So I had a date last night. Sort of. It was advertised as a date, and it started out like a date, but I don't think it was a date.

I think it was more of an interrogation.

But that's okay. It was still fun. We ate at this seafood place in The Rio. The food was fantastic.

But no slaking took place, and it ended early because she had to go to work.

Anyway, with my newfound winnings, I took a cab to downtown Vegas. Specifically, I went to Main Street Station, more specifically to the Triple 7 brewpub therein.

Usually when I go to downtown Vegas I spend some time dicking around Fremont Street, but it was too cold for that last night. So I got right down to business. The business of beer.

I had three Black Chip porters (153). That beer is world-class. Easily worth the cab fare to get downtown and back. All of their other beers suck, so I didn't see any need to mix things up by ordering anything else.

After my three beers it was still too cold to dick around, so I took a cab back to The Rio and went to The Tilted Kilt.

The place was packed, but HenPeckedGuy managed to find an empty stool for me at the end of the bar. I had a Tilted Kilt Ale (480) and talked to some dude from Belgium for a while. He was drinking a fucking Stella. Yuck.

Then later some pompous doucebag took offense when I laughed out loud at his demand for two orange wedges in his Blue Moon. So I asked HenPeckedGuy if he knew how to make a Heterosexual Blue Moon. That's one without any fruit.

Then I asked if OrangeWedgeGuy could get a little umbrella for his beer.

My Blue Moon (318) was good. The look on OrangeWedgeGuy's face, as he stomped out of the place, was priceless. I bet he went back to his room and cried himself to sleep.

I never do this.

I never reach out. Not to anyone.

Not when they're in need, and not when I'm in need.

And it's pretty fucking rare, pretty fucking, special maybe even fucking unprecedented that I find myself, in need, reaching out to another in need.

Wait, that's not right.

I have done this before.

It's not unprecedented. This has happened before.

In September 2005.

That time, it worked.

That time, I found myself a friend who I think will be with me as long as I live.

But this time, this time it's not working at all.

This time my arms close on emptiness.

I'll never do this again.

Today after lunch I stopped at this little bar thingy in The Rio, at a video poker machine.

Just to have something to do before the afternoon sessions started.

I'd already used up all my luck the other day, so I figured that I'd lose my $20 daily allocation pretty quickly.

I was playing 3-play deuces wild, a five quarter bet on each hand. If you've never played 3-play before (I hadn't) what is does is it deals you five cards like normal, but your hold cards get duplicated to two other hands. Then you draw for all three hands. It's kinda cool.

So I was about $10 into my $20, and the thing dealt me four deuces. Before the draw, not that that matters. You can't improve on four deuces.

So I won 1000 quarters. $250.

I hit the hold button for the four deuces and watched them duplicate for the other two hands. Then I hit the draw button because you still have to do that.

Well the machine didn't pick that moment to malfunction, to my mild surprise.

I won $750.

Ka-Ching, right?

Well that was my first thought.

My seconds thought was, fuck!

See, if I'd been a man instead of a mouse, I'd have been playing dollar bets instead of quarter bets. If I'd been a man instead of a mouse, I'd have won $3,000.

But wait!

There's more!

That machine also offered 5-play and 10-play modes.

So, if I'd been a man instead of a mouse, and if I'd been a man with big giant barbed-wire balls instead of a regular man, I'd have been playing dollar bets in 10-play mode.

I'd have won $10,000.

Like I said, fuck!

I don't expect much pity here.

Tuesday night, as promised, I did a formal beer comparison instead of just drinking beer.

This certainly slowed me down. I hope you appreciate it.

This is not a competition. So, as David Letterman used to say, Please, no wagering.

I got to The Tilted Kilt at about 8:00. I'd have been there earlier but I had a yummy cajun burger and a yummy Alaskan Amber (2150) at this All-American Grille place first.

HenPeckedGuy was working at The Tilted Kilt. He didn't even bat an eye when I asked for four small servings of four different beers. In fact, he acted like weird people ask him to do strange things every day. It must be some Las Vegas thing.

Once I had my four beers in front of me, along with my notebook, I got down to business.

Appearance
Tilted Kilt: Cloudy brown. Some graininess to the clouding.
Rogue Dead Guy: Kind of a flat copper color. A little cloudiness.
Fat Tire: Bright dark copper.
Newcastle Brown Ale: Very dark brown, almost cola-colored.

Aroma
TK: Yeast and malt.
DG: Malty, and a little hoppy.
FT: Strong malty sweetness.
N: Deep malt. Some hop notes.

Mouthfeel
TK: Slightly thick.
DG: Oily and coating.
FT: Watery and a little drying.
N: Fairly thick, no coating.

Foam (after 10 minutes and a few sips)
TK: No head, no lacing.
DG: 40% thin foam covering.
FT: 100% thin foam covering, great lacing.
N: 10% thin foam, pretty good lacing.

Flavor
TK: Malt and yeast. Sweet.
DG: Malty with a little bite.
FT: Malt and something else. Maybe vanilla.
N: Roasty and sweet, with a bit of a bite.

Finish
TK: Slightly dry, no bitterness.
DG: Coating and sweet.
FT: Slightly dry. Vanishes instantly.
N: Just a hint of a bitter bite at the end.

Aside
This one hot girl says she's dying to know what I'm writing. I wonder what she'd do for a peek.

As I said, this was not a competition. But, if it had been, Newcastle would have won. Newcastle would have been followed by Tilted Kilt, then Fat Tire, and finally Dead Guy.

All are very good beers though.

For the rest of the night I had three pints of Tilted Kilt (464). I did end up showing the hot girl what I'd written. I think she was underwhelmed.

Monday was a long day. The first full day in Las Vegas is always long. My EST ass woke up at 5:30 and refused to go back to sleep so I stayed up.

I did some stuff for work. I ate some breakfast. I caught up on some writing. I basically just dicked around The Rio until noon, then I took the shuttle over to the strip. Then I dicked around on the strip for a while. I'd thought that I might buy a new watch at this place by The Alladin, but all of the watches they had were ugly.

At 3:00 or so, I took a cab over to The Freakin' Frog. I had a yummy Alaskan Amber (2134) with my lunch, then I had another one for dessert (2150).

The bartender was new to me. I liked her because she didn't argue with me when I asked for an unchilled glass - always before it's been an international incident. I liked her even more when she pointed out that they also had Alaskan Smoked Porter on tap. I fell in love with her when she said that it was vintage 1998.

Wowie fucking zowie.

So, guess what I proceeded to drink four of.

Alaskan Smoked Porter is correct.

I had four beautiful and yummy 10-ounce pours (485), and I wish I could have had more. Being a lightweight really sucks sometimes.

Besides the bartender, I talked to the owner for a bit. I've talked to him before, and I can never remember his fucking name. Andy or Matt or Adam or something generic like that.

There was also a guy in a suit who was pretty cool despite his affection for Miller Lite, and an Hispanic guy who drank eight million Bud Lights in an hour then left a $1 tip.

