I don't remember much about Friday night. I'd been deprived of a nap by some unsettling news. I remember that Rich O's was crowded as fuck, and that I had some Wostyntje (149), and that I left early.

---

On Saturday, well at least she called. To tell me that she wouldn't be able to accompany me. Even though it was a negative RSVP, it was still was very nice and considerate of her, and it kept me from thinking that she might be a bitch or something. So that's good. I don't like thinking bad thoughts about people.

---

Plan B was DooRagGirl, but she was, understandably, hesitant to attend a party where she wouldn't know anyone but me. I am, apparently, not good enough on my own. Oh well. Story of my life, right there.

---

I had no real plan C, so I decided that I wouldn't be attending the party at all. Instead I was going to go to Louisville and hang out there for a while. Maybe talk to CoolHairGirl and see if she'd liked the Newcastle she'd finally tried.

But nooooooooooooooo!

I got a text message from HatGirl, leting me know that they were going to Rich O's.

So I went to Rich O's, where I sat with HatGirl (yay!) and LuckyFucker. He was being a dick for some reason. I don't know why. I had myself a couple glasses of Wostyntje (169) and talked to HatGirl about what lousy drivers we used to be.

After the happy couple left, I talked with DooRagGirl for an hour or so. I had another Wostyntje (179). I really like that beer. Plus, it's nice and light. I seem to have some kind of mental block about dark and heavy beers. Ever since my illness. That, and ground beef. Ugh.

Anyway.

Once DooRagGirl left, I became concerned that some weird people were going to try to talk to me, so I left too.

(Note: I have been working on being more sociable. It just doesn't seem to work very well at Rich O's.)

----

So I went over to Louisville. CoolHairGirl wasn't working, so I didn't get to see her. I went over to the pub and got to talking with EllaGirl. She actually remembered my name this time, so that was cool. After a while, we all went to this little dive bar so everybody could unwind. It was okay I suppose, but I'd cut myself off hours ago, so I could only sit and watch while EllaGirl and her friends got shitfaced while I drank Diet Cokes.

At 3:30 or so, I came home alone. By choice.

---

On Sunday, I didn't do much except play pool and watch a couple of movies. I watched Sleepy Hollow. HatGirl had told me before that she looks like Christina Ricci, but she's wrong. Christina Ricci fucking wishes that, on her best day, she looked a gazillionth as pretty as HatGirl looks on her worst day.

---

Sunday night I had one of the beers that I purchased the other day.

Unibroue Trois Pistoles (25)

(bottle) Black, revealing amber only when strongly backlit. Huge creamy head. Aroma of oak and malty apples and cherries. Flavor is like the aroma, only better. There's something else there, maybe grapes of all things. Pretty damn yummy.

Oh yeah, it's freaking cold here. It's supposed to get down to single digits tonight, with a wind chill of minus 8,000,000 or some crap like that. Also, it snowed all morning, but there's not even a light dusting. What a waste of cold weather. I hate Winter.

I got my first-ever anonymous gift from a reader a couple of weeks ago. At least I assume it was from a reader. There was no note with the gift. No email has arrived to explain anything. Just a box from amazon.com, with a copy of The Game inside.

Weird, huh?

The book somehow manages to be both intriguing and repulsive. It's certainly interesting. It's kind of inspired me, actually. Not to be one of those guys or act like one of those guys. Instead it's inspired me to simply open up a little. Be more friendly to people around me. Not be such a grouch all the time.

So I've been doing that, and I've been in a much better mood lately. I'm no longer pretending to be a normal and friendly person, I'm actively working on becoming a normal and friendly person. It's tough at times, talking to people that I don't know. Especially when they're idiots. But it's kinda fun, too.

I've also noticed that my urge to write here has suffered. Perhaps I'm only allowed one outlet for expression at a time. Perhaps this is merely a lull. Perhaps it's growing pains.

Today I was eating lunch, and these two hot girls came in to The Pub. Because I'm trying to work on my friendliness, plus I like to meet women, I waved at them from across the bar. Even though I'd never seen them before. Hey, you never know, right?

The more exotic girl didn't even see me, but the girl with the flowing dark hair, that girl gave me a weird look and kind of stuck her hand up at me in a semi-acknowledgement. A pseudowave.

I watched them eat together. The girl who'd pseudowaved at me was just so lively, and so pretty, and so expressive, and so happy. I developed a ginormous crush on her. She was just fascinating to look at, even though she was sitting at least twenty yards away from me, and I had to squint a little.

Every now and then she'd catch me looking at her, and then she'd either give me another pseudowave or she'd smile or something.

