I guess I've been fooling myself, pretending with so much effort that there for a little while I actually believed it. I actually believed that it might be different this time.

But the hour looms nearer. The alcohol in my body fogs my senses even as it magically makes things more clear. I can see the truth. I know what's about to happen.

The same thing that happened on the past two occurrences of this date.

This little annual ceremony of mine has been polluted and corrupted. It's not even close to what it once was. It used to be something I'd look forward to. Ring out the old, usher in the new. Crap like that. It was kind of fun.

And now, now it's nothing more than a séance. Intensified, surely, because of the date, but otherwise no different than any of the dozens that preceded it this year.

In less than an hour, it begins again.

My eyes see your face, as they've done for years.

I'm always a little surprised, when I open my eyes and you're not there.

My hand reaches for my phone, as it's done for days. I stop it, just in time.

I will not call you tonight.

I am not that cruel.

People are wondering what I've been doing for the past couple of nights.

Ha ha. I'm just kidding. Nobody cares. Hell, I barely care myself.

But, since I plan to drink tonight, and since that'll probably lead to some stupid crap being posted, I figured that I'd strive for one last bit of normalcy and write an entry about my weekend.

On Friday I arrived early. I didn't want to miss the De Dolle Stille Nacht, as I had back in 2004. So of course that's what I had first (66).

Since I'd arrived so early, the throne was available, and I sat there. I'm pretty sure that there were some other people around, but I really didn't care. I think one was a girl who should probably get a nickname. Maybe later.

Next, I was feeling experimental, so I experimented.

Dave's Weffenspezial (20)

(mixture) I mixed Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier and Spezial Rauchbier on a 1:1 ratio. Amazing head, courtesy of the Weihenstephaner. Aroma of bananas and cloves, slightly subdued. Flavor of a German wheat beer. The smoke shows up in the finish. Yummy. I'm a freakin' genius.

Again, I think there were other people there. But again, I didn't care. I'd been told that a certain person would be at Rich O's that week, and there could be no substitute.

One of the anonymous people made me try a sample of some Schnieder Aventinus Weizen Dopplebock (24), even though I insisted that I'd had it before. It's still just a beer, so I have nothing to add to my review.

Next, I had a beer from the Saturnalia list. A beer that was new to me.

Ridgeway Lump of Coal (10)

(draft) Very dark ruby-colored. No aroma. Nice head. A pretty thick mouthfeel, with coffee and licorice fairly well-balanced. Decent, but not worth my time.

Once that was gone, there was still nobody who mattered at Rich O's, so I gave up and left. I went over to The Hard Rock in Louisville and talked to CoolHairGirl while I enjoyed a Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale (52). It was pretty good, and it was nice to see CoolHairGirl before she got off work and disappeared.

On Saturday, I went to HatGirl's belated birthday party. I had several bottles of Blue Moon Winter Ale (142). I had fun petting HatGirl's dogs, but I didn't get to pet her cat. It was being a scardie-cat.

There was also weird stuff going on, but it was still nice to see HatGirl and NotHideousGirl and LuckyFucker.

I guess that's it. Pretty boring stuff.

Twice before, we've known each other on this day. Twice before, it would have made sense for us to spend this night together. A strange kind of sense, perhaps, but sense nevertheless.

But it never happened. Stupidity and fear separated us. Kept us cowering in opposite corners of this cell in which we found ourselves locked.

And now, now it's come around again. This day. This night.

The promise of the new was replaced by the comfort of the familiar was overthrown by the torment of the lost, and all were observed alone.

What, I wonder, will another year bring?

Where do we go from here?

That's what FutureDude called this week, this period between Christmas and New Year's Eve. He was referring to the extremely crowded conditions at Rich O's. Crowding like that is normally only seen on Fridays, but this week it's been standing room only every single night.

FutureDude works at the place. He has to stay somewhat diplomatic. Hence, Festival of Fridays.

Me, I don't work there. I can call it was it really was.

Week of Weirdoes.

Hippies, specifically. But I couldn't find a word for a period of time that starts with H.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, the place was overrun with hippies. The scents of patchouli and cloves hung in the air, almost but not quite obscuring the unmistakable aroma of clothing that's been subjected to years of marijuana smoke.

I don't know where they all came from. I just hope that they go back. Soon.

Friday was much better. The crowd seemed to consist mostly of people with actual jobs. So that was cool. It was still pretty damn crowded though.

Anyway, because I'm a stupid gullible idiot, I went to the place every night. I scrambled for any available seat. I drank beer. I ate a lot of potato wedges. I watched the door. I became irritated with my own naiveté.

I had my notebook with me, but I didn't do a very good job of taking notes. I'll probably do an even worse job of going from memory. But you'll get the gist.

Tuesday, the highlight for me was getting to see NotHideousGirl for only the second time in three months. The first time had been Sunday night, at a secret event. An event that also featured HatGirl. So, yay!

I sat at the island with a bunch of PBDs and NotHideousGirl. My first beer was the 2006 edition of Anchor's Christmas Ale.

Anchor Our Special Ale 2006

(draft) Dark ruby in color, almost black. Nice head and very nice lacing. Fruity and spicy aroma. Fairly thin and highly-carbonated mouthfeel. Flavor of tingly dark cherries, a little sour even. Finish is tingly. Better than decent, barely good.

Also on Tuesday I had a couple pints of Spezial (1342). I always drink a lot of that beer when it's on, plus the board in back indicated that De Dolle Stille Nacht would be next on that tap, so I wanted to help move things along.

On Wednesday night, I sat at the bar and pretended that the place wasn't full of weirdoes, and I had a Dragon's Milk (70) and then a couple more Spezials (1382).

On Thursday night, I sat on the throne and talked for a bit to some semi-normal people. I had a couple pints of Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar (115) and then a Spezial (1402).

Friday, well my Friday memory is still somewhat intact, but I don't think that anyone cares. And I don't feel like writing anything right now. I'll write about Friday later. For now I've got laundry to do.

It was not too much to say. It was not too far to go.

You did not cross the line.

You could not. Never. Ever.

For we carry the line with us. The endpoints - they are us.

It was not too much.

It was not awkward.

It was perfect.

Did you ever scream?

I mean, did you ever scream, but nobody was listening?

I was surrounded. Outnumbered. Nearly overwhelmed even. My night was filled with pleasant diversions and distractions.

Yet, in the end, my heart still took that beat, and my lips still formed those words.

I'd say that those two events were of equal importance. Though I'd have given up the former, if I'd been forced to choose between them. If given a choice of which I would do again, well I'd certainly say the words again.

