Nineteen years.

Ninefuckingteen. Ten plus nine. Twenty minus one. And, more importantly, forty-two minus twenty-three.

That's a lot, right?

That's too much, right?

Now, if I were retarded, then maybe. Maybe I wouldn't care so much about the total lack of commonality between our lives. Maybe I wouldn't spend all of my time wondering when someone new, someone better, someone at least fucking younger would come along and lure her away from me with his fucking full head of hair and all his fucking teeth.

Or if she'd grown up homeless on the mean streets, learning about life the hard way while other children her age were singing along to Barney and fighting with their siblings over who got the biggest slice of cake at Grandma's birthday party, then maybe. Maybe she'd be wiser than her years. Maybe she'd be ready to settle down into a nice and safe and boring domesticated life.

Or maybe if I was 80, and she was 61, then maybe. Maybe she could help me remember my own name, and wipe my ass for me, and stay with me because she'd know that I didn't have much time left and then, cha ching! Life insurance money!

Nineteen years. That's 600,000,000 seconds, give or take a few tens of thousands.

Yes, that's definitely too much. Maybe. I think.

Damn she's hot though.

It wasn't my idea. I was just being a friendly person.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Before I get into my reviews of the girls this week, I should point out three things.

First, I will typically watch the performance, then write my thoughts. Then I'll listen to what the judges had to say. Randy I can always ignore because he's a racist asshole. Paula I can safely ignore because she's too damn nice, and she may be drunk. Simon, I usually end up agreeing with. Sometimes, if Simon and I really disagree, I'll write something about that fact. But usually not.

Secondly, I'm in a bad mood.

Thirdly, joining me for tonight's viewing was Brother Thelonious from the North Coast Brewery (50).

Gina: Very good. That one loud and out of tune background singer should be fucking shot though. I like Gina. (75 points)

Alaina: A good job, but this week her voice seemed very generic. There are lots of people on the radio who sound worse than her, but there are lots more who sound better than her. I gave her a million bonus points for being so hot. I thought the judges were way too harsh on her, and I'd like to hug her and pet her to make her feel better. (1,000,070 points)

LaKisha: She had her hair redone. It looks good. She looks her age now. She did an amazing performance of a great song. Give her the fucking title right now. (100 points)

Melinda: Stupid song, but an incredible performance. She finished particularly strong. No flaws. (100 points)

Antonella: She looks hot in a groovy dress. A good song, but her performance was wavering at times and flat at others. I adore Antonella, but not her singing. Now I'm in a bad mood. She seems so nice. I give her a half-million bonus points for not being stuck-up. (500,065 points)

Jordin: Disneyesque performance of a stupid song. Much better than last week though. (80 points)

Stephanie: Maybe it's all the fault of the horribly stupid song choice, but I thought this was a train wreck. (5 points)

Leslie: Adorable. Boring song. I took off 100 points for that stupid skat stuff. (negative 40 points)

Haley: Disconcertingly pretty. I really like her voice, and I thought she did a good job. (80 points)

Sabrina: She's managed to gain some depth to her voice in the past week. Wow. (85 points)

I was at work, but it was at my old elementary school too. I know, weird.

Anyway, I walked up to this one section, and there was some kind of assembly going on for the kids. When I arrived in the area, there was a pretty woman on stage. She was completely nude except for something she was wearing on her shoulders. Like football shoulder pads but not as bulky. She was also completely hairless.

I think she was the mistress of ceremonies or something, because she introduced the next act right when I got there.

It was a Samoan guy, dressed in tribal getup, and he had a foot-long boner. At the end of his boner was tied a string, and he was jiggling the string to make his boner go up and down. All the kids were laughing hysterically.

I remember thinking at about this time that perhaps this wasn't a proper show for elementary school kids. The Samoan guy started saying something, but I could hear because there were two people in front of me who were talking too loudly. A couple of people behind me kept making shhhh noises, but the loud talkers ignored them. So then the people behind me complained to a teacher, and the teacher told the loud talkers to shut up.

Then the loud talkers went back to confront the people behind me, and the people behind me did some kung fu moves and beat the shit out of the loud talkers. That's also when I noticed that the people behind me were obviously retarded.

When I finally got home, it was 7:30. It was my old house in Lanesville, and my parents were there playing cards with my uncles Wayne and Stan and my aunts Carol and Helen.

Dad asked me where I'd been so late, and I told him school. He didn't believe me, so I said I'd call the school and they'd vouch for me. But when I looked in the phone book, there was no listing for my school.

I asked my dad what year it was, and he said it was 1969. I remembered then that my school hadn't existed yet in 1969, so that made sense.

I asked my dad how he thought my goatee looked, and he said it looked good.

I said, "Especially for a four-year-old, right?"

He said, "Just wait until you turn five."

Then I went to work. To real work, not the work/school I'd been at earlier. It was still 1969, but one of my coworkers was there anyway. He was all excited because he'd added a new disk drive unit the size of a washing machine, and so now we had a whole 120MB of storage space on the computer floor. Then I told my coworker that I could predict the future. I wrote "34 terabytes" on a piece of paper and sealed it in an envelope. Then I gave the envelope to my coworker and told him not to open it until 2007, and then he'd see that I was telling the truth.

A pretty shitty night. I might not bother to watch the guys next week.

Phil: Pretty good. Safe and boring, but good. (75 points)

Jared: Wow. The perfect song for him. This is the kind of music he should be singing all the time. (85 points)

A.J.: Quite possibly the gayest A.I. performer since Clay Aiken. Not that there's anything wrong with that. As for his performance, I fell asleep. (50 points)

Sanjaya: I didn't listen because he sucks. I bet he spends a lot of time being shoved into lockers at school. (0 points)

Chris S: He missed a few notes singing a stupid song. I gave 15 bonus points because his wife is hot. (80 points)

Nick: I like his voice, but it really clashed with this song. I didn't care for this performance at all. (40 points)

Blake: A decent performance of a stupid song. I took off 50 points for the stupid hat, another 30 for the gangster wannabe hand gesture crap, and another 800 for the beat box bullshit. (-820 points)

Brandon: Incredibly out of tune. (10 points)

Chris R: The judges all want to suck his dick for some reason. I don't like him at all. Plus, it was a stupid song. (20 points)

Sundance: Stupid song, but he did a pretty good job with it. (70 points)

My sister Neisha once said that her hobby was collecting hobbies. I know exactly what she meant, because I've always done the same thing. Except that I usually take it a step further. Or a million steps further.

My hobby is obsessions.

A month ago I wrote about an anonymous gift I got in the mail. A copy of The Game by Neil Strauss. I still don't know who sent me the damn thing, who decided for some reason to introduce me to the world of the pickup artists.

But that world, that community, it has become my newest obsession.

Learning about these people, and what they think, and how they operate. How they formulate and rehearse everything they do when it comes to meeting girls. It's a very fascinating subject for me. Like I wrote before, it's both intriguing and repulsive to me. It's a fucking auto accident with dead and mangled bodies strewn all over the road.

See a pretty girl. Walk up to her. Say some canned line. Gauge her reaction, and say another set of canned lines. Get her phone number. Meet her again in a few days. Have sex with her. Rinse and repeat.

The whole thing makes me kinda sick to my stomach. It likens women to mindless robots, and it reduces relationships to formulaic interactions with sex as the only goal being pursued.

Seriously, there are guys out there who are actually proud of the fact that they date several women at the same time. That they have can have sex with a half-dozen women in a week.

I may be generalizing a bit. The stated goal of at least some of these people is the same goal that a lot of men have: To have an awesome relationship with a wonderful girl. I know that's been my goal for as long as I can remember.

But for others, for others the goal is to make up for the lost time they spent as shy and unpopular virgins. And to do it as callously and impersonally as possible.

Disgusting.

