I had the strangest dream.
I hope I can remember it later, when I have more time to write.
But not now, because now I've got to get ready for work.
I had the strangest dream.
I hope I can remember it later, when I have more time to write.
But not now, because now I've got to get ready for work.
4. A person or thing put into place in order to mislead or function secretly, especially:
a. A person placed in a group or situation to influence behavior.
b. A person stationed in a given location as a spy or observer.
c. A person who will pretend to be an ally to solicit incriminating evidence.
Phone rang a couple of hours ago, waking me from a sound sleep.
The screen said Private Number but since it's my cell phone, and work pays for it, plus you never know, I answered it.
Some chick. Wrong number.
It was quite exciting for a couple of seconds, though.
My life had purpose, for a couple of seconds.
I was thinking about writing something today, but I changed my mind. If any of you are really curious, you can just go back and read some of my old shit. The thing that I was going to write about, I'm sure that I've already written about it before.
So on Monday I got this email from The Luxor in Las Vegas telling me about some special room rates they were offering me because I'm so awesome. It was $79 per night, which seems like a pretty good price to me. Since I've been missing Las Vegas recently, I went online to see if I could maybe take a trip there in August. Yay! August in Las Vegas! But I don't think it's going to happen because, while the room rates are good, the cheapest flights I could find were $8,000,000 or something like that. I think I'll have to wait until November as I'd originally planned so work will pay for the trip.
I think that I'm probably going to be miserable for the rest of the Summer. Maybe for even longer. I don't really see any way out of this funk. I am starting to get a little excited about my trip to Cleveland this weekend, but I doubt that even this pseudo-good mood will last very long.
Dammit, I really wish she could have been here for DaveFest.
I kinda feel like everybody around me is just standing in my way, blocking me from where I'm supposed to be going. This irritates me. Mostly because it's an illusion. There's no place to go.
I used to be annoyed by people trying to make me feel better when it was obvious that their only real goal was to feel more comfortable around me. Now I'm annoyed by people because they're being nice to me, but it's nothing but another illusion. Don't be nice to me. You're not the one. So stop. Just stop distracting me. I do not want to be your good deed of the day. Let me be miserable for a while. I've earned it.
My sleep schedule is upside-down again. It's kinda nice. It seems like there's more solitude after midnight. Instead of just having the house to myself, it seems like I've got the whole world.
I've deleted another girl's number from my phone. It really bothers me that it came to this. Not that there was ever any real potential there, but it was fun to pretend for a while. Now my messages are ignored, and I don't trust myself to stop trying, so I deleted her number.
Seriously, I don't want to do this any more. I'm sick of putting on a brave face and forcing a smile.
I doubt that I'll ever be able to look at her the same way again. It might have been just a dream, but my subconscious doesn't know that. To my subconscious, it was incredibly real.
So now, now I know how she kisses. I know how the weight of her body feels when it's pressing down on me. I know what she tastes like. I know how soft her fingers are when they lightly stroke my skin. I know how she sighs and smiles after she's climaxed.
I know what becomes of distractions after that distraction becomes unnecessary.
They move into my head, and they inhabit my dreams.
I can still feel her tongue against mine.
I'm not a bad person. It was, after all, just a dream.
I finally shipped those DaveFest shirts you ordered. They should arrive Wednesday.
There, now I've accomplished three things today.
Firstly, I've let you know that I'm not completely useless - I'm just a procrastinator.
Secondly, I've managed to sneak in yet another advertisement for DaveFest shirts.
Thirdly, I've written an entry in my journal. This counts. Yes, it does.
It could have been twice, it could have been fifty times. When your mom's heart stops beating, you don't really bother keeping an accurate count.
That last night, that last night before that last morning, they'd called. They'd called and they'd told us about the first time her heart had stopped. They'd told us that we might want to come in. Just in case, you know.
Mom had been in the hospital for over a month, and had been unconscious for at least a week. The doctors and the nurses, they kept trying to prepare us for what was going to happen. One nurse in particular had been a friend of Mom's for thirty years - even she admitted that there was no hope.
But we didn't listen to any of it. Death was something that happened to other people's mothers. Not to ours. Ours was going to wake up, and she was going to be okay, and she was going to go home and everything was going to be fine again.
That last night, before that last morning, they called. And Dad and I went in to the hospital. And we waited. When we could, we went into the room where Mom lay. They'd given her a private room in Intensive Care, so that was nice. We went into her room and we watched the number that tracked her heartbeats. We watched that number shrink and shrink and shrink and fucking shrink.
Then we'd watch it plummet to zero, and the doctors and the nurses would usher us back into the waiting room.
And we'd wait some more.
Sometime in the early morning, about 3:00 I think, the nurse came and told us that it wouldn't be long. She said that if there was anyone that we wanted to call, we should do it right away.
It could have been twice, it could have been a hundred times. When your mother is dying, and you're trying desperately to let your sisters know before it's too late, you don't really bother keeping an accurate count.
Dina's phone rang and rang and rang. It was after 6:00 when my brother-in-law finally answered the phone.
"Mike," I said. "It's happening. You need to bring everyone here."
Timing is everything.
It really is just like in the movies. You sit in a room, and you wait for somebody to come and give you an update. Always before, it had been a nurse, or a doctor. Always before, it had been one of them, but never two. Never ever two.
At 6:30 or so, two people left my Mom's room and walked toward Dad and me. I wonder now, were there two of them because there were two of us?
The nurse was crying. I'll always remember that the nurse was crying.
I don't remember what they said to us. I mean, I remember the gist of it, but not the details. When people tell you that your mother has died, you don't really bother memorizing their words.
I remember sitting down. No, scratch that. I remember a hand reaching down from above and pushing me down.
I remember my dad, after the doctor has finished telling us. Dad said, "So she's dead then." It wasn't a question. It was a simple statement of fact. It was also a silent scream that will haunt me forever. Some things you don't get over, and that was one of those things. My father, upon hearing that the only woman he'd ever loved was gone, my father kept himself in check. For me, and for my sisters, he stayed strong.
I remember that he put his hand on my shoulder, and that I put my hand on top of his, and that we just sat like that for the longest time. We sat that way until the doctor and the nurse left us, until they left us to go back into Mom's room so they could disconnect the wires and the tubes and do whatever else needed to be done. After a patient has died.
My sisters arrived too late. Dad and I were standing out in the hallway when they rounded the corner. They were actually smiling. Forced smiles, to be sure, but smiles nonetheless. That was the last time I'd see smiles for a very long time.