Anyway, after 32 ounces of Alaskan Amber and 40 ounces of Alaskan Smoked Porter, I was a little tipsy. I was also exhausted. So I took a cab back to The Rio and took a nap.

Later, I went down to The Tilted Kilt and had a couple Tilted Kilt Ales (412).

...because I'm finding it difficult to stretch anything out beyond a few sentences.

I think that an implied lie might be even worse than an explicit one. Why would I think such a thing? Well, because an implied lie reveals not only the foolishness of the recipient, but also the cowardice of the liar.

---

I bought a new jacket on Friday, and this morning the snap thingy on the sleeve broke. So my luck may be turning. Yesterday was nice though.

---

When I leave the quiet and solitude of my room, and ride the elevator down, and walk out onto the casino floor, I always smile. It's like I forget where I am, and the lights and the music jolt me back to reality. I love it here.

---

It sucks to not have a camera phone anymore. I did bring my good camera with me, but I don't feel like lugging it around 24/7.

---

It would be cool to bring NotHideousGirl to Las Vegas. We could find an open-mike night somewhere, and she could sing and be discovered and become famous and shit. All thanks to me.

I did something kinda silly in the Summer. And by kinda silly I mean unbelievably fucking stupid.

I'd had this plan, see? Call it plan A. Problem was, if plan A was to have any real meaning at all, then there could be no plan B. Plan B had to be eliminated. So that's what I did. Like I said, kinda silly.

And then, then plan A never even got off the ground. Lack of opportunity and a myriad of other things all combined to thwart that plan before it could even get started.

It was mostly the other things. I could have forced an opportunity if I'd really tried.

Man, I'm rambling. I blame the hot blonde girl who just finished dancing on the platform thingy in front of me.

Anyway.

It seems to me that most relationships end.

This is relevant because...

I'm having a tough time coming up with words. Damn you hot blonde dancing girl!

It's relevant because, chance are, one particular relationship will end at some point.

Well, this entry just isn't going to let itself be written. I'm trying to be cryptic here, and I guess it's working because I'm not even making sense to myself.

So instead, I'll write an email to RockGirl. I don't have to be cryptic with her.

I'll write to her, and I'll tell her what I'm afraid of.

And she'll read it, and she'll respond that I'll do what's right because that's the kind of person I am.

And I'll read her words, and then maybe I'll be a little less afraid.

8:00
I was thinking about eating something. Not because I was particularly hungry. Just because I knew I'd be drinking.

I wandered around The Rio for a while, but nothing really jumped out at me, food-wise. Then I had the idea of going to downtown to grab some dinner and a Black Chip Porter at Main Street Station. then I remembered that I was supposed to call SpoonsGirl's brother, VegasDude. I called him and left a message. I guess there's a chance that we could end up downtown sometime this week. He's a guy, so the universe will not implode if he calls me back.

So I went and played three hands of video poker, got a royal flush, and decided to quit while I was ahead.

Now I'm sitting at the bar in The Tilted Kilt, having a Tilted Kilt Ale (348).

8:17
Just used my Blackberry to check the Freakin' Frog website. They always have their current drafts listed there. I see that they currently have my beloved Alaskan Amber on tap!

Yay!

So now I know where I'm going tomorrow.

8:22
The taps for Newcastle and Fat Tire and Dead Guy and Tilted Kilt are calling to me. I should do a formal comparison of those four. They're similar enough that it should be interesting.

8:25
StupidGirl is working. I should probably give her a new nickname, but I've become attached to this one. I'm sure I'll talk to her sometime tonight. She looks cute.

8:27
This bartender working tonight is slow.

8:28
Scratch that - while I was writing about how he was slow, he was already pouring me another Tilted Kilt (364).

8:35
I think I'll do the tasting on Tuesday when HenPeckedDude is working. This guy tonight would probably screw it up.

8:40
I need to eat something. For some reason I always crave grilled cheese sandwiches in Las Vegas.

8:46
I must remember to buy some lip balm.

8:47
And a case of condoms. Ha ha.

9:00
Piss time.

9:03
Another Tilted Kilt (380).

9:27
It's surreal to be sitting here. I've gone through a lot on this stool.

9:45
Piss time, and Diet Coke time.

10:00
So, I guess PictureGirl is seeing someone now. I think I'm relieved. I mean, it would have been nice to see her, but the thought of her waiting around for me to visit creeped me out a little.

11:15
Been talking to StupidGirl. I'd love to talk some more, but the time zone change is catching up with me. Time for bed.

It's funny how things work out sometimes.

Allow me to 'splain.

My mind is your basic two-track male model. Sometimes I can squeeze in a third track, but usually it's the same two over and over.

So, because of one of the tracks, I was looking forward to having Rogue Chocolate Stout while in Las Vegas. I discovered that wonderful beer here last December, and when I came back in August it was here waiting for me.

So I had it last December in Las Vegas. I had it at Rich O's during DaveFest in June and July, and I had it again when I returned to Las Vegas in August. Throw in the few times I've had it in bottled form, and I've had it a lot. About 1,000 ounces, up until last week.

Now I'm up to 1,172 ounces.

Because, last week, it came back to the Rich O's draft list.

Yay!

This was very cool, and it was made even more cool because it was a surprise to me.

But I remember thinking, last Wednesday as I drank a yummy pint, I remember thinking, Now what am I supposed to look forward to drinking in Las Vegas?

Fat Tire I can get here. I like Fat Tire, but it's not really enough to wrap an entire trip to Las Vegas around.

Ditto for the Black Chip Porter up at Main Street Station. Besides, that's only available up there, and it's a $50 cab ride away from The Rio.

I had no idea what beer would end up defining this trip.

Until I walked into The Tilted Kilt this afternoon.

There was no Rogue Chocolate Stout on tap.

But, that was okay, because in its place, there was...

*drumroll*

Pyramid Tilted Kilt!

Fucking yay and yay!

This beer, for those of you who haven't been studying me as much as you should, is a beer that I discovered here in the Spring of 2004. It immediately became one of my all-time favorites, and I drank a lot of it.

Then, I never saw it again. I was even told that Pyramid had stopped making it.

I was devastated, I tell you.

But no more.

Because Pyramid Tilted Kilt has come back into my life, and now I know which beer will define this entire trip.

I had two small pints (332) with my lunch, and now I've got to try to get some sleep.

But first, here's the rest of my day so far.

My suitcase was the third one to arrive at baggage claim.

The taxi line was a million miles long, but I overheard a dude tell a driver that he was going to The Rio, and I ended up sharing the taxi with him.

There was a hot naked chick at the check-in counter. She was yelling something about something.

I got a room right away. Sometimes I have to wait for hours before a room is available.

Anyway, I'm fucking tired now. I was too excited to sleep last night. I need to sleep now, at least for a couple of hours.

I'm sitting in a bar in the Cincinnati airport with most of an hour to kill before my flight to Las Vegas. I guess I'm about 90 miles from home.