Speaking for myself, I've never had a real problem meeting girls. Talking to girls. Setting up and going on dates. Those things have never been a problem for me, but that's not to say that I don't have any problems when it comes to girls. I have a couple that, sometimes, annoy the shit out of me.

My first problem is that, over these 1.3 billions seconds or so of my life, I've found very few girls who seemed to be worth any effort whatsoever. Not the effort required to get to know them, and not even the effort required to simply bed them. Whores and sluts. Stuck-up prima donnas. Fucking basket cases.

So, most often, I don't even bother. I go by my first impression, and I give up before I ever get started.

This really annoys me. I know that I'm missing out on some wonderful opportunities.

But that's not my biggest problem. Not even close.

My biggest problem is, I seem to always be on the fast track to the dreaded friend zone. I make friends all over the fucking place, and I daresay that most of them are girls. I try to tell myself that this isn't a bad thing at all. That a good friend is much better than a one-night stand could ever be. I tell myself that, and at least a part of me knows that I'm right, but it can still be frustrating as fuck. I'm still a man after all. Biology and instinct does play a big part in my life and my moods and my desires.

I think about some of the most wonderful and fascinating and beautiful girls I know, and almost every one of them is or was a friend of mine. So close but still so far. Like I said, frustrating as fuck.

That's why I've become fascinated with this pickup artist stuff. To try to learn how to avoid this pitfall. To try to learn how to avoid the friend zone until/unless I decide that it's where I want to be. I want to finally be able to make that choice instead of having it forced down my throat.

Because, once I'm trapped, there's no escape from the friend zone.

And, once feelings develop as they inevitably will, it's fucking torture.

I've had enough torture in my life. I have enough friends. I want something else. Something more.

Now this is exactly the kind of thing for which I wanted a camera in my phone!

Sunday I was sitting at a red light, minding my own business, and there was suddenly a loud crash to my left.

The sign says "No left turn" and it seems a lot bigger when it's lying on the ground than it does when it's 20 feet in the air.

I bet it's a heavy fucker too.

I wish I'd been thinking more clearly. I could have jumped out of my truck and grabbed the sign. Then I could have mounted it in my basement or something.

There are way too many people making left turns in my basement.

I sat down here a few minutes ago, thinking that I should probably do a weekend recap or some shit like that.

So here goes.

Saturday night I had a 1950s date with a nice girl I met Friday at lunch. After lunch actually. We did the 1950s dinner (Red Lobster) and a movie (Children of Men) thing. It was quite nice, and I think we actually like each other, but it's a bit too soon for me, and we both realized it at about the same time. I mean, I met her about two minutes after MixedSignalGirl ended our lunch date so abruptly.

Sunday I worked all damn day, then I took a five-hour nap.

Okay, that's my weekend recap. I never said it would be interesting.

Plus, I want to write about something else. Something that I started thinking and wondering about right after my nap.

Emotionally, I am about halfway shut down, I think. But realistically I should be much much worse. I want to be much worse.

I don't know if the events of the past couple of years have numbed me, or if maybe I just don't care about these new things as much as I'd have thought, or if maybe I'm still in denial.

I kinda hope it's only the denial thing.

Because I don't want to be numb. I paid too high a price to get my emotions back to have them come back neutered.

I don't want to be apathetic either.

I hope it's just denial, and I hope that someday soon reality will trample its way into my head and my heart and destroy me.

I don't want to be sort of sad. I want to be devastated and obliterated.

Weird, I know.

You know what? This subject is worthy of more creative ability than I can muster right now.

Maybe some other time.

I got ready to leave at 6:00 last night. I didn't know where I might be going, but I wanted to be ready. For when she called. Just in case she'd changed her mind.

Well, at about 9:30 I got tired of doing nothing but glare at my phone, so I went to Rich O's.

It wasn't too packed there. A bunch of regulars were sitting in the living room area. Strangers were everywhere else. I sat at the kiddie table and had a Dark Horse Tres Blueberry Stout (100). This was supposed to have been a Saturnalia beer, but it had arrived quite late. It arrived quite late last year too.

Oh yeah, SpoonsGirl and SirTalksALot were sitting in the red room. I talked to them briefly when I first arrived.

Anyway.

Once a spot opened up on the sofa I moved over there.

It was boring, and when my phone finally vibrated at me I welcomed the diversion.

I went outside to talk to MixedSignalGirl. It was not a fun conversation, but it needed to happen. After all, moving on is what I've been trying to do for months. It's only reasonable for her to want to do the same thing. So, no more lunch dates. No more semi-planned meetings. Only happy accidents will be allowed from now on.

Speaking of moving on, I left Rich O's at 10:30 or so and went over to Hard Rock. I'd met a girl there yesterday, and she'd said that she might be there with her friends later. Well she wasn't there, but that's okay. I'm taking her to the 1950s tonight. At least that's the plan. I'm kinda being a pessimist.

I overslept this morning. I was supposed to be in Louisville at 10:00 to watch EllaGirl and 1000 other weirdoes jump into the Ohio River for some Special Olympics thing. But it's 9:54 as I type this sentence, so I don't think I'm going to make it. I'll go see EllaGirl at work in a couple of hours and see if she's still alive and, if so, what shade of blue she is.

This used to be a standalone page, but I'm making it a blog entry now because (a) I'm bored and (b) It'll be easier for people to make trip suggestions.

This is just a map showing the states I've been to. States in blue are places I've lived, states shown in red are places I've been to, and states in gray are places I've yet to visit. Of course the goal is to eliminate all of the gray states. Indiana is in white both because I was born there and because it's where I currently live.

The rules I use here are pretty simple. To count as a visit I have to not be at the airport. Driving through a state without stopping doesn't count either. To count as a residence I have to have moved out of my previous residence.

• The furthest West I've ever been: Anchorage, Alaska (149.9 W)


• The furthest North I've ever been: Palmer, Alaska (61.6 N)


• The furthest East in the United States: Portland, Maine (70.26 W)


• The furthest South in the United States: Orlando, Florida (28.5 N)

Look at the map above. The gray states are those that I'd be most interested in visiting, but I'll consider just about anyplace.

Just keep in mind that I'm talking about three or four days at the most here, so someplace like Honolulu probably wouldn't be a good choice. Most of the West coast will also have to wait for a longer vacation. I don't want to waste two days flying there and back. Long drives are a better option though because I enjoy the driving.

My priorities in selecting a destination, in no particular order:

• Places I haven't been before (either cities or states)


• People I know are there (no unattractive stalkers please)


• Availability of good beer (such as brewpubs or bars with good regional selections)


• Beautiful scenery (mountains and oceans and shit)


• Other tourist attractions (historical and museums and the like)


• Professional baseball games (this affects WHEN I could visit)

RIght after I got my new Blackberry I took this picture of the stuff adorning my desk. Many of these are things that I've posted here before.

From top to bottom, then left to right:

My cat Buddy after he got shaved.

An image I made of three of me on my couch.

BadPickleGirl and me and BadPickleGirl's cousin at Rich O's.

My sister Dina's kids.

MisunderstoodGirl wearing a shirt that says I agree with Dave.

A picture of HatGirl that I really like.

A whirlpool that RockGirl drew. I think of it as my department's unofficial logo.

A little saying I got from somewhere. People who stay calm all the time just don't have all the facts.

A picture I took at the Grand Canyon in August 2006.

Another Grand Canyon picture.

Me and SassyGirl at DaveFest last Summer. This picture also hangs on the wall at Rich O's.

A picture of HatGirl's ear. This picture doesn't taste very good.

And now, that picture I took of NotHideousGirl yesterday is up there too, just below the HatGirl picture.

I had fun today.

First, I overslept. So that was cool.

Then at lunch - Newcastle (3334) - I ran into NotHideousGirl. First time I've seen her since HatGirl's birthday party in December. So that was way cool.

