Something I told ArtGirl I'd look up.

Moon Signs Compatibility - Pisces with Virgo

Your two moon signs are completely opposite to each other in an Opposition. This relationship may be extremely good, or it may lead to arguments over your own differences. You must watch for intolerance and lack of understanding. Overall these two signs are only slightly compatible, though you are more likely to be friends.

You are different in your understanding and opinion. Your Moon signs indicate that you are only slightly compatible. Virgo is typically a Moon sign of detail, practical and serious instinctive reactions. A Pisces Moon is gentle, nurturing and protective of others. The two of you must learn to keep your differences intact while at the same time enjoying your similarities.

Sexual Compatibility - Pisces and Virgo

There is a saying that opposites attract and Virgo and Pisces are a perfect example of this phrase. When these two meet, there is instant curiosity and sexual attraction. Pisces will see Virgo as a dream lover and will make every effort to hold onto the sexy and smart Virgo.

Virgo will see social and sexual adventures in Pisces and will always leave Pisces wanting more. Sex will be a strong element that keeps the relationship exciting. Love will blossom over time to the point of possible marriage. As close as these two get, they never really get together. Pisces could get cold feet at the wrong time and Virgo could get insecure. Virgo may say the wrong thing and at the wrong time. Pisces will view this as manipulation and swim away to safer waters.

For this to work, both signs need to truly understand the definition of commitment.

Compatibility rating: 4 out of 4 hearts

Love and Marriage - Pisces and Virgo

Pisces' ability to sense Virgos every mood change and emotional needs of the moment may seem like a good thing, and it probably makes for most of the stress free moments that they will share, but it is hardly something to base a lifelong commitment on. Along with this perception of Virgos needs he/she will also sense the other facets of personality that are not so pleasing to him/her such as: the cold and critical side that will manifest itself at every mistake that Pisces dares to make. Pisces will close his/her eyes to this for awhile.

Virgo will be encouraged to make most of the decisions and Pisces willing abides by them as long as no mistakes are detected. Should Virgo make a mistake in judgment then Pisces can become as critical as Virgo and point the error out sharply. Pisces cannot seem to handle money as it slips through his/her fingers like water so Virgo will have to deal with the financial end of the union. Virgo will want to sensibly discuss differences while Pisces will retreat to his/her inner self to meditate and find the answers.

Virgos imagination in the bedroom is somewhat limited and Pisces could put a strain on the Virgoans nerves when Pisces' lets the imagination run to outrageous perversions. They must both make a lot of compromises to get through this match which is definitely not made in Heaven.

Good thing I don't really believe any of this stuff. At least, not the parts I don't like.

Two fucking fifty three. In the morning.

I'm so tired. I've got so much crap to do tomorrow. I've got to work early Sunday morning.

Basically, I'm fucked.

I won't get anything done tomorrow before I go to my nephew's graduation party. I won't be able to get to sleep after the party, so I'll go to Rich O's or something. Then I'll be up all damn night until it's time to start work.

That's when I'll suddenly get tired.

Anyway.

Tonight was kinda fun. I got to Rich O's a little after 8:00. Had a Dirty Helen (122), then TremensGirl and I split a bottle of Allagash Grand Cru (63), then I had another Dirty Helen (142). When I first arrived, NotHideousGirl was there at the island with OddlyFamilarGirl and MusicalYuppieDude. I joined them for a while, but eventually I moved to the living room for my Allagash. It was a little strange to have to share NotHideousGirl with a group. I've become accustomed to having her all to myself during our lunches. I guess I've been spoiled. As has she.

After a while, ArtGirl came in, and I pretty much spent the rest of the night waiting for opportunities to talk to her, and then taking full advantage of those opportunities once they arose. Had her completely to myself for an hour or so at one point, then we moved to the red room and sat with some people there. That's why I was out so damn late. I wanted to leave, but ArtGirl was totally kidnapping me and keeping me trapped in the corner. But it wasn't so bad. She's warm. She's pretty and nice. So of course she has a boyfriend.

ArtGirl and I not only closed out Rich O's, we stayed almost three hours after closing. Not even during the days of LaptopGirl have I ever stayed there so late. I felt pretty guilty about it, but one of the owners was right there with us, so I guess it was okay or she'd have kicked us out a long time ago.

Man, I need to get some sleep. I'm rambling.

---

Oh gee wowie zowie. I managed a whopping four hours of sleep. Damn circadian rhythms.

There's some shit I forgot to mention about last night.

At one point this one dude and I were talking about mechanical engineers. Specifically, we were talking about how much they piss us off by being so damn smart. I mean, a mechanical engineer could have told us whether our little tower was stable without having to build the thing.

At one point I found myself back at the island with MusicalYuppieDude and PillowDude and PorterBob. They were sampling some beer. I had a very small sample myself.

Nøgne Ø Imperial Stout (2)

(bottle) Black with nice brown foam. Aroma of roasted malts and not much else. Flavor of roasted malts and not much else. Quite a bit of malt bitterness at the finish. Everyone around me was raving about how great this beer was, but I didn't share their enthusiasm. Decent, but no better than that.

ArtGirl asked me how old I am, and for some reason I told her. When she didn't run away screaming, that earned her some points. Not that she needed any more points.

I also found myself writing down my website address for her. I don't know why I do crap like that. Now she might actually read some of this drivel. Just in case, Hi ArtGirl!

If you're seeing this entry, then your DNS servers have recognized the fact that barenada.com has moved to a new hosting company.

Congratulations!

If, for some reason, you're feeling nostalgic (I never do that) then you can go back to the old site. I won't be deleting it for a few days.

I've only got a few minutes to write this thing. I don't know if I'll get it done in time. Normally this is about when I'd be going to work, but today I've got the day off. Yay!

But I still get to leave in about 15 minutes because I'm a nice guy. NotHideousGirl is having car trouble, so I'm giving her a ride to work. Did it yesterday too. You know how I've mentioned before that I'm not a morning person? Well, I'm not. Usually between the hours of 7:00 and 9:00, I might say one or two words to the girls at the GasNStuff, but that's it. Yesterday I talked with NotHideousGirl nonstop all the way to Louisville. Probably do it again today. I'm not saying that it bothers me. It's just a little out of character for me to talk so much in the morning. Or a lot out of character.