The strange thing is that this is plenty far enough. I have no need to go any farther. Oh, I certainly want to go farther. I've been looking forward to this trip for a long time. But, and this is something that I've had pounded into my brain for the last few months, wants and needs are two different things. Sometimes they are two very different things. Sometimes they even oppose each other. They face off across the field of my life, prepared to battle. To the death if necessary. To my death if necessary.

Fortunately that's not the case with me here and now. Here and now what I need is a logical subset of what I want.

I want to go to Las Vegas. I want to drink some good beer. I want to see PictureGirl. I might even want to do some gambling or maybe take in a show or two.

But what I need, what I need is to get the fuck away from Southern Indiana.

So this is an unusual trip for me. I've always been pulled before. This time I'm being pushed. I guess Las Vegas is a pretty good place to end up.

They need to invent a pill that I can take each November and drop into a coma. And then I wouldn't have to wake up until it was time to leave for Las Vegas.

Maybe I could get my sister to wheel my vegetative body into the airport and then they could give me an injection or something after the plane takes off.

I don't like November. I don't like what November does to me. I don't like what November reveals to me. About myself. About my friends.

So I could just take the pill around the 23rd or so, or whenever I feel myself start to crumble. Whichever comes first.

The place was pretty damn busy last night. I ordered myself a Rogue Chocolate Stout (1152) and stood at the end of the bar until a spot opened up on the sofa next to some strangers. I did try to talk to them a little, but my head just wasn't in it, so as soon as TallLady moved from the bar I moved up there and took her old seat.

I texted RockGirl that they seemed to be having a S.I.G.H. convention at Rich O's, but that I didn't really care. The members who I'd been hoping to see weren't there.

Then this dude who looks like my cousin Robbie came up and started yakking at me. Wanting me to go to this Mac's place that I don't like. I told him that I was doing perfectly fine where I was. "But there are girls at Mac's!" he protested. "Big fucking deal," I responded.

Then the throne opened up so I moved there.

I texted HatGirl to see if she was coming. She responded that she wasn't, so that sucked. But at least she did respond. That seems to be an impossible feat for some people these days.

Let's see, at about the time WomanRepellant came in, I ordered another Rogue (1172).

I sat and nursed my beer and talked with WomanRepellant and a couple who had been in Wednesday night. The whole time my mood got worse and worse.

So I left Rich O's at about 10:30, and went to try to find VigilanteGirl.

Yes, I was in that much of a mood.

But she wasn't at the place I went, so I just had myself a Newcastle (2738) and listened to some karaoke and then came home.

...yes, I'm fucking pissed.

Mostly about how I react to certain stimuli. Or the lack of certain stimuli.

But only mostly.

Fucking look them up yourself:

cour-te-sy
po-lite-ness
de-cen-cy

It would have taken ten fucking seconds out of your life to lift my mood.

Apparently, that was too much to hope for.

I'm out now. Don't even fucking bother.

Yesterday I was talking to BadPickleGirl about how I had to go shopping today for luggage and jeans.

Being a woman, BadPickleGirl has all of the shopping places in the area mapped out and locked in to her brain. I think that, for this purpose, women use the same area of the brain that I use to keep track of all the bars and poolhalls.

Anyway, she told me that I should go to this place called Tuesday Morning for my luggage.

So that's where I went.

Man, am I whipped or what?

They did indeed have luggage. Pretty nice stuff and very good prices. One-offs I think. I picked out a large suitcase and a matching smaller case for carry-on. Retail price was like $400, but I was only going to have to pay $75. Hell of a deal, I think.

I got to the checkout counter and I had to wait - I shit you not - 25 minutes for some old lady in front of me to fill out her check and find her driver's license. So that sucked.

The hag finally got out of my way so I put the two suitcases on the counter to be scanned.

The guy started opening up the small suitcase. I guess this is because I look like a thief or something.

Inside the small suitcase was a soft-sided carry-on bag!

I didn't put it there!

Really!

So I told the guy that I didn't want the soft-sided bag, that I hadn't put it there, and that maybe he should check the large suitcase to see what might be stashed hidden in there.

"Gee, ya think?" the guy's eyes said to me.

Inside the large suitcase was, of course, a smaller suitcase.

I didn't put that there either!

I swear!

The guy took it pretty well I suppose. I don't think it was the first time it had happened. They stuff shit inside other shit to save shelf space. The guy did, however, seem a little surprised and maybe even a little disappointed that I hadn't decided to buy the extra items. Maybe some people would have done so out of embarrassment or something.

So that was fun. And now I've got decent luggage for my Las Vegas trip.

BadPickleGirl had also told me to go to some place that sells dead peoples' clothes. She'd said that I could get cheap jeans there.

I passed on that, and went to the mall like a regular person.

Every place was closed tonight. At least every place I felt like going to was closed. So I just came home and opened a bottle of Bluegrass Mephistopheles Metamorphosis. This bottle is completely flat too.

---

I think every risk should have an associated reward. You have to weigh them against each other. If the risk is too great, or if the reward is too small, then you pass on the whole thing. This is just common sense. And then there are times when there's no real risk, and there's no detectable reward. Then it just becomes a fucking waste of time.

---

Happy Birthday to LaptopGirl. There, I fucking said it. Fuck off if you don't like it.

---

I have some relatives who seem to be pissed at me for some unknown and probably stupid reason. I feel like I should give a shit, but I don't.

---

I think that the perfect scenario would be for me to somehow win a gazillion dollars in Las Vegas and then never come back here except to retrieve my pool cue and my cats.

---

I didn't ask for this bullshit. I don't think I deserve it either.

---

Maybe I should get me one of those voice recorder dealies. I have these stupid random thoughts all day long. I could record them and post them in my blog to show the world how boring I am.

For anyone trying to figure out what I want for Christmas, that was a hint.

---

There was one path to forgiveness but she didn't take it. Her loss. I really shouldn't care, but I'm not getting any younger I suppose, so I do care.

---

I'd decided that I would politely decline the invitation. Now, now I've decided otherwise. Bring it on. I'm looking forward to it.

---

Seriously, what the fuck is going on? Am I being set up? Am I being placed into the batting order? Am I being benched? I think I've done everything I can do to get put into the game. Yes or no, please. No more fucking maybe.

---

Tonight I might get to see HatGirl and NotHideousGirl. Either would be cool. Both would be fucking awesome. So I probably won't see either one them.

---

I keep writing about the same subject and then deleting it. It's over, and every time I write about it, it gets more stupid and pointless.

---

This beer is fucking with my head.

---

There was a girl at Rich O's last night that looked like puppyshark. She was hot.

---

I miss SassyGirl.

---

I am so excited for my friend RockGirl. This thing she's going through is similar to what I went through at this time last year. It was the beginning of the end of the pain. I'm so excited for her.

---

I need to make it to Memphis one of these weekends to see harpo play a gig.

I wish I had musical talent.

---

I wish I had more turkey to eat right now. All I've got is some Nacho Cheese Doritos. Not quite the same thing.

I think I've figured something out. I think I know who started this. Whatever this is.