Then we went to Borders so she could buy some CDs. This was about as useful as taking a blind man to the paint store, but I went anyway.

Oh yeah, I got a new Blackberry yesterday, and guess what.

It's got a camera!

Yay!

First time I've had a camera phone in months.

NotHideousGirl was kind enough to let me test the camera on her, and post the results here.

So that was fun. It was a little strange to leave a bookstore without any books though.

Then, after work, I went to the local hardware store to buy a bunch of PVC shit for my sink. I figured that I'd go ahead and give it a try, and then if I screwed it up Kenny could always come and laugh at me as he corrected my mistakes.

Well, I managed to twist the PVC stuff around enough so that now I have actual drains running from my sink. I also managed to install and wire up the new garbage disposal without killing myself.

Anyway, here's the old ugly sink.

And here's the new sink. Ta da!

Just so none of you people start to think I'm infallible, here's what's under the new sink.

Those bowls are because the new drain lines leak. Not very much, but enough to be annoying. So I called Kenny and apparently I need some Plumber's Putty to put between the sink and the traps. Either Kenny or I will get some of that, we'll tear everything apart and reinstall using the putty where appropriate, and then this project will be done!

Except that I think I need Kenny to use one of those snake thingies on the drain line that goes into the wall. Everything still drains pretty slowly.

And the garbage disposal works too! Nugget is scared of it.

We used to talk about stuff like this, back when we used to talk.

But that period, that honest and open period, it didn't last very long. I think it was too much for her. Too close to the intimacy that she was missing from the rest of her life.

I've been trying to remember the last time I spent more than two minutes alone with her. I bet it's been at least a year.

So we don't talk about anything important anymore. Shit, we don't hardly talk at all.

If we did talk, I wonder how she'd react if I told her she was stupid. I mean, would she take it in the nicest possible way, as it would certainly be intended?

I doubt it. I think she'd get all defensive. And she'd try to justify herself to me.

That old saying just jumped into my head. There but for the grace of God go I.

Well first of all God can fucking suck my dick.

Second of all, I would be doing exactly what she's doing, if only I'd had the chance.

I'd have been stupid, just like she's being stupid. I'd have given all of myself and there'd have been nothing left that I could call my own.

I'm so fucking grateful that I never had that chance.

I wrote once before, that the fucking Beatles may have been right all along. I fucking hate the fucking Beatles. I hate that they were right.

All you need is love.

Technically accurate, yet still so fucking lacking.

(Switching to metaphor-mode now. Try to keep up please.)

I remember when I was 7 or 8 years old, and we got our first color television. My sister Dina and I were so excited, because we were going to be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons in color. It was going to be The Coolest Thing In The World as my cousin Chris liked to say.

Well, it was. It was so much better than black and white that there was really no sense in comparing the two.

But the Beatles? The fucking Beatles would have said that black and white was all we needed to watch our cartoons.

Like I said, technically accurate.

But also woefully safe. Timid. Spineless. Half-hearted.

(Switching out of metaphor-mode.)

I see her. Even when I don't see her in person, I see her in my head. I see her in love with him. I can almost hear the gears in her head turn and grind as they churn out unending platitudes and reassurances. Love is all you need, her brain tells her heart. Don't you dare wish for anything more, because you've already got more than most people ever get.

Like I said, fucking stupid.

She could do so much better. But she thinks that she's got all she needs. And that may be true, but needs are only the beginning.

There should be a place in our lives, in her life, for desires.

I would be exactly where she is. I would tell myself that I was happy. I would tell myself that I had everything that I needed.

Technically accurate, but still so fucking sad.

I watch, as her heart's desires die. Corralled and quarantined and imprisoned by the illusion that all you need is all there is. They die from neglect.

There is so much more than needs. So fucking much more.

I wish I could still talk to her about stuff like this.

But I can't, so she'll have to read it here.

I always like the girls nights, at least until all the hot girls have been eliminated. This year there's an abundance of hot girls, so I was really looking forward to tonight.

Joining me on tonight's viewing journey was a yummy bottle of Gulden Draak (271).

Stephanie: Born 60 years too late. A fantastic performance which I fear will be marginalized simply because it came first. (85 points)

Amy: Cute as fuck. She sang a little flat, and she mumbled a lot of words. (65 points)

Leslie: Also quite cute. Stupid song. She went flatline several times. (65 points)

Sabrina: Damn, another cute girl. No wonder I like girls night so much. Anyway, a technically perfect performance, but her voice has no depth. I don't know if she'll be able to overcome that handicap. (75 points)

Antonella: Smoldering hot. Singing was all over the map. Mostly all wet. I feel bad for her because she seems very nice and sweet. (60 points)

Jordin: Drunken karaoke at first, but the second half of the performance was much much better. I took off 10 points because she spells her name wrong. (65 points)

Nicole: A lovely girl. She jumped around between nasally and artificially low and screaming. I couldn't understand a word she sang. (50 points)

Haley: Adorable. I love her rich voice. Her performance was severely limited by her stupid song choice. I hope she gets a chance to pick a better song. (75 points)

Melinda: One of my favorites form the earlier shows. Still one of my favorites. Second-best of the night, I thought. (90 points)

Alaina: Fuckalicious. Fantastic voice, which she chose not to showcase by picking a Stevie Nicks song. I hope she stays, because I adore her. I gave her 10 bonus points because she's carrying my child. (75 points)

Gina: Cute as fuck. My absolute favorite from the earlier shows, and my absolute favorite after tonight. Fantastic song choice, fantastic performance. (95 points)

LaKisha: She's weird. She looks like she's 50-years-old until she sings, then she drops 30 years. She sang a huge song, and it wasn't even close to being big enough for her voice. This girl can fucking sing. (85 points)

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm an American Idol watcher. I've been hooked, more or less, since the first season. When I realized that I loved Kelly Clarkson.

For the last couple of years I haven't been as big of a fan. I usually stop watching the guys after a couple of weeks. I'll keep watching the girls, but eventually my favorites get eliminated and I stop watching altogether. Until the next season.

Like this season. I'll watch it for a while, and I'll make entries like this one for a while. but it will all stop eventually.

So don't get hooked on my reviews. Please. That's too much pressure for me.

Anyway, tonight the guys sang. This is always boring to me, probably because I don't have a vagina. But I watched, and I wrote down my impressions. I had a yummy Koningshoeven Quad (346) while I watched.

Rudy: Sang a Six Flags version of a Six Flags song. I know this guy can sing, but he chose to coast through tonight. He's a lot better than this. (80 points)

Brandon: I fell asleep he was so boring. I'm giving him 50 points because it's my birthday.

Sundance: Stupid name, but probably not his fault. Great song. He seemed a little unsure about what to do with his arms. He sang great though. (85 points)

Paul: His tone was way too low for this arrangement. The volume of his voice was also too low. (70 points)

Chris R: Drunken karaoke. Awful. (40 points)

Nick: I really like this guy's voice. I thought he did a great job. (87 points)

Blake: Great song. Started out great. Finished great. This guy really surprised me. A lot. (90 points)

Sanjaya: I fell asleep, and I only woke up when he mangled a note. Horrible. (20 points)

Chris S: I expected to really like this guy, and I was a little disappointed. Put him in front of a club band, and he'll shine. As a solo artist, not so much. (75 points)

Jared: Nice job. Forgettable, but nice. (80 points)

A.J.: There seems to be a rule that anyone named A.J. or AJ that goes on this show must suck. I shot pool until this guy was done. He gets 50 points only because it's my birthday.

Phil: My favorite guy from the earlier shows. He started out like his nuts were in a vise. Then he spent the next part overcompensating. He finished quite strong though. (75 points)

The bank thing was because they lowered the daily limit from $1000 to $500.