Last night I went down to Rich O's for a while. I just didn't feel like sitting at home. I sat on the throne and had a half of a Rogue Chipotle (52). I'd ordered a full pint, but it was so bland and boring that I switched to Dirty Helen. I had two of those (102) and they were very good. So good, in fact, that I've upgraded their rating to yummy on my site. So there.

Besides from brief appearances by TallLady and TremensGirl, and even more brief appearances by WomanRepellant and MusicalYuppieDude. I spent most of my time talking with this one dude who should probably get a nickname. Then after a while a group of weirdoes broke up their meeting in the red room, and OddlyFamiliarGirl came over and talked to me for a while. Apparently, she's a fan of this blog for some reason.

Hi, OddlyFamiliarGirl!

Anyway, I guess it's time for me to go.

This morning, at a meeting, they had breakfast for us. Not that it did me any good. I'd already had breakfast.

But it did provide a bit of comic relief, because everyone was eating strawberries with a knife and fork. One person started it, and before long everyone was doing the same weird thing.

It was a very Seinfeldian experience.

Eating strawberries with a knife and fork is just wrong. They should either be eaten with the fingers, or as I prefer it, smashed onto the belly of a beautiful woman and then licked off.

---

NotHideousGirl and I had lunch again today. I had a Newcastle and a half (6233) and a piece of fish. She had fries.

We've been working on a new code to use between us. Those things that she says all the time, she can just save her breath and just hold up one through five fingers. For example, one finger means that she's sleepy. If we ever progress beyond five common phrases, she'll have to switch to gang signs or something.

---

I completely forgot to give NotHideousGirl shit about her MySpace survey thingy. It's totally full of trick questions.

---

WeirdGirl has decided to give her ex-boyfriend another go. I wish them well, but I'm not particularly optimistic for them. I've heard too many bad stories about him.

Also, I guess now I get to start keeping track of the last time I got to have sex, and hope that the last time wasn't the last time.

---

The new big thing at work is scheduling meetings that include lunch. I've tried to tell these people that I have a standing hot date at lunch, but I don't think they care.

---

That's it for now.

Stolen from TuesdayPillow.

Seems pretty fucking arbitrary to me.

Today you reminded me of my place. Again.

You remind me of it every time we speak. Sometimes with subtlety, like today. Sometimes with near-honesty, like tonight. Sometimes with lies of omission. Sometimes with total silence.

You have quite a bag of tricks there, don't you?

It must be hard work, making sure that I always know my place. Making sure that I stay where I belong.

But see, the problem is, none of it is necessary. I know where I belong. Right where I am.

I wonder, are all these reminders really for me?

Sunday night:

Aecht Schlenkerla Helles Lagerbier (3)

(bottle) Golden color, minimal head. Aroma of stale hops. Flavor of a citrusy stale lager tamed just a bit by smoke. The flavor wasn't too bad, but the damn aroma was disgusting. I poured most of the bottle out.

Barley Island Dirty Helen Brown (22)

(draft) Dark copper, with huge head and good lacing. Malty flavor with caramel and toffee in there too. Mouthfeel a little thin, but a great-tasting beer. I will look for this again.

Today was pretty boring, as Mondays usually are. Had Lunch with NotHideousGirl and got to listen to some dude in a groovy shirt try valiantly and lamely to pick her up. Talked to WeirdGirl for a minute or two on the phone - she's still not feeling well. Worked on a bunch of disaster recovery plans for work. Talked to my sister Dina on the phone. Went to Rich O's. Had the aforementioned Dirty Helen beer. Bought a pizza. Came home. Watched 10 Things I Hate About You.

I continue to be in a strange mood. I feel like I'm being hit from all sides by things which I don't understand and for which I'm woefully unprepared. So I'm a little bit jumpy. On edge, as I said in my last entry. But not just about the timing thing. I'm on edge about everything. I kind of feel like I'm living a pre-apocalyptic phase of my life, and I need to do something to prevent something terrible from happening.

Weird, I know.

My estimate is thirty seconds. A friend of mine disagreed with that estimate. A few days at least, she said. But she doesn't know. She couldn't know. She hasn't seen, she hasn't heard, she hasn't felt or smelled the things I have.

Thirty seconds.

That's how long it would take. That's how much time I would have. Thirty seconds in which to say something or do something that could (re?)open that door. Maybe change everything for the better, for both of us.

The problem is, I don't know exactly when that narrow opportunity will present itself. I just know that it will. It's coming, sooner than later by my estimation. And, odds are, I won't be anywhere near where I'd need to be. Like right in front of her. That fact, of course, sucks.

Fuck, those thirty seconds could have come and gone while I was typing that last paragraph.

I'm not afraid to say or do whatever it takes. It's absolutely not a problem of fear. It's a problem of timing. Everything always boils down to timing. Too soon, and I'm an asshole. I'm every other guy on Earth, trying to take advantage of someone's sudden vulnerability.

Too late, and well, I'm too fucking late.

People tell me stuff. And when I say people I mean this one person. It's kind of a running and recurring theme of things that are wrong with me. A cacophony of criticism, if you will.

I don't say what's really on my mind. I don't say what I really want. I don't make myself vulnerable. I wait too long.

Maybe these are hints. I don't think so, though. I think that, at most, they're excuses. But exactly what they are is most definitely not relevant to this developing situation. To this looming opportunity.

I'm on edge. Waiting for those thirty seconds. Timing may prevent me from using this opportunity. But fear certainly will not. I will say what's really on my mind. I will say what I really want. I will make myself vulnerable.

I may end up waiting too long. But, if I do, it won't be by choice.

I must have spent ten minutes typing this entry.

I hope I'm not too late already.

I don't really feel like writing anything, but I guess I will or I'll be annoyed with myself.

This edition of Saturday Beer Report is a little different than others. This one is about Saturday afternoon. There will be nothing about Saturday night because I just stayed home.

Anyway, my first stop was Buffalo Wild Wings for Naked Tenders and Spicy Garlic sauce. I had a Newcastle (6003) of course, but there was something a little off about it. I think that place needs to clean their lines or something. There was a huge storm that tore through the area. Customers and employees were freaking out a little. But all that really happened was the lights flickered a few times. We all survived.