---

My turkey nap lasted a lot longer than I'd intended. I'm still going out though, as soon as my shirt dewrinkles. I don't know where I'm going. I don't even know if there are any places open.

---

So there are three people who pretty much know everything. Two of those people give me completely wrong advice. What's funny is that each gives different advice. But they're both quite wrong. The answer doesn't lie in either of those directions, because there is no answer.

The third person understands that.

---

I got to talk to BadPickleGirl this morning. It was, once again, a very pleasant surprise. Bordering on astonishment actually. There, she's said that she wanted more mention here.

---

Tomorrow I get to go shopping. Not because of the whole post-Thanksgiving shopping mania. Just because I need some shit. Like a new suitcase, and maybe some jeans. Most of my old jeans are mysteriously shrinking. So I need to buy some new shit before I leave Sunday morning.

---

Vegas, baby! Woo hoo!

---

One of my friends doesn't seem to be my friend anymore. That's a shame to me. Would have been nice to at least have had a chance to say goodbye.

---

They were going to fry a turkey today, but the fryer started spewing hot oil out through some holes, and we were afraid that we'd ended up burning the house down. Luckily, my sister had a spare Turkey roasting in the oven.

---

I'm outta here.

The night before Thanksgiving is typically one of the busier nights of the year at the bar. Last night was no exception.

After a quick meal at the haunted Burger King, I got to Rich O's at a little after 8:00.

THE PLACE WAS FUCKING LOUD. AT FIRST I DIDN'T THINK THERE WAS ANY PLACE TO SIT, BUT TALLLADY MOVED HER SHIT AND SO I WAS ABLE TO SIT AT THE BAR. IT WAS REALLY FUCKING LOUD IN THERE. I TRIED TO ASK THEM TO TURN THE FUCKING MUSIC DOWN, BUT THERE WAS NO WAY ANYONE COULD HEAR MY WORDS OVER THAT CRAP THEY WERE BLASTING THROUGH THE SPEAKERS.

I'm not going to shout this entire entry, but I could.

In my rush to dramatize the loudness, I forgot to mention the beer.

Rogue Chocolate Stout!

Yay!

I went outside to call HatGirl, to tell her about the Rogue being on. Got her voicemail. Then I came back in and managed to use pantomime to let the bartender know that I would like a glass of Rogue Chocolate Stout, please. And turn down the fucking music, please.

I spent some time shouting back and forth with one of the PBDs. We weren't in an argument, it's just that we were all of two feet away from each other, so shouting was the only way we could be heard.

Did I mention that it was fucking loud?

Well, it was.

After a while, some dude left the throne so I picked up my shit and moved there. Then I went back outside to call HatGirl again to let her know about the Rogue being on tap. This time I got to talk to her. Maybe Friday she said.

I spent the remainder of the night there on the throne. I occasionally talked to some people sitting around me. I talked briefly to a couple of hot girls who I hadn't seen since June. I think I impressed them by remembering their names. I know they impressed me by remembering mine. But mostly I just sat back and enjoyed my Rogue Chocolate Stouts. I had three of them (1132).

Let's see, I did, at one point, see a blur that might have been MisunderstoodGirl, but if it was her she couldn't hear me over the damn music and so she didn't stop.

Then towards the end of the night WomanRepellant came in so I talked to him until they started kicking everyone out. Then I came home.

My sister Dina (Happy Birthday!) used to do this bullshit on Thanksgiving. It's been a couple of years though. Maybe she's stopped. Maybe she's given up.

I fucking hope so.

What she'd do is, she'd point a fucking camcorder at me and make me say what I'm thankful for.

Yeah, I know. Barf-o-rama.

The problem with this, besides how incredibly gay it was, was that no matter how many things or people I listed, I'd always leave someone or something out. That was my main problem with the whole thing - there was no way that, under such pressure, I'd ever be able to list everything and everyone that I was thankful for. I'd leave somebody or something out, and somebody would get upset.

Well, here it is, November 22nd. 2006. Thanksgiving Eve. I haven't written anything in days. I've been drinking.

I'm going to list the people that I'm thankful for.

But I'll just list the first three people.

There are more, to be sure, but these three are most obvious. The most deserving of my thanks.

These are in no particular order.

1. RockGirl. I don't even know where to start. I am more thankful for RockGirl than I am for the Sun continuing to rise and set. And that's not even close to how thankful I really am. I've said before that I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for RockGirl. People may think that's an exaggeration, but they're wrong. She healed me when everyone else would have given up and started covering me with dirt.

2. HatGirl. She takes my friendship without reservation. She ignores me when I'm too bold, and she accepts me unconditionally at all other times. She is adorable, and she is adored. There are simply no words that could adequately describe her. I'm a rambling fool most of the time, but when it comes to HatGirl I'm at a loss for words, and I've been at a loss for words for over a year.

3. MixedSignalGirl. She taught me how to be a person, though I had no desire to learn. She taught me how to love, though I thought I already knew. She taught me how to see the world through the eyes of another person, though I saw no need for that ability. She tore off my blinders, and forced me to look at the world I lived in.

These are the first three people that pop into my head when I wonder who I'm thankful for.

This is, to be perfectly honest, no great feat. Because these people are in my head most of the time anyway.

Didn't do a whole lot today. Worked for a few hours on a server that a coworker put into a coma yesterday. It's still nonresponsive.

I also went to the store and bought a turkey. Then I cooked it. This is something I usually do on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.

I figure there are two main goals to strive for when preparing and eating turkey:

1: Do not burn the house down.

2: Do not die from food poisoning.

So far so good. My house still stands. The food poisoning thing, well I guess I'll know by this time tomorrow.

I also got to talk to BadPickleGirl for an hour or so tonight. That was a very pleasant surprise. I have no idea why she calls my home number though. That ringer has been turned off for years. It was only because I happened to see the phone light up that I even knew that I had an incoming call.

BadPickleGirl is nice. I'll miss her when I'm in Las Vegas next week. I hope that doesn't freak her out.

Also, tonight I had myself an Avery The Beast (24). It was yummy.

Tomorrow I start another on-call rotation. That will suck I'm sure. This year I'm on-call for Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Years Eve. I was actually on-call for July Fourth too, but I got a coworker to trade with me for that day because I was in Cleveland.

Anyway, it was nice to end my Sunday on a good note.

That's what everyone hollered when my sister Dina returned home last night.

Of course she already knew we were there. All the cars in the driveway and the front yard would have given it away, even if she hadn't already seen the party noted on someone's calendar.

But when she and Kenny pulled into the driveway, we turned off all the lights anyway. And we all hid in the kitchen anyway. And we all hollered surprise anyway.

It's the thought that counts, right?

The occasion was Dina's birthday party. The actual birthday isn't until Wednesday, but nobody wanted to get plastered on Thanksgiving eve, so the party was last night.

Most of the usual suspects were there, with the notable exceptions of my cousin Jeff, who apparently hasn't figured out how to use his voicemail, and BadPickleGirl, who was stuck at home with a sick child.