After about a half-hour, she went to the bathroom and then when she came out she walked right up to me and said, "Hi. Do I know you from somewhere?"

What I was supposed to say was the truth. That I'd only waved at her because she was pretty and I wanted to meet her. That meeting her had become my goal for the day. That I'd have loved a chance to talk to her and get to know her.

But that's not what I said.

What I said was, "I'm sorry, when you first came in I thought you were someone else. My mistake."

Why would I say such a thing? A beautiful girl smiles at me, and waves at me, and then walks up and talks to me, and I blow her off?!?

What kind of pickup artist am I, anyway?

Well, I'd been thinking, as I watched her eat with her friend. Thinking is, of course, always a bad idea. But I'd been doing it anyway.

I'd been thinking about how much she reminded me of MixedSignalGirl when we'd first started going out. And of MixedSignalGirl the last few times I'd seen her. And how starkly those beginning and end times had contrasted with all the times in between. I'd been thinking about how I'd made MixedSignalGirl so sad, and I'd been thinking about how the last thing I'd ever want to do would be to do the same thing to this pretty girl with the incredible smile and the flowing dark hair. Turn her into some brooding and sulking thing.

It would have been an unforgivable sin.

I'd been thinking that I couldn't do it. That I'd gotten lucky once. MixedSignalGirl had recovered. I had no way of knowing what harm I'd cause this new girl, if I were given that opportunity. How permanent that harm might be.

So, I blew her off.

And she accepted my explanation. And she walked away smiling. I hope that her life keeps her smiling for a very long time.

The other day I announced loudly to my coworkers, "I'm too damn nice."

I waited about thirty seconds. I got nothing. So I said it even louder.

"I'M TOO DAMN NICE!"

This time I got a response.

"Yeah you are," came the muffled response from the back of the room.

Thank you! That's what I wanted to hear.

I'm too damn nice.

The bullshit I put up with. The other cheeks that I turn.

But at some point, even I run out of patience.

You know what I wish?

I wish you would stop lying to me.

Because I can forgive lie after lie after lie after lie until, all of a sudden, there's one lie too many. This camel's back breaks.

And then, then I'm not so damn nice anymore. And then I'll never believe another word you say.

Just tell the fucking truth. It can be yes or it can be no. It's almost never maybe, though that's the answer you keep shovelling at me.

It's simple. I ask the question. I expose myself. I do the hard part.

All you have to do is answer the question, and answer it honestly.

Why is that so much to ask?

Yes. Or. No.

This entry brought to you by:

Unibroue Don De Dieu

(bottle) Hazy light amber in color. Huge head. Fantastic aroma of apple peels and bananas and cherries. A strong Belgian wheat flavor. More sharp and tangy than most. Think Blue Moon on steroids. Yummy.

Who was that guy? Seriously, who the fuck was he, and what was his problem?

Don't even try to tell me that guy was me. You'll never convince me. He might have looked like me, and sounded like me, and lived in my house, but he most definitely wasn't me. I would never allow myself to get that messed-up over losing something I never wanted in the first place. No way. That's just crazy.

That guy was fucked-up. I am normal.

For example:

I miss LaptopGirl. As a friend and nothing else. I'm allowed to miss my friend, so fuck off if you don't like it.

I miss MixedSignalGirl. As much more than a friend. But I'm so happy for her, that she's finally found the happiness that was misplaced when she met me. And there's a contentedness about her now. I don't think she ever had that before. I will not take any credit for that transformation, but I'm sure as hell glad that I got to see it.

I miss HatGirl. Because, more than anyone else, she reminds me of the good that is possible in the world. Of how wonderful people can be as long as they just stop trying, and just be themselves.

I miss BadPickleGirl. And I wonder what happened. I'd thought we were getting along just fine. I'd thought there was potential there. Damn she's beautiful.

I miss KittenDamsel. I hope that she's doing okay, and I hope that she finds what she's looking for.

And my dear friend SassyGirl. The only truly platonic girlfriend I've ever had, and maybe the best of them all.

I miss RockGirl. Though I've never met her. Though we email each other every day. She is my strength, and I weaken when too many hours pass without her.

There are so many others. MysteryGirl. PictureGirl. EnglishGirl. PonyTailGirl. EllaGirl. MaineGirl. The girl with the beautiful brown eyes. The girl who was married to my best friend.

I miss them all.

But I'm okay. I'm not obsessed.

I'm normal.

Sane.

Finally.

Wow, two decent nights in a row at Rich O's. I'd never have believed it. Especially not on a weekend when I knew there'd be no HatGirl sightings.