Next I went over to The Pub to see BikerGirl. I had a Newcastle (6023) there, and it was yummy as usual. Also yummy was BikerGirl, but she wasn't feeling well and she left as soon as she got off work, and some dude took over the bar. I spent quite a bit of time talking to this heart surgeon and this older couple about beer. I drew everyone maps to Rich O's. The heart surgeon guy wanted one for himself, and the older couple wanted one for their beer-snob son. I am the unofficial Rich O's ambassador to the world. I should get diplomatic immunity or something.

Next I went to Lucky Strike to see if this one cute-as-a-bug girl was working, but there was some dude instead. So I went to Hard Rock to see if CoolHairGirl was working, but the dude there said she'd called in sick. So I went down to Red Star to see if this one chick was working but it was, once again, some fucking dude. I had a Newcastle (6043) and contemplated the serious lack of female bartenders on Fourth Street.

Every time I go to Red Star they play this John Waite song that makes me miss a certain person, so I sent some emails to RockGirl complaining about my lonely life. I'd been thinking for a week that it was a Bryan Adams song, but it's John Waite who I hate. Hey, that rhymes.

I also tried a few times to call NotHideousGirl. I ended up leaving a message, asking if she wanted to go do karaoke later. Specifically, she would sing and I would listen.

On the way back to The Pub, I popped into Sully's, just to confirm that the bartender there was a dude too. At The Pub, I had yet another Newcastle (6063) and talked to the older couple some more. Then I came home and slept.

NotHideousGirl never did call me back about the karaoke. That's probably a good thing, as my mood has been quite strange for the past couple of days. So I stayed home and watched the American Pie movies after I woke up from my nap.

Pretty damn exciting.

Tonight, I kept having urges.

Almost every girl I talked to, I wanted to kiss for hours.

Almost every girl I talked to.

All but one, actually.

That is all.

My plan was brilliant in its simplicity. It would have been staggering in its effectiveness. If it had been effective at all.

Step One: Take a nap.

Step Two: Wake up refreshed.

Step Three: Go out and enjoy my Friday night.

But noooooooooooooooooooo!

At approximately T-Plus five minutes into Step One, my cat Buddy walked into the bedroom and loudly announced, "MEEEEEEOOOOORRRRROOOOWWWW!!!"

For those of you who don't have cats, and therefore don't understand their language, this translates as, "Hey you! I think I saw a lizard outside! Fetch!"

The sound of Buddy's wail cut right into my soul. It woke me up at the worst possible time. That few seconds when I was almost asleep, but not quite. And now my brain has been fooled into thinking I took a nap. My body is arguing vehemently with my brain, but my brain is being stubborn.

So tonight I get to go out and attempt to have an enjoyable Friday night even though I haven't slept since 11:30 last night.

And I bet there was no goddamn lizard, either.

From the other day at lunch, incontrovertible proof that NotHideousGirl is strange.

A couple of weeks ago, NotHideousGirl and I both found ourselves missing HatGirl terribly. This picture was taken to document our sadness.

Okay, what the fuck is this thing? It's on the shelf at Rich O's.

NotHideousGirl and BikerGirl missed me a lot while I was in Las Vegas. I like to think that they consoled each other in various ways.

There's some shit going on that I'm not going to write about, but unfortunately it's all I can think about, so I'm kinda stuck with writing random snippets of crap.

---

Rich O's has Rogue Chocolate Stout (1606) on tap again, so yay!

When I went in after work, FutureDude asked me what I wanted to drink. I said, "Let's see how well you know me. What do you think I want to drink?"

My question stumped him. But, to be fair, he didn't know there was going to be a quiz today.

---

There was also a hot girl and her boyfriend there. They didn't know what to drink, and I recommended Weihenstephaner. They liked it, because it's one of the world's greatest beers.

The hot girl looked really familiar to me. I think there's an actress that she reminded me of. Some Asian chick, and it's weird that I was attracted to her, because I have a pretty strong phobia about Asian women.

---

This entire week has sucked at work, but it should start getting better now that an arbitrary deadline has been met.

---

Today, I had to go make an addition to the police report I made the other day, as that bullshit is continuing.

---

My niece messed-up one of my Rubik's Cubes today, and I cried and cried for hours.

---

Not really, I just thought it would be funny to write that.

I solved it in about 20 seconds. It was only a 2x2x2 cube.

---

I've been on a search for a new hosting company for barenada.com. I thought I'd found one, but I cancelled that account this morning because they wouldn't give me access to the web server's error logs.

---

At lunch today, NotHideousGirl was dressed up as a Catholic schoolgirl, and lamenting about how guys keep telling her that she's cute. Well, duh. My grandmother would look cute in that outfit.

There's a dude at The Pub that always wears a kilt. The last part of this conversation didn't really happen because NotHideousGirl didn't think of it fast enough.

---

I can't think of anything else to write.

I thought I wrote here once about lies of omission vs. outright lies. But, if I did, then I must have spelled omission wrong because a search didn't find it. Oh well.

I get lied to a lot lately, it seems. Over the weekend and into the start of the new week, I seemed to inadvertently surround myself with liars. The dishonesty bothers me. Of course it does. I think of myself as an honest person. But I think that, given a choice, I'd rather hear the outright bald-faced lies than the lies of omission.

That's because the latter, they carry with them certain implications. That I'm an idiot. That I could never figure out the truth on my own. That my brain is so preoccupied with listening to what they're actually saying that it has no processing power left to contemplate what they're not saying.

Oh, hey! I found that old entry. It was during my trip to Las Vegas last Fall. I apparently used different terms in the olden days. What I wrote back then was this:

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

Anyway.

So I've not only been lied to lately, I've been called a moron at the same time. Not the best combination. No wonder I've been feeling so irritated. See, quite often I see right through these lies of omission right away, straight to the truth hidden so sloppily inside them.

But do I call these people out? Nope. Do I expose their lies? Nope.

I just turn my head to the side, and I roll my eyes.

Because there's always a chance that I'm wrong. It's been known to happen. Seriously, it has. So there's a slight chance that I'm wrong, but there's a slightly bigger chance that the liar doesn't even know what they're doing. That they're lying to themselves. And to start smashing down the barriers that they've so carefully built around themselves - well that just seems like it would be mean.