"It's because of identity theft," they said.

"Maybe I need to find a new bank," I said.

Then I wrote out a check for enough cash to buy the sink and stuff.

Then I got a haircut. Then I got my new driver's license. Then I went to Lowe's.

Then I came home and took out the old sink, and did what I could with the new stuff. Which means that I attached the new faucet to the new sink, and I installed the new sink in the counter, and I hooked up the supply lines, and I put the drain thingies in the sink - including the one for the new disposal.

Now I'm waiting for Kenny to come here and (a) tell me what I did wrong, (b) fix the things I did wrong, (c) put all the drain lines in, and (d) do the wiring for the disposal.

I have no idea when I might expect him. I don't even know if it will be today. Until then I'll have to remember not to use that sink.

---

You ever just want to fucking strangle someone? Or knock some sense into them?

Yeah well me too. Metaphorically of course.

---

I'm starving. Nothing sounds good though.

---

It's really warm outside. My heat pump has actually shut off. First time in weeks that it's been this quiet in this house.

I was going to write a Monday beer report, but there's not much to write about, so I'll just cram that stuff at the beginning of this entry.

I had a half a Smithwick's (1454). I'd been planning to have a full pint but the keg blew when it was only halfway poured.

There were some people there. I didn't talk much. Mostly I just listened to everyone else.

Then I had two bottles of Delirium Tremens (858). Then I came home.

Ta da!

---

Today I've got a bunch of shit to do. So I'm taking a day of vacation.

I've got to go to my bank and try to find out why my card was denied twice over the weekend.

If the bank thing gets straightened out, I want to try the whole buy a kitchen sink thing again. Just maybe not at Lowe's. Depends on what the bank says.

I desperately need to get a haircut.

My driver's license expires at midnight, so I need to get a new one. First I have to find out where the BMV moved to. They're not over by Kelsey's anymore.

It seems like there's something that I'm forgetting.

Happy birthday to me!

Yay?

I was in some little trailer with a bunch of people, and I suddenly felt strange.

I knew what was going on. I was turning into a werewolf.

So I quickly shooed everyone out of the place, so I wouldn't mangle and/or eat them. I also found a box of kittens in the closet and I dumped them outside too, so I wouldn't eat them either. Then I locked myself in the trailer.

My transformation was a weird one. Quite unlike all the perfectly normal werewolf transformations you see in the movies. What happened was, I was myself, still human, but the wolf would be next to me for a while. I'd pet the wolf and he'd nuzzle me. We were best friends, me and the wolf.

Then for awhile I'd become the wolf, all alone in the trailer. I'd shift to all fours and I'd pace the walls, trying to find something to eat, or to find a way out. My breathing turned to growls.

Then I'd be myself again, next to the wolf. Then I'd be the wolf again.

Then I had to pee and that woke me up.

---

Then it was the next day or something. I was with a couple of girls and we were repairing the damage I'd done while I was the wolf. Mostly roof damage, it seemed.

I was telling the girls about how heightened all of my senses had become, now that I was a werewolf. How, for example, I could tell that one of the girls had been very frightened but the other had been very aroused. The girl who'd been aroused got all shy and tried to deny that she'd been turned on. I told her it was okay.

I told her that I could smell her arousal right then and there.

I told her that she was allowed to want me even if I was a monster sometimes. That she couldn't hide her feelings from me so she certainly couldn't hide them from herself.

Then I used a pretty great line.

I told the girl to stop being so hard on herself. That she should let me be hard, on her, for a while.

And she agreed, with a shy little smile, and I moved to her, and then I woke up.

The girl who was aroused had the same name as BadPickleGirl, which is also coincidentally the same name as that of my old high school girlfriend who I recently wrote about. But this girl was clearly neither of those real-life people.

The box of kittens had nothing but black cats in it, and none of them had any tails.

At one point while I was the wolf I tried to look at myself in the mirror, but all I could see was a pair of glowing eyes. When I was still human, I could see the wolf, and he was mostly white with some big black splotches. Seemed more like a Husky than an actual wolf.

So I chickened out. There was just no way that I could justify the risk versus the reward.

If HatGirl forgot my birthday I'd probably have been devastated and cried for a month. If she didn't forget my birthday, well then I'd have just been relieved.

So the risk of devastation was not worth the reward of relief.

I decided to fuck the risk. I called HatGirl and reminded her ass that tomorrow is my birthday before she'd have a chance to forget.

Then there was some phone juggling and I ended up having lunch with MixedSignalGirl. She's already having lunch with me Friday, so today was a big bonus for me.

Everything was nice and pleasant. Not a whole lot of tension between us anymore. I'd had a mild panic attack about ten minutes before she showed up, but I was fine after that.

Then EllaGirl decided to mess with us. She came over and, right in front of MixedSignalGirl, told me that she thought I'd left my hat in her apartment the other night.

Not cool.

This was, of course, utter bullshit. I only wear hats when I'm in disguise. So I sort of wondered out loud how many other guys it could belong to. Then EllaGirl stomped away.

EllaGirl deserved that for trying to stir up shit.

But MixedSignalGirl is a class act all the way. She didn't even bat an eye. She asked me if that was the famous EllaGirl, I said it was indeed, and that was it.

Oh yeah, during lunch I had a Newcastle (3304).

After MixedSignalGirl went back to work, I stayed and had a half-glass of Newcastle (3314) and talked to EllaGirl for a bit to see what her problem was. She acted like it was perfectly normal to go up and intrude like that. She said she was just being nosey, not possessive. I'm just glad that I wasn't on a first date with someone.

All this female interaction got me to missing BadPickleGirl, so I sent her an email of some cute animals. I'm not really expecting a response, but it would be a nice birthday present.

Today I watched a stupid movie called The Family Stone.

To successfully enjoy this movie, you'd have to do two things. First, you'd have to pretend that the characters aren't all whores and/or selfish pricks. Second, you'd have to pretend that Sarah Jessica Parker is about a gazillion times prettier than she really is.

I failed at both tasks.

For me, the only redeeming qualities about the movie were (a) that Rachel McAdams was in it, and (b) this one part where this one whore told a story about a guy that built a totem pole.

I didn't catch the first part of the totem pole story, but I got the impression that there was a guy who was sad. I think the words used to describe him were that there was a hole in his heart.

Or some drivel like that anyway.

So, to cheer him up, the town gave him a log. Not a big party. Not money. A big ass log.

But it was okay.

The guy spent like eight years carving that log into a totem pole. And I guess there was a big ceremony when the thing was raised. And it was beautiful. The town got a fancy new totem pole, and the guy got to fill that hole in his heart with something.

I thought it was a sweet story.

And now I want a log, so I can make a totem pole, so I can fill this fucking hole in my heart.

And I want the log for my birthday, which is in two days.

I fully expect to shut down in two days. If I do, then you people might not hear very much from me for a while. If I don't, well if I don't then I was wrong. About a lot of things. And I'll be okay. And I'll never mention this shutting down nonsense again.

Every now and then I'll get a bug up my butt about my house.

There are about a zillion things that I hate about this house. Cosmetic stuff mostly. But back when I bought the place, I was making a lot more money, so I figured I'd just throw cash at the ugliness and make it all go away.

But no! Once the Internet bubble burst, I had to get a real job, at substantially less pay.

And so the ugliness remains.

Flowery wallpaper.

Striped wallpaper.

Grotesque light fixtures.

Brown shag carpeting.

Hideous cabinets and countertops.

Ugh. Even all the dark brown doors and trim are ugly and dated.

And I didn't even show you the light fixture in my bedroom, or the floor in my bathroom or bedroom, or the painted wall in my downstairs bathroom. Had I posted pictures of those things, I'd probably have been shut down for running an obscene website. And I didn't want to take that chance.

Anyway.

