can't forget that.

Hmmm, Secrets and Shit. There's my entry title right there. Cool, that's one less decision I'll have to make.

Right now, at Rich O's, there are three of my favorite beers on tap. Plus there are a few more than I can stand. This is very rare, especially lately.

I have to work tomorrow morning at 6:00, so that blows. But at least I can connect in from home so I don't have bother with clothing and I can sleep right up until the last minute.

There's a new cat living under my deck. It runs away whenever it sees me though. It's all black, so it might even be related to Spook, the cat that used to live there that died last Spring. I think I'm going to name this new cat Spook Jr.

I'm mildly apprehensive about tonight, but I'm no longer expecting to drop dead. I think I'm more worried about making an ass out of myself. There's probably nothing to worry about though. I just gotta make sure that I don't ever get back into that when I least expect it mode again. 'Cause that's when it will happen.

Tonight I'm going to wear my WTF? shirt that RockGirl gave me for my birthday. It's certainly appropriate for me these days.

Well, thanks for reading.

This morning I went and had my oil changed in my truck in preparation for next weekend's St. Louis trip.

There was a dude in the waiting room with me and, I shit you not, he kept mumbling over and over and over, "You are my world Jesus I trust you with all my heart."

This guy mumbled this phrase every 15 to 20 seconds for the entire hour that I was there. At first, I thought he was talking to me, and I figured he was in for a huge disappointment soon.

I was also thinking that, if the guy had looked Arabic, and if he'd been mumbling to Allah over and over like that, I'd have figured him for a suicide bomber about to blow the Valvoline Instant Oil Change place off the face of the Earth.

This bothers me that I felt this way. I mean, this fucker was obviously insane, but he was also clearly harmless. Give the same guy a different religion and a darker skin tone and I'd have been nervous as fuck.

I guess I should start the Friday report with the weather.

Around 3:00 is when the tornado warnings and severe thunderstorm warnings started hitting the area. I was working, but some people glued themselves to the local radar pages on the Internet. I overheard some people talking about tennis ball-sized hail in Georgetown. Even though these things are usually an exaggeration I used it as an excuse to leave and go see if my house had any busted windows or skylights.

It must have been a different Georgetown, because there was no hail at my house. The few leaves that have made an appearance this Spring are still on the trees, and any hail at all would have torn them down.

So I took a nap on my couch, and woke up at 7:30 to the sounds of my phone ringing and thunder rumbling. The call was from my sister, but when I tried to call her back I got no answer. I figured she was calling to make sure I knew about the weather, because when I turned on the TV there were huge red blobs all over the radar.

Nothing much happened at my house though. Just a lot of rain - and even the rain wasn't that impressive.

Once the red blobs had all moved East of me I took a shower and went to Rich O's.

The place was fairly full, and it seemed more full than it was because a lot of the PBDs were just standing around getting in everyone's way. I sat at the loveseat and had myself a BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (100) and talked with HotEuchreGirl for a bit.

WomanRepellant came in and we bullshitted some too. He told me at first that HatGirl had been in last Friday, so I spent a few agonizing minutes torturing myself with thoughts of her being at Rich O's but not talking to me, but then we figured out that she had really been in on Saturday when I was at SassyGirl's party, so the suicide has been postponed.

That was a joke.

My second beer was a new one they're brewing at Rich O's:

NABC St. Radegund Bitter (10)

(cask) I guess I was expecting something bitter. You know, because of the name of the beer. This wasn't bitter at all. The aroma was malty and a little flowery. My first impression of the flavor was that it was watery. That watery impression did fade by the time I finished the glass. This beer is very easy to drink. Not my favorite though.

My last beer was going to be another half-pint of the BBC bourbon stuff (104), but MixedSignalGirl called me so I only had a few sips.

I talked to her last night.

I traded text messages with her today.

I saw her tonight.

I am completely blown away by the stark and glaring realization of what I've ignored and brushed aside in my blind rush to a place that I could never reach and that I never wanted to go to in the first place.

Fortunately, happiness is not completely subjective. I can see and I did see the optimism and the delight and the well-being in her eyes tonight. I am so happy for her, and so a part of me is happy for myself.

It was a good thing, the honesty I shared with her. It might even be the best thing I ever did.

It will take time to fully accept what it is that I've ignored and turned my back on. But time is something that I seem to have plenty of lately.

It might be the best thing I ever did.

But right now, right now it feels like the worst.

Stolen from laideehawk

And, on that note, I'm going to bed now.

I'm thinking tonight about how disconnected I seem to be from things that, up until a short while ago, were such an integral part of my existence.