So I don't smash their barriers. I don't hand them a flashlight and force them to start poking around the dark recesses of their own minds. I don't grab them by the throat with one hand, forcefully smack them across the face with the other hand, and shout, "Wake up! Don't you see what you're doing? Are you stupid or something?"

Hmmm.

I guess in a way I'm lying, by omission, right back at them.

I should do something else, then. I'm thinking that I should start with the calling people out thing, save the choking and the smacking thing for only the most incorrigible cases.

Her name was Leesa. I think that's how it was spelled. She was nice.

I have no idea why she, of all people, popped into my head tonight as I sat on my swing and watched in vain for any signs of an approaching storm.

Leesa was not a popular girl when we were in elementary school. Not by any stretch of the imagination. She was overweight. She wasn't very pretty. She was way smarter than everyone else.

I think it was third grade, when they started torturing us at school, By making us square dance. With girls.

Third grade is probably about right. By then I'd already been screwed over by whores twice in my life. The first time it was Jackie, who professed her love for me one day, and the next day taunted me from the lap of my best friend Kevin. The second time was Kristie, who was so torn by the parallel advances of me and my friend Mike that she broke both of our hearts by holding hands with another guy on the playground.

See, me and whores, we go way back.

Anyway.

Leesa was, as I said, not a popular girl. She was pretty much the opposite of popular. And it didn't help matters that, two or three times a year, her mother would storm her way onto the school bus and yell at all of us for picking on Leesa and making her cry.

I never made Leesa cry.

I was a good kid. I really was. I was never one of those boys who'd pick on a girl because everyone else was doing it.

Starting in like the third grade, and continuing though the sixth grade, they made us square dance. Just every now and then. Maybe three or four times a year. Any more than that, and there'd have been a riot, I'm sure.

So starting in third grade, instead of gym class, sometimes they'd make us square dance. With girls.

The first time, it all happened so quickly. The teacher said to find a partner, and *hocus-pocus* everyone had a partner. Everyone except for me and Leesa. And then, instead of letting us kill ourselves for being the last ones left, the teacher made us dance together. With. Each. Other.

She didn't give me cooties.

She didn't make fun of how bad a dancer I was.

She ignored the giggles of everyone around us as we twisted and twirled as the caller commanded.

She had such a quiet grace about her. Not a physical grace. None of us had that at that young age. But she had a calmness about her. It was only when the teasing overwhelmed her that she ever seemed to notice it at all.

She was nice to me, and in return, I was nice to her.

For the next three or four years, every now and then, they'd make us do square dancing instead of regular gym class. And for the next three or four years, I never wasted a second picking my partner.

It was always Leesa.

I don't remember ever seeing her in junior high or high school. She was probably there - we just didn't share any classes. I haven't thought about her in thirty years. But she popped into my head tonight, when I was watching for a storm that never came, and thinking about what I really wanted in a woman.

I hope she's had a happy life.

I suppose that a lot of people have looked at me and seen a pot of water on a stove. And they've wondered when I would boil over and escape my container.

Well, those people have been using the wrong analogy.

I'm more like a soap bubble, blown from a tiny plastic wand by a naive kid and drifting in the breeze.

I won't boil over. That's for the young. Instead, I'll pop. And disappear. It'll be like I was never even here.

You know that sound that a bubble makes, just before its flimsy walls fail, and it pops out of existence? That incredible strained silence that can only be heard by the mind, but never by the ears?

That sound deafens me.

Yesterday was a long day.

First, I got to go file a police report about some crap. Look for the story on Law & Order in the Fall. I will be playing myself, and I think I'd like Patricia Velasquez to play my love interest. Not that the story really has a love interest, but I'm maintaining creative control here, and I say it needs one. A hot one.

Then I went to Buffalo Wild Wings for my customary naked tenders. They were out of Newcastle so I had a heterosexual Blue Moon (555) instead.

Once she finally got off work, I went and hung out with WeirdGirl. Then we ended up sleeping until about 9:30 when she had to fucking go back to work because of some big bartending emergency.

So, I came home and was debating going back out when HatGirl called.

HatGirl?

Yay?

Damn right, yay!

She'd been thinking about going to Rich O's, even though it was pretty late, so of course I broke all sorts of traffic and physics laws getting there. But it was too late. They were already threatening last-call, so HatGirl wasn't coming. Oh yeah, I had a yummy Upland Winter Warmer (220) while I was there.

When they started kicking everyone out of Rich O's, I texted WeirdGirl. She was still working. So I went over to this Mac's place to listen to karaoke. I'd been thinking that maybe NotHideousGirl would be there, but I think she was still watching her nieces or something.

You know what's weird? When a cute young girl, who you never saw before in your life, follows you into the men's restroom at Mac's and talks to you while you valiantly attempt to pee anyway, then she drapes herself all over you so she can get by the doorman without getting carded.

You know what else is weird? When you're just sitting at the bar, kinda listening to karaoke with maybe half a percent of your brain, and you recognize a voice. Then you turn around and it's your uncle Wayne who's running the karaoke at the place.

I ended up having a couple Newcastles (5740) and talking to various people about various crap, like how rap music always gives me the urge to start killing whities. I tried to talk to PeeGirl, but I'd already served my purpose with her. Her friend actually seemed more interested in talking to me, but she was with some dork.

Then I came home at about 3:00. I was going to go to White Castle, but I forgot.

I was pretty fucking tired when I finally got home last night. Way more tired than I should have been, I think. I mean, the switch back to EDT gave me three bonus hours, so it was suddenly like I'd gotten up at 6:00 instead of 3:00. And I'd had at least three hours of sleep the night before, so WTF?

If I could sleep on airplanes it would be different. But I can't. All I can manage is to sort of zone out for a few seconds until my head falls and then I almost break my neck jerking my head back upright.

So, when I finally got home, I was very tired. While waiting for my luggage, I called my sister to let her know I'd arrived safely. I emailed RockGirl and WeirdGirl with the same message. I texted NotHideousGirl a few times. She wanted me to meet her at The Pub in Louisville. I declined. She called me gay.

So I went home and took a nap for a couple of hours.

I ended up going to Rich O's at about 10:00. TremensGirl moved from the throne so I could sit there. It was nice of her, but I didn't ask her to move. People all think I'm an asshole about that chair.