Friday I got this bug up my butt to do something, anything to reduce the ugliness.

So I decided to replace my kitchen sink and faucet. While I was at it, I figured, I'd get a garbage disposal too.

Yesterday, I had my sister's husband Kenny over to look at my sink area and tell me what I'd need to buy. He's a professional Mr. Fixit.

Then I went to Lowe's and spent an hour or so picking out stuff that (a) looked cool, and (b) wasn't laughably expensive.

Did you know that there are $600 kitchen faucets? That's just ridiculous to me. Who needs a fucking $600 kitchen faucet?

So I piled all the shit in my cart and, when I went to pay for it, they declined my card.

I became a little concerned. There certainly should have been money in my account. I mean, Thursday was payday I hadn't taken any money out for at least a week.

But oh well. I figured that I'd call my bank on Monday and see what the deal was. I apologized to the checkout girl and went home.

Then last night I had the brilliant idea that maybe they'd declined my card because they'd tried to run it through as debit instead of credit. The card can be charged either way, but there's a $200 daily limit on debit transactions.

So I went back to Lowe's today. I picked out all the same shit I'd picked on Saturday.

This time I told them to run it through as credit instead of debit.

It fucking came back declined again.

Fuck!

After I'd apologized to the second checkout girl in as many days, I left scratching my head. What if something was going on with my checking account?

I needed to find out. So I went to my bank, and did a balance inquiry at the ATM thingy.

There's almost $3000 in my account right now. That seems about right to me.

The shit I was trying to buy was $580 or something like that.

Now I'm no math whiz, but I'm pretty sure that $580 is less than $3000. I'm also pretty sure that $580 is less than the $1000 daily limit on credit transactions.

So I don't know what's going on. All I know for sure is that everything in my house is still ugly. Including my kitchen sink.

Tonight, it snowed. Not very much, but enough to scare the shit out of everyone except the most die-hard people. So Rich O's was pretty dead, and they started kicking people out very early.

It was a weird night. Ten minutes of interest, followed by two hours of boredom, then another ten minutes of interest, and another hour of boredom.

The interesting parts were provided by some drunk guy. I don't think I ever saw him before, but I guess he knew who I was. And apparently he didn't like the cut of my jib or something. He kept threatening to "knock my block off" - which was funny for the nostalgia brought on by that old-fashioned term at least as much as it was for the mental image of him actually trying. The dude could barely stand up.

Look, I'm sure he's a helluva nice guy. I'm sure he was just in a mood tonight. Live and let live, right?

My first beer was a bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1690). It was yummy as always.

So I sat on the throne. For a while I talked to a guy who proclaimed himself to be The Asshole. Not just any asshole, mind you, but The Asshole. I told him that it was an honor to meet him.

Then this one PBD sat and talked with me for a while. He told me something that really disturbed me. I guess that there are people at Rich O's who think that the whole DaveFest thing was my idea. That I thought up the concept of the customer appreciation festivals, and that I nominated myself to be the first honoree.

Nothing could be farther from the truth. Ask Roger. It was his idea, and picking me for the thing was his idea too. It was a huge honor for me, and it bugs me that some people think that it was my idea all along.

I may have an ego on me, but not that much of an ego.

Anyway, after a while WomanRepellant came in and sat on the sofa. Almost immediately, that same drunk guy tried to pick a fight with WomanRepellant. I'd venture to say that he came a lot closer to succeeding than he had with me. It took two or three people to restrain the guy and drag him away.

Like I said, I'm sure he's a nice guy. He's just a really mean drunk I guess.

About five minutes later DrunkGuy came back in, again, and tried, again, to pick a fight with WomanRepellant. He was dragged away, again.

It was kind of weird. I'd spent the first part of the night thinking that I must be really special to have DrunkGuy hate me so much. But as it turned out I wasn't special at all. Oh well.

The rest of the night was calm and relaxing. I had another Weihenstephaner (1707) and then I came home at 10:00 when they started kicking people out.

I don't know why I ended up going to Rich O's last night. I mean, I've skipped the last two Fridays at least, and it hasn't killed me. It's been nice actually. Because I didn't have to worry about being too disappointed if certain people didn't show up.

I don't know why I ended up going last night, but I did. I remember dreading it, both during the drive, and when I was looking for a parking spot. I had to park on Mars, so that was a bad sign.

The place was crowded as fuck. It took me at least five minutes to walk the ten feet between the front door and the entrance to Rich O's proper. Then, when I finally got there, I was blocked by a solid wall of people. It was standing room only in there. Strangers all over the fucking place.

But wait!

My sister's husband Kenny was part of the solid wall of people! My sister Dina was there too! Yay!

They were, as it turned out, celebrating this one blonde chick's birthday.

Anyway, I'm rambling.

After a year or so, I made it through the throng to the bar and I ordered a Brownings Bourbon Imperial Stout (82). I also talked to GlassesGirl. I hadn't seen her in months, so that was nice. Dina and I stood around for a while until some dude left the kiddie table, then we sat there and talked. I decoded a couple of my recent blog entries for her, because I guess I confuse her sometimes.

After a while the strangers left the living room area, so Kenny and the rest of Dina's group took over that area. I eventually moved to the throne.

I ordered another Brownings (98) but I didn't quite finish it.

Oh yeah, there was a smoldering hot girl ordering a growler of Arrogant Bastard, and I went up and talked to her for a while.

She ended up taking a raincheck. Oh well.

After Dina and crew left I had a Diet Coke, then I went to White Castle and then came home.

I woke up at 4:00 this morning, very dehydrated.

I was just struck by a realization.

Clobbered actually.

By something that I already knew, at least on some level. Something that I knew in my head, but something that perhaps I didn't quite feel in my heart.

I live, it seems, for the confusion and the complications. They allow me to obsess over the what ifs and the how comes and the why nots and all those other questions that intrude into my life like cats' paws under a closed door.

I sit here in this chair, and I make excuses. I tell myself that things are complicated. I tell the world that I'm being selfless. That it's not fear holding me at bay, it's altruism.

I surround myself in fog and mystery, because I do not want to see. The darkness comforts me, because I know what the light could reveal. I fear the light.

I live this shell of a life chasing answers that can never be caught. Because I never really ask the damn questions. Instead, instead I theorize and I hypothesize. I conjecture and I postulate and I assume and I interpret.

But I never just ask.

I could ask.

I could just fucking ask.

Today HatGirl sent me a picture of her ear.

I know what you're thinking.

What a strange thing for HatGirl to do!

Yes, well she had her reasons. But that's not the point I wanted to make with this entry.

The point I wanted to make was that, when you print out a picture and lick it, it doesn't taste very good.

So my friend RockGirl is stuck smack in the middle of this Winter storm. You know, the one where Mother Nature flipped me the bird with both hands and gave me nothing but rain while she dumped assload after assload of snow everywhere else.

I sent RockGirl an email earlier today, asking if she was dead.

She didn't respond, so I guess she's not dead, so whew!

Somebody be my damn valentine!

Before I do something stupid.

Please.

I've completely dropped the ball on my weekend beer report. It's Tuesday already, and I haven't even mentioned it.

Not that there's much to mention.

Friday, I stayed home. I was still sick. I had myself a couple of bottles of The Reverend (332) and the alcohol therein managed to do what Sudafed had failed to do - it dried my sinuses up to the point where I no longer feared that I'd drown in my own snot.

So by Saturday morning I was feeling much better. I actually felt like I was going to live. More than that, I felt like I wanted to live. Wonders never cease, huh?

Saturday afternoon, I preheated some empty pizza boxes and filled my house with smoke. So that was fun. I managed to keep the smoke alarm from going off by opening my windows and turning on my ventilation fan. Yes, it was fucking cold.

I think that would be a pretty shitty way to die. Burning my house down because I was too lazy to check my oven for trash before turning it on. Probably get a Darwin Award though.