Beating heart be damned. It merely marks wasted time.

But the words, the words are important.

That's why they tore their way out of me.

Because they needed to be heard. That was their purpose, their reason for existing. And not only to be heard, but to be understood. To be recognized for what they were.

Truth.

But they tore their way out of me, and I screamed them, and it was for naught.

Nobody was listening.

Almost a full day now. Maybe a full day. Pretty close to one.

I doubt that this will last as long as it should last.

I'm pretty sure that this breath of mine will be needed. That it will be needed for some lesser purpose.

I can still hope, though.

I do that a lot.

I think that it was easy, the way the words left my tongue.

My heart.

My soul.

So why, I wonder, did they have to rip their way out so forcefully?

Crashing and tearing.

After the Christmas thingy was over, I of course went to Rich O's.

It was pretty crowded, but I wasn't going to be sitting in Rich O's proper anyway. As soon as HatGirl arrived I'd be sitting out front with them. So even though this one dude offered to give me the throne, I just sat at the kiddie table and tried a new beer.

Hambleton Nightmare Porter

(draft) Almost black. Good head, good lacing. A very faint coffee and hop aroma. There was a slight bitterness to the flavor and the finish. Not worth my time. Just barely decent.

Bell's Hell Hath No Fury

(draft) Black, with a decent brown head. A sugary sweet aroma. Flavor was fairly intense, with spices and a slight hint of coffee. Pretty damn good.

While I was drinking that, HatGirl came in to make sure that I knew she'd arrived.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I went out front and sat with HatGirl and LuckyFucker and HatGirl's sister for several hours. I had another of the Bell's beers (20) and we all just relaxed. Because it was HatGirl's birthday, I must have sang Happy Birthday to her a dozen times, but I kept my voice down so everyone in the place wouldn't find out, start singing, and embarrass the shit out of her.

At one point HatGirl picked up her camera and recorded me singing to her. Hopefully I won't be seeing that on Inside Edition anytime soon.

Weird, I think I was more excited about her birthday than I ever am about my own.

For my next beer, I had a New Holland Dragon's Milk. I'd had this before, but I went ahead and updated my review.

New Holland Dragons Milk

(draft) Very smooth for so much alcohol. I really liked this, but I'd probably like it even more without the oaky undertones. Almost black with good head and lacing. There were subtle hints of vanilla and bourbon that were a very pleasant surprise.

I switched to Diet Coke for a while after that, but I ended up having a Spezial Rauchbier (1292) at the end of the night.

Once HatGirl and her posse left, I went back into Rich O's proper for a while and had another Diet Coke.

Then I went to Kroger to buy some shrimp. Then I went to White Castle. Then I came home.

Every year my sisters and I have our Christmas thingy early. This year we did it last night.

I always do pretty well with gifts. I think this is because my sisters know that they're the only ones getting me anything, so they take it seriously.

Let me see if I can list what I got without having to go look:

• Two old framed pictures - one of me and my mom, and the other of my Grandfather's old propane business.


• Five cans of various nuts.


• Some crystals to put in a fireplace to make the flames burn with pretty colors.


• A set of beer glasses from various microbreweries.


• A Bad Cats wall calendar. I'd actually bought it for Dina, and she'd bought me the desktop model of the same calendar, but we ended up trading.


• Bottles of Baltika 6, Delirium Tremens, Weihenstephaner, The Reverend, Erdinger, and Rogue Chocolate Stout beers.

So the first three hours were a waste of time. Some might argue that it's all a waste of time. Maybe they're right.

It was crowded as fuck. I stood at the end of the bar and had myself a Spezial Rauchbier (1282). Then a dude left from the bar so I grabbed that seat.

I watched pint after pint after pint of Rogue Chocolate Stout get poured, and I became fearful that it would be going away soon, so I had a pint of that next (1392).

At one point, this chick sitting on the sofa called out to me that some "redhead" had just come in looking for me. I have no idea who that might have been. Actually, that's wrong. When I'd first arrived, one half of TeamHotness had been sitting out front. So it might have been her, except that she's not really a redhead.

Once a seat opened up on the sofa I moved over there, but then I went to the restroom and when I came back Roger had stolen my seat. Nothing I could do about that - it is literally his bar.

So I fucking stood.

You know how 65 million years ago, that asteroid came and killed all the dinosaurs? Well, a few minutes after that happened, these people sitting on the loveseat and the throne paid for their drinks. They then sat for the next 65 million years, staring at their feet, while I stood and glared at them.

Once they finally left I moved to the throne and ordered a Pyramid Snow Cap Ale (60). I'd had this before, but I went ahead and updated my review anyway:

Pyramid Snow Cap Ale

(draft) Dark cola in color. decent head and lacing. Nice and smooth. More complex than the first few sips indicate. Spices and hops and nutmeg and molasses are what I think I detected. A good beer.

Before Roger stole my seat I got a phone call. The screen said BadPickleGirl. So I immediately assumed that someone had stolen BadPickleGirl's phone. I mean, that seemed much more likely than her actually calling me after a month would be, right?

But it wasn't a thief, it was really her. She just wanted some info about the Las Vegas airport.

So that was exciting.

Anyway, after my Pyramid was gone I had a Diet Coke. I was getting pretty bored and I was thinking about maybe considering going home but then my friend Eric and his wife Teri came in.

Yay!

So we sat and talked for an hour or so. They told me a story that helped to renew my faith in the court system, so that was good.

At 12:30 or so they started kicking everyone out so I came home.

...my true love gave to me,

Twelve adorable little hats,

Eleven DaveFest t-shirts,

Ten doses of Paxil,

Nine orthodontist appointments,

Eight ponytail holder thingies,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

---

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HATGIRL!

YAY!

Man, it was crowded last night.

At first, I sat on the throne. Some strangers were on the sofa. I suspected that they might be weirdoes, but I gave them the benefit of a doubt while I had a Rogue Chocolate Stout (1352). Plus, one of the people wasn't a stranger - it was HotEuchreGirl, and I was convinced that she was about to lose a button on her shirt. I didn't want to miss that when it happened.

For the next hour, at about five-minute intervals, more people kept showing up and joining the living room area people. It was quite ridiculous. Every time someone would walk through the door, the crowd of now-confirmed weirdoes would holler out greetings, and the new person would squeeze into the area.

Luckily, by the time I ordered another Rogue Chocloate Stout (1372), this one hot girl had left the bar so I moved up there and sat.

I talked with MusicalHippieDude for a while about various crap. He will be getting a new nickname, but not until after the holidays. I don't know who reads this thing. I also had some potato wedges with beer cheese. I just kind of vegged out.