I got there at 8:30 or so, and parked on Mars. The local PBDs and some Cincy PBDs were having a big meeting in the special people area. So that place was packed, but Rich O's proper wasn't too bad. Some weirdoes were in the living room area, and some strangers were at the island. I sat at the end of the bar and had a Wostyntje (129).

Oh yeah, yesterday I stopped at this liquor store and bought about $100 worth of Belgian ales - the big 25-ounce bottles. Mostly stuff I've never had before, but a couple of known favorites. I tried to call BadPickleGirl to let her know about these fantastic new tasting opportunities, but I got no answer. I pretty much managed to convince myself that she wasn't ignoring my call. Pretty much.

Some drunk dude sat next to me at one point, and he kept trying to talk to me, but then Roger distracted him with talk of jazz, so I picked up my shit and moved to the island since the strangers had left.

After a while, UPSDude came and joined me. I spent the next couple of hours talking with him. I also made a couple of trips into the special people area to talk to some of the PBDs. On one such trip, there were a bunch of Cincy PBD girls standing around in a group. I wanted to meet them, so I "accidentally" bumped into one. That got me shanghaied into about five minutes worth of dance lessons. It was that riverdance crap. I kept trying to protest, pointing out that I'm both straight and white. The former preventing me from being able to master that particular dance style, and the latter preventing any other styles that they might want to suggest. But they kept trying, like I said, for about five minutes. Eventually they gave up and I was allowed to leave.

One of the girls was wondering out loud if I'd be blogging about it. I guess she can stop wondering now.

Let's see, my next two beers were both Delirium Tremens (814). No, it's not on tap right now. I had two bottles. I just wanted something light so I wouldn't have a repeat of Friday night's time bomb.

Shortly after UPSDude left, the PBD meeting broke up, and a lot of them came swarming into Rich O's proper. I got a little claustrophobic after a while, and I came home at around midnight.

Okay, so that one particular cool thing didn't happen. But it was still a pretty nice night. I got to relax and look at pretty girls. And I got to wear my cool new t-shirt.

They're having a big S.I.G.H. convention around here somewhere, and all the girls seemed to have picked Rich O's as the place to unwind. From their hotness seminars or pillow fight tournaments or whatever they do at those things.

So the place was packed, but there were at least ten very pretty girls there. This is at least nine and a half more than usual. Pretty girls definitely make the crowd bearable.

When I first arrived, I sat on the loveseat. Some semi-acquaintances were scattered about the rest of the living room area. They know SassyGirl, so I told them about how I'd finally been getting emails from her. We talked for a bit about the good old days of lesbian mud-wrestling parties. I had an NABC Old Lightning Rod (190).

After a bit I moved up to the island and sat with MusicalYuppieDude and some PBDs. My second beer was a Wostyntje (119).

CoffeeDude and WomanRepellant came in at some point. I was talking to them when the President of S.I.G.H. arrived with some dork. I almost lost all self-control, and it's only thanks to CoffeeDude's impromptu therapeutic intervention that I kept from making a complete fool of myself. I did, however, have a Rogue Smoke (450) and then couple of Diet Cokes to kill some time so I could keep looking at Madam President when the opportunities arose.

Oh yeah, at 10:00 or so I drunk-emailed BadPickleGirl. This is always a waste of time because she won't even get the thing until Monday.

Anyway, I've been developing this theory about beer. About me and beer actually. There are some beers, and some combinations of beers, that I simply should not be drinking.

Last night I stumbled on one such combination.

I felt fine when I left Rich O's, at about midnight. I spent some time digging around for some batteries for my camera. Then I took those two awesome pictures above.

Right after I took the second picture, I fell back against the wall, and I was immediately drunk.

Spinning room drunk.

Pretty damn weird.

So I didn't get to practice pool last night. Instead I went to bed and hoped that I wouldn't get sick.

I didn't.

One of the fun things about being a crazy person is that I get to fool myself into thinking that good things might happen. Sometimes, I even convince myself that they will happen.

Like tonight. There's a ridiculously small possibility that this one particular cool thing will happen. But do I care about the odds?

Nope. I've spent all day mentally preparing myself for the cool thing. I've even got special clothes picked out. It's been so much fun.

Of course, every silver lining has a dark cloud, so when the cool thing doesn't happen, I'll snap back to reality, and I'll be quite disappointed.

But then, then the sane part of my mind will take over, and remind me that the odds were really really really against it to begin with.

And then I'll feel better.

And then I'll invent some other fantasy to get ready for.

Wednesday was a pretty good day. Thursday wasn't so great. A couple of people in my life got some disturbing news, and I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do. Or say. Or feel. Please note that these instances are completely unrelated to my previous entry. In that case, I know exactly what I should do, which is nothing.