Saturday night, I went to Rich O's. I sat in the throne with my yummy Wostyntje (229) and talked with MusicalYuppieDude and TremensGirl for a while. I was kinda feeling like a shithead. See, Saturday was the night of BadPickleGirl's birthday party, and I wasn't going. I'd politely declined her invitation.

But I guess the consensus is that I was not being a shithead. I detailed the situation, and the history, to MusicalYuppieDude and TremensGirl, and they both said that I shouldn't have gone to the party. In fact, they both said that I'd been way too nice about the whole thing. So that's good.

My next two beers were bottles of Delirium Tremens (836).

After MYD and TG left, I talked for a while with WomanRepellant, some chick who doesn't have a nickname, and a couple of strangers who'd sat on the sofa. I asked the chick for her opinion on the whole am I being a shithead thing, and she also said that I was being too damn nice.

Since I seemed to be in the mood for asking peoples' opinions, I borrowed one of the stranger's glasses for a bit, and held an informal frame-off. The stranger's frames are a lot like my own frames, just more rectangular than oval. The consensus was that I looked better with the more squarish frames. See, that's what I thought, back when I bought these glasses last year. But SassyGirl had told me that I should buy the ovalish ones. Next time, I'm going rectangular.

At 10:30 or so, I drunk-texted HatGirl. I haven't seen her in a million years. I tried to get her to come to Rich O's, but she declined.

So that sucked, and my mood plummeted.

I went over to Louisville and just basically dicked around for a while. Had a couple Diet Cokes. Talked to EllaGirl for a bit. Talked to the bartenders at The Pub for a bit. Then I bought some White Castles and came home at 1:30 or so.

Let's see, on Sunday I had to work all morning, then I went and drove all over Southern Indiana and Northern Kentucky, then I came back home.

Not that it really matters. I'm just a little surprised. But I found some stuff out today.

You only knew each other for a few months before he joined the Army. And as far as I know, after your fumbling attempts to date, the only times you saw each other were when I was there with you. Shit, I think Eddie was screwing that one chick non-stop for about six months before he left. What was her name? Linda or Lindsey or some shit like that? I can't remember, but she works at my bank now. She did the paperwork for my home loan. She didn't remember me from the old days.

But I digress.

I'm pretty sure that you two never hooked up when I was still around. It must have been after. After I'd left for basic training, Eddie must have come home on leave or something. He must have looked you up, or maybe he just happened to run into you at the floodwall or at some party.

You probably got to talking about the good old days, and something happened between you two. I wonder who made the first move. Probably you, I'm guessing.

And now you've been married for over 20 years, and have two grown children with him.

Pretty weird. But it explains why I never saw either one of you again. Because you were ashamed.

I'm not sad. I'm not even angry. It's not like I just lost a friend and a girlfriend. I lost you both a long time ago. It's just that now I finally know why. So that's good. Mystery solved.

If anything, I'm a little miffed that I didn't get the chance to find out, to be angry, back when it first happened. That's a lesson that, had I learned it a little earlier in my life, that might have sent me on a completely different path.

Plus, I had you first, and that's hilarious to me. I wonder, back in the beginning, when what you did with Eddie could still have been seen as cheating on me, I wonder how many times you called out my name by mistake.

I wonder if you still call out my name, every now and then. You know, just to keep him on his toes.

'Cause he needs to be on his toes. He married a whore, after all.

Did a shitload of driving around today. I just needed to get away from this damn house for a while. Now, I'm thinking that coming back here might have been a mistake, but it's too late now. I'm already here.

Anyway, I know what I want now.

Remember the movie Deep Impact? Near the end, after the small comet fragment hit, there was a huge traffic jam of people who'd been trying to get to high ground. The tsunami was rushing up to engulf them, and Lt. Yar and Attendant Mavek knew that they were going to die. Soon. They faced each other, and they gazed into each others' eyes. So that the last sight that either of them would see would be the adoring eyes of the person that they loved.

That's what I fucking want.

I want to find someone who will love me as I love her, someone who'd choose to spend her last moments gazing into my eyes while I gazed into hers. Hands intertwined. Breathing synchronized. Existing together as one heart, one soul. The world irrelevant.

And, if the world doesn't happen to end when such a perfect moment arrives, well that would be even better.

I got this book about blogging here, and it says that I should write something first thing in the morning. To get it out of the way.

Problem is, of course, that nothing interesting has happened yet today, and I won't be able to recall with any accuracy the events of last night (such as they were) for several hours.

So I could write about the piss I took when I first stumbled out of bed, or I could write nothing.

I choose the latter. You may thank me if you wish. I accept gratitude in most of the standard forms, though I prefer cash delivered by beautiful naked women.

I'm really hoping that this is the last time I bore you with boring dream crap. But this one I can't get out of my head, and I fear that I'll explode if I don't write about it.

You know how dreams can fade so quickly that sometimes you're not even sure that you had them? How, for a minute or two, you can remember them, but after that it blurs and fades?

Yeah well that's usually what happens with my dreams anyway. But not tonight.

Tonight, I remembered. I remembered, and with each passing minute that memory has become more and more clear.

I wish I could say that it was a beautiful ceremony, but I'd only be guessing. I only got to see the end, after all. The part where it was already over with. The part where they kissed as husband and wife for the first time. That part, the part that I saw, was pretty nice.

She was so beautiful in her wedding dress. He was so dashing in his tuxedo. Everyone was smiling and clapping as they kissed. Everyone was so happy for them. I was so happy for them. This had been a long time coming, after all.

Their lips parted, and I noticed that her veil was still down. That's weird, I thought.

She turned to her left to face the crowd, and she lifted her veil, and she saw me, and she looked at me.

He turned to his right and he looked at me.

The pastor, looking oddly enough like Cheech Marin, looked at me.

Everyone in the room turned and looked at me.

It was as if everyone there knew something that I didn't.

As I pondered this, I noticed one of the groomsmen, smiling and smug and fat. He certainly doesn't belong there, I thought. He's an asshole. Why is he up there, and not me?

Because, I reminded myself. She didn't want me to be here at all. Because it would be weird for her. For them. For me.

Everyone in the room was looking at me.

At first, at first I tried to convince myself that it was only because I'd arrived so late. So unexpectedly. So unwelcome. I was the turd in the punchbowl.

I tried to convince myself of that, but I could feel that lie slipping from me like sand though my fingers.

Everyone in the room knew something that I didn't. But I was starting to suspect, and certainty, certainty was the last thing I wanted.

But I was too late. Just as I'd been too late in the dream, I'd been too late in waking up from that dream.

A wise man once wrote that dreams are the result of the brain, trying to make sense of the nearly random firings of neurons that occur during sleep. That the brain will conjure up imagery and sensations that, while not exactly relevant to the waking world, are often a very close approximation. At least if you tilt your head and squint a certain way.

Dreams are not a glimpse into the future. They are psychological manifestations of simple biochemical reactions.

At least, that's what I hope they are.

I kinda wish that I was the kind of person who prayed, because then I'd pray that it was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. Please, God, let it be just a dream.

I just spent quite a bit of time looking back through my old entries, to see if I've already written about this. I'm pretty sure that I have, but I couldn't find it.

So maybe I'm having an actual original thought. Wouldn't that be something?

Anyway, one of my many problems is that too often I think that I'm more important than I really am. Not to everyone, just to the people who are most important to me.

It's like I think, This person is very important to me, so I must be very important to this person. This is something that we share. We are important to each other.

A while ago, this problem reared its ugly head. I got an email with some very very very disturbing news. Basically akin to a death sentence, metaphorically anyway. And as if the news itself wasn't bad enough, I was one of about ten people who got that same email. I remember thinking, Wow, this news really sucks donkey balls and, more than that, I really fucking wish that she'd told me in person.