At 9:30 or so I walked over to this Jack's place next door. Mainly I wanted to see if (a) HotEuchreGirl was there and (b) if that button had popped off yet. It had certainly been under a lot of strain when I'd seen her earlier. I've read that spider silk is the strongest substance in nature, but I don't believe it. I think it's the thread that was holding that fucking button on.

Well nobody I wanted to see was at Jack's, so I went back to Rich O's and had a beer that was new to me:

Harviestoun Old Engine Oil (10)

(draft) Black in color. Decent white head. Roasty cola aroma. Very well-balanced between coffee and chocolate. Pretty damn good.

At Mac's, I didn't see anyone I knew at first, but then I saw a familiar hand sticking up out of the crowd.

MisunderstoodGirl, waving at me!

Yay!

So we spent a few minutes talking about what she's been up to since I last saw her. There wasn't any need to talk about me because nothing ever changes with me.

I came home at around 11:00 and played some pool for a while.

...my true love gave to me,

Eleven DaveFest t-shirts,

Ten doses of Paxil,

Nine orthodontist appointments,

Eight ponytail holder thingies,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Tonight, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about doing something, doing something with someone who I have no business thinking such thoughts about.

It was wrong of me to think those things about that person.

It was wrong, but I don't care, right now.

It's my brain, after all.

And it was a lot of fun, thinking about doing those things with that person.

Also, there was certainly no disrespect intended. Even when I was thinking about that one certain thing that's illegal in many states.

...my true love gave to me,

Ten doses of Paxil,

Nine orthodontist appointments,

Eight ponytail holder thingies,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Something's been bothering me all day.

Not, as some people might suspect, not the fact that HatGirl called me "Dan" last night. That was surprising, but only until I realized that she'd had a whole inch and a half of beer. I actually consider myself lucky that she got the first two letters right. And that she didn't vomit on me.

What's bothering me is something that I can't really write about, except in a vague and generic and rhetorical sense.

Did you ever do something incredibly stupid? Maybe even something that seemed, deep down in your gut, like a bad idea, but you did it anyway? Something where, if you'd thought to actually ask, everyone you know would have told you how stupid you were about to be? But you didn't bother to ask, because you were being so stupid that you thought you already knew all the answers?

And then, days or weeks or months later, then did reality come crashing down upon you, making you realize how stupid you'd been? And did you then wonder why nobody had told you, before it was too late, how stupid you were about to be?

Did you ever wish that people would have just spoken up, that they wouldn't have waited for you to ask? That they'd locked you into a barrel and fed you through the bunghole until you came to your fucking senses?

Well I've done every one of those things. More than once. But right now I find myself on the other side.

That's what's bothering me. I want to help someone, convince someone to not do something stupid, but I haven't been asked for advice, and it's really none of my business anyway.

I kinda wish I had a barrel handy tough. Just in case.

Went to lunch at The Pub yesterday, just mainly to get out of the office for a bit. I had a Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald Porter (204) while I was there. It was quite good, though it clashed with my curry fries a bit.

Then after lunch I got a text message from this chick I know. Her name escapes me, but she wanted to see if I was going to Rich O's after work. I said that I'd go if she would.

Then I went and got a haircut, then I went to Rich O's. I had an NABC Bonfire of the Valkyries (40) at the island while I waited for some strangers to leave the living room area.

Then they left so I moved to the throne.

Next I had a beer that I didn't think I'd had before. I was wrong about that. I did, however, go ahead and update my review:

Ridgeway Seriously Bad Elf (22)

(draft) Take a bland IPA, and wash your socks in it. Then take it to your local steel mill, and use the same beer to wash the socks of everyone who works there. This just might give you a good idea of what this beer tastes and smells like. Actually, it would taste and smell better than the beer does, but I didn't want to go overboard with my description.

Then some weirdoes came and took the sofa. I figured it would be okay because WhatsHerName could still sit on the loveseat.

But noooooooooooooo!

Another weirdo came and sat on the loveseat. Disgusted, I moved picked up my shit and moved to the bar.

At about 6:30 I was starting to figure that WhatsHerName had stood me up. I was thinking about leaving, but then she came in.

So I ordered a yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (1332) and we talked for an hour or so. It was nice.

I'd really like to see WhatsHerName again. I hope I remember her damn name by then. I can't call her "Hey you" forever.

This DM1 dude tagged me to list some crap. I just copied these from my about me page.

1. I have this rock. I talk to my rock and take it everywhere. Did I mention that it's a rock?

2. I'll make up new, cat-themed lyrics to songs and sing them to my cats. I make Buddy dance with me while I do this.

3. I've developed the habit of smelling my beer before each sip, to enhance the tasting experience, and now that habit has spread to everything I drink. Doesn't matter if it's water or Diet Vanilla Coke or orange juice or whatever - I'm smelling it before each sip.

4. I brush my teeth, then rinse with this supposedly "cool mint" mouthwash that burns my mouth so much that I brush my teeth again right away to neutralize the mouthwash.

5. When I'm on the phone at home I can't just sit and talk. I have to either walk around or shoot pool or straighten things up - anything but just sit and talk.

...my true love gave to me,

Nine orthodontist appointments,

Eight ponytail holder thingies,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Just two more days of work, then a five-day weekend! Then two days of work next week, followed by a four-day weekend!

Yay and yay!

But wait! I'm on-call next week.

Boo!

---

Looks like my little diatribe about HatGirl's birthday did some good. People have recognized her spectacularity and have agreed to attend her party. HatGirl at first wanted me to bring cut up tomatoes, but I told her that's way outside my culinary abilities. Now I'm bringing taco shells and shredded cheese. Those things I can handle.

---

I get irritated when people jump right out of one relationship and into another. This is probably just a jealousy thing.

---

I slept for ten hours last night. I needed it.

---

There was a brief period when I thought that there was an actual chance that I might have a girlfriend this holiday season. I think that would have been nice. Especially on New Year's Eve.

---

This dude at work was on the phone yesterday morning. He hung up the phone and announced that he had to go to Mexico. We all thought he was kidding. Then the guy flew to Mexico, and so now we're not so sure.

Not because she felt it.

I'd sometimes, like maybe a gazillion asstillion times, worried about it, or hoped for it, depending on my current insanity level.

Not because she felt it.

I was surprised because she said it.

Out loud.

To me.

She could have stuck her tongue in my ear, and I wouldn't have been more surprised than I was when I heard those words come from her lips.

Got to Rich O's last night at around 8:00 I think. It was pretty crowded, and so I had to sit at the kiddie table. That put me in a bad mood.