Somehow, somehow we managed to tell them that Mom had already died. Dad told Dina, and I told Neisha. Hell, I didn't even know Neisha, and there I was telling her that her life would never be the same again. It was hard, of course it was hard. But I did it. I did it for Dad, who was putting his own grief on hold so that he'd be better able to help his children.
You know what I wish? I wish that I believed in the afterlife. I wish that I believed that Mom could have been there in that hallway with us on that morning. She would have been so proud of Dad.
I know I was.
I still am.
I dreamed that I wrote a pretty good entry.
I knew it was good because half my readers got pissed off, and the other half were saddened.
I was both.
I was pissed that I'd written such cruel things, and I was saddened that it was all true.
I didn't write this. I just followed a link from fark.com.
1. Avoid alliteration. Always.
2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.
3. Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat.)
4. Employ the vernacular.
5. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.
6. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.
7. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.
8. Contractions aren't necessary.
9. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
10. One should never generalize.
11. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
12. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.
13. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.
14. Be more or less specific.
15. Understatement is always best.
16. One-word sentences? Eliminate.
17. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.
18. The passive voice is to be avoided.
19. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.
20. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.
21. Who needs rhetorical questions?
22. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.
I am attempting to broil a steak.
This should be funny.
If I don't die in a fire somehow.
Saturday night was a fucking sausage fest.
When I first arrived, I talked to EwokGirl for a bit. She was wearing her DaveFest shirt. Surreal. Then EwokGirl's husband complimented me on my Rogue Smoke selection.
All I did all night was sit and listen to a bunch of semi-regulars that I don't know yack and yammer about stuff that I had no interest in listening to.
I guess one thing that was kind of cool was that there were a bunch of people from Russia or some other heavily-accented country, and one of the guys recognized me from my 'blog and from the whole DaveFest thing. None of them bought any shirts, though.
To drink, I had three Rogue Chocolate Stouts (676). They were yummy.
...that I'm a decent person.
Not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. But I'm basically a good and kind person.
This is a huge problem.
Women do not want decent and kind. Women want dangerous and callous and unpredictable. Women want someone that needs fixing.
And, if they don't find a flaw right away, they'll poke and prod and dig until they do find something wrong.
The problem is, the problem is that the further they have to dig to find the problem, the harder it will be to fix.
And some things are beyond repair.
First things first. Yesterday I had the first half of the day off work, but at noon I had to go to Churchill Downs for a work thing.
I guess I'm kind of anti-horseracing. It just seems a little cruel to me, especially when they use the whips. Maybe that makes me a pansy. I dunno.
Here's a picture I took:
Anyway, that's how I spent the day Friday.
Friday night I was on my way to Rich O's, and I ran into VigilanteGirl in the parking lot at the GasNStuff. So I talked to her for a half-hour or so. This was quite disconcerting because she was looking very sexy. I displayed willpower that I didn't know I possessed by keeping my eyes locked on her own. Mostly. Drift was inevitable, and understandable, I think. Damn she's hot.
She bought a DaveFest shirt. That was nice of her.
So by the time I left GasNStuff, I was running late, but I still needed to eat something, so I stopped at the haunted Burger King for a quick meal.
While I was waiting for my food, my cousin Jeff called to let me know that he'd be coming by Rich O's later to get his DaveFest shirt.
When I finally arrived at the bar, it was crowded as fuck. A couple of PBDs were on the loveseat. ActualGeorge was at the kiddie table, and strangers and assholes were everywhere else. How could I tell the difference between strangers and assholes? I'm glad you asked. The assholes were the ones sitting on the sofa, eating, and drinking fucking water.
What a bunch of assholes.
Anyway, I stood at the end of the bar and had myself a yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (576) and glared at the assholes. At one point I went and sat with ActualGeorge for a while but then WomanRepellant came in so I went back and stood with him.
It was pretty boring, but I didn't mind too much.
After a while the strangers left the island so WomanRepellant and I and some PBDs went and sat there.
My second beer was a half-pint of Rogue Smoke (100). I like that beer (another DaveFest selection) a lot, but I wanted to save room for more Chocolate Stout.
At about the time Jeff arrived, The PBDs were leaving the loveseat, so we went and sat there. Then the assholes left the sofa and the throne.
I guess that was pretty much it. I gave Jeff his DaveFest shirt, and we sat and talked for the rest of the night. A couple of times somebody would come in and interrogate me about DaveFest, and I did my best to sound humble about the thing. But it's hard to be humble when you're me, I suppose. At least when you're me and people are wearing shirts with your likeness on the front.
Oh yeah, that one girl that looks like Ella came in and sat out front. With her was, I shit you not, the hottest girl who has ever sat foot in Rich O's. You could hear straining zippers all over the place as erections formed on every man there.
So the night was pretty tame. WomanRepellant joined Jeff and me in the living room, and I had a couple more Rogue Chocolate Stouts (616) before they started kicking everybody out of the place.
I keep telling myself that this would be an easy thing to do.
And that it would be the right thing to do.
I look back at the last several weeks, and I see that there's nothing stopping me.
And by nothing I of course mean nobody.
There's nobody stopping me.
There's nobody worth stopping for.
I should do this.
It would make things a lot easier, in the long run.
Timing is everything.
I keep saying that.
But only because it's so fucking true.
I really should do this.
But not tonight.
Tonight I'm busy.
Or I will be very shortly.
Damn she's hot.
I'd already planned on going to Rich O's. I'm off for the first half of the day tomorrow, so that means that my Thursday night is free. So I was going anyway.
Then I got the latest Publicanista! email from Rich O's. I'm sure that it said some other stuff, but nothing, I mean no-o-o-o-thing was even close to the importance of this:
The Rogue distribution rights have transitioned back to North Vernon Beverage Co., the pallet was delivered on Wednesday afternoon, and Dave's two faves are ON TAP now:I somehow remembered to put my pants on before rushing to Rich O's.
Rogue Chocolate Stout and Rogue Smoke
Once I got there, I took notes.
I arrive. There are probably people here, but I don't care. I grab my favorite seat at the bar and order a Rogue Chocolate Stout (526).
Oh, dark master, how I've missed your frothy presence.
That one chick's voice cuts through everything. No wonder her husband always looks so miserable.
I hope these two fuckers next to me don't babble like that all night. They're ruining my special moment.
I should have stopped and eaten something on the way here. That failure will undoubtedly cost me later, when it causes me to cut myself off early.
First there was A, and A consumed me. Then B came along and distracted me from A. B was a very welcome distraction. But now A had lost its power, and I wonder what will become of B. Should I start looking for C?
For those keeping score at home, these fuckers still haven't shut up.
I should write about reactionary idiots, but I'm worried about what the reactions would be. I think that's irony or some such.
The fuckers are talking about high school soccer. Kill me now.
PotatoGirl is wearing horizontal stripes. What is she thinking?
WomanRepellant is here. He still owes me for his DaveFest shirt.
Scratch that. He just paid me.
Today we had to go to this Famous Dave's place for lunch. Despite the cool name, it's not my favorite place. I had a beer that was new to me:
(draft) Touted as being "like Blue Moon" and I suppose that's not too much of a lie. A decent Belgian wheat, but with lagerish undertones and a touch too much citrus. Kind of a blend of Belgian and American wheats.9:11
Another Rogue (546).
This one girl that works here, I used to call her HatGirl before The HatGirl came into my life. So now this girl needs a new nickname. I think I'll call her KillerBodyGirl. Yeah, that's it. KillerBodyGirl. It has a nice ring to it.
Speaking of HatGirl, I texted her as soon as I found out that the Rogue was on tap. No response.
I'm reminded that I'm supposed to be mad, or at least disappointed, with one of my friends. Right now, I don't care.
The babbling fuckers have finally left, and PestoBoy has moved to the other end of the bar. Yay! Now there's room for hot girls! Bring on the hot girls!
Seriously, bring on the hot girls.
I'm thinking that I might have a Rogue Smoke next. I waited a long time for it, too.
Been talking to BreakfastDude.
Trying to talk ElPresidente into buying a DaveFest shirt. He claims to have no money.
Another Rogue Chocolate Stout, but I only drink half (556).
ElPresidente wants a shirt, but I think I'm out of his size.
I sold him the shirt I'd reserved for my friend Eric. Oops.
DooRagGirl is here. Yay!
Ordering a Diet Coke.
DooRagGirl is leaving. WomanRepellant lived up to his nickname.
I'm outta here.
I haven't done one of these horoscope thingies in a long time. Probably because I think it's a bunch of hogwash.
My horoscope for this week from Free Will Astrology:
According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you're about to turn into a creative powerhouse--and will remain so for at least a few weeks. That means you'll be at the peak of your ability to conjure up artistic masterpieces. But more than that: You will also have uncanny skill at whipping up fresh, crisp solutions to conundrums that have stymied you and your tribe for a long time. It will almost be as if you have found a way to tap into the future, where you can learn novel ways of seeing that are impossible to access in the present.I'll believe it when I see it.
So, according to this guy, maybe my creative slump will soon come to an end. Maybe I'll finally take some of these ideas and thoughts bouncing around in my head, and actually make something out of them.
That could be cool. Because maybe then I could get some of these voices to shut up for a while. By providing a platform for their ramblings, maybe I could placate them.
Because I have plenty of crap rattling around in my head, I'm just having a hard time writing any of it out.
There once was another time when my head was just as busy as it is now, but back then the problem was a different one. Back then, it was like being caught in the middle of a storm. There didn't seem to be time to breathe let alone try to form a coherent sentence.
Now, now the problem is one of motivation.
I just don't seem to care enough about what I'm thinking or feeling to even bother writing it out. And, if I don't care, that pretty much guarantees that none of you will care either.
Talked to SassyGirl tonight. She's been laying low since JauntyGirl is out of town.
She sent me a shitload of pictures from the first night of DaveFest. Some of the pictures are suitable for public viewing.
Going clockwise, my sister Neisha, her husband Chris, my lovely self, my other sister Dina, her husband Kenny, DooRagGirl, and SassyGirl.
Pretty much the same people as before, with JauntyGirl added next to SassyGirl, and WheatDude and MisunderstoodGirl on the loveseat.
That's GlassesGirl talking to Neisha.
DooRagGirl got fucked up.
SassyGirl trying to embarrass me.
Shortly after this picture was taken, things got out of hand. Sexual harrassment took place. I liked it.
I drove into this loveliness on my way home from work this evening.
I wish I had a wide-angle option on my phone. The sky was incredible.
Somehow, the lack of lightning made it even scarier.
When I was a child, I imagined the life that I would lead.
I knew that I'd be married, and that I'd have a couple of kids. I knew that my wife would be beautiful. I'd be rich, somehow, though I never put much effort into imagining just how I'd find wealth. I mean, I was never going to be a doctor or a lawyer or even an astronaut. Those thoughts seemed irrelevant to me back then. What was relevant was that I'd be a father, and a husband. I'd live the American dream. I'd have a good life.
When I became an adult, I did my best to live the life that I wanted.
For a while, I clung fiercely to that hazy childhood dream. Despite the failed marriage, despite losing my mother, despite all of the other bullshit that comes with the coming of age. I fought the disintegration of my dream as hard as I could. But its loss was, in the end, inevitable. And when that dream was completely gone, I found a new dream. One of contentedness and, every now and then, quiet happiness.
And then that dream evaporated too.
Pressures from family and friends and work, they'd just keep massing at the walls of my safe little fortress. Finding and taking advantage of the smallest cracks in the walls that I'd so carefully erected around myself. Eventually, I found myself outnumbered and surrounded. My life became less about me and more about those around me. And I lost myself in the confusion, along with the focus I'd spent so much time perfecting.
One day, a couple of years ago, I found new focus. I found new meaning for my life. Welling up from a place inside myself that I'd forgotten even existed, I found a new dream.
That one didn't turn out so well, either. I might have mentioned it here from time to time.
When I reached middle age, I stopped thinking about living a life. I instead began to think about salvaging a life out of the time I had left.
The past stretches behind me, a testament to the failures and the missed opportunities and the broken dreams. The future looms ahead of me, but all I can see is the end. The finish line. I tell myself that there's still enough time to live the life that I want to live, but I first have to decide what I want that life to be. And then, once I decide, I have to act. I have to stop being afraid. But it's tough, because there might not be many dreams left. I need to be sure and pick a good one. A possible one.
When you're old, you give up on your dreams. You accept that what you have is all that you're ever going to have. You realize that the life that you wanted, no matter what it was, it had always been, and would always be, forever and fucking ever, out of reach. For it was a always moving target, always staying ahead of you as you raced helter-skelter through the years.
I haven't reach that point.
I haven't given up.
My sister Neisha sent me this picture of us siblings.
Well this should be interesting, trying to remember the last couple of days.
Yesterday was such a long day that Friday seems like a million years ago.
Let's see. Friday night. DaveFest Night Thirteen.
I might have gotten to Rich O's a little early. I want to say it was like 7:30 or something. There were some dipshits in the living room area eating, and this Joe Cool fucker was at the island. I sat at the bar next to one of the PBDs, and had a half a Cone Smoker (1916).
I'd figured at first that I'd just sit at the bar all night. I was looking forward to it actually. But after the PBD left a couple of loud strangers sat next to me at the bar and started trying to talk to me, so I picked up my shit and moved over to the throne since the dipshits had left.
The rest of the night consisted of talking with MusicalHippieDude and WomanRepellant, and wondering if HatGirl was going to come in. To drink, I had a Newcastle (2200), then a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (450), and finally half a glass of Mestreechs (115).
The second half of that glass I gave to GlassesGirl. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the Mestreechs. It just clashed incredibly with the Bell's I'd just had. Much worse than, say, drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. Much much worse, in fact.
Other than that, not much happened. One of the regular bartenders had the night off or was on vacation or something, so they had this one cute chick from the Sportstime side bartending the Rich O's side. So now everyone is spoiled.
But there were no HatGirl appearances, and the cute bartender wasn't able to make up for that lack, so the night was pretty boring.
Saturday sucked dead donkeys. I worked all day, and I worked most of the night. I guess that's what I get the big bucks for though, so I can't complain too much.
By the time I got everything back to normal at work, it was almost 10:00. I briefly considered going over to my sister's house for this party she was having, but in the end I figured that it was too late for that. I ended up at The Pub in Louisville instead.
I like that place, at least I like it when that one bitch bartender isn't working. She wasn't working last night, so there.
Pretty much all I did was have a couple Newcastles (2240) and then a Hoegaarden White (32). I think this was the first time I'd had the Hoegaarden in draft form. It was pretty good.
There was this one chick there who was convinced that she knew me from somewhere, but she couldn't remember any details. I actually do remember the details, and I did the right thing in blowing her off. She's a coworker of MixedSignalGirl's.
By the time I got home I'd been up almost 24 hours, so I cancelled my pool practice for the night and just went to bed.
I still look, when I have the chance. I still look into her eyes. I look for a sign.
I just can't tell. I can't tell if there's anything there at all.
I get lost in those eyes, and I can't see a damn thing.
That's a bad sign, I think.
If there was something there, wouldn't I be able to see it? Wouldn't it be obvious, the way it used to be?
Wouldn't I just know?
I wonder, does she look into my eyes for the same reason?
And if so, does she then turn away disappointed, or relieved?
I didn't think it was going to happen, because I'm scheduled to be on-call that week, but my new best friend in the entire world has agreed to trade on-call days with me for the week of July 4th.
That means that I get four (4) days off in a row!
That means that I'm going to Cleveland!
All I have planned for sure is to visit the Great Lakes Brewery and to catch an Indians game. Other than that, I'm wide-open. Maybe I'll visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
I am once again excited about life.
I suppose this entry from Roger's 'blog explains it:
So, tonight DaveFest enters its third weekend, and it does so once again without the beer that, for me, was pretty much the point of the whole thing.
A part of me realizes that this delay is a good thing. I think I've been quite honest with myself when I've said, "Self, when the Rogue Chocolate Stout goes on tap, that's all I'm going to drink. All those other beers will fade into irrelevance once my dark master reappears."
This way, frustrating as it's been, this way I've at least been able to drink a lot of my other favorite beers. It's been a time of tough choices for me, seeing all those yummy beers on the board at the same time. It's been tough, but it's been wonderful.
Really, is it so bad?
Is it really so horrible that only reason I even talk to you at all is that, someday, somehow, I hope to stick my dick in you?
Is that really so bad?
Think about it for a second.
How many guys are left that want anything at all to do with you?
I'm sure of it.
Because you're a bitch.
And an all-around psycho.
Was any of that redundant?
Just think, for a second, about all of the guys you've left in your wake.
Crying in their beers and wishing they'd never even met you.
Those guys know better, now.
They've seen the person that you really are.
And they want nothing to do with you.
I'm not like that.
I still want to stick my dick in you.
You should let me.
Before I wise up.
Partly because I feel a bit of an obligation because of DaveFest, and partly because I just want to, I've been going into Rich O's after work each day this week. Not much has happened that's worth writing about, but I gotta write something.
You know, I can't for the life of me remember a single thing about this except that I had a Smithwick's (826) and there was this one hot girl and her husband who recognized me from my 'blog.
I had to take the day off work to wait for the cable guy to show up and fix my Internet. Once that guy left I went to Rich O's. I got there a little earlier than I'd planned - about 4:30 - because SassyGirl had called and wanted me to call her when I went to Rich O's.
So, I had a Newcastle (2160) and I called SassyGirl about every 15 minutes or so, always getting voicemail, sometimes leaving a message.
Also, LibertyGirl was there and she kept trying to start up a conversation, but I just wasn't in the mood. Hopefully I didn't piss her off. Since then I've been trying to remember just how much LibertyGirl knows about the whole LaptopGirl situation. I seem to vaguely remember spilling my guts to her one night.
Then, I had another Newcastle (2180) and kept trying to call SassyGirl, but I still had no luck.
Good thing SassyGirl isn't straight or I'd probably start to get a complex. This is about the zillionth time she's done this shit to me.
Oh yeah, and Roger told me that the two Rogue ales for DaveFest (Rogue Chocolate Stout and Rogue Smoke) might be available Thursday. He didn't sound very optimistic about it though. We'll see what happens.
Today I had myself an NABC Cone Smoker (1906). I had the living room area all to myself but then this hot girl came in with her Great-great-great-great-grandmother. She had a Lindeman's while her remote ancestor had a glass of wine.
The girl was just too hot. I kept having to tear my eyes away from her, and when I got sick of doing that I moved up to the bar and finished my beer there.
"You're a fucking dumbass," I said.
"What are you bitching about now?" I asked.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you stupid fuck, " I answered.
"Well, how about you pretend that I don't know, and you explain it to me."
"Okay fine." I paused for effect. "You had hope just now. Don't even fucking try to deny it. That person just walked in the door and you had hope that it would be her."
"Bullshit," I said.
"C'mon, I was right here," I said. "I know that you had hope."
"What if I did?" I asked defensively. "Besides, it was only for a second."
"I can't believe how stupid you are." I was getting frustrated. "How many times do you have to be hurt before you give up this bullshit?"
"It's not bullshit," I protested. "It's perfectly normal for me to miss a friend, and to hope to see that friend again."
"You forget who you're talking to," I said. "I'm the one person you cannot fool."
"I'm not trying to fool anyone. You're just being paranoid."
"Paranoid?" I was incredulous. "You think I'm paranoid, you dumb fuck?"
"That's exactly what I think," I said. "You forget that things have changed. I've managed to separate things in my head. I want to see my friend, that's all."
"Save that bullshit for your 'blog," I said. "Like I said, you cannot fool me."
"You suck," I responded. "You suck, and I don't have to listen to you if I don't want to."
"You are such a stubborn asshole," I said. "Fine, but let me ask you something."
"What?" I asked confidently.
"You say that you miss your friend, and that's all that you miss?" I asked.
"That's right," I responded.
"Well," I continued, "What about the potential for something else? What about the potential that you saw in the two of you as a couple? What about the potential that you saw in her as a person?"
"That's all in the past," I said uneasily. I was beginning to get an idea of what would come next.
"Oh, is it really?" I asked. "You don't miss that potential at all?"
"Um, well I guess I'll always miss that," I answered. "At some level at least."
"You try so hard to sound like you've got your shit together," I said.
"Hey," I protested. "I am a lot better than I was. Why are you being such a dick?"
"Because I'm sick of your bullshit," I answered. "That, plus I might be the only person on Earth that cares about you."
"You have a funny way of showing it," I pointed out. "I was in an actual good mood for once, and you had to go and ruin it."
"You idiot," I said. "You've actually managed to forget about it, haven't you?"
"Forget about what?" I asked.
"About The Wall," was all I needed to say.
I went numb for a precious second. "You asshole," I said as the pain came rushing back to me. "Why did you have to remind me? Why couldn't you just let me be content for a while?"
"Because contentedness is dangerous for you," I said. "You can't handle being content, and you always look for something more."
"And what's wrong with that?" I asked, though I knew what the answer would be.
"What's wrong with that, you dumb fuck, is that you always look for the same thing. Over and over and over and over. And you're never going to find it."
"Because of The Wall," I admitted.
"Right. Because of The Wall," I answered. "All of that potential that you saw - it's unreachable to you now. You've got to come to grips with that fact."
"You know," I countered. "I wasn't thinking about that stuff at all, before you butted in. I just missed my friend. You could have left me alone."
I sighed. I'd hoped that it wouldn't come to this. "Okay," I said. "I'll make you a deal. Let me ask you one more question, and if you answer it honestly and still want me to leave you alone, then I will."
"Great," I answered. "Ask your fucking question."
"Okay, here goes." This was going to be hard for me to ask, I knew that it would be exponentially tougher for him to answer. "Right now, you realize that all of that potential is something that you'll never see realized. Right now, you know it like you've never known it before. My question is this: Without that potential, with nothing except the opportunity for what you once had, and nothing more, ever, are you sure that you want to see her walk through that door?"
I knew what I was supposed to say. I sure as fuck knew what I wanted to say. But I decided, for some reason that escapes me now as I tell this story, I decided to answer the question honestly.
"If you put it like that," I responded, "then the answer is no. To simply go back to what there was would be impossible. It would hurt too much. I'd rather have nothing than try to go back to that while knowing that there would never be anything more."
"Thank you for your honesty," I said gently. "And now, as I promised, I'll leave you alone if that's your wish. You can hope and dream all you want, and I won't interrupt you again."
"That's okay," I said. "You can stay for a while if you want."
"Thank you," I answered. "Let's have a beer together, and let's miss her for a while."
"Sounds good," I accepted. "I'll try not to have any hope this time."
"I know you'll try," I said. "And if you slip up, I'll be right here for you. To smack you down once again."
I allowed myself a smile. "You're an asshole, you know?" I said.
"Yes I am," I conceded. "But at least I'm not a fucking dumbass."
"Maybe that's why we make such a good team," I ventured.
"Cheers!" we said in unison, as our glasses clinked together.
My Internet connection has been up and down for most of the day. I'll probably type this shit up and then not be able to publish it. Supposedly the guy is coming here tomorrow to diagnose and hopefully fix whatever the problem is.
I have absolutely nothing to write about and, even if I did, it wouldn't be any good.
I keep dreaming about Las Vegas. Probably because this is the longest I've gone without visiting there in several years. I need to get out there.
I seem to have developed this severe aversion to couples. I don't really think about it, but I'm miserable around them. I suppose this is my subconscious giving me a hard time about being alone.
The DaveFest thing is exhausting. What I'd like to do, one of these nights, is just sit at the island or at the bar and do nothing except glare at people. But I can't, because I'm the star of the show or something.
Yesterday I bought a bag of pistachios, then I ate the whole bag in about three hours. Pistachios must have the highest ratio of ugliness to deliciousness of any food out there. Plus, they're a pain to eat.
I guess that's about it.
I fear that this will be too cryptic for some, and not nearly cryptic enough for others.
I apologize to both groups. This is just what I was thinking about, and I need to write it before I lose it in the blizzard of drivel that has swarmed in my head lately.
Almost five years ago, I watched people jump. A lot of us watched. Hell, most of the world watched, either as it happened, or through replay after replay after replay after replay.
One scene in particular sticks in my head. A man and a woman who jumped as one. Their hands clasped tightly together as they leaped from one certain fate into another.
I wonder, did they know each other, before that morning? Did they work together? Did they ever see each other in the hallways, or in the elevators? Or did they meet at that last possible moment, when the horrors around them led them both to that same conclusion? Did each of them reach out, at that terrible moment when death loomed behind and waited below them, did each of them reach out for one last touch from another human being, for one final bit of proof that no matter how terrible life can be, we don't have to go through it alone? Did they reach out then, and find each other, and gain comfort from each other's presence?
We're all faced with similar choices all the time. Will we let our troubles burn away at us until there's nothing left but ash? Will we become paralyzed with fear of the unknown? Or will we take that leap into the void? Will we take back our lives?
I like to think that I know what I'd have done. I like to think that I'd have jumped.
But this last time, this last time the courage eluded me. And, while I stood trembling on the ledge, she went ahead and jumped without me.
Good for her. She took back her life.
This entry deserved better than I could give it.
How is it, I wonder, that I can eat six White Castle cheeseburgers and two orders of fries right before I go to sleep, then wake up six hours later and be starving to death?
I can't eat now though. I've got to connect in to work and get some shit done.
Maybe after that's done I'll go grab some breakfast.
I didn't say this would be an interesting entry.
Took the lazy road in preparing this entry. I took notes.
Gave PhotoDude his DaveFest shirt. He wants me to sign something on it. I'm thinking about signing, "Here's your fucking shirt."
Assholes in the living room, strangers at the island. I'm having a Newcastle (2140) at the kiddie table.
This one chick from work wants me to go sit in the loser area with them. No thanks.
Assholes left. I'm moving to the throne.
Some people are incapable of shutting the fuck up.
I just had the glorious realization that the two women that I care most about in the world - the last words that each of them said to me were lies.
I've been talking to PhotoDude and his wife, but now some hot girls have arrived. I might not be writing much for a while.
I order a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1061).
This one chick, she reminds me of a girl I used to lust after before I even knew what lust was. What I'm saying is that the lust I have for this girl has deep roots.
I know her name now. Same as a month. Not September.
That fucking fuckhead just came in. He better not acknowledge my presence.
She's 24. My imagination cannot accept that much of an age difference.
Wait, now she's 30. That's better, but she seems to be aging very quickly.
She grew up very close to where I lived in Lanesville. Small world.
Her friend is quite hot too, but married.
Another Weihenstephaner (1081).
Hot girls just left. Probably to masturbate while thinking about me.
I'm outta here. White Castle sounds good.
Boy, talk about going through the motions.
This is the third time I've sat down to write this entry. It's so boring that I keep slipping into a coma, and then I have to start over after I regain consciousness.
I'm thinking that I should probably just give up on writing things from scratch, that I should probably just carry my notebook around with me all the time. It's the lazy way to write, sure, but maybe lazy isn't such a bad thing.
So I got to Rich O's early, a little after 7:00. The living room area was full of strangers drinking Red Stripe. I guess they don't realize that (a) You can get that stuff in liquor stores, and (b) It sucks.
At the island, we had a couple of old people celebrating their 800th wedding anniversary or something. It was gross and sweet at the same time. It was greet.
I sat in the red room and talked to MusicalHippyDude, GlassesGirl, and PhotoDude for a few minutes. My first beer was a Newcastle (2120).
At 7:30 the old people realized that it was waaaaaaaaaaaay past their bedtime so they left, and I jumped up to the island so I could glare at The Red Stripe Bunch more easily. My second beer was a Domaine DuPage (290).
SassyGirl and JauntyGirl came in and joined me. JauntyGirl was wearing a shirt with a start button on the front. I guess there's some band called The Start or some such, and it's one of her favorite bands. Anyway, I had an almost irresistible urge to press that start button. That damn button taunted me all night.
Once The Red Stripe Bunch finally left we moved over to the living room area, and then after a while DooRagGirl came in, followed closely by my sister Neisha and her husband Chris.
My third beer was a Mestreechs Aajt (110).
Not much happened after that. I think everyone was bored. I know that I was.
My last beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1041).
I sold a couple of DaveFest shirts, and just about everybody put theirs on right away. Not SassyGirl though. She didn't like the new shirt smell.
Oh yeah, the Rogue beers didn't make it yet. That will probably make HatGirl happy since it means that she'll get a chance to try the Rogue Chocolate Stout, but it was disappointing to me.
I feel another coma coming on, so I'm going to stop now.
I've waited long enough.
My voicemails and emails have sat unanswered for almost two weeks. I said that I would not try again, and I haven't. The ball's in your court, but you're not there to pick it up.
Fine. I'll play by myself for a while. Maybe even play with myself for a while.
Ha ha ha.
I think the thing that shocked me the most about the way you left is that, at first, it seemed that you must not have a very high opinion of me as a person. For what you asked me to do was something that only a complete asshole would do. Surely, I thought, surely you knew me better than that.
But the more I've thought about it, the more I've come to realize that it's not my character that you've misjudged - it's my intelligence.
You think I'm fucking stupid, don't you?
Well, I'm not.
Sure, it took me a few days, but I did figure it out.
You asked me to prove my feelings for you, but the proof that you demanded was impossible. And you knew it.
Why would you do that? Why would you issue an ultimatum that could never be satisfied?
It's simple, really.
You asked me for the impossible because you knew that my refusal would give you an excuse. An excuse to walk away. An excuse to keep the blame for our failures on me. An excuse behind which you could hide your own fears and insecurities.
It was a good plan. If you're twelve years old.
I'd take a bullet for you, but I will not shoot an innocent person. You knew that all along.
Look, I know all about fear and insecurity. I've pretty much mastered them both over the past couple of years. So I understand the things that race through your head. You waited for so long for me to say those words to you. You were surprised. You were skeptical and you were afraid.
I don't blame you a bit for your concerns.
I just wish you'd have told me, instead of playing this stupid game. I thought we were better than stupid games.
I got this stupid premonition in my head last night, and slept fitfully because of it. Just one of those things that would be pretty cool if it happened, but it's so unlikely that I could never be disappointed if it doesn't happen.
That's the best kind of premonition, I think.
I dreamed about a pretty good movie with C. Thomas Howell and Jennifer Aniston. The theme song of the movie was a country song, and in the dream it was one of the best songs ever. Now I'm sitting here at my desk with the song running through my head, and I realize that it's one of the stupidest songs ever. Still can't get the fucker out of my head though.
I also dreamed about how I was working with some cops on some case or other, and there were pod people involved. They blew up part of a building to cover up the fact that MixedSignalGirl's mother had been replaced by a pod person. Then I had to put her cat in her car so I wouldn't have to carry it around while I searched the rubble for evidence. And later some bitch wouldn't let me back into the parking garage because I didn't have a pass. After I told her about Puddles being in the car she was nicer about it, but she still wouldn't let me in.
It was all very intense and dramatic. The whole thing had something to do with these transistors that had been used on a certain type of computer cabling back in the 1970s. The same transistors, it turned out, had also been used in these doohickeys that attached to soda cans to keep them cold.
Damn pod people. I hate them so much.
I was hung-over all day yesterday, so I didn't do anything but work and watch TV.
There's a chance that the Rogue Chocolate Stout and the Rogue Smoke will be on at DaveFest tonight. I'm afraid to ask though because it'll put me in a bad mood if they're not available yet.
Writing was effortless, when I was insane. I could sit here, late at night, relax just a little bit, and words would start flying onto the screen.
Writing was easy.
Living was the hard part. Breathing seemed like such a simple thing to do until I ran out of reasons to do it.
How, I wonder, do you get a hangover without being drunk the night before?
I dunno, but I seem to have stumbled upon the secret.
Too bad I still don't have a clue what that secret might be. Maybe when the cobwebs clear out of my head.
Anyway, last night the DaveFest t-shirts were to be delivered, so I made a rare Wednesday night appearance at Rich O's, arriving at 7:00.
Some stranger was eating in the living room area, so I sat at the island and had myself a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1021). After a short while, some old lady showed up and sat across from me. I decided that the lesser of two evils was the eating guy, so I picked up my shit and moved to the loveseat.
TShirtDude arrived at about 7:45 with my shirts.
I put one on almost immediately, then I sold one almost immediately to one of the PBDs sitting at the bar. I'd kinda been hoping that HatGirl would buy the first one, but we don't always get what we want.
HatGirl (yay!) did come in a little after 8:00 to drink a beer and buy a shirt. It's always nice to see HatGirl, but seeing her wearing a DaveFest shirt was positively sublime.
My second beer was a Piraat (165).
Let's see, I also hung a shirt on the wall so people would know they're for sale:
After HatGirl left the place got really boring really quickly, but I stuck around anyway and had a couple of Newcastles (2100) and talked to TShirtDude and some guy from some website for a while.
And tonight I get to do it all over again, except I think I'll skip the Piraat.
I wish we were still friends.
I'd mail her a t-shirt.
She would like it.
If we were still friends.
The DaveFest T-Shirts will be available tomorrow!
Please buy one. Here's what's on the front:
And then on the back is a list of all the DaveFest beers.
Because these are arriving almost a week later than was originally planned, I'm not expecting them to sell nearly as well as I'd hoped.
Again, please buy one. I'm selling them at cost (rounded up to the nearest dollar) and for Internet orders I'll pay shipping.
So, small, medium, large, and extra-large are going for $10.00. Size XXL is $11.00, and size XXXL is $12.00.
Fuck, I'll even sign the thing if you want.
For every shirt that doesn't get sold, I figure that will equal one day that I'll have to eat dirt to help make up for what I'm spending on these things.
I don't like to eat dirt, so please buy a shirt.
There, I even wrote you a poem.
Slept from 8:30 'til 5:30. I don't think I missed anything.
I guess I'm going to Chicago for a day or two in July. Some email archiving thingy. No baseball during that trip unless I stay an extra night. I probably won't make that decision for a while. First I have to decide if I'm going to drive or fly up there.
Man I'm bored.
This has been discussed, and approved.
From now on, SassyGirl's girlfriend TacoBell will be referred to in this journal as JauntyGirl.
That is all.
There used to be a lot more lightning bugs.
What I was a kid, there'd be hundreds, thousands of them. They filled my front yard like the stars filled the sky. My sister and I would go out into the yard on the warm Summer nights and it seemed that all we had to do was wave our jars around to catch as many as we wanted. And, if we missed one, there were plenty more for us to chase.
There used to be so many of the things.
I wonder where they all went.
Life provides its own metaphors.
Saturday night was much more subdued than Friday had been, but that was only on the outside. In my own head it seemed much more frantic.
I'll blame this on the fact that I was completely exhausted. I got up too early, then I spent the afternoon at my sister's delayed wedding reception. After I made a quiet exit from there I had a fitful nap before going to Rich O's a little after 8:00.
The place was pretty full. A slew of strangers had taken over the red room, and the rest of the place was full of PBDs.
I ordered a frenchy beer (250) and sat on the loveseat for a while and talked to the PBDs, but I was feeling pretty claustrophobic so I ended up moving to the end of the bar where I stood for most of an hour.
WomanRepellant came in and sat at the kiddie table, so I went over and joined him at about the same time that I ordered a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (430). In all of my excitement over the impending arrival of (and my disappointment over the delay of) Rogue Chocolate Stout I'd completely forgotten that the Bell's was a DaveFest selection that was already available. It was quite good.
At one point ElPresidente relinquished the throne so I moved there. WomanRepellant and I spent a lot of time just bullshitting, mostly about ExoticGirl and how pretty she was.
HatGirl had told me on Friday night that she'd be in on Saturday, but it was after 10:00 and I was starting to figure that she wasn't going to be in after all. This put me in a bad mood but, to be honest, my mood hadn't been that great to begin with. My third beer was a yummy Newcastle (2020).
At 10:45 or so I finished my Newcastle and had decided to leave. No HatGirl and no Rogue Chocolate Stout makes Dave something something.
Or something like that.
Just to be safe, I shot HatGirl a text message along the lines of, "Are you coming?" or something equally brilliant.
No pun intended, really.
About 3.4 seconds after I sent the text message, HatGirl and LuckyFucker walked in.
I bet you think that you know what's coming next, don't you?
Well, you're right:
My mood instantly better, I ordered another Newcastle (2040).
There was much shuffling of seats while HatGirl and I talked about website stuff. At one point the seat shuffling found LuckyFucker and HatGirl and I all crammed into the loveseat. That is certainly a memory that will stay with me for a long time.
To be honest, I don't remember much else. I know that HatGirl and LuckyFucker left after a while, and that I talked some more with WomanRepellant and ElPresidente and FirstLady.
No White Castle last night. I was too fucking tired.
Wanting to do something, that doesn't make me a bad person.
Having to use every bit of restraint that I have left in me to keep from doing something, that doesn't make me a bad person either.
Nope, what makes me a bad person is that I will not allow myself to learn from this. Just as I've not allowed myself to learn from any of the dozen or so almost identical episodes.
What makes me a bad person is that I will not allow myself to simply be that which I claim to be. I have to be someone else. Someone tempted yet restrained.
Some kind of fucking martyr to my own desires.
Poor, poor me.
Night two will begin shortly, after my jeans finish dewrinkling in the dryer.
I've decided that trying to describe, in order, everything that was said and done last night would be (a) hard, and (b) inaccurate, so I'm just going to list the highlights that I can think of and leave it at that.
My fourth beer was a yummy Newcastle (2000) and I'll once again take this opportunity to thank Roger for this treat.
Beer number five was a Delirium Tremens (503). This was the only strong beer I had all night.
My sixth beer was another frenchy one (230).
Remember, most of these beers were only 10-ounce pours. I paced myself very well.
Throughout the night, I had the opportunity to talk to several people on topics ranging from (a) who the fuck am I and why am I so special? to (b) does this mean that I'm buying all the beer?
EwokGirl's posse made me feel very special by hooting and hollering every time I walked past them going to or from the bathroom. Their chants of, "We're not worthy" really warmed my heart.
Shortly after Dina and Kenny left the clothing started coming off. I'm afraid that most of the remaining pictures (stored in SassyGirl's camera) will not be suitable for public viewing. One, in particular, was taken of me when one of my friends was molesting me. It will be interesting to see what she remembers.
Once the clothing went back on, HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in.
SassyGirl tells me that I've got to stop doing that whenever I write about HatGirl. Problem is, if I stop now then everyone will wonder if I'm angry or something. So I'll keep doing it.
At one point most of the girls went over to drink shots at Jack's. I stayed and talked with WomanRepellant for a while.
We ended up closing the place down.
I went to White Castle then came home.
The first two arrivals besides myself were TallLady and UplandWheatDude. I sat in the throne and talked with them for a bit until the floodgates opened up and people started flocking to the area. Before too long, the scene looked like this:
Let's see, going from left to right: My sister Neisha's hand, UplandWheatDude, My lovely self, MisunderstoodGirl, my sister Dina, Dina's husband Kenny, DooRagGirl, SassyGirl, and TacoBell. Just off-camera to the left was GlassesGirl, and off-camera elsewhere were MusicalHippyDude, TallLady, HornDog, and Neisha's husband Chris.
Notably absent when this picture was taken were HatGirl and LuckyFucker. They didn't show up until later.
Oh yeah, and EwokGirl and her posse were all out sitting in the loser section:
My sisters and their husbands all feel left out because they don't have fancy nicknames. I've been giving this some thought, and so maybe they'll get some before too long. We'll see.
The biggest surprise of the night, for me, was definitely the appearance of MisunderstoodGirl, who has been absent from my life for over six months now. I was so excited to see her that I leaped out of my chair and pretty much threw myself at her.
Let's see, my second beer was a Goose Island Honkers Ale (94). It seemed a little flat to me.
A grand time was had by all I think. One of the reasons that Roger chose me for this honor is that my beer tastes aren't too extreme. So everyone was able to find something that they liked. Even Neisha.
My third beer was a Weihehstephaner Hefeweissbier (1001).
I'm having a tough time figuring out what to write here. I guess I'll think about it some more. I've got to go to Dina's wedding reception now anyway.
(to be continued)
The hard part about writing this will be remembering what the fuck I had to drink.
I wrote it all down!
So I guess the next hardest thing will be remembering who all showed up.
There are pictures!
Maybe the hard part will be writing something that does justice to how much fun I had. Especially since I don't have much time to write anything. I've got to go to my sister's wedding reception before too long.
Oh, and I must buy cat food first.
For my cats, not for the reception. How white-trash do you think we are?
I took a day of vacation Friday, mainly to make sure that I could get my sleep schedule back on track, but also to play the new Half Life 2: Episode One game. I managed both feats, so it was worth it.
I left my house at about 5:30 and stopped by GasNStuff for some provisions.
VigilanteGirl was there!
I hadn't seen her since she left for her new job, and I actually hadn't seen too much of her in the weeks before that. She's as pretty as ever. I invited her to DaveFest though I knew very well that she wouldn't come. It was nice to see her though.
Went to Wendy's for dinner, passing up the haunted Burger King because I didn't want my mood to be spoiled. Plus, I like Wendy's. So there.
I got to Rich O's very early for me, at a little after 6:00. My first evidence that this whole thing is real and not some kind of sick joke was the front door:
They probably scared some customers away with that sign.
The next evidence came in the form of the beer board:
The DaveFest beers are the ones with the logo next to their listings.
Finally, this is the sign that announced that the living room area was reserved for me and my group:
Now, having 10 of my favorite beers on tap at the same time presents a bit of a logistical problem. Especially when I start drinking before 7:00. I knew that I'd have to really pace myself if I was going to make it through the night. So I resolved to only have half-pints, and I also resolved to start out with the lower alcohol selections.
Accordingly, my first selection was a Two Brothers Domain DuPage French Style Country Ale (210), or "that frenchy beer" as I like to call it, just to save time. I hadn't had this in a couple of years. It was yummy of course. As good I remembered.
(to be continued)
Not too long ago, I'd have been sad because she wasn't there to share tonight with me.
But now I'm thinking that she's always with me.
She never went anywhere.
That was someone else.
Someone that I never knew at all.
Just a catalyst, actually.
With sparkling eyes.
You know what would have made my Friday night better than it was?
I'm very excited.
Slipping deeper into insanity than ever before - it's probably a really stupid reason to be excited.
But here I go anyway.
Smiling as I slide away from the truth.
Laughing as reality recedes into the distance.
Grinning from ear to ear as the happy lies loom larger and larger.
It's so dark tonight.
I like the dark.
In the darkness, I can see her.
The waxing Moon and the cloudy skies press down upon me, and I shiver.
My soul reaches out for warmth, and it finds her.
I wish that this night would never end.
I guess the stress is part of the fun, too.
I'm not really sure how to break this to you.
I guess I'll just come out and say it.
The DaveFest shirts aren't going to be ready for at least a week.
Now, calm down please. The Sun will still rise and set tomorrow. It will probably continue to do so this weekend when DaveFest begins on schedule.
So, after several emails, I think I've got the quantities correct. For the initial order anyway. Any subsequent orders will, quite frankly, be a pain in the ass and I can't guarantee that they'll even happen.
I'm disappointed, of course. I was really looking forward to seeing my likeness adorn the chests of friends and strangers alike this weekend. It would have been surreal and sublime.
But alas, it's not meant to be. Not just yet.
I'm told that the shirts will be ready by next Friday, in time for the final wave of DaveFest when the Rogue beers go on tap.
For those of you holding non-refundable tickets to Louisville for this weekend, let me apologize. Let me also assure you that the trip will still be worthwhile. In the end, it's really about the beer.
In silent protest of this atrocity, my beautiful female readers should feel free to attend the festival shirtless.