I wanted special treatment. I felt like I deserved special treatment. Because she is very special to me, a part of me just assumed that the reverse was also true. Even now, the realization that I'm wrong about that assumption is not something I'm able to accept.

So I'm basically being a baby. I haven't responded to the email. I'm still waiting to talk to her, to give her a chance to talk about it with me in person. It wouldn't soften the pain that this news has rained down upon me, but it might make it a little easier for me to accept, if I knew that it was bothering her even a zillionth as much as it's bothering me.

Look, I don't mind being a nobody to the other seven billionish people on Earth. Another face in the crowd, another address in an email. But to be generic to that handful of people who are anything but generic to me?

I don't like that feeling very much.

Not very much at all.

Plus, I've got this fucking cold.

That's how many gallons of snot have left my nose since yesterday afternoon.

About 700 of those gallons have, thankfully, left through one or more nostrils. But the rest have drained backwards into my throat and sent me into wild coughing fits.

How can the human body generate this much snot? Well it's a fucking medical miracle, that's what it is.

(continued from a couple of entries ago)

After a couple of seconds, I guess a little tiny sense of familiarity crept into my head. I began to feel that I should know who this cocky loud pretty girl was, but I had no real chance to investigate that feeling because that's when her friend finally spoke.

"What are you doing?" she asked the blonde. And then she said her name.

She said her name, and a door inside my head creaked open, and I remembered.

I remembered a party, in Hancock's field, a long time ago. I remembered waking up in the back of my parents' Mercury Comet, wearing only my underwear and a jacket. I remembered digging through the trash on the floorboards, looking for my keys and my shoes and my pants and my shirt. I remembered finding all those things, and I remembered also finding a little blue sock, and one of those hair barrette thingies, and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and an empty condom wrapper.

I remembered going to a basketball game at school a couple of weeks later, and being greeted like an old friend by a cute blonde girl wearing a Providence High School Jacket. Being greeted like more than a friend actually.

I remembered confessing that I didn't remember meeting her, being with her, at all. That I'd woken up in the back of my car alone and confused and unclothed. I remembered how she laughed that off, and how she'd said that she'd have to try harder to be memorable the next time.

I remembered that the next time started about fifteen minutes later, in my cousin Jeff's station wagon.

I remembered countless nights after that, sneaking out of my house with my friend Eddie. I remembered that he'd drop me off at where she worked, or to where she lived. I remembered lying on her bed, holding hands and listening to Pink Floyd. I remembered doing a lot of other things in her bed.

I remembered the night she told me that she loved me, and how I'd echoed those words right back at her. I remembered how we started to tell people that we were engaged. That as soon as my basic training was over, and I was stationed at my first base, we'd get married and raise kids and we'd always laugh about how, on the night we'd met, I was too drunk to even remember her.

I remember how everyone said we were crazy.

I remembered how she'd come to the Air Force induction center to see me off. I remembered holding her close and telling her that I'd see her again in a few short weeks, and that we'd be together from that moment on.

I remembered that I'd never seen her again.

Not for more than 23 years.

Until lunch today.

So once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I just looked at her. I had no idea what to say, what to ask, what to feel. She saved the day by doing all the talking. She's been married for a long time. She has two grown children. She still loves Pink Floyd, and she still has most of The Wall memorized. I stammered out that I do too.

She said that I hadn't changed a bit, which was a beautiful lie. I said that she hadn't changed either, and as proof I offered up the fact that it had taken me so long to remember her.

We didn't discuss what had happened, back in 1983. Why she'd moved. Where she'd gone. There wasn't time for any of that, and there wasn't really a need for any of that. We were each others' distant past, and that was all that we were.

As I gave her a hug and said goodbye, I wondered if it would be another 23 years before I saw her again. I wondered if I'd do a better job of remembering her in 23 years. I wondered if I'd even remember my own name in 23 years.

Anyway, I guess that makes it official. I have officially run out of women. Time to dig out that little black book from high school, and start over.

Stubib code-ass wedder.

This is kinda cool to me.

I was sitting at The Hard Rock in Louisville for lunch. I usually go to The Pub, but it was too crowded today, plus I wanted some potato skins.

Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, and down about four or five seats from me were two hot girls. A short-haired blonde and a long-haired brunette. Both pretty, but in very different ways. One sexy and sultry, the other perky and vivacious.

So I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out which one was the hotter of the two. I know, it's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

I kept glancing over there, getting no closer to making up my mind as to which was hotter, and eventually the blonde caught me looking. She kind of smiled. I smiled back, then turned back to my food, 'cause I'm all shy and shit. I could see out of the corner of my eye that both girls were now looking at me, though I couldn't hear what they were saying. Probably arguing over which of them was hotter, I figured.

I'd just about decided to stage a kissing contest between them when the blonde spoke to me.

"You kept looking over here at us for a half-hour, and now you've suddenly stopped. What's up with that?" she asked in a not very nice way.

"Well," I said. "I was trying to decide which of you would be my new girlfriend, but now I've made up my mind and I don't have to look any more."

"Oh really?" the blonde said. She was smiling, so she was at least slightly amused.

"Yep," I said. "You're both very pretty, but I'm thinking that you're not very nice, so I choose your friend."

"You sure know how to hold a grudge," the blonde said.

Hold on a second. That didn't make any sense.

"Huh?" I asked. 'Cause I'm all eloquent and shit.

"Don't you remember me?" the blonde asked. "Look closely. Don't you know who I am?"

She then got up and walked over to me and stuck her face right in front of mine.

(to be continued)

Today HatGirl told me that I was craftily romantic.

When I got home, I went to dictionary.com to see if craftily was a real word. Indeed it is. So everyone please note the big brain on HatGirl. Beauty and brains. No wonder I like her.

Anyway, I became a little concerned when I read the first definition given for crafty:

skillful in underhand or evil schemes; cunning; deceitful; sly.

But, since my brain absolutely refused to ingest any thought that might indicate disapproval by HatGirl, I decided to take it as a compliment. I'm pretty sure that's what was intended anyway. Kinda sorta.

Come to think of it, I probably should have tried harder to be insulted. I need some more drama in my life.

But I didn't.

Instead, I decided to write this boring no-drama-having entry about being romantic.

When I was young, I used to bring my ex-wife roses. All the fucking time. Every Tuesday. Every Thursday. The 18th of every month. The 5th of every month. Sometimes just for the fuck of it. I thought, back then, that I was being romantic. But I wasn't. What I was being was needy and clingy. Though I didn't know it at the time, I was trying to save a doomed relationship.

The context of my attempted romanticism prevented it from being real at all.

Now that I'm a lot older and a little wiser, I think that romance should be spontaneous. It should never be needed. It should never be in response to anything. It should just happen. A tiny unexpected gesture that comes out of the blue and, for a few seconds or minutes or hours, completely disarms the girl.

Almost a year ago I wrote about a time I did something romantic. I think that was when I really started to recognize the power of romance. I began to watch for opportunities.

Opportunities for spontaneity. There's an oxymoron if I ever saw one. But that's what they were.

That thing with the card, that was a pretty grand gesture. It shouldn't have worked. It should have scared her off, once the initial shock had dissipated. And I suppose that it did, a little. It was weeks before I heard from that girl again.

It was too much, too soon. I had nothing to back it up. Nothing to top it.

I've gotten a lot better over the years. When I want to, I can sweep a girl off her feet. That's not me being cocky or egotistical. It's just me being honest. The hard part for me is wanting to do it. So few girls seem worth the effort.

Shit, I even did something romantic for LaptopGirl once. It was, of course, ignored. Because it was too late. It wasn't spontaneous. It was an attempt to fix something. It was needy and clingy.