Then I went to the bathroom and on the way I saw LaptopGirl, so that put me in a good mood.

Then I got to talk to LaptopGirl, so that put me in a great mood.

Then I got into an argument with a chick over the throne. The strangers had finally left the living room area and we both wanted the throne. I was closer, and I'd been waiting longer, so I took the seat.

She called me an asshole. I called her a bitch. But I gave her the fucking seat.

Then, after a while I felt bad about the name calling, so I apologized.

All of that crap knocked me back into a regular good mood.

Oh yeah, I had three yummy Rogue Chocolate Stouts (1292).

...my true love gave to me,

Eight ponytail holder thingies,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Okay, here's the deal.

Being all cryptic and shit, and beating around the bush, and censoring myself to the point where even I can't tell what the fuck I'm rambling about, those are all well and good.

At times.

But sometimes, sometimes I have to write something that makes sense.

Or else I just might explode.

And that would suck.

For me at least.

Anyway.

Tonight, I got to see LaptopGirl.

I got to talk to LaptopGirl.

She did not tell me to fuck off. She did not spit in my face. She actually talked to me.

She talked to me, and it reminded me, for a few precious minutes, of the friends that we once were. It hinted to me, for a few splendid and transcendent and illustrious moments, of the possibility of having that friendship again. Someday. Just maybe.

And that maybe, well that maybe was enough. More than enough.

It was everything.

Every-fucking-thing.

I've written before, about wants vs. needs. There's no need for me rehash that crap again. Go back and read it again if you want. It's not important, because my wants aren't important.

And they never were.

Tonight, I got to talk to LaptopGirl.

It was all that I needed.

I did not freak out.

Maybe later.

I promised.

I like this feeling, but I probably shouldn't.

It's dangerously close to happiness. Close enough that I can almost touch it. I can almost take that extra step, and shift my weight onto my leading foot, and see if it will hold me.

It looks fairly solid.

But what do I know about happiness?

It looks solid, but so does a cloud, until you get too close.

Wouldn't it be better to stand back, to admire this phenomenon from a safe distance? From far enough away that the illusion is maintained?

It's pretty fucking tempting though. To take that extra step. To see what happens.

So today I had to go over to our main campus to work for a while. This is relevant for a couple of reasons.

Reason the first, the "building" I was working in is actually a merging of three buildings. The floors don't quite match up, and neither do the structural supports. So there are lots of little stairways and twisty halls in the places where the buildings connect.

Reason the second, it's the main headquarters of a multi-national corporation. So there are people there. Important people.

Anyway, I'd finally finished up the work that had required my presence there, and I was making my way back to the exit. Specifically, I was making my way between two of these old buildings. Through a little twisty hallway with stairs in it.

I wasn't really running but neither do I fuck around when I walk. So I was moving pretty quickly.

As I rounded a corner, and went down some stairs, I gave very close to having a head-on collision with a man who was coming in the other direction. He, apparently, does not fuck around when he walks either.

We came within a few inches of killing each other.

No big loss, you might say.

And, in my case you'd be correct. But the man that I almost killed was the fucking CEO. Of the entire corporation. Where I work.

I bet he'd have been really embarrassed if he was killed by a peon like me. I bet I'd have gotten a posthumous promotion to Senior Vice President or something, just so it would look better in the newspaper.

Last night, just like last Sunday, I had a nearly overpowering urge to write something stupid. So last night, just like last Sunday, I went over to Louisville instead.

I started out at The Pub where I had a couple of yummy Newcastles (2838) and talked with some dude from North Carolina.

Next I had a Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald Porter (164), which I hadn't noticed when I first went in or it might have been all I had.

Then I went to The Hard Rock and talked to CoolHairGirl. It was sort of dead in there. I had like three Diet Cokes, and then one of those Winter's Bourbon Cask Ales (36), then another Diet Coke.

It was a nice relaxing evening. I wish I'd have taken my notebook with me though. Then I could have written something stupid in it.

...my true love gave to me,

Seven trips to Vegas,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Every Sunday the company that hosts barenada.com decides to suck. The site goes down, or gets really sluggish. Email sits for hours before being delivered. Sometimes email simply vanishes.

Such was the case this evening. I wrote an email to RockGirl, and it vanished, never to be seen again apparently.. That email said in part, I feel like something is terribly wrong. I feel like I should be doing something to make things better. But I can't because, for all I know, I'm the thing that's terribly wrong.

This, in case you were wondering, isn't the best feeling I've ever had in my life.

It kinda sucks.

Because if I am the problem, then there's not a thing I can do about it.

It fact, it definitely sucks.

I suppose the real start of this Saturday Beer Report would be when I was at Rich O's at 3:00 or so. I'd done my Christmas shopping and decided to reward myself with a yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (1222). I talked to Roger, the owner, for a bit. I expressed my frustration that, here in Indiana, we can't get Alaskan Smoked Porter at all, yet in Las Vegas the owner of the Freaking' Frog can simply call his distributor and get a keg from 1998.

Something is definitely wrong with this system.

Anyway, after that I came home and dicked around for a while, then I went back to Rich O's at 8:00. The place wasn't too crowded. At least Rich O's proper wasn't. The PBDs were having a party in the Special People Section. I stuck my head in. It looked crowded as fuck.

There were some weirdoes in the living room area, so I sat at the bar. I had an Upland Winter Warmer (200) which is still yummy.

Not a whole lot happened for a while. My next beer was a Delirium Noel (70). A couple next to me were having the conversation. It seemed to be mostly about everything that was wrong with the guy, but I wasn't really listening - only when the occasional snippet made its way into my ears. So he may have gotten some jabs in too.

I got a text message from HatGirl, saying she wasn't going to make it in, but I guess I made her feel guilty or something so she said she'd be there. Yay!

After the weirdoes left I moved over to the throne. That was about the time I had another Delirium Noel (80).

Then a little before 10:00 HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I didn't mention it before, but Friday night HatGirl was strangely dressed. On Saturday she was back to normal.

So we talked for an hour or so. I had a half-pint of Rogue Chocolate Stout (1232), and I came home shortly after HatGirl and LuckyFucker left.

There's something going on that just isn't right. I don't really want to elaborate. But there is context to all this random boring crap that I write.

...my true love gave to me,

Six pints of Tremens,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Last night SassyBoy came in to Rich O's, and I guess he's in contact with SassyGirl!

Yay!

So I gave him my email address so he could email me and let me know how to contact SassyGirl.

I miss SassyGirl. It seems like a million years since she moved away.

...one to go.

This one will be the real test.

I just took a break from doing a happy dance to write this.