Yes, I was very disappointed that BadPickleGirl wasn't going to be there. I'd been looking forward to seeing her and talking with her. I'd also planned to introduce her to The Reverend.

Speaking of The Reverend, that's what my first beer was (202). I'd originally thought that it would be my only beer, but I drank it fairly quickly and surprised myself by wanting more.

I spent the first couple of hours inside the house watching Nick at Nite with some kids. The other adults were outside either freezing to death or huddled in front of Dina's fancy new outdoor fireplace.

Then my friend Eric's wife Teri came in, so I had someone to talk to. SpoonsGirl joined us inside for a while too. I got the number for SpoonsGirl's brother, VegasDude. Since I'll be there next week I may look him up.

Since Eric hadn't shown up yet, Teri was out of beer. And since I'd finished mine, I was out of beer. So we went on a beer run to this little store in Greenville. They actually had a few beers that looked interesting. I chose one that was new to me:

Blue Moon Winter Ale

(bottle) Clear bronze. Good head and lacing. I got hints of several spices and unusual flavors, most notably of vanilla. Very easy to drink. Very good.

By the time we got back to Dina's, Eric had shown up. So I had someone else to talk to.

Then at one point everybody went inside the house to play some game but Teri and I stayed out by the fireplace and talked for a couple of hours. I had a second bottle of the Blue Moon Winter Ale (24).

Oh yeah, I got to talk to HatGirl early in the evening. They were going to Buckhead's and she wanted to know if there were any good beers there. I told her that I hadn't been there in months, but that they'd always had at least one or two beers that weren't swill.

Then later on I texted HatGirl to see which beer(s) she'd chosen but she texted me back saying that they hadn't gone after all. They'd gone to Rich O's.

At around midnight or so the last of the party guests started leaving, and I came home.

The place isn't too crowded tonight. Little pockets of humanity are scattered about. I'm sitting at the bar. Alone, for now, though I doubt that good fortune will last.

Koningshoeven Tripel Trappist Ale

(bottle) Hazy dark gold, smallish head, some lacing. A nice clean aroma. The flavor is not too bad. A little musty for some reason. Given a choice between this and the quad, you should always take the quad. Always.

I'm in a strange mood.

This morning I realized that it was November 17th. This date is of no significance, but Tuesday, Tuesday sure should have been. Used to be. This year, I didn't even notice, and now it's too late.

But that's not why I'm in a strange mood.

I caught myself this afternoon hoping against something. Wishing that it wouldn't happen. But at the same time I knew, if it didn't happen, I knew that I'd be incredibly disappointed.

This struck me as weird, to not want something yet know I'd be bothered if I didn't get it. Like I said, weird, and that was something new for me. For the longest time, I'd say or feel or write crazy things, and they'd seem perfectly acceptable to me. I suppose that, at some level, with whatever tiny vestige of logical thought I still possessed, I knew that I was insane. But I didn't care, back then. Because, back then, I had no choice. So I saw my behavior as completely normal. Normal for me, anyway.

Then today, I caught myself thinking something crazy. And I realized that it was crazy. This just might be a sign of actual progress.

But that's not why I'm in a strange mood.

Anyway, at about this time WomanRepellant came in and joined me at the bar. I talked to him for a couple of hours. I had myself a yummy Koningshoeven Quadrupel Trappist Ale (71) and then a Guinness (1291). I texted NotHideousGirl a couple of times, to no avail. I sent an email to RockGirl. Then I came home.

I'm still in a strange mood.

I was on some beach somewhere with some friends of mine. At least in my dream they were friends. I wouldn't recognize them in real life.

One of the guys seemed a little bit slower than normal. Like he was slightly retarded or something. He'd come to the beach clutching an envelope, and we got to talking about it. Apparently he'd been on some television show, and they'd given him the envelope. It was his most prized possession, and he carried it everywhere. He carried it in his hand, not his pocket. He wanted people to ask him about it.

So we were talking about his envelope, and I asked to see it.

Opening it up, I found a card, like a greeting card, with some certificate of appreciation or some such on the left, and a glob of goo on the right. I asked my friend about the goo glob, and he said that there'd been a little pretty rock stuck there, but it had fallen out.

I told him that I could get him another rock. That I had one I'd gotten from SassyGirl's house. He said that rocks were stupid anyway.

Well I wasn't going to stand still for that.

I took my own rock out of my pocket, and I told him about all of the things that I'd gone through since I got my rock. All of the things that should have destroyed me, but didn't. I told him about how my rock had had a calming spell put on it, and that if not for my rock, I probably wouldn't be there sitting next to him.

My friend kept rolling his eyes with everything I said. There I was, telling him about all these painful experiences, and all he could do was roll his eyes in disbelief.

It pissed me off.

So I threw his precious envelope and card in the bonfire.

Fucking retard. What a jerk.

The title of this entry, I didn't make it up.

It was something said on the show Heroes tonight.

No, I'm not in the habit of getting my deepest thoughts from television. I just thought that it fit something that I'd been thinking about lately.

Because the thing about grief, as I see it anyway, the thing about grief is that once it hits you, it sticks with you. Grief swoops in and drives a stake through your heart. And then, it's just there. It's a part of you.

It's convenient.

And when you need something to liven up your otherwise dull and pointless life, grief is there. It doesn't need constant reassurance, the way happiness does. It doesn't need compromise and commitment and honesty, the way love does. It doesn't need to turn a blind eye to the selfishness of others, the way friendship does.

Grief is simply there with you, beside you, inside you. Fucking fused with you.

Two days ago I observed the anniversary of my father's death. Yesterday I visited his grave, and next to it, the grave of my mother.

What I realized, while I sat on the cold ground and stared at the even colder granite of their headstone, what I realized was that the grief was gone. The sadness was completely gone.

I was alone with myself, for the first time in a very very very long time.

I once wrote:

Sadness didn't sneak up on me, it exploded all over me. Something happened to make me this way. Is it unreasonable to want something equally dramatic to change things back?

One that I caused. Not the death of a person, but the death of a friendship. The erasure of a potential that my mind still cannot quite come to grips with.

And now, it never will.

Because that grief is gone as well. It was my anchor, holding me steady even as the waves of time smashed against me. It was my fortress, isolating me from the ravages of existence. It was my shield, protecting me from the monsters of living.

It was also my cage.

Yesterday I sat on the cold ground, talking to the ghosts of my parents. I talked to them about grief. And I realized that, everything I said, I said in the past tense. No matter how much I tried, I could not become sad. Not for losing them. Not for losing her. My grim companion had finally abandoned me.

So I stood up. I brushed the dirt and the leaves from my pants, and I came back home.

Alone.

Some things seem too powerful to just fade away. Some things deserve an exit that's every bit as grand and dramatic as their entrance. Some things should stick with you forever.

I feel like I've been robbed.

Tonight, for a change of pace, I had a beer. This was the fourth bottle that I took to BadPickleGirl's house on Friday. We didn't get to it then, so I got to it tonight.