Still feeling pretty tired, all I had to drink was a glass and a half of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1932). I traded a few more text messages with NotHideousGirl. Most of her messages were incomprehensible to me. I asked if anyone around me spoke Woman, and some of the girls tried to translate, but they didn't understand NotHideousGirl's particular dialect of that odd language. I think it's known as the drunk dialect.

Anyway, at one point I misinterpreted one of her messages as saying that she was at Mac's, so I undertook the short drive over there to see her. But the doorman said she hadn't been in. Then I talked to her on the phone and learned that it wasn't Mac's she was at, it was this Third Street Dive place over in Louisville.

So I came home and typed up a couple of blog entries. NotHideousGirl texted me that I suck. I went to sleep.

As I write this, I'm an hour into a three-hour layover in Dallas. I don't really mind it though. Truth be told, I kinda like layovers.

These are the rarest of times for me. These are the times when I get to completely disassociate myself from my life and all its obligations and expectations and assorted bullshit. I get to do nothing, feel nothing, be nothing.

For the next two hours, I get to be LayoverGuy. It's like I just popped into existence for a little while, and I only exist in the here and the now. DFW, 06/15/07, 1300 CDT.

For LayoverGuy, there's no haunting past, and there's no threatening future. I don't affect the world, and the world doesn't affect me. Before I got here, and after I leave here, I'll have a destination. An obligation. But not now. Now I have nothing, and I kinda like it.

For the next two hours, I get to be nobody. Not that nobody is a step up or anything, but it's still a nice change.

I know that the expectations and the other bullshit will be there, waiting to ambush me, in a few more hours. Shit, I've already heard some rustling, betraying bullshit's presence. But, for now at least, I can ignore it all. Because, for now at least, I'm nobody.

The conference ended at 1:00 on Thursday, which was quite cool because it gave me some time to attempt to take a nap. It would have been even cooler if the nap had actually happened, but the construction going on in the room above me prevented any Zs from being caught.

I managed to snap a picture of the construction equipment as it was heading to the room above me. How they fit all that shit into one room I'll never know:

After I gave up on sleep, I took my last bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter down to the race and sports book place. They were perfectly willing to let me use one of their glasses, but they said that some red tape bullshit rule prevented them from opening the bottle. Then this one dude took pity on me and showed me how to open a beer bottle using a lighter. I've already mentioned learning this valuable skill. The Alaskan Smoked Porter (589) was yummy, by the way.

Then I had a Fat Tire (587) and played video poker and glared at my phone for an hour or so. See, I maybe had a date. I wasn't even going to mention it here, in case it didn't pan out. But I had a maybe date with StupidGirl, because my new best friend had told his girlfriend that I was in town, and then his girlfriend had told StupidGirl. She finally called me at 6:00 or so with the excuse that she just got off work.

For those joining me late, I realize that StupidGirl is a terrible nickname. I would change it to SweetGirl, but StupidGirl actually likes her nickname. She says that it gives her a story to tell. So the nickname stays.

Anyway.

StupidGirl and went up to Fremont Street and dicked around there for a while. We were going to have dinner at Main Street Station's brewpub, but they were out of their Triple 7 Porter, and all of their other beers suck. So, in protest, we ate at this Grill Bar Saloon place. I drank Diet Coke, and StupidGirl had some foo-foo thing.

After dinner, we went back to The Strip and took in the volcano at the Mirage and the fountains at Bellagio. Walking down The Strip holding hands with a pretty girl is still one of life's perfect moments for me. I wish I could do it every night. In front of the Bellagio fountains there was much slaking. I think it was all the gushing of the water that gave us the idea. Some lady took our picture slaking in front of the fountains. I gave her my email address so she can send me a copy.

This part is probably going to seem pretty lame, but nothing reportable happened beyond that. I really like StupidGirl, and I'm going to leave it there. Maybe next time I'm in Las Vegas...

First, a public service announcement:

The hosting company that hosts the barenada.com domain has apparently chosen this week to practice sucking dead donkey cocks. Most notably, this has affected all email addressed to or coming from that domain. I estimate that I have three day's worth of incoming and outgoing email jammed-up on the hosting company's servers. Until my hosting company stops practicing sucking dead donkey cocks, email contact with me will be sporadic at best, and nonexistent at worst.

First, I learned that cellphones are banned in the race and sports book areas of casinos not, as I'd thought, because of some tape-delay thing, but because casinos don't want people using the casino's calculated odds and then calling their bookies and placing personal bets.

Second, I learned how to open a beer bottle with a lighter. This is a valuable skill, and quite frankly I'm not sure how I survived to such an advanced age without that skill.

Here's some crap I wrote Wednesday night.

Another Las Vegas Wednesday. Another night when I get to realize that it's the last full night I'll have here for months. Another night when I get to wonder if I could have done more with my week. Well, this time it's more like a certainty than a wondering, and it's more like a lifetime than a week. But, that's just my mood right now. It fluctuates, in case you haven't noticed.

I'm sitting at the Tilted Kilt, drinking a yummy Tilted Kilt (656) and just kind of soaking in the place for the last time. See, it's going away. Probably late this Summer. And I won't be back until November, so tonight is the last time I'll sit at this bar. This sucks. This place has been my main escape and distraction during an awful lot of troubled times. Las Vegas just won't be the same for me without it.

Also, I really like the free shows here at The Rio. Here's a crappy picture:

See, that kind of thing almost never happens back at Rich O's. Not even for DaveFest. Plus, it's kinda funny to see five of the gayest guys on Earth, trying to feign interest as they dance/grope five of the hottest girls on Earth.

Much time passes...

I've stayed here at the Tilted Kilt longer than I'd planned, and I've had more glasses of Tilted Kilt (720) than I'd planned, because I've realized that when this bar goes away, it takes this beer with it. This makes me even more sad, hence the staying and the drinking.

Okay fine, I'll write something. I don't feel like it though, so I'm pretty sure that the quality will suffer greatly.

Yesterday, after the conference sessions mercifully ended, I walked down to New York New York. It's a long walk, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. I stuck my head in ESPN Zone to see if this one chick was working. She wasn't. I stuck my head in Nine Fine Irishmen to see if this one Hawaiian bartender was working. He wasn't. So I had a slice of pizza for dinner and watched people idiots for a while.