My cats are concerned about me. I guess they don't appreciate my dancing.

Now back to the happy dance!

Yay!

4:50
Arrival - about an hour later than I'd planned. The crowd isn't too bad yet. I'm sitting at the empty island, and having a N'Ice Chouffe. Apparently I'd had it before, but I've updated my review:

N'Ice Chouffe (14)

(draft) Dark cranberry in color. Huge head. Aroma is a very faint sweetness. Tastes like watery cranberry juice. Kind of disgusting.

5:00
All of the strangers just left the living room area. Yay! I'm moving to the throne. Yay!

5:05
This Chouffe stuff is too disgusting. I'm ordering another new NABC beer.

New Albanian Naughty Claus (10)

(draft) Cloudy brown. No foam (duh). Aroma of sugar and unidentifiable spices. Flavor is decent - reminds me of pumpkins. There's a slight citrus tang at the finish. Not too bad.

My next beer was another new one for me.

Bluegrass Hell For Certain (10)

(draft) Clear dark bronze. Decent head. No detectable aroma. Flavor of dried cherries. The finish was quite drying as well. A good beer, but a little weird.

Sometimes I use words like idiot when stranger would be much more appropriate.

My next beer was something I've had before, but I wanted to update my review.

Delirium Noel (60)

(draft) Dark brownish red with a very dense head that lasted forever. A very nice completion to the Delirium triad. Not as much spice as I was perhaps expecting, but very drinkable. More similar to Delirium Nocturnum than to Tremens. Yummy.

At 7:10 or so I started getting text messages from HatGirl that she was on her way.

At 7:30 HatGirl and LuckyFucker arrived.

HatGirl!

Yay!

For a few minutes, HatGirl had to stand. LuckyFucker had taken the only available seat in the place - at the kiddie table. But I laid a guilt trip on this other dude and talked him into moving from the kiddie table to the sofa so HatGirl could sit.

This was also about the time I switched to Diet Coke for a while.

So I spent the next couple of hours talking to HatGirl and LuckyFucker and GuiltTripDude and a few other people in the living room area.

At one point I got into a bit of an argument with one of the PBD girls. I feel kinda bad about that, but I doubt that she even remembers it. I still apologize.

I also found out that this one PBD is the bartender's dad. I'd had no idea, but once I found out I could really see the resemblance. Small world.

My next beer was a Rogue Chocolate Stout (1192).

After HatGirl left the night settled down for me. A couple of uberhot girls that I sorta know came over and sat with us. Those two are like an unstoppable force of hotness, so I didn't pay much attention to less important things like breathing for the next couple of hours. Once TeamHotness left I had a half-pint of Rogue Chocolate Stout (1202) to close out the night, and I came home at about 12:30.

A million times.

Disappointment times a million.

It never fades. It never gets any easier. It always astounds me with its intensity.

Someday, it will end.

Someday, in a portion of a fraction of an instant, disappointment will transform into joy.

Until then, disappointment will be my reason for living. My purpose. My destiny. My fucking calling.

After that, well I guess I'll have to wait and see what happens after that.

...my true love gave to me,

*** Five pairs of jeans with sexy yet still modest holes in them ***

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Wednesday was one of those nights when I couldn't help but wonder what the fuck I was doing.

I mean, I knew exactly what I was doing, but it seemed so stupid that my mind wouldn't quite accept that it was me. I've written this before, but it was like I was watching a movie and I couldn't believe how stupid the main character was.

Other than that, the night was okay. I arrived straight from work. It wasn't very crowded. I sat at the throne and had a Weihenstephaner Hefeweiessbier (1581).

It was yummy. So yummy, in fact, that I had two more (1615).

Other than that, nothing at all happened. Oh yeah, I talked to this one dude and this one chick, but I don't think we talked about anything important.

I had a Guinness (1407) and came home at around 9:00.

---

Thursday night I went home after work. I tried to take a nap but it didn't work out. Then I had to do some work shit until a little after 8:00. So I didn't get to Rich O's until 8:30 or so.

Man, it was fucking crowded!

One of the biggest crowds I've ever seen there.

It sucked.

I stood around for an hour or so, drinking a Rogue Dead Guy (288), until a seat opened up at the island. Then I sat with some semi-regulars for a while.

My next beer was a new one for me. A new one for the world actually:

New Albanian Bonfire of the Valkyries

(draft) Stupid name, I think they've given up there. The beer was black. More than black. It was anti-light. Very little foam, as is typical for NABC beers. Not much of an aroma, just a touch of smoky malt. Fairly thick and creamy mouthfeel. Flavor is a bit sharp and smoky, surprising after the tame aroma. Finish is creamy smoke. I liked it.

HotEuchreGirl and I were getting our asses kicked - down 4-8 - but then we decided to start playing and we won 10-8.

So, yay!

Other than that, the place stayed fucking crowded all night. I hated it, mostly because if you pack eight million people into a space made for a couple of hundred, there should be a rule that one of those eight million people will be the one you want to see.

When I'm in charge of the world, that rule will be fucking enforced.

Anyway, I had fun I guess. I sorta have a crush on HotEuchreGirl now.

...my true love gave to me,

Four sleepless nights,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Anyway.

Today I got an email from HatGirl.

An email inviting me, and several others, to a birthday celebration.

I immediately accepted, and everyone else immediately declined.

Too close to Christmas, the negative RSVPs claimed.

What's wrong with these people?!?

It's HatGirl!

Who's birthday is more important? That of some dude from 2000 years ago, a dude who 3/4 of the world don't even believe existed? Or of a living and breathing and nice and pretty girl who everyone adores?

It's no fucking contest.

I don't know why I'm the only one to realize and admit it.

I'm not waiting.

I don't like the way that term fits when I try it on inside my head. It's too needy. To desperate even.

I am Lying in wait.

I like that term better. Maybe it means the same thing, but it seems to fit me and my mood much better. It seems to imply an actual purpose, and there is a purpose to this. Not the noblest perhaps but still better than the more obvious alternative.

I am not waiting.

I am not wringing my hands. I am not chain-smoking. I am not chain-drinking, whatever that means. I am not risking paralysis by whipping my head around at each tiny noise.

I am simply here.

Just in case.

I am lying in wait.

...my true love gave to me,

Three designated drivers,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

Anyway, there's either misdirected and probably unwarranted anger, or there's preemptive depression.

And that's it. Those are the choices that this lump of crap I keep between my ears, those are the choices that it's been presenting me with for the past week.

Well, I don't like either choice very much. I dislike those choices so much that, for the past few days, I've felt myself beginning to shut down. To keep from having to make that choice, I've begun to sever every emotional circuit within me. I don't like that very much either. In fact, shutting down sucks.