Bluegrass Mephistopheles Metamorphosis (25)

(bottle) No foam at all. I mean none. I've seen tap water with a bigger head. Other than that, poured a slightly hazy orange. Taste was, as expected, fairly flat and generic. Yeasty and bland in flavor, this beer did grow on me as time went by. I'd love to try this in draft form someday. Maybe there'll be some fizz then.

I think, instead of trying to tackle any of my new entry ideas, I think I'll just quote from my friend NotHideousGirl's blog:

Dave Siltz is the weirdest normal person I know, and I love him for it.

In response to that, I'll say this:

Kat is the most beautiful girl I know, who doesn't act like she's beautiful, and I love her for it.

Finally, my sister Neisha accused me the other day of killing and eating my cat Nugget, since she hasn't seen him in years and years. As proof that Nugget still lives, I present this picture (taken tonight) of him in all his fatness, along with the scratching post that he's slowly but surely shredding to bits:

This will probably be a long entry. It will probably also be boring. But a lot of stuff happened that I want to record.

Today is the eighth anniversary of my dad's death and, since Indiana bars are closed on Sundays, I went last night. I went to this little dive called The Hitching Post where Dad used to hang out so I could have a Falls City beer in remembrance.

I walked into the place at about 7:30. There was one guy slumped over the bar, and one bartender smoking a cigarette and watching a football game on TV. She looked at me when I came in and asked, "Falls City, right?"

I was pretty fucking impressed that she remembered me from a year ago, when I'd come in for the same reason.

So I had my Falls City (36) straight out of the can, the way Dad would drink it. It was pretty gross, but that wasn't the point. I didn't really get a chance to see if I could pick up any vibes from Dad because the bartender kept talking to me about her dad being in the hospital.

I left after that one beer.

BadPickleGirl had been telling me about this little diner in New Albany that I should go to. She said I'd be sure to get good ideas for blog content. Well I drove past the place, but I didn't go in. I'll go there someday with BadPickleGirl if she wants.

After a quick meal at Wendy's, I got to Rich O's at 8:30 or so.

The first several minutes were pretty chaotic.

When I arrived I went straight to the restroom. There was a pretty girl who looked very familiar sitting in the front area.

There were also a bunch of special people holding some kind of special people function in the special people area.

After purging the last of the Falls City from my system, I attempted to walk through the front area to get into Rich O's proper. I tried to get a better look at the pretty girl, but this one chick from work saw me and screamed out my name.

I gave her a nod and continued walking, but another girl saw me and screamed out my name and jumped up and threw herself at me.

It was CanadianGirl! She used to work at my company up until a couple of years ago. Now she lives in Omaha. She's back for a visit.

So I'm standing there talking to CanadianGirl and I realized who the pretty girl was. She also used to work at my company. I think she moved to Columbus. She used to be CanadianGirl's boss. So that mystery was solved.

So I'm still standing there talking to CanadianGirl and I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see LuckyFucker and HatGirl making their way around me and going into Rich O's proper. I called out that I'd be in there with them shortly.

So I'm still standing there talking to CanadianGirl and I feel another tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see MisunderstoodGirl. Yay! I talked to her for a good minute or two. I asked her if she knew how to get in touch with SassyBoy. My thinking was that maybe I could call SassyBoy and see if he'd heard anything from SassyGirl since she fled the country. Well MisunderstoodGirl didn't know SassyBoy's number but she had heard through various channels that SassyGirl and JauntyGirl were doing just fine traveling around Europe. So that was a load off my mind as I'd been getting a little worried about those two.

Then I went back to talking to CanadianGirl for a minute or two. I guess she doesn't like Omaha as much as I'd liked it when I lived there. Her boyfriend and her aren't together anymore. This was her first visit back to Rich O's since she moved.

So I was standing there talking with CanadianGirl and I heard a "Hello Dave" from behind me. It was CoffeeDude making his way into Rich O's proper. I quickly excused myself from CanadianGirls grasp and followed him in. I needed to make sure that, if CoffeeDude was going to run HatGirl off with his "witty" comments again, that I at least got to spend some time with her first.

I always say, timing is everything.

Inside Rich O's proper, HatGirl was on the phone. I could tell that something bad was happening, and I was really afraid that she was going to cry. There was no way I'd be able to deal with seeing HatGirl cry, so I left her in LuckyFucker's care and went up to the bar to order my beer.

I ordered myself a yummy Gulden Draak (247)

I went and sat on the loveseat. HatGirl had gone off to the restroom or outside to finish her phone call or something. LuckyFucker said that HatGirl had been in a good mood, but that she'd suddenly developed a shitty mood. He filled me in on the reason for the change. I half-expected HatGirl and LuckyFucker to just leave, but they didn't. When HatGirl came back in, she was at least smiling.

HatGirl!

Yay!

After the chaos of those first five minutes, the rest of the night was rather uneventful. The place was packed with strangers. I did my best to just sit and talk with HatGirl and LuckyFucker, but I was accosted by CanadianGirl a few times, and by CoffeeDude a few times, and by that one chick from work a few times. My mission for the night was to do my best to keep HatGirl from crying. I did my part by making sure that CoffeeDude was kept so busy with other conversations that he wouldn't feel the need to jump into ours and say something inappropriate.

At about the time I ordered my third beer of the night, a Smithwick's (1368), this one dude sitting at the end of the sofa decided to take the picture of me and SassyGirl down. Why did he do this? I have no idea. But after about an hour of trying to get it back on the wall, he gave up and they ended up hanging it up in another location. The new location is directly above the throne. It looks better there. HatGirl took a picture of it in its new location but I have yet to figure out how to get the picture out of my blackberry. If I figure it out I'll insert it here.

At 10:30 or so, the group of current and former coworkers left for greener pastures. I was groped a few more times by CanadianGirl. She's always been a very friendly drunk.

And, just like that, the place was quiet.

I had another Smithwick's (1388) and talked to HatGirl and LuckyFucker for a few more minutes before they went home.

I spent a few minutes talking with CoffeeDude, then I came home myself at 12:30 or so.

I was just thinking about people that suck, and about how they outnumber the people that don't suck by a very wide margin.

The world has turned upside-down, inside-out.

How did things get to be this way?

Did it happen while we slept?

If so, then I wish I'd never woken up.

Does that make me weird?

a-dore (e-dor)
verb
1. To worship as God or a god.
2. To regard with deep, often rapturous love.
3. To like very much.

I think that number three is the correct definition here. Neither of the other two are correct. To tell the truth, number three doesn't seem quite right either . It seems too perfunctory. Too abrupt.

If I were to say that I adore HatGirl, and you were to translate that to mean that I like HatGirl very much, well it just wouldn't be quite be right.

I mean, I like the curry fries that the pub sells very much. I like banana milkshakes from Polly's Freeze very much. I like the way my cats purr when I pet them very much.

But, do I adore any of those things?

Nope.

But I do adore HatGirl.

Let me be clear - this is not based on any physical attraction. It is not a crush thing. It has, believe it or not, nothing at all to do with how pretty she is. I cannot stress that enough.

It's much more than that, and much less than that.