Then I went to Coyote Ugly to shirt-shop for WeirdGirl and BikerGirl. Coincidentally, they're the same size.

Then I walked over to The MGM Grand and dicked around there for a while. I ended up at this little bar where I had a couple draft glasses of Fat Tire (479). Before my second glass of Fat Tire, I had a small sample of something new.

Peroni (5)

(draft) Good head. The color of very pale piss. Aroma is very slight, and of hops. Probably the palest, definitely the most watery, beer I've ever had. I'm rating this as swill only because it's so inoffensive. Otherwise it would get a rating of piss.

Speakeasy Imperial Wheat (4)

(draft) Clear light amber. Good mound of foam. Smells and tastes like hops and alcohol. Kinda gross, but some people will probably like it.

On the monorail back to The Venetian, there was a hot girl wearing what may be the greatest t-shirt in history:

How dare I wear this fucking shirt in front of your fucking kids?

Back at The Venetian, I tried to take a nap. I was not successful, though, because they're doing some kind of construction in the room directly above me. I hate them, whoever they are.

So I took the free shuttle over to The Rio, and to The Tilted Kilt therein. I sat at the bar and waited for the bartender to recognize me. He did, so that was a bit of validation for me. On tap, they had one of my all-time favorites, Pyramid Tilted Kilt. So yay for that.

I spent the next few hours drinking five Tilted Kilts (640). It's so easy to forget just how good that beer is. I feel a little ashamed for doubting its supremacy.

Besides drinking, I spent time talking with the bartender and a few of the waitresses. It was a fun evening. At 11:00 or so I took a cab back to The Venetian and went to sleep.

Monday morning, circadian rhythms forced me awake a little before 4:00, so I played some video poker and drank diet cokes for a few hours. Yes, I rock.

Then I remembered a couple of cool things. First, there's a free shuttle running between The Rio and Harrah's. Second, there's a monorail servicing the strip.

So, guess what I did.

Guess where I am now? I mean now as I write this, not now as you read it.

I'm at The Rio. Yay! One thousand DavePoints for anyone who guessed correctly.

I love The Rio. It's a much better place for someone like me. The Venetian is for millionaires. So I went to The Rio, and I immediately felt better. Just being in the place did me worlds of good. And then, and then I saw something that lifted my spirits to new heights.

The Tilted Kilt is still there! Yay! I'd heard that it might be gone.

They weren't open yet though, so I couldn't go in, and I couldn't quite read the taps to see what was available. I'll be going there Tuesday night though.

---

I wrote the above stuff sitting at The Rio. Now I'm back in my hotel room and it's pretty damn late and I'm wide awake but little hung-over.

I'm hung-over because, when I left The Rio, I went to The Freakin' Frog. First, I took the free shuttle back to Harrah's. Then I bought a three-day pass for the monorail. Then I took said monorail to The MGM Grand. Then I took a cab to The Freakin' Frog.

Their draft list didn't impress me too much today, but I got over it quickly enough, as soon as I confirmed that they had Alaskan Smoked Porter in bottles. They had four bottles left, and I bought all four, and I drank three of them (567).

And that's why I'm a little hung-over.

The fourth bottle is here in my hotel room. I haven't decided if I'm going to drink it this week or if I want to try to figure out a way to get it home.

First of all, if wanting to have sex with Ashley Judd is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

I don't suppose there's much to say about the trip here. Had a layover in Dallas. I think the humidity there was forty-six million percent. I arrived in Las Vegas at 3:00. This is much later than I usually get here, much later then I prefer to get here. I felt like I'd wasted the entire day before I had even started.

After the usual long wait for my luggage, and the very long line for a taxi, I got to The Venetian and checked in.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: This pen really sucks. I need to get a new one.

For the next several hours I searched The Venetian and some of the surrounding establishments for a decent beer place. All I found was a bar at TI with Newcastle on tap. This was not ideal because (a) it wasn't where I was staying, (b) it was served at 32.00001 degrees, and (c) Nevada's new anti-smoking laws made it impossible for me to enjoy two of my favorite vices at the same time. So I ended up leaving after two of the slushy Newcastles (5673), and I went back to The Venetian to sulk for a while.

After a dinner consisting of two giant pretzels with cheese (Nutrition First, I always say) I sat at this little bar on the casino floor, where I could smoke, and asked the bartender what bottled beers he had.

"Everything," he replied.

"Oh really?" I said. "I'd like a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter, please."

Hey, it was worth a shot.

"Never heard of it," the guy said.

Figures.

So I ended up having a couple bottles of Fat Tire (447). It's a pretty good beer, and I began to feel a little less sorry for myself, and a little more optimistic that I might be able to enjoy myself this week.

At about 10:00, jet-lag kicked in so I retired for the night.

I leave in four hours. I guess it's fairly safe to say that the goal I set for myself yesterday will be accomplished. I'm still in a pretty decent mood and, barring any out-of-the-blue occurences, I'll probably stay that way for a while.

I'm looking forward to the trip, but there is a bit of weirdness rattling around in my head about it. I think that these thoughts are similar to the ones I had back in April when I cancelled Drivel Tour '07. But there's more to it than that. This time, I think that I just don't really see the point of going anywhere. Especially not when I have to come back.

See, I'm not even in Las Vegas yet, and I'm already dreading Friday, when I'll have to come back. That dread will probably end up tainting my entire trip.

I don't really have any firm plans for while I'm there. So any stalkers will just have find me. I'm staying at The Venetian. I'll spend some time at The Rio, at The Tilted Kilt if it's still there. I'll definitely go to The Freakin' Frog, and to ESPN Zone at New York New York. Oh, and the Triple 7 Brewpub up at Main Street Station.

Well, I suppose that I'd better get started with my packing.

Not too long ago, it was suggested to me that the universe hated me, because I'm such a horrible excuse for a human being. I disagreed with that assessment then, and I continue to do so now.

Oh, sure, I have my little feuds with the universe, just like everyone. Sometimes it certainly seems like everything is stacked-up against me, but at other times just the opposite seems to be happening.

Like tonight, for example, when the universe actually seemed to be looking out for me.

Tonight, it was my full intention to say two words.

Not three. Certainly not four. But two simple words.

And, as it turned out, I never got that chance.