After work, I went by Rich O's to have their Old Lightning Rod beer (170). They only have this available in January. It's some kind of tribute to Ben Franklin. I wish they'd have it on all the time because it's one of the best beer they've ever made there.

When I got home, I was supposed to just take a nap, but I slept right through my alarm. My two-hour nap ended up being a six-hour sleep. So now it's almost 2:00 and I'm wide awake.

I kept a schedule like this on purpose for a while. I actually liked it. The solitude I got from just being at home always seemed to be magnified in the middle of the night, and I liked it.

Now, not so much. I don't know what's changed. I guess there's a fine line between solitude and loneliness, and at some point over the past few months I've crossed that line.

Oh, well.

Maybe I'll read a book. One of the Heinlein juveniles. They're nice quick reads.

Question: What am I supposed to say or do to make this any easier for you?

Answer: There is nothing that I can do or say. I must appear to be neutral, for as long as I can.

Back in May, I wrote this drivel:

I don't like the way things seem to be turning, but all I can do is wish you well. I can't really help you with this. I could never be objective enough to give you untainted advice.

The situation is different now, but some things have remained the same.

I am not neutral. I can not even pretend to be objective.

I do care what happens. I care very much. Too fucking much.

Today was a good day!

It's RockGirl's birthday! Happy Birthday, RockGirl!

Yay!

I got an email from SassyGirl! I hadn't heard shit from her since she fled the country in September, but today I got an email!

Yay!

I got an email from BadPickleGirl! And then later I got to talk to her!

Yay!

I was reading something today about identities. How we perceive ourselves. How we present ourselves. One of the points made was that too many people will look to what they do for a living when searching for their identity.

If you're a rock star or a movie star or something like that, well that's not too bad. People like rock stars and movie stars. Girls want to screw them. Guys want to be them.

I'm a computer systems engineer. That's not quite as interesting.

See, I just did it, right there. I said, I'm a computer systems engineer. That's how I identified myself. I may as well have said, I'm a boring nerd. Someday, before I die, I hope to touch a woman's breast.

Okay, so I take what I do for a living, and I throw it away. It no longer factors into my identity.

What's left?

Let's try, I'm a writer. I made that absurd statement in October.

That's a little better. It implies creativity, and thoughtfulness. Maybe some intelligence.

But the problem with identifying myself as a writer is - get this - that I have to write. And a fucking blog doesn't count to 99% of the world. So I have to be a real writer and, not only that, I have to write well.

Otherwise, I'm a failure. And that's even worse than a boring nerd hoping to get to second base.

So that identity is out too.

Is there anything else? Who the fuck am I?

How about, I'm a pool player.

Yeah, that's what people want to hear. I poke balls with a stick. I hang out in seedy bars with criminals and I hustle money from people. Sometimes I hit them over the head with pool cues, just for the fuck of it.

Obviously, not the identity I want to present.

And let's not forget beer snob, but I don't think I have to list what's wrong with that identity.

I was going somewhere with this. I really was. But now it's late, and I have to sleep.

Hmmm.

I'm a sleeper.

Maybe I'll use that for a while.

This isn't going to make any sense to some of you. Perhaps to most of you. Either deal with it, or not. Like I fucking care.

If you found yourself in my position, you'd subject yourself to these same restraints. I guarantee it.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that I need a girlfriend now. This is different than the previous 1.3 billion or so seconds of my life, during which I only wanted a girlfriend.

Wants vs. needs have been a big topic for me lately. In my thoughts, and in my writing. I've written about how the needs stay the same, but the wants wander all over the fucking place. I've written about how the needs are facts, but the wants are nothing more than opinions.

I cannot, for example, say that I need her in my life. I cannot say it because it's clearly not true. I've already gone an awfully long time without her, and I'm still here. My fucking heart still beats, marking even more wasted time..

I can't say that I need her in my life. I've already proven otherwise. No matter how painful it's been and no matter how painful it continues to be, she is still just a want for me. Not a need.

I forget where I'm going with this.

Oh, yeah.

I'm pretty sure that, right now, I actually need a girlfriend. Not so that I can live. That would be silly. But maybe I need a girlfriend so I can get some help with something.

See, it's become perfectly clear to me that I cannot do this on my own. I've done everything that I've been able to will myself to do. I've climbed my way out of this damn abyss. Finally. I fell back down more times than I can count, but I kept trying, and I finally made it to safety. In August.

That should have been the hard part. Everything else should be easy. But I can't take that next step. I can't go any further.

I can't turn my back, and I can't walk away.

Imagine, if you will, that you lived at the edge of the Grand Canyon. Imagine what your life would be like. The sights you would see. Imagine having your morning coffee on your deck as you watch the Sun rise over the canyon.