It's almost exactly the same feeling I get when I drive past my grandmother's old house. The memories of that house are all inside me, and I can dredge them up whenever I want to, but I guess I don't really see the point right now.

I remember being in that place, belonging in that place, so long ago, but I don't belong there anymore. There's a definite disconnect between my memories of that life and the sense of self that I use to define me at present.

My memories of being in that house, no matter how moving or vivid those memories might be, those memories will never and can never come close to recreating the experience of being there. That feeling of home that I felt even more strongly than I did with my actual home.

Similarly, that dark place inside my own head, where I spent so much of the recent past, while certainly less tangible than the old house where my grandmother would always have cookies to eat and stories to tell and ABC macaroni in a big pink bowl whenever I wanted it, that dark place was as real to me as any physical place could ever be.

And, like a physical place, it's possible to leave, either by force or by choice. That dark place is not me and that means that I can exist separately from it.

My mind drives past, and I remember what it was like in that place. What once seemed to be such a huge part of my life I now look at from the outside and it just seems so fucking small and unsubstantial. I think about how if I were to go back inside, those walls would once again become my world. My entire existence would be contained within those walls which would comfort me and make me feel so at home.

Problem is, I'm not sure that I belong there anymore.

If I did everything that you think I should do, and I did them the way you think they should be done, then you'd have to find something else to be all smug and self-righteous about.

I'm doing you a favor by being imperfect in your eyes.

Also, get over yourself.

SassyGirl finally managed to send me these pics she took Saturday night:

This was before they made me put on the hat.

Me and SassyGirl. The hat was her idea.

SassyBoy joined us for the next picture.

Then SassyBoy's boyfriend joined us.

This me trying to look like I really don't know what happened to the hat.

If I did everything that you think I should do, and I did them the way you think they should be done, then you'd have to find something else to be all smug and self-righteous about.

I'm doing you a favor by being imperfect in your eyes.

Also, get over yourself.

So I figure I'll make an attempt to stay up a little bit later this evening. It's Wednesday and I only have two nights to get back in sync with the rest of the world.

It has been nice getting plenty of sleep for the last few nights though.

Today, I ate lunch at Buckhead's with some work people.

I almost never eat lunch on a weekday, but I've been craving a Buckhead's Cajun burger for several weeks now, plus I've been asked by a friend of mine to stay away from that place at night, plus the other work guys were going there.

So I went.

My food was yummy, as was the Stone Smoked Porter (190) I had with it. Even though they had it on tap, for some reason the waitress gave me a bottle. I didn't drink the whole bottle though, just 20 ounces of it.

After work, I tried to call SassyGirl, but got no answer.

I went to Rich O's and sat at the bar and had a Spezial (1150) which was yummy. There were about a zillion loud fuckers over by the island. The bartender told me they were good people though so I didn't scowl at them too much. Plus one of the girls was kinda hot.

PatronizingAsshole came in and sat beside me at one point and proceeded to lecture the bartender on how he should go to Dublin and learn how to pour a pint of Guinness. I hate that guy so much. He wasn't even drinking Guinness - he just saw fit to be a dick. There's not a damn thing wrong with the way any of the bartenders at Rich O's pour a pint.

I came home to a clean house and a mowed lawn. That was pretty nice, and well worth the money I spend so I don't have to do that shit myself. This was the first lawn mowing this season for those of you keeping score at home.

Man I'm bored.

I need to find something to do or I'll get sleepy and that'll ruin my grand plan to stay up until at least 10:00 tonight.

You know what's funny?

I miss MixedSignalGirl more than I miss LaptopGirl.

Fuck, I even miss HatGirl more than I miss LaptopGirl.

Maybe I've been abducted by aliens and replaced by a pod person.

But wouldn't I, of all people, know it if that were the case?

I don't really feel like a pod person, I'm just acting like one.

Oh yeah, HatGirl is having a yard party, but I'll be in St. Louis that weekend. Sucks to be me.

Man I'm bored. And tired.

What a boring person I've become.

Whether it's shock or denial or a combination of the two, my mind seems to have shut itself down.

This is a good thing if I want to sleep, and it's certainly allowing me to do that lately. This is also a good thing for my readers if they want to sleep, for if there is anything more likely to cause drowsiness than reading about another person's boring life and mundane thoughts - I don't know what it would be.

I feel like there must be something here inside my head that, if I could only get a good enough grip on it, I could force it to generate some passion within me. Then I could let some of that passion spill out onto this keyboard.

There must must be something in here.