Maybe even those two simple words would have been too much. Too soon. Too real. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to stop after those two words. Maybe the reaction to those two words would have been too much. Too soon. Too real.

Whatever.

The point I was going to make here is that this was going to happen. Whatever it was, it was going to take place. Even though I knew, deep down, that it was a bad idea, I was still going to say the words.

Unless, somehow, the opportunity to say them never presented itself.

If I never said the words, then things would stay the same for a while longer. The status quo would be allowed to ferment for a while longer. This would probably be a good thing, I knew. But I didn't care anymore. I felt that I'd been silent for far too long already, and I was going to be silent no longer.

Maybe the universe took pity on me tonight. Maybe the universe intervened. Maybe the universe stopped me from saying the words, by denying me the opportunity which I'd craved for weeks.

Maybe.

But, if that was that case, then the universe fucked up. It forgot about my blog. So I'm putting the words here, as the title for this entry.

So there.

I have a goal for the next 24 hours. It is, in concept, a simple goal. In practice, it's not that simple. And it won't be that easy.

Because there's shit that I absolutely don't want to hear about any more. Crap that I don't want to think about any more. Stuff that I don't want to care about any more

In a perfect world, I'd go to the airport right now. I'd shut off my phone. I'd talk to nobody. I'd just wait for my flight to leave, maybe do some writing. But that's not an option. I've got places to go. Shit to do. Doors to watch.

I'm clinging to this tiny ledge, and I don't want to fall.

So, forgive me if I seem like a self-centered prick today. It's really not that I don't care at all. It's just that I don't want to care today. It's just that I'm a little busy. What with the clinging and all.

I got to Rich O's pretty early last night, at a little after 6:00. This was partly because my sister Dina had called earlier and said that she might stop by. Partly.

The place wasn't too crowded when I got there. I sat at the island and had a Schlenkerla Marzen (288) and some potato wedges with beer cheese. I basically just vegged out and emailed RockGirl and watched the door.

Then after a while PlantDude got sick of the weirdoes in the living room area so he came up and joined me. We talked about various crap, like Paris Hilton's breasts, for a while. I had another Marzen (305), and watched the door some more.

Then a bunch of weirdoes came and joined us at the island. I had another Marzen (322) and watched the door.

Then I got sick of the weirdoes at the island so I moved over to the sofa. I had a Diet Coke and paid my tab.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, WeatherGirl came in with some dude. I didn't really talk to her though, as they left for the SportsTime side of things right away. I had a brief moment of hope that perhaps LaptopGirl might be at SportsTime so I ran and/or skipped over there. I didn't see LaptopGirl, but I did see NeighborsDaughter, so I stopped and chatted with her for a minute or two.

Then I came home a little before 10:00.

And now today I have a gazillion little things to take care of to get ready for Las Vegas, and then tonight I'll go back to Rich O's and watch the door some more. It's nice to have a plan, I suppose.

I think I can still remember this well enough to write about it. This was Friday morning.

I was asleep in my bed, and for some reason I woke up and looked out my window. It was pretty dark outside, but I could still kinda see. I could kinda see a large shape running away. Like it had seen me at the window and been spooked. I'm pretty sure that it was a bear, from the size of it. I guess it could have been a deer, but it kind of lumbered, so I pegged it as a bear.

I continued to look out the window, in case the bear came back, I wanted to see it. A bear sighting would be pretty rare for me.

Well, the bear didn't come back, but another pair of animals did. It was, I thought at first, a wolf and a dog. They came to the ground below my window and laid down. I don't think they saw me. I spent some time looking down at them, trying to see if it was a real wolf or just a Husky or something like that. It wasn't really that big, so I figured that it was probably a Husky. Still dangerous-looking though. The other animal was a St. Bernard or a Malamute maybe, and I didn't pay much attention to it.

Then I had to pee, so I did that. Then I was thirsty, so I went out to the kitchen.

On the way, I noticed that my cats were all lined up at the door to the deck, their tails twitching like crazy. They were looking at a racoon that was out there eating something. So I went up to the door to look at it, because I like racoons. They're pretty cool. Much cooler than the opossums I usually get on my deck.

Once I got down on the floor with my cats I saw that it was actually just a racoon skeleton with its pelt draped over it. It was gross. All red and bloody. Every time the racoon would take a bite of what it was eating, the food would just fall through and hit the floor of my deck.

Then I figured out that the racoon was actually eating its own meat and guts, and I became a little scared of the racoon. My main fear was that whatever autocannibalistic zombie disease it had would spread to my three cats. So I turned on my outside lights and the raccoon scampered away.

So I guess it was a sex dream, in a weird way.

I like sex dreams.

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that StoreGirl and I had been photographed and interviewed by a dude from one of the local free newspapers. Well some of the fruits of that session made it into this week's issue.

Apparently, space was an issue, because none of the stuff about how awesome I am made into the final article. I guess they decided to cut out the obvious stuff first.

But still, pretty cool.

And I've thought about it, and I've decided that I will continue to associate with the little people in my life. I won't let this new fame go to my head.

I will, however, still accept groupies.

It's only a matter of time before all this eye-rolling in my head breaks through to the surface. It's really nothing personal though. It's just that my first instinct, more often than not lately, has been one of anger, or disappointment, or frustration.

I think that, at my most basic and primitive level, I'm a bit of an asshole. And an idiot, mustn't forget that.

I cannot intellectually justify the irritation that I've been feeling, because there is no intellectual justification for it. It's all bullshit, but it's bullshit that's hard-wired into me. I can't change my instincts any more than a VCR can make toast.

So I keep hearing about all this crap, and I keep being watched for a reaction. Eventually I'm going to roll my eyes and piss someone off or, even worse, hurt someone's feelings.

Lately, every instinct I've had has been completely incongruent with my own sense of who I am and of who I want to be. It's a pretty shitty way to live, being in constant disagreement with oneself. This has been going on for weeks.

Also, this has been a really annoying entry to write. This is like the sixth time I've tried. I know exactly what I want to say, but how to say it - that has been eluding me.

I need a vacation from myself.

Today I was presented with the possibility of something which just might be the most terrible, mind-wrenching thing that could ever possibly happen. I described the horrific scenario in an email to RockGirl.