What you imagine, that is my life.

I cannot look away. It's too alluring. Too beautiful. Too dangerous.

I am still, after all these months, mesmerized.

I cannot leave the ledge. Not on my own.

I need help.

I need to move on. I want to move on.

But I need help.

I need to be pulled, kicking and screaming, from here. I need this trance to be broken. I need to be bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and whisked away to another place.

Any other place.

I'm pretty sure that I need a girlfriend.

I've been trying to remember if I ever saw them both on the same night before. I can't recall any such night.

Hey universe, seriously, one per night is enough, okay?

My night started out at The Pub in Louisville, with some curry fries and a yummy Newcastle (2934). Shortly after I arrived, I found myself wondering if I'd see MixedSignalGirl. I just had a feeling that I would. I actually got a little nervous just thinking about it. So, to either ease or confirm my concern, I asked her. I texted her, told her I was at The Pub, and asked if she'd be there.

She responded that she'd be there at 8:30.

Yay!

I found myself with forty-five minutes to kill - forty-five minutes which dragged on for a million years. It would have been nice if I could have gone into a quickie coma or something so I wouldn't have had to wait. It's funny. I've played very important pool matches. I've presented to captains of industry, and generals of the military. I can speak to any crowd on a wide range of topics. I don't get nervous doing any of those things. Yet, when it comes to MixedSignalGirl, I still shake like a leaf. I had another Newcastle (2954) to calm my nerves.

She showed up right on time, which was odd. She was beautiful, which was expected.

The Pub was pretty busy. There were no booths open. Plus this one cow that we didn't want to see was there, so we went across the street to the poolhall Felt where we could have some privacy.

It was very nice to see her. The friendship is still there. I'd had no real idea, until last week, how much the thought that she hated me was dragging me down. When I saw her last week, a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. This was more of the same. I float when I'm with her. We're friends again. Anything else, well anything else still seems to be beyond our capabilities. Eventually, we'll learn to deal with that.

At 9:30, her friends started calling her, wondering where she was, and so we parted company.

Next, I went to Hard Rock and had a Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale (84). I tried to talk to CoolHairGirl, but it was pretty busy in there, so we only got to chat for a minute or two. One thing she told me was that she'd never had a Newcastle. I told her that The Pub has the best Newcastle around, and she said that she might go in there with her friend later. She promised to let me know what she thought.

Next, I went over to Rich O's. I went to the restroom as soon as I arrived, and when I came out, lo and behold, there was LaptopGirl, standing there talking to ExBartender.

Yay!

I said Hi and waved at her, even though I was standing about a foot from her. I was a little flustered. I'd been all set to spend the rest of the night missing MixedSignalGirl, and those plans had suddenly gone out the window. Now, I had to shift gears. Now I had to act like a normal person for a while. Make LaptopGirl think I was a normal person.

Inside Rich O's proper, I talked to MisunderstoodGirl for a minute or two. Normally, of course, seeing MisunderstoodGirl would be a cause for minor celebration and several minutes of talk. But not with LaptopGirl in the room. Plus, she was busy talking with OddlyPrettyGirl.

The throne was empty, so I sat there. On the sofa sat BigWheelGirl, LaptopGirl, and WeatherGirl. On the loveseat sat a couple of hippies. Those five were all there together, and I felt a little bit like I was intruding. But what was I supposed to do, sit at the bar? With LaptopGirl to my back? No fucking way.

Oh yeah, beer. I had a Wostyntje (109), and a small sample of something new to me.

Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout (4)

(draft) Black with a large tan head. Fantastic chocolate and malt aroma. The flavor is chocolately and roasty. Very roasty. I'm not even sure that's a word, but I'm using it anyway. Pretty damn good. The 10.6% ABV is very well hidden.

But, she wasn't there to see me. She was there with her friends. And I didn't want to intrude. Actually, that's a lie. I most certainly did want to intrude. I wanted to intrude the hell out of her. Drag her off someplace so we could have an actual conversation. Like the old days. I wanted to intrude, but I somehow restrained myself. Like the old days.

After a while, I gleaned that she'd be heading Westward again soon. So when she got up to leave, I must have said goodbye about a million times. That wasn't enough, so when she was out in the front area saying goodbye to some people out there, I stood and I watched her, and every time our eyes met, I mouthed the word goodbye again.

And then she left, and I started missing her again.

After that, I spent some time spilling my guts to WeatherGirl, because she asked, then I spent some more time trying to undo that damage.

After they started kicking everyone out of Rich O's, I went over to this Jack's place and had myself a PBR (36) and pretended that I was a normal person again.