So, out of desperation, I'm inventing a third choice.

Instead of getting angry, and instead of getting sad, I will get even.

Never mind that there's nothing to exact revenge for. Not just yet anyway. Why should I let a small technicality like that stop me?

This is my sanity I'm trying to save here.

Muhaha.

...my true love gave to me,

Two cute pairs of glasses,

And a yummy pint of Guinness.

So, rather than attempt to deal with the all of the drama that I'm already ignoring, I decided to inject even more drama into my life.

This was not the most brilliant thing I ever did.

It's necessary though.

Really.

In other news, I'm tired.

I will sleep now.

...my true love gave to me,

A yummy pint of Guinness.

...two to go.

I'm not holding my breath though. If I did things like that I'd have been dead for a long time.

Sunday night was pretty fun. Surreal, but fun.

After I'd finished vomiting words into my notebook - see the previous entry - I found myself talking to a girl that I've seen before. Both at Rich O's and there at The Pub. A girl who looks almost exactly like Ella.

A hot girl. A girl who's way out of my league. But somebody forgot to tell her that, and it somehow slipped my mind as well.

Oops.

So EllaGirl and I went over to The Hard Rock to eat. And drink. And talk. And even flirt a little. Surreal.

Let's see, I'd been planning to just have a Guinness, but CoolHairGirl informed me that they were out, so I had a Blue Moon (336). I had some chicken tenders too.

We stayed there for a couple of hours. She's a very neat girl, and I somehow managed to keep her entertained. We each had a sample of a new beer from Anheuser-Busch. I liked it enough to order a full glass.

Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale (20)

(draft) Clear bronze. A very interesting vanilla and smoke aroma. Despite the name, there wasn't even the tiniest hint of bourbon. A nice medium mouthfeel, with vanilla and light smoke in the flavor as well. Pretty fucking good. I don't care who makes it.

A friend of mine told me earlier in the evening that she needed a distraction from her distraction. I guess I needed the same thing. I guess maybe EllaGirl did too.

It was fun.

I had to get out of my house.

I was getting very close to writing something stupid.

So I left.

Now I'm sitting in The Pub in Louisville. I'm drinking a yummy Newcastle (2778), and I'm probably about to write something stupid in this notebook.

But I'm not worried. I'm miles away from my home and my computer. I've got a mandatory buffer zone between what I write and anything that I might publish.

Besides, this way I can always blame the beer.

Anyway.

In the movie Team America: World Police there's a scene that goes something like:

Person one: I didn't mean to hurt you.

Person two: I know. You just didn't care if you did.

I know exactly how person two felt. I mean, if she was real and not a puppet, and if it was real life and not a movie, well then I'd know exactly how she felt.

I can't help but think back to the cruelest words ever said to me. Not said exactly. Texted. Those eleven fucking words. Yeah, I know exactly how that puppet chick felt.

(Having a Young's Double Chocolate Stout (383) now.)

That was almost two years ago, but it set the tone for most of the relationships and non-relationships and pseudo-relationships since then.

It's weird. You'd think that deliberate cruelty would be worse. Than apathy. Than ignorance.

But it's not.

I sat at home today, and I sit at this bar right now, and I just want to scream. I want to cry. I want to wail. I want to go into a rage. I want to spontaneously burst into flames.

I want to be noticed, for better or for worse. I'm fucking sick of being irrelevant.

(Having another Newcastle (2798) now.)

I could make myself be noticed. I could become relevant. It wouldn't even be that hard. I could end the apathy and the ignorance.

It would be easy.

I'm wondering if I'm supposed to be writing something relevant. Maybe I am. Maybe that's what it would take to add the proper context to everything else. Without that context, these are just disconnected entries.

I dunno. I'm not doing it though. Not today, anyway.

Last night I was craving Red Lobster, so I went there for dinner. It was very yummy, as Red Lobster always is for me. OddlyFamiliarGirl was working and I got to talk to her for a bit.

It was really fucking crowded in Clarksville because of all the Christmas shoppers.

So I got to Rich O's just after 6:00. Way earlier than normal, but if I'd gone home after dinner I'd probably have fallen asleep. They were having a wedding reception in the Special People Section, and I had three heart attacks and a couple of strokes before I got up the nerve to look in there. I saw nobody I knew. In particular, the bride was nobody I knew, so that was a relief. Not that I should give a shit either way. And maybe I don't. But that doesn't mean I'd be able to cope with having it rubbed in my face.

I sat on the throne and had three Koningshoeven Quads (195) over the course of a couple of hours. I talked with a couple of PBDs about various stuff - mostly beer.

I switched to Diet Coke after that. And I waited. And I wondered. And I watched the door.

I noticed at one point that the place was packed, and that 90% of the people there were old women wearing red sweaters and/or red coats and/or red scarves. I talked to one of the old women. Turns out that they were all going to some concert over at IUS.

I was a little bored for a while, kicking myself a little for drinking three strong beers so early in the evening. I might have even been thinking about just going home. But then HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in.

HatGirl!

Yay!

That perked me back up. I talked with those two, and with the PBD who was still there, for the next couple of hours. I had myself a Guinness (1327).

After HatGirl and LuckyFucker left I had a Diet Coke and then I came home and glared at my phone for a while.

And now I'm in the mood to write something relevant. I need to get away from this computer before I do anything stupid like that.

I've written before, how I can take everything around me and only see the worst part of it. I've written how I can take the tiniest thing and turn it into a slap to my face.

This is a problem I have. I'm aware of it, and I watch it. I watch myself. I try to be a little less quick to judge. I try to count to ten before I react. I try to put myself in another's shoes.

Sometimes this works. Sometimes the mountains reveal themselves as molehills. Sometimes the dismissals and cold-heartedness are only in my head.

But what if they're real?

I really think that I've done everything I could reasonably be expected to do here, to salvage this. I've reached out way beyond my comfort zone. I've tried again and again. Much more often than I normally would. Multiple attempts via multiple means. And I've gotten nothing. Not even a slap in the face. Just nothing.

I don't know why I haven't given this up. I think that most people would have by now. I know that I would have, if only this had happened a couple of years ago. If it had happened before.

There's nothing left for me to try without seeming insane and obsessed. I need to give up this particular ship. Some things cannot be salvaged. But maybe, just maybe, I can stop from being pulled under myself. Maybe I can save myself.

And now, I'm going to go eat dinner.

The problem last night, as I saw it, was that I don't think I ever shut up.