Let's try another definition.

a-dor-a-ble (e-dor-e-bul)
adjective
1. Delightful, lovable, and charming.
2. Worthy of adoration.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

HatGirl is, quite simply, adorable.

And I hope that she reads this. And I hope that it makes her feel a little bit better.

I arrived at BadPickleGirl's house promptly at 8:45. This was quite an amazing feat because I was sure I was lost. I'd written down directions, and at one point I'd written one-tenth mile. This was clearly an error as the actual distance was a thousaand million bazillion miles.

I did my best to look casual as I walked up to the door. I guess I did okay because she waved me in.

After a few niceties, we got down to business.

Unibroue La Terrible

(bottle) Very dark, almost black. A smallish head that faded almost instantly. It had a very dry aroma and flavor. More like wood than the fruit I'd been expecting. A very good beer though. It certainly didn't taste like it was 10.5% ABV.

The next bottle was another new one for me:

Duinen Tripel

(bottle) Slightly hazy orange. Quite fizzy in both aroma and flavor. Hints of apples, expected for the style, but the fizz was the predominate characteristic. Reminiscent of champagne. Good, but not great.

Koningshoeven Quadrupel Trappist Ale

(bottle) Cloudy dark red. An intense fruit aroma, with a mixture of dark cherries and apples and citrus. Easily one of the best beers I've ever had. Fucking yummy.

Well, seeing her stretched out on the couch threatened to sent me into another sort of oblivion. So there.

But I'm a gentleman, so instead of sitting and staring, I spent some time trying to cram the cork back into that last bottle, then I put it in her fridge. Then I gave BadPickleGirl a hug, thanked her for the lovely evening, and came home at about 1:00.

This morning, RockGirl put bait on her breath and sent me an How was the date? email. My response, in part, was as follows:

There was no slaking. We just sat and talked and drank some bottles of Belgian beers. I got to know her a little better, which is what I really wanted to do. She's nice.

I told BadPickleGirl that I probably wouldn't write about what we were doing. That this damned ever-increasing respect for privacy would, most likely, cause me to censor myself to the point where there might not even be an entry about what we did.

I told her about how I'd gotten HotRedHead in trouble with my writing, and that I didn't want to risk anything like that happening with BadPickleGirl.

But she would hear none of that. She insisted that I could write whatever I wanted. That I should write what happened. She said some crap about journalistic responsibility I think.

So, last night, BadPickleGirl and I gave our tongues and our lips a real workout. On her new leather couch, with candlelight flickering and music playing softly, we tasted things we had longed to taste for a long time.

To be continued.

Ha ha.

The world can breathe a collective sigh of relief.

My gutters are now clean.

Not clean enough to eat off of, but what kind of a sick fuck would want to do that anyway?

Today we had to do a bunch of team-building crap for work.

First, we did a hole of miniature gold. I got it in two shots, which was as well as could be expected. I got three points for that.

Next, we did this stupid bean bag toss thing. I got a zero because all four of my tosses slid right over the fucking hole and off the board.

Next, we shot free throws. Now I can shoot free throws pretty well. I bet I can make them about 90% of the time. But not without some practice throws first. So I got another zero as both of my shots bounced off the front of the rim.

Next, we did this stupid pumpkin bowling thing. We had to bowl a pumpkin and knock over some two-liter bottles. My first roll knocked six bottles down, and my second roll veered to the right and hit a wall. I got six points.

Finally, the last event was horseshoes. I'm pretty good at that too, but again, not without some practice. I think both of my shots hit the peg, but they both ended up too far away, so I got another zero.

For those of you keeping score at home, I had nine points out of a possible forty-four.

My team ended up winning the overall championship, no thanks to me.

I suck.

I don't really know what's going on here.

I try not to get my hopes up. Failing that, I try to at least keep those hopes a secret. From myself as much as from everyone else.

The challenge comes from the fact that I can't appear to be indifferent either. That would be even worse. Much worse.

It's a big mysterious game, and it's been kind of fun so far. But not as much fun as it was when I was in grade school. The first time I played.

At least, back then, I could have someone pass a note on the playground. And then I'd know if that particular game was worth playing.

Now it's different. There are no more checkboxes with yes and no written next to them. Now the questions are more complicated, and the answers more indistinct.

Yes, I'm pretty sure it was more fun back when I was a kid. It was definitely easier.

Are you like me? Do you sit around on election day, wishing that you could be a part of the Democratic process, but woefully ignorant about the candidates and their stands on the various issues?

I'm like that every November and every May. But it doesn't stop me from voting. I have a system, see. And I'll reveal it here for the first time.

Just think of some asshole you know. Everybody knows at least one, right? Every family has at least one. Every group of friends has at least one. And most workgroups have dozens.

Now, think about who your favorite asshole would vote for. I've found that it's usually pretty easy. Maybe they've bombarded you with their political views for as long as you've known them. That's how I picked my asshole.

Ewww, that sounded gross.

That's how I chose my asshole.

Okay, that's better.

Then today, all I had to do was go vote the exact opposite of everything my asshole would vote for.

I cancelled out the fucker's votes.

And, to me, the fact that I totally negated that asshole's participation - well it's just fucking hilarious to me. I mean, he lives and breathes politics, and all I do is drink beer and shoot pool. But I, with 30 minutes of effort - including drive and standing in line time - was able to pretty much wipe out his reason for existing in the first place.

So, don't waste another election day. Do something useful. Make a difference. Find yourself an asshole and render him irrelevant.

If you don't know any assholes, I've got news for you. You're probably the asshole.

(response to message)

I think Raindrop was Honeybee's Mom or vice-versa

Regardless, I'm pretty sure that Honeybee was Sergeant's (and Chief's) mom, and that Raindrop was a Pekinese.

I've been wrong before though.

The creative kind.

My creativity, or whatever it is that I use in its place, has been so limited lately. I should really try to pace myself. So I can get at least one decent journal entry every day.

Easier said than done, I suppose. Like a lot of things.

Like today, I wrote this in an email to my friend RockGirl:

I don't know if it ever really dies. I thought my hope was dead when I found out about [some fucked up shit this past Spring]. It didn't really die though. It just went to sleep. Every now and then its snoring wakes me up from this complacency I've been in.

I think the metaphor of hope as a slumbering beast is a good one. I should have saved it for a journal entry.

Anyway, I've been sick for a few days. Nothing major as it turns out. Just a bit of a fever. I missed a couple of days of work, but that was mostly because I didn't want to infect everyone there. If I'd had the plague, as I'd originally feared, and I'd infected someone at work and they'd subsequently died - well I could kiss my annual performance bonus goodbye.

A while ago I was at SassyGirl's going away party, and at one point I found myself out on her deck with a bunch of kids. Teenagers mostly, though a couple of them might have been in their early 20s.

I found myself all alone with these kids because everyone else, everyone I knew and might have had at least one single solitary thing in common with, they had all taken off to pull some chick's car out of a ditch or something.

I don't remember what we were originally talking about. Probably something stupid. But at one point some of the kids started rambling on and on and on about their various thoughts about love. Such as they were.