I think it's official now. Everybody knows.

Here's the deal: I can keep my big fat mouth shut, but only as long as I'm not asked.

Tonight, someone asked.

Someone looked into my eyes, and sensed the truth, and asked the obvious question. Even though she already knew the answer, she asked the question.

What was I supposed to do? Lie about it?

No fucking way. Not about that. Not about her.

I answered the question. I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And now, now everyone on Earth knows.

And it still makes no difference.

I'm still alone. I still miss her.

All is still as it should be.

Dammit.

...I totally forgot to write about the other cool thing that happened last Friday night.

The first, and coolest by far, thing was getting to see MixedSignalGirl again. But the second thing was kinda neat too.

I got to the parking garage for Louisville's Fourth Street Live at 7:00 or so. I got there early because (a) I was hungry, and (b) I was bored at the tournament.

So I took the stairs down to ground level and just when I walked by the elevator some lazy people got out of it.

One of the girls was very hot and, more than that, she looked really familiar to me. I mean really familiar, if you know what I mean. Hint hint. Nudge nudge.

Anyway, I ended up behind the people at the ID-checking line, and then I walked around them to go to The Red Star Tavern. All along the way I wracked my brain trying to figure out who the hot girl had been.

Then, I was sitting at the bar at The Red Star, and she came in with her group.

Since I had a few minutes to kill while I waited for my food to arrive, I stared at the hot girl and tried to remember who she was and how many times I'd boinked her.

Finally, I figured it out.

I'd never boinked her. She was one of my cousins!

My third-cousin, actually. At least I think that's the way it works. Her mom and my dad were first-cousins, so her mom would be my second-cousin, and that would make the hot girl my third cousin. I think.

So, when she walked into my general vicinity, I asked her if she was who I thought she was.

She was indeed. Took her a second to recognize me though. She probably thought I was just some creep trying to hit on her. Well, I wasn't. I was some third-cousin trying to hit on her.

Plus, she'd never seen me all evil and shit before. Plus, I hadn't seen her since my grandfather's funeral back in 1991. The reason that I'd remembered her so easily was that she was hot, and I'd had a crush on her back in school.

We'd graduated the same year. She's aged even better than I have, if you can believe that.

We chatted for a minute or two, then she went back to her group. One of them is probably her husband. I hate him.

It's okay to lust after third-cousins, right?

Yesterday, for lunch, I had four french fries and a Newcastle (2914) at The Pub. After that, I was completely stuffed, but I wasn't sick.

Yay!

So, armed with renewed confidence that my innards would function correctly, and bristling with excitement over HatGirl telling me that she'd be at Rich O's, I went there.

I arrived a little after 9:00. HatGirl and LuckyFucker were sitting out front. This told me that Rich O's proper was full. Probably with idiots and/or weirdoes, but full in any event. Like I cared about Rich O's proper when HatGirl was sitting out front.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I joined them and checked out the beer board. Rogue Chocolate Stout was still on. There was also a Brooklyn Chocolate Stout that I'd been looking forward to trying. But I just couldn't bring myself to have either of them. See, the last beer that I had, last Saturday, before I exploded all over myself and my bathroom, was a BBC Dark Star Porter (288). It wasn't the beer's fault that I got sick, but I still felt some kind of subconscious reflexive aversion to dark and rich beers.

I had myself a Wostyntje Mustard Ale (89) and it was very yummy.

We sat and talked for an hour or so. LuckyFucker rambled on about some ninja show he'd watched. HatGirl expressed concern about what to do with her little dog. They're going on a trip, and she doesn't want to leave the dog. So I suggested that she just take the dog with her.

"But I can't take her into places," she pointed out.

"You can if people think you're blind," I suggested. "In fact, I suspect that people already assume that you're blind, when they see you with LuckyFucker."

Zing! Take that LuckyFucker!

Anyway, I thought it was funny.

After my friends left, I went on into Rich O's proper. It was pretty packed, mostly with semi-regulars. I talked to MusicalYuppieDude for a bit, and to WomanRepellant for a bit. MusicalYuppieDude noticed that I'd lost weight. I told him about what I'd gone through to accomplish that feat. He agreed that it probably wasn't worth it.

I ended up sitting on the sofa with a bunch of people that I don't know. I had another Wostyntje (99) and then I came home at 11:30 or so.

Oh yeah - at HatGirl's birthday party, GlassesGirl had said that she might show up with my "long lost stepbrother" in tow. That had caused some speculation as to who she might mean. It turns out that she'd meant it literally. I did, for a brief period of time around 1990, have a stepbrother. When my dad remarried after my mom died, his new wife had a son. J-something. I only met him once. Anyway, that was who GlassesGirl was talking about.