Actually, that was more of a symptom of the real problem. The real problem was that people could have seen me last night and decided that I was sociable or something. People might start trying to talk to me all the time. That would suck.

Anyway, I got to The New Albanian Public House a little after 7:00. That's what we're supposed to be calling Rich O's now. Quite a mouthful, isn't it? The parking lot was packed, so I parked on Mars and walked in.

Inside, it was about half full I guess. Mostly strangers. I sat on the throne and ordered a Browning's Bourbon Imperial Stout (45). A chick from work was there with her husband. They're cool people, and I spent quite a while talking to them about everything from love to skiing.

My next two beers were Rogue Deal Guy (268).

At 9:30 I drunk-texted BadPickleGirl that I missed her.

At around 10:00 or so, NeighborsDaughter came in with her husband, and I talked to them for the rest of the night. Mostly we talked about my neighbor's dog, Dino. I guess he's feeling his age quite a bit. I should walk across the street to see him.

Because VigilanteGirl used to work with NeighborsDaughter, I got to missing her quite a bit. I stopped by this little bar where she used to hang out, but she wasn't there.

I remember the Spring.

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

They stretch their limbs and they yawn. Like a pile of kittens, they untangle themselves from each other, and they stand on wobbly legs, and they open their eyes.

"Something is happening," they whisper among themselves.

I can hear them.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

I overestimated the progress that we'd made.

Dammit.

It was maybe supposed to snow here tonight. I thought that I'd write something about it, if it did.

But it's not snowing yet, so I'll switch to plan b.

Write about beer!

Yay!

Here are my reviews of a couple of new (to me) beers that I've recently had the pleasure of drinking.

Schlafly's Christmas Ale (40)

(draft) Dark bronze. Very light foam. A strong aroma of whatzit and orange. The flavor was mostly whatzit, with some light orange peel thrown in. Despite the citrus, I did like this beer. I just wish I knew what the whatzit really was.

(draft) Black. Large brown head with great lacing. A nice chocolately flavor behind the bourbon, which shows up mainly in the lingering finish. Pretty damn yummy.

The Browning's was especially surprising. I've never been a fan of the beers from there, but there's a new brewer now. I should go in and see what else they have to offer.

The Schlafly's is pretty damn good too. I wish I could indentify the "whatzit" though. Perhaps someone will enlighten me.

Seven times.

I've seen her seven times.

Seems like more than that. Seems like it should be more than that.

I remember the first time I saw her. I saw her and I said to myself, Wow! Who is that?!? She's hot!

This kind of thing happens to me all the time. I am a straight and single guy after all.

The thing that makes the situation with this girl a little strange is that, I've seen her six times since then, and each and every time I've said to myself, Wow! Who is that?!? She's hot!

I don't seem to be able to recognize her. Not at first. It always takes a few seconds before my brain let's me remember that I've seen her before. It always takes a few seconds before my brain stops being surprised at how pretty she is. It always takes a few seconds before my brain let's me get a word in edgewise.

Hey, asshole, you already know her. Put your pants back on.

It's pretty cool, to be astonished by the familiar.

I highly recommend it.

Some of you may recall a conversation I wrote about a while ago. A conversation between my lovely self and Roger, the owner of Rich O's.

That conversation went something like this:

So for a while there my life was pretty good. It had meaning. I had something to look forward to.

Not anymore.

Yesterday, I found this on Roger's blog.

Harpoon Winter Warmer has been scratched from the Saturnalia line-up.

Because of bean counters.

I fucking hate bean counters.

I could swear that the stool across the table creaked when she sat down.

Or maybe it was something as simple as the way the sounds of the room changed, the way they had to take a different route as they bounced around the room. Or maybe the lights dimmed, just a little bit.

Whatever. Something happened.

I braced myself. Though I knew that it wouldn't do any good, though I knew that I never had been and never would be prepared, I braced myself for the sound of her voice.

"Hi, stranger," she said.

And there it was.

"Hi yourself," I said.

It was the best I could do. My mind was already racing. Why is she sitting across from me, and not next to me? Does she know? What will I say to her?

I bowed my head and closed my eyes. I didn't dare open them. I didn't dare look up. I couldn't look at her. It would ruin everything, if she saw my eyes.

"Haven't seen you around here in a while," she said. It was a question phrased as a statement.

"I was out of town last week," I answered. "And before that I was a little busy."

I held my breath.

"Busy?" she asked. "Doing what?"

Fuck.

She already knew. I could hear it in the crack of her voice.

"Who is she?" she asked softly.

I took a sip from my beer, and I swirled it around in my mouth.

This was my chance. I could put a stop to this right then and there. With one tiny little lie, I could finally end it.

I swallowed my beer.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie to her. Not even for this. Not even to set us both free.

"She's nobody," I answered.

"Nobody?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," I answered. "Nobody at all."

It was amazing, how effortlessly those words left my lips.

"Why should I believe you?" asked. There was, however, no accusation in her voice. She already knew the answer. She just wanted to hear me say it. To hear me admit it.

I raised my head. I could see her. She sat not three feet in front of me. I could smell her. Feel her heat. I could almost touch her.

I opened my eyes.

"Because you're here," I said to an empty stool.

I'm wondering, did she simply use me for my knowledge of beer and its various glassware?

And, after having gleaned that information, could she then find no other use for me?

Well I suppose that's okay.

It's not like I didn't get anything from the experience.

I checked her ass out every chance I got.

Nice.

Damn.

I had a thought.

Not more than five minutes ago, I had an actual thought.

But that train was derailed. Derailed by my cat Nugget deciding that now would be a good time to jump into my lap and finally welcome me home from Las Vegas.

Oh, what a good kitty Nugget is! Now go away.

Now to get that train back on the track.

I have no idea what I was thinking.

I bet it was about some girl though.

Because I never know when Evangeline Lilly is going to approach me and challenge me to a tongue-wresting match, I've been carrying these little Listerine thingies around with me all the time.

They look like thin sheets of plastic, and they dissolve almost instantly in my mouth. You've probably seen them.

Anyway, sliding one of the thingies out if its container and putting it on my tongue takes about two seconds, and makes my breath minty-fresh.

But when five or six of the things stick together, and I don't realize it until it's too late, they set my entire mouth on fire and make me for several painful moments regret that whole being born choice that I made many years ago.

I didn't say that this would be an interesting entry.

I like this. I wrote this back in February. When actual emotions ran though me.

"Dave, cheer the fuck up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what about now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just tell me," I'll say.

"I want you to cheer the fuck up."

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

In real life, I would never be so cold to her.

In real life, she would never breach that subject with me.

In real life, we'd pretend that everything was fine.