Now, you have to realize, RockGirl knows me and my frailties better than just about anyone on Earth. There was no doubt in my mind that she would instantly realize the implications and understand the true horrors of this scenario.

So what was her response?

"I think that would be awesome."

Clearly, RockGirl has been abducted by aliens and replaced by some kind of pod-person. I will be writing her local congressman and urging him to start an immediate investigation. Hopefully the real RockGirl's whereabouts can be determined before it's too late.

---

I'm not really sure why, but today I had HairCutLady use clippers on me instead of just scissors like she normally does. My hair hasn't been this short since I got out of the Air Force in 1992. Plus, now I look like I'm about twelve years old.

---

NotHideousGirl wore a skirt today. Of course I checked out her legs. But because I'm a gentleman I told her, before she even stood up, that I'd be checking out her legs. I didn't even try to be sneaky about it. They're nice, by the way.

---

MisunderstoodGirl is writing a screenplay as a Summer project. People she knows are being asked to contribute character ideas to represent themselves. I can't think of a good character for myself. I thought "freelance gynecologist" was a pretty good one, but FutureDude already got dibs on that character. I'm thinking that "professional beer snob" might be the best I can come up with.

---

NotHideousGirl is also considering a screenplay, but all of her characters are girls.

---

Five days from right now I'll be in Las Vegas! Woooohoooo!

---

I have less than five days to either find my testicles, or grow a new pair.

---

I saw a pretty fucking impressive wall cloud today after work. I got really excited about the potential severe weather, but all it did was rain for a while. At least at my house that's all it did. I haven't watched any TV tonight, so maybe there's been death and destruction all around me. That would be just my luck.

---

There was a chick at work today who looked very familiar to me. I think she might have been a girl I had a crush on back in junior high. If I see her again I'll have to ask her.

---

Schlenkerla Marzen (219) is yummy.

---

I kinda think I want to move back to Alaska. Not forever, but for a year or so. I would live in a secluded cabin and be a recluse. It would be cool.

I suppose, if I had to write an entry now, I'd write about how I don't really like the tone that things seem to be taking in my head. And I don't like the turn that things seem to be taking in my life.

And I'd write about how there are no real choices, just varying degrees of inevitable stupidity.

Luckily I don't have to write anything at all, so I won't.

I guess some guys must fall for this shit. I'm glad I'm not one of them.

Hi,

How was your weekend? Mine sucked! My boyfriend dumped me last week and I need to get out there and meet someone. I saw your profile and see that you looked pretty cool. I like older guys too. I need someone more mature. Anyways I just signed up for this dating site if you want to look me up my profile name is "summerfun2"

See more picture of me! its free to sign up! I need a date!

I also have more pictures on there too (including my trip with my girlfriends to the Bahamas last month :)

One of the things I scribbled into my notebook yesterday, I mean besides all the crap about being out of style, was that I've been finding myself very irritated with some people lately. This might not seem to be anything new for me. I am, after all, a bit of a grouch. But this recent irritation has been new.

I'm finding myself irritated with a lot of those people who are, on paper at least, closest to me. They keep telling me stuff that (a) is none of my business, and (b) I'm not sure how to respond to, and (c) they think will provoke a specific reaction.

I think that it's that last thing that's been bothering me the most. That there's always an unspoken expectation that I'm going to react to whatever I've just been told. And, beyond that, there's hope that I'm going to react in a certain way. There's always that little pause after they tell me things. They pause, and they look at me, and they wait to see how I react. To see if I react the way they want me to react.

Here's an example, which may or may not be from real life.

A friend of mine tells me that she's going to go flirt with some guy. Then she pauses. She looks at me. To see how I react to that statement. What am I, a fucking mind-reader? Am I supposed to be an encouraging friend? Am I supposed to be a little jealous? Fuck if I know. Stop looking at me like that.

It's the damn pause and the damn look that irritates me. It makes me feel like I'm back in school and the teacher has just called on me for an answer that I don't know.

I don't like this entry. I should have written it after a couple of beers. Oh, well. Too late now.

Yesterday I managed to put myself into a bit of a funk. Understandable, I suppose. Being in a good mood is kind of like wearing clothes that are completely wrong for me. I might be comfortable, and I might even look good at first glance, but once I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, I realize just how ridiculous I really look.

Some people might be able to get away with leather pants and flashy jewelry, but not me. Some people might be able to get away with smiling and laughing all the time, but not me.

So yesterday I got a glimpse of myself, and I was a little embarrassed, and even a little revolted, by what I saw.

And the other reason that I found myself in a bad mood yesterday was because, once again, my inertia had run out. And I found myself hoping for another push. And, if you've been reading me for any length of time, you know that hope is a terrible thing for me to have. I wrote once that hope is a strange thing. It exists only to disappoint, for if it's fulfilled, it vanishes.

Yesterday, despite knowing better, I found myself hoping for another push; a couple of specific pushes actually. And then my stupid brain had to butt in and remind me that the odds were very much against either of those things happening, so I went into a preemptive funk.

It would be nice if happiness could have the same inertia as sadness. Maybe it can, eventually. I hope so. That would be cool.

Anyway.

For a late lunch yesterday, I took what has become my customary trip to the Buffalo Wild Wings in Louisville. I had my customary yummy Newcastle (5505) and my customary yummy naked tenders with spicy garlic sauce. I talked with the bartender, and I wrote in my notebook, and I watched nubile young girls play softball on TV. It was nice, I suppose.

Later, on the drive to downtown Louisville, there was a fuck of a storm. I was sitting at a red light and a damn newspaper box went tumbling down the road in front of me. Surreal. My truck shook violently, and I would not have even batted an eye if I'd have flipped over. Turning onto Fifth Street, I saw that it was littered with newspaper boxes and construction signs. The whole scene looked like hurricane footage from The Weather Channel.

So I stopped at Hard Rock and talked to CoolHairGirl for a couple of minutes, then I went to The Pub. I had a Newcastle (5525) and talked with BikerGirl. I also had a new beer:

Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale (10)

(draft) Clear amber in color. No head to speak of. Very strong aroma of coconuts, of all things. Mouthfeel was fairly thin. Coconut predominates the flavor, just like it does the aroma. Smells like suntan lotion, and tastes like what I imagine suntan lotion tastes like