Hopefully this is the saddest news I'll hear today.

I've written before, here and here, about Dino, my neighbor's dog. The last time I mentioned him was last month. I'd been talking to my neighbor's daughter, and she'd told me that Dino was feeling his age quite a bit, and that he'd probably be gone soon.

I told myself then that, the next time I saw lounging in his yard, I'd walk over to see him.

I never did see him, so I never took that walk.

And now it's too late.

My neighbor told me this morning that she'd had poor Dino put down. His arthritis had progressed to the point where he couldn't even walk anymore, and he was in constant pain. And now his pain is over.

I'm sad. He was the first living creature to greet me after I moved into this house. I'd been out shoveling snow and he came running across the street at me. I remember thinking for a second that he was going to attack me or something, but all he wanted to do was try to catch the flung snow before it hit the ground.

To anyone driving by that day, I must have looked like a real asshole, throwing shovelful after shovelful of snow at that dog. But I couldn't have missed him if I'd tried, and he had fun, and so did I.

He was a good boy.

...I'm still alive.

I even felt good enough to go to work today. But then people started talking about food, and one guy even *gasp* started eating food right in front of me.

I got sick again, and came home.

Supposedly there was something in the paper this morning about this stomach flu that's going around. I guess some people are vomiting up to twenty times a day. Well I don't think I quite hit that mark on Sunday, but I wasn't really counting.

And right now, right now I feel fine.

I'm actually hungry. I found some crackers, and the thought of actually eating them isn't making me queasy. I might just get brave and try a couple.

Meanwhile, I've lost almost two belt notches since this started Saturday night.

Did you know that guys can have an Aunt Flo too?

Well, they can. And do. She just doesn't visit guys with the regularity that she imposes on women.

Think about it.

My Aunt Flo and my Uncle Ralph paid me a surprise visit last night.

I don't know if I've got food poisoning, or if there's some stomach flu going around that I haven't heard about, or what. I think that just about the only thing I know for sure, right now, is that Pepto Bismol doesn't work if you can't keep it down for more than ten seconds.

I feel like crap. I feel like puke.

And speaking of... I gotta end this entry.

She and three of her friends came in together. I saw her immediately, mainly because I was watching the door. I always watch the door in that place. I don't think she saw me.

They went straight to the bathroom to fix their hair or check their makeup or whatever girls do in there together. I like to think that they practice kissing on each other, like in the movie Cruel Intentions. That was hot.

I hadn't seen or even talked to MixedSignalGirl in months. I had no idea what to expect. The last time I'd talked to her, we hadn't been on very good terms. She'd pretty much freaked out on me. For good reason.

I then spent a few minutes trying to decide whether I should leave before they came out. I also thought about being sneaky and calling her from someplace where I could see the reaction on her face. Or maybe I'd buy the girls a round of drinks from "the gentleman at the bar" so I could see her reaction when she saw that it was me and not really a gentleman.

But what happened instead was that she tried to sneak around behind me when she left the bathroom. I pretended that I didn't see her. She came up behind me and put her hands over my eyes and put her lips up against my ear and whispered, "Guess who."

"Grandma?" I ventured.

"Wrong," was the whispered response. She licked my ear.

"Definitely Marilyn," I said with certainty. Marilyn is MixedSignalGirl's mom.

"Wrong, but funny," she answered.

"Miss, I saw you come in," I said. "But I'll keep making wrong guesses if you promise to keep licking my ear."

She removed her hands. I saw uninterrupted soft skin on all ten fingers. Whew!

I turned around and gave her a long hug and a quick kiss. Man, it was good to see her! She looked fantastic, and I told her as much.

By this time, her friends were looking at us in horror from their booth.

She asked me if I wanted to come over and join them, but she knew that I wouldn't do it. Crowds aren't my thing. Crowds are even less my thing when most of the people in it would just as soon slap me as look at me. So I declined. She didn't insist.

So I stayed at the bar and she went to join her friends. I did end up buying them a round of drinks. Some foo-foo things for $9.00 each. I had another beer myself and managed to enjoy it.

A while ago I remember being a little freaked out because LaptopGirl was sitting thirty yards away from me, with only two walls separating us at Rich O's. Well last night, last night MixedSignalGirl was thirty feet away from me, and I could see her, and I could hear her laughing, and I could still smell her perfume on my shirt.

It was surreal.

When I paid my tab and stood up to leave, our eyes met. I mouthed the words Hard Rock and she nodded. I'd meant it as an invitation, but she might have taken it as a warning, because I sat at The Hard Rock for an hour or so, and she didn't come in.