Today, I went shopping for booze. This is an annual event in which I spend a lot of money, on things that I will never drink, simply because my company expects it of me. So now I've got even more wine and whisky and whiskey and vodka to place alongside all of the bottles that I've bought in previous years. My liquor cabinet overflowed last year - bottles are now starting to crowd onto my kitchen counter. My freezer is filling up with flavored vodka.

I try to give it away to friends and family, but I don't have a lot of either, and most of the people I know are beer drinkers anyway.

I could throw the fuck all of parties, but since I don't like people that much, I doubt that I'll be doing that anytime soon. Or ever.

My fridge is also filling up with beer. Like today I bought myself a six-pack each of Bell's Kalamazoo Stout and Upland Chocolate Stout. Six months ago I never drank at home, but I've picked up that habit lately I suppose. Mostly in an attempt to stir my creative juices. I gotta watch that shit though. I gotta remember where I came from. What my parents were.

After the booze shopping I stopped by Rich O's and had myself a glass of Spezial Rauchbier Lager (1130) which started being promised in January I think but only just now showed up on tap. It was yummy.

Once I got home I went to sleep and slept for nine hours.

I dreamed that I missed a certain person, and I was so happy to be feeling anything again, but then I remembered that I'm not allowed to miss that person anymore. So I dreamed that I missed someone else until the same realization put an end to that as well.

So, apparently, I'm not allowing myself to feel anything at all, not even in my dreams.

How messed up is that?

Nine hours of sleep. Wow. After ten hours of sleep the night before.

A guy could get used to this.

Now, if I could only figure out how to do it during normal hours.

Me and SassyGirl acting like idiots Saturday night.

There were many more pictures taken. The others she must have deemed too hideous to send me.

This whole death thing. It's a metaphor.

Well, except for that entry I made on the 26th about dying. That wasn't a metaphor, it was a hypothetical situation.

I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to physically die anytime soon. As sure as any of us can be, anyway, which isn't very.

All this recent death talk is not about my body physically dying. It's about this life that I'm living coming to an end.

There is a difference.

I've written that I died when I found out that she'd moved away. That was the same thing, the same concept. I lived to be near her, but it was no longer an option. I kept breathing during that time, I just stopped wanting to breathe and I had a tough time coming up with a good reason to keep doing it.

Well, the reason that I came up with was an understandable one I suppose. A stupid one, to be sure, but it kept me going for a long time.

That reason was hope.

Though I spent most of my time denying its existence, just as I'd spent most of my time denying the feelings that came before it, hope did exist for me. A very small spark of hope it was, but when held up against the blackness that I found myself in, that small spark was all that I needed to keep going. To keep breathing. Because, you never know.

Well, now that hope is in its death throes, and when it's gone, so will this life that I've been living. The hole in my heart has a specific size and shape, and that which would have filled that hole is about to change both.

That was me, trying to be funny. Three people will get the joke.

Once this hope dies, I'll have to come up with another reason to breathe.

I have no idea what that reason might be. For now, it's simple denial that's keeping me alive. But that won't last forever.

I'm not stupid, you know. I recognize what this means. At least my brain does. It's only a matter of time before my heart realizes it. Once that happens, I'll die again.

Metaphorically, anyway.

No turning back now.

I've booked my St. Louis hotel room, and I've bought myself a ticket for the Cardinals' Friday night game against the Reds.

Yay!

I guess.

So I've been pulling hairs out of my mouth since Sunday morning.

Gross, I know, but also strange because I haven't the slightest idea where it's all coming from.

Maybe some supermodel is sneaking into my bedroom and having her way with me, or maybe the cat hair in my house has developed sentience and is trying to kill me.

---

I slept for 10 hours Sunday evening. Now I probably won't sleep again until Wednesday or so, because I've already used up half my weekly sleep quota.

It would be nice if sleep worked that way. I'd get all of my sleep out of the way on Monday and Tuesday then I'd stay awake for the rest of the week. Somebody should look into why we can't do this.

---

I've been feeling a lot lately like this journal needs to come to an end. I nearly deleted it Sunday morning but if I'd done it then it would have been out of anger and that's not a very good reason to do anything.

I really don't like being angry at people that have never been anything but nice to me.

---

It looks like I'll be going to St. Louis for my Easter trip this year. That's assuming that I remember to get the oil changed in my truck this coming weekend.

---

I'm pretty sure that I'm in denial. There is just no way that I can be okay with this. I need to tie a string around my finger or something to remind me that I'll probably die at any moment.

---

Polly's Freeze reopened this past Thursday, but I haven't made it over there yet. Hopefully this weekend I'll go there for lunch.