(Written Saturday afternoon)

Three hours this time. Stupid Delta.

I'm sitting in the BBC bar at the Cincinnati airport, having a yummy Dark Star Porter (248). It's yummy.

Anyway.

I can still really feel Southern Indiana trying to repel me. I bet the plane used extra fuel as it carried me Eastward. I bet the pilot was concerned.

I am a salmon being forced to swim upstream, but I have no spawning to anticipate.

Back to the grind I go. No choice, really.

At least no choice that I'm willing to make. No chance that I'm willing to take.

Hey, that rhymed!

My Pulitzer awaits.

Update: it ended up being a four-hour layover because of the stupid weather on the East coast.

Update Again: My cats were glad to see me. I guess that's something.

(Written Friday night)

Man, this has been a week of boring entries. But that's okay. It means that there's been no drama stirring up crap in my head.

I suppose that will change though.

It always does.

The conference ended at 11:30 this morning. I didn't stick around to watch them clean up. I took a cab over to The Hard Rock so I could buy a souvenir glass and eat lunch at The Pink Taco. I'm not a huge fan of Mexican food, but I've always loved the enchiladas at The Pink Taco. Plus they seem to have a rule that only drop-dead gorgeous girls can work there. I was surrounded my supermodels and movie stars. So, just like my regular life back home. Not.

After lunch I took a cab over to New York New York. I stuck my head in ESPN Zone to see if PonytailGirl was working. She wasn't, so I went over to Nine Fine Irishmen.

I sat at the bar and the guy asked me, "Smithwick's for lunch?"

That's what I said to him every day when I was here in August. Pretty cool that he remembered.

So I had two Smithwick's (1444) then I dicked around New York New York for an hour or two. I really like that place. It's got style.

After I'd cabbed it back to The Rio I tried a couple of times to take a nap, but it never took.

And now I'm at The Tilted Kilt drinking a Tilted Kilt (526). The plan is to make this a short night because I have to get up at like 3:30 to leave.

Oh yeah, VegasDude finally called me back. He was quite apologetic. I told him not to worry about it.

Deschutes Black Butte Porter (4)

(bottle) Cola color. Roasted malt and caramel aroma. Fairly thin mouthfeel. The flavor was of cola and caramel. Slightly dry finish. Good.

Other than that, I had three more pints of Tilted Kilt (560), and I talked with HenPeckedGuy, then at around 10:00 I went up to my room and slept.

This will be my last full night in Las Vegas for a long time. At least six months, maybe a year. The conference ends tomorrow at noon. Maybe I'll go over to the strip then. For tonight, I'll just stick with The Tilted Kilt. I'll take notes.

6:40
I arrive. Some fucker is in my seat. HenPeckedGuy isn't working - some hot girl is behind the bar. I've talked briefly with StupidGirl and ordered a Fat Tire (423).

6:45
This fucker better leave my seat soon.

6:50
This bartender is hot. I hereby dub her HotRioGirl. Believe it or not, the outfits the girls wear here aren't very flattering. Some of the girls can't really get away with wearing them. HotRioGirl can.

6:54
I should eat something. Nothing here ever looks edible though. Except the waitresses.

6:59
A bunch of assholes just came in. They all ordered Sam Adams. What a bunch of sheep.

7:05
I drink too quickly in Las Vegas when the beer is yummy. I'm ordering an Arrogant Bastard (46) to slow myself down.

7:06
HenPeckedGuy is here now.

7:07
Arrogant Bastard is kind of nasty, but I'm sure it'll get better as the glass empties.

7:14
I just saw HatGirl's twin. A little chubby, but still hot. She caught me slobbering at her and she smiled.

7:17
This fucker still hasn't vacated my seat.

7:20
I'm moving to the other end of the bar. It was either that or murder the fucker.

7:23
I've ordered a pizza thingy with no tomato sauce.

7:25
The waitresses here aren't allowed behind the bar. Weird.

7:29
I'm in a strange mood. I'm ordering a heterosexual Pyramid Hefeweizen (16).

7:31
Here's my official review:

Pyramid Hefeweizen

(draft) The color of dirty piss. A decent head and good lacing. Aroma of orange peels. Thin and citrusy flavor and mouthfeel. A touch of grapefruit bitterness at the end. Quite disgusting.

7:45
Piss time.

7:54
I just checked, and I don't see Bass Pale Ale on my beer page either. So now I know what I'm having next.

8:02
I just made two nerds try the Tilted Kilt Ale, and they liked it enough to order full pints. Yay me!

8:05
HotRioGirl forgot to pour my Bass.

8:08
Finally.

Bass Pale Ale (16)

(draft) Light copper. Good head, good lacing. Whoa. A strong malt and hop aroma, quite dry. Thin mouthfeel but still quite coating. Malt and hops predominate everything. Surprisingly bad.

8:20
This beer is gross. No wonder a lot of people mix it with Guinness.

8:25
I just drunk-texted HatGirl. I told her about her twin.

8:26
I miss HatGirl.

8:29
There's a new waitress here who looks like Erika from Big Brother. She's hot.

8:33
This isn't working. I'm not slowing down at all. I'm switching tactics and changing to lower ABV beers. Ordering a Guinness (1307).

8:37
Except for the waitresses and HotRioGirl, this place is a sausage-fest tonight.

8:55
Piss time.

9:00
Ordering a Smithwick's (1404). I've been talking to some dude from Ireland, and he got me in the mood for one.

9:20
I am so cut off. Switching to Diet Coke.

9:35
Piss time.

9:54
Still talking to IrishDude. Now I'm thirsty though. Ordering a Tilted Kilt (496).

10:30
I am so cut off. Seriously.

10:35
Piss time.

10:38
Apparently, if you go to France, it's better to butcher their language than to simply admit that you don't speak it. This is according to IrishDude.

10:45
OMG that chick has huge tits!

10:47
IrishDude has left the premises.

10:51
Now two old women from Scotland are here. They just came from the Chippendales show. They are drunk. I'm one to talk.

11:00
Two new dudes are here. I think they're from America of all places. They're cool.

11:04
Dead Guy time (198).

11:12
The American dudes bought my Dead Guy. That was nice, but I'm not putting out.

11:17
The ziggy-zaggy guys are here now. Oh fucking boy.

11:21
Switching back to Diet Coke. I'm so cut off.

11:40
Been talking to a guy from Belgium that I met the other night. He's pretty cool.

11:45
BelgianDude bought me a Newcastle (2758). Fuck.

12:20
Piss time.

12:55
I guess I've drank all the beer in Las Vegas, and they're closing the place down. I'm going to sleep now.