Later, while I was at Rich O's, I got a text message: Thanks for being nice tonight.

So I sent back: I came very close to asking you to come home with me.

After a half-hour that somehow lasted a million years, I got a response.

I'd have come. But thanks for not asking. You're still my hero. Later.

Later?

I hope so.

So a while back, I had my tongue in this girl's mouth. I had my tongue in her mouth, and I was struck by the realization that I was wasting my time.

I wasn't thinking that it was fun, that she smelled good, or that she was hot, or that it was a pretty good ego-boost for me at a time when I really needed it.

Nope, I was thinking that it was a waste of time.

Of course, that didn't stop me from slaking the shit out of that girl. I am a single straight guy after all.

Anyway, a couple of days ago I saw the girl again. I was eating lunch. She was working. She came up to me and, after the required Hi and How are you doing?, asked, "I'm embarrassed to have to ask, but what was your name again?"

Ouch.

Like I said, a waste of time.

For her too, apparently.

I'm off work until Tuesday!

Tomorrow is the start of the Bank Pool division of the Derby City Classic, which I play in every year. I'm actually looking forward to it this year. Unlike last year when I was sorta dreading the thing, and it showed up in my play. Or lack thereof.

This year my mental state is much better than it's been for a long time. Problem is, my actual game is pretty shitty.

My practice sessions have lately taken one of two distinct flavors. Either I don't miss a ball for several hours, or I don't make a ball for several hours. Unfortunately, the latter outnumber the former by a fairly wide margin.

Oh well though. It should still be fun. And it will almost certainly be better than going in to work. I will miss going to the bar and seeing my friends *coughHatGirlcough* though.

It continues to amaze me that you still function in public. If I'd done what you did, I'd never show my face again. You make me ill, but I've been asked to stay friendly with you, so that's what I'm doing.

---

Never, ever, ever, show me crap like that again. If that was a plea for pity, then it fell on deaf ears. Or blind eyes. Whatever. I tried to help, before it was too late. I was ignored. Also, grow up.

---

You should know that I will never answer the fucking phone if I don't know who you are. Since I don't know who you are, that means that I will never answer the fucking phone. So give it up. Find another way to contact me if it's that important. If you know me, then you can probably guess why I'm like this.

---

I just got tired of playing whatever games it was. I didn't know the rules, and I didn't know what the winning goal was supposed to be. Why not try the honest approach next time? Neither of us are twelve years old.

---

I gave you the benefit of a doubt for a long time. I even defended you from your critics. Well, I was wrong, they were right. Your sole purpose in life is to make every other man seem like a true gentleman by comparison.

---

I know what you're considering. Do not do it. I am not that type of person. Perhaps you should be seeking the company of the guy in the last paragraph.

So today sucked.

No real symptom of the suckage really stood out, but I've, over the years, become quite an expert on these things. So, trust me. Today sucked.

On a completely unrelated note, I keep catching myself thinking that I would make a better significant other for a certain person than another certain person, both of whom shall remain unnamed here.

For one thing, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be such a shithead. For another thing - well I guess the non-shithead thing is all I've got. But that's enough for me to keep thinking about it.

This is not a very productive exercise for me to be engaging in so I've been trying to switch my train of thought to another, slightly less useless track.

What I've been trying to think about is the almost undeniable fact that, if a girl were considering me as a potential boyfriend, I'd almost certainly be better than nothing. This is actually a big realization for me. My self-confidence has obviously been skyrocketing lately. I cannot for the life of me figure out why that might be.

I'm thinking of having a t-shirt made with the words almost certainly better than nothing printed on the front.

Women are strange.

Take a good hard look at where you're at. At what you're doing. You can do so much better. They say that familiarity breeds contempt, but it can also breed apathy - and that can be much worse.

---

Don't fool yourself into thinking that you have something that's not really there. It was there once. I'm sure of it. But it's gone now. Open your eyes.

---

I see in you what I have too often seen in myself. Do not follow my example, for I am not a leader. I am as lost as you are.

---

It is completely unfair, that I should dump so much responsibility upon your shoulders. It is absolutely magnificent that you accept that burden with so much grace.

---

I was perfectly happy. I really was. Until I found out you were a whore. Then, not so much. You knew it all along. You should have warned me.

---

Can this really be reshaped into something that we both can accept? I hope so.

---

Every day, I miss you. Every fucking day.

I wish we had our own code. Or our own secret language that only the two of us knew.

Then I'd be able to say what's really on my mind. Then I'd always be able to speak the whole truth, instead of the watered-down pussified version of the truth that propriety and decency force me to use.

There would be no secrets between us.

I wish she could read between the lines.