---

I was thinking about how, at the end of Titanic, that chick kept saying "Come back!" over and over and over to get the lifeboats to return. That was so sad. Part of me still hopes for rescue. That's even sadder because I don't think it's going to happen for me.

---

I'm craving White Castles right now. I think I'll go. They have breakfast thingies too. Maybe I'll get some of those.

Last night was SassyGirl's party. Of course I went.

I only knew a handful of the people there, but I think that's part of the appeal of the thing. I don't know them, and they don't know me. It usually takes a while for people to figure out how fucked up I am.

Here are some people I didn't know. The King Kong Bundy guy I have seen at Rich O's before though.

SassyBoy, TacoBell, and SassyGirl hamming it up for the camera. SassyBoy got fucked up.

SassyGirl had a keg of some NABC beer (I think it was the Bob's Old 15B Porter), but I took my own stuff. I had three bottles of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (799) and a bottle of Baltika 6 (324) plus a sip or two of Panil Barrique (10), which I'd brought for SassyGirl.

It was fun I suppose, but (surprise!) I'm not much of a party person. For me the fun part is watching everybody act like fools. I also spent a lot of time trying to convince SassyGirl's cat that I wasn't going to torture and kill and eat it.

I got bored and left at about 12:30.

Then, as is usual, I got sad on the drive home because I couldn't help but think about how the last time I was ever happy was driving home from a party at SassyGirl's house back in 2004, with LaptopGirl beside me I think I need to find a different route to take home the next time.

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

Please.

Friday morning I emailed RockGirl that I was going to let fear keep me from going to Rich O's on Friday night. Not my proudest moment, but there it was anyway.

Friday afternoon I emailed HatGirl that I was feeling exposed, and that I wouldn't be at Rich O's on Friday night.

On Friday night, I went to Rich O's.

I arrived quite late - after 10:00 - because I really had planned on just staying home. But my cat Buddy got into a fight with the blinds in the guest room where I was sleeping and that woke my ass up.

When I pulled in behind the place to park there was a storm rolling in, so instead of going around front I just snuck in the back door. None of the bartenders even saw me. I'm sure that some Hollywood people will be calling me about becoming the next James Bond.

Let's see. the place was about half full. A bunch of strangers were in the living room area, and a bunch more were in the red room. ExoticGirl and a couple more chicks were sitting at the bar...

I've had a problem for the past several weeks. I seem to be unable to recognize DooRagGirl with her new haircut. She was sitting right there next to ExoticGirl and I didn't even recognize her until she turned around and even then she had to pretty much smack me in the head.

I think she should start wearing a long wig to Rich O's. She can cut a couple of inches off the wig every week. That way it will be a gradual enough change that I may be able to keep up. I'm sure that this wouldn't be too much trouble for her.

Also sitting next to DooRagGirl was her sister OddlyFamiliarGirl who I guess thinks that I'm mad at her because I didn't talk to her last week. It wasn't that at all, I was pissed at the person she was sitting with, not at her. But whatever, OddlyFamiliarGirl didn't even turn around.

Anyway, one of the PBDs already had taken the spot at the end of the bar, so instead of standing there and talking with the ladies I moved over and sat at the island for a while.

My first beer was one of these:

Bell's Rye Stout (10)

(draft) I found this to be a basic stout with a slight chocolate flavor and a touch of rye bitterness at the finish. I liked it a lot, and I will probably go try to find it in bottles.

JW Lees Manchester Star Porter (10)

(draft) Smelled like snot, but that might have been because I was developing a cold. Served too warm for my tastes, and I almost never say that. A very creamy and smooth chocolatey porter. It contains more alcohol than I'd have guessed. I'd like to try this again once they get the cooler fixed.

While at the bar, I had myself a couple Guinnii (1237) and talked with the bartenders and the PBD that had been there all along. Then I came home a little after 12:00.

Oh, shit! I almost forgot again. The other day I went to Rich O's after work and tried one of these:

Upland Castle Rock Irish Red Ale (20)

(draft) My first impression was that this beer was simply a relabeled Smithwick's. After a bit, however, I did begin to notice a slight hint of bitterness. More like a hint of a hint actually. Smithwick's is better.

I almost never do that. Write an entry, then post it, then wake up four hours later and delete the thing.

I almost never do it.

So, if you know what I'm talking about, you should consider yourself lucky I suppose.

Okay, now I'm pissed.

Not at all of you. Not even at most of you.

Just some.

Just those of you in that subset of the population of this country that are mindless idiots. Unable to form actual opinions of your own, you instead allow talking heads on television to tell you what to think.

You know who you are.

All of you sheep, please, fuck off and die now.