But my shining moments, my shining moments were all with MixedSignalGirl. We've talked about it a lot. She really brought out the romantic in me. She was always surprised, every single time. And she'd smile and the room would light up. She told me that she'd go for days and it would seem that her feet would never touch the ground.

But, in the end, it wasn't enough. That cake was almost all frosting. For both of us.

Fuck. Now I'm in a bad mood. I think I'll stop writing now.

I forget where I was going with this entry anyway.

Probably somewhere stupid.

There's really only one mitigating thing about this whole mess.

It's still a long way off.

Good thing, too. I'm going to need all the time I can get, if I'm going to attempt to prepare myself. If I'm going to try my hardest to set things up so that I can stage my resurrection. If a part of me is going to survive.

There's no use on steeling myself against it. There are no walls strong enough to prevent this from overwhelming me and drowning me. There are no lies I can tell myself to alleviate the pain I will feel. There isn't a single fucking thing that I can do, except wait, and perhaps silently hope that I die before it happens.

Everybody leaves.

I need to get that fact into my thick skull. I need to learn it, and I need to know it so well that it becomes a part of me. I need to anticipate it, accept it. Relish in the pain it brings.

There is something inside of me.

It's not love, but it's something.

And it's going to scream of loss and sorrow. Then it's going to die.

In less than eighteen months.

I'm fooled every time, by the pretty carrots that life dangles in front of me.

I take a step forward, my mouth watering, but life matches my movements. Pulls my prize further away. No matter how far I go or what I do, the carrots never get any closer. I never get any closer to satisfying this hunger.

But I can live with that. Sometimes it's enough to just look at the pretty carrots. Smell them. Imagine that they're mine. Sometimes it's enough to just know that they're out there. Dangling out of reach, but never out of mind. Never out of mind.

I accept it. I get used to it. I even start to like it.

That's when life tires of its game, and ends the taunting.

That's when life takes the carrots completely from my sight.

Out of reach, and suddenly out of sight, but never out of mind. Never out of mind.

First, I went down to Rich O's at a little after 3:00. They're having an art show in the special people section, and I wanted to buy one of NotHideousGirl's paintings if there were any still available. The one that I wanted was still for sale, so I snapped it up.

I had myself a Wostyntje (209) and looked at the rest of the art. It was nice to see that MisunderstoodGirl had also sold a painting.

I'd planned on heading straight over to Louisville after I left Rich O's, but like an idiot I'd left my Blackberry at home. This always cause for concern, but yesterday it was especially so because I'm on-call this weekend. So I went back home and dicked around for an hour or so, then I went over to Louisville. With my Blackberry this time.

After a quick meal, I went to The Pub. I had a couple Newcastles (3224) and talked to a couple of the bartenders. The place was pretty dead, but it was still fairly early. next I walked over to The Hard Rock. It was packed as fuck with birthday parties for screaming teenagers. That, plus the fact that CoolHairGirl wasn't working, kept me from staying there.

So I went down to The Red Star, and there were only like three customers. I told the cute bartender that it looked like they'd had a fire drill or something. I didn't stay there.

I walked through the alley to this Third Street Dive place that I'd gone to with EllaGirl last weekend. That place was dead too, but the HotLibrarian bartender assured me that it would pick up by 10:00. I had a glass of BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (390) and looked at some weirdoes.

After a while, EllaGirl came in. She jokingly gave me some shit about ditching her last weekend. I explained my reasons. All was forgiven, and we moved over and sat at a little kiddie table. I had another Stout (406) and we talked and flirted and did various other things until a really loud band started playing. Then EllaGirl suddenly said that she was going to go clean her apartment, and to give her my number so I could come over after it was cleaned. I assured her that I didn't care how messy her place was, but she insisted.

So I gave her my number and she left.

I was pretty sure that she was going to flake on me, so I went back to The Pub. It was much more crowded by then. A bunch of hot girls and a bunch of yuppies trying to pick them up. I had a couple Diet Cokes, and a small sample of something new for me:

Belhaven Twisted Thistle IPA (4)

(draft) I'd never have guessed that this was an IPA. The aroma was mostly of malt and dirt, but good. Flavor was a little peaty and a little smoky. No bitterness. I liked it a lot more than I expected to.

And I don't feel guilty at all. Yet.

So I chickened out tonight. I stayed home, drank a bottle of Rare Vos (40), watched Apocalypse Now.

Just basically hid from the world, the idiots, the whores. And the disappointment and the pain and the anger.

Sometimes those things are all that I see. Or all I that I let myself see.

It's not you, world. It's me.

Some of my readers may know that I have two other journals. I mean, besides this one which exists in two places but which I only count as one. A somewhat fewer number may know, or strongly suspect, where those other journals are.

One anonymous journal is devoted to a love which was lost, the other to, well to a something that never got off the ground. They're both pretty much dormant now. Tombstones marking thoughts and feelings that might otherwise have never safely left my head. Words which needed an anonymous outlet lest they burst unbidden and unwelcome and unappreciated into my life and onto this more public journal.

Now, I'm thinking of starting another journal. About something else. Something new. Something bad.

It's too soon, I'm told. Wait and see what happens, I'm advised.

Sound counsel, certainly. But perhaps not appropriate for me, right here and right now.

See, I've learned a lot about myself over the past couple of years. And one particular thing that I've learned, one nugget of knowledge that has been beaten into my head over and over and over and over, is that I cannot stop myself from expressing myself when I'm sad.

Something bad happens, I need to complain about it.

Something good doesn't happen, I must lament its lack.

Something terrible might happen a year and a half from now, I am compelled to worry and obsess and be haunted by that possibility. And write about it. At length.

These thoughts and feelings and words will find an escape. It will happen.

The only remaining question, the only thing I can still somewhat control, is the form which that escape will take.

So I'm thinking of starting another secret journal.

Maybe you'll stumble across me there. Feel free to say hello, but don't expect an acknowledgement.

I got an email from SassyGirl this morning. She hinted that she and JauntyGirl may be coming back soon. I don't know if it would be for a visit or to stay for good though.

Either way, yay!

---

Last night we got what I'm sure will go down in history as The Blizzard of '07. I got a whole 3/4" of snow at my house. And, as if nature hadn't already tortured us enough, they're forecasting another inch tonight. Good thing I've got four-wheel-drive on my truck.

---

My kitchen sink is pretty close to being completely clogged. As of about a half-hour ago, I've dumped about 15 gallons of Drano into the thing over the last couple of months. End result: Nothing.

It may be time to get a plumber in here with one of those snake thingies.

---

Last June Rich O's held a beer festival in my honor, called DaveFest. I might have mentioned it here. With that honor, as it turns out, I get some responsibility too. I'm one of three judges deciding who gets to have the next Rich O's customer appreciation festival. So I've got these essays to read through. Then we judges will get together and try to pick a winner.

It would be a lot simpler if they'd just have DaveFest every year.

---

Yesterday I talked to this girl during lunch who looked almost exactly like Sarah Silverman. In other words, hot. In even more words, fucking smoldering hot.

I got her number, but when I called her today she flaked-out on me.

There's a lot of flaking going around lately.

---

Tonight, unless I chicken out, I'm going to eat ground beef. In yummy taco form. This will be the first time I've had ground beef since my explosive illness the second week of January.

---

I guess that's it.

Right now, I'm sitting here feeling myself shut down. It's a familiar feeling to me. Too fucking familiar.

I see the blow that life is throwing at me, and I feel myself reflexively turn away. I might just run and hide while there's still time.

If people knew what the fuck I was rambling about this time, I know what they'd say.

"A lot can happen between now and then," they'd say.

I know this because that's exactly what I've been trying to tell myself for the past two hours.

Everybody's right, of course. I'm right.

A lot can happen. It's just that I can find little solace in that particular platitude.

I'm too busy being a selfish prick, feeling sorry for myself.