Each time one of them would finish making a statement that they thought was profound, all of the kids would look at me. I guess because I was twice as old as any of them, they had subconsciously chosen me as some kind of spiritual leader. Their love coach, if you will.

I think I spent most of the time rolling my eyes.

Kids are so stupid.

Or maybe naive is a better word. Yes, I think it is.

Kids are so fucking naive.

With their fucking hopes and their dreams and their stupid ideals, it's really a wonder that they've managed to live for as long as they have. I mean, most of them seem to think that they can fly. It's truly miraculous that the ground isn't littered with broken bodies.*

I think back to when I was that age. No way was I that fucking stupid. By the time I'd graduated high school, life had already been feeding me shit sandwiches for years. By the time my marriage had ended, I'd learned to enjoy the damn things. By the time LaptopGirl moved away, I craved them like they were manna from Heaven.

But those kids, those kids on that deck that night, there was not a single one of them possessed of a single clue about what love is all about.

Like I said, I spent most of that time on that deck just rolling my eyes. But at one point I did speak up. At one point the drivel being vomited out of a young mouth was just too much to take. At one point I saw the opportunity to say something worthwhile. I took that opportunity. All eyes were upon me. I'd been drinking. One of the girls was hot so I wanted to seem especially wise.

There are very few truly evil people in the world, I said. And, chances are, none of us have ever met any of them, or dated them, or given our virginity to them. But we're still fooled into seeing evil where it doesn't exist. This is a defense mechanism, invented by our hearts and backed-up by our brains. By demonizing those who have hurt us, we further isolate ourselves from the cold harsh reality of life. The reality that we will be hurt, time and time again. By good people. By people who are just like us. When we slap an "evil" label on someone who's hurt us, we fool ourselves into believing that it was a rare event. An anomaly. That it won't happen again, or at least not with the same intensity.

It's still better than the alternative.

* - If you took those last two sentences literally, then you are an idiot and you should go kill yourself now before you pass on your idiot genes to the next generation. If you've already managed to find someone as stupid as you to procreate with then you should probably kill your offspring first.

Bands that I never heard of that had a free concert in Louisville tonight
Blue October

People that I don't like
That one bitch that called MixedSignalGirl a cow and tonight poured me the wrong beer or maybe she poured the right beer but she peed in it

People that are nice
That chick from Evansville that I talked to tonight

People that confuse me
All those Irish guys that drank nothing but Bud Light all night and one of them stole my glasses for a while

People that do not freak out
HatGirl

People that freak out
Every other woman on Earth besides HatGirl

Food that is good
The Curry Fries that The Pub sells

Girls with horrible taste in ex-husbands
That one chick that was married to my cousin once

Cute girls
That blonde bartender at Rich O's

Girls with cool hair
That one bartender at Hard Rock in Louisville

None of these lists are meant to be all-inclusive.

Sometimes, the thoughts come as if from nowhere. As if they just materialize out of thin air.

But that's not where they really come from.

I've written about that night, back when I couldn't control myself enough to stop my words from flowing out my fingers onto my screen and out into the world. I've written about what a good person I was. What a good friend I was. I've written about how I wondered what might have happened. If I'd been less of a good person, less of a good friend. If I'd been like most guys, on that night so long ago.

Sometimes, the thoughts come unbidden. And they refuse to go away.

Everything I did that night was wrong. Or, more accurately, everything I didn't do that night was wrong. When I pretended to be noble, told myself that I was doing the right thing, what I was really doing was cowering in fear. I patted myself on the back for being so selfless, but I'd done the most selfish thing imaginable.

Sometimes, the thoughts get stuck in my head. And I dream the thoughts, and I rip myself away from my dream, and the thoughts are still there.

Even when I wrote about that night, even then I was being selfish. Weighing the alternate possibilities and judging their merits based on would I be better off if, just if, I'd reacted differently.

I wrote about how I might know the answers to some of the questions that had been plaguing me. I wrote about how I could have traded certain and predictable pain for months and years of random anguish.

How could I have known? I asked myself. I was just doing what I thought was right.

Sometimes, the thoughts take me back to a place and a time. Sometimes, they leave me there to find my own way out. If I can.

I should have done something.

I should have brushed the hair from her eyes, and let my fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary against her face.

I should have looked into her eyes, and asked her in my softest voice if she was okay.

I should have pulled her to me, and told her how special and pretty she was.

I should have kissed her, and let her dictate what happened next.

I should have done all of those things. But not because I was a bad person. Not because I was a bad friend. And not even because it was what the world expected of me.

I should have done all those things because she expected it.

And I let her down.

She needed to feel special and pretty, on that night so long ago, and I let her down.

Sometimes, the thoughts abandon me in the dark, to force me to see the light.

That night was never about me. It was never about us.

It was about her.

And I didn't realize that until just a couple of nights ago.

It was about her.

And I let her down because I thought it was about something bigger and more important. On that night, in that place, the only thing that mattered was her.

And I let her down.

This is not another what if entry. This is not another entry about how I wish I'd done things differently. I've written enough of those to last a lifetime.

This is an apology.

I don't know if she will ever read this. I like to think that she will, someday when she's bored and maybe feeling a little nostalgic.

There are a lot of things that I've wanted to apologize to her for. Most of them will fade with the passing of time and the resumption of separate lives, but not this one. This one will remain. Because this one was, as far as I can tell, this one was the first time.

I let her down.

And I'm sorry.

My grandmother used to have this little Pekinese dog. She had several of them over the years, actually. I don't know what this one particular dog's name was. It might have been Raindrop. I know there was a Raindrop at some point during my childhood.

One thing about this dog was that it was ugly. But that should go without saying. All Pekinese dogs are ugly with their squashed faces and their stubby legs and their weird compact torsos. Selective breeding gone horribly awry.

Another thing about this one particular dog was that it was terrified of storms. But not petrified. Whatever the opposite of petrified would be. Maybe frantic with fear.

Whenever thunder would rumble, this dog would start running. My grandmother's house was a big circle. The dog would run from the kitchen to the laundry room to the bedroom to the foyer to the living room to the kitchen - on and on and on until the thunder stopped. That dog, with it ugly little tongue hanging out of its ugly face, that dog would run that circuit nonstop until the storm had passed.

Unless somebody messed up and opened the kitchen door.

When that happened, somebody - usually me - would have to go out into the storm and chase the stupid little thing down.

It was amazing how fast those stubby little legs could propel that dog.

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This past weekend I went driving. A lot. And I thought about that dog and how it would run and run without ever getting anywhere. How it would run for the simple reason that it was too terrified to stay where it was.

I wondered if I was doing the same thing. And not just with the driving around. With all of my traveling, and with all of my life, I wondered if what I was really doing was running.

Maybe.

And if I am, then that begs the question of whether I'm running from something that I cannot escape, or running toward a destination that I cannot see.

How badly am I fooling myself?

Am I as stupid as that ugly little dog, running simply because it's the only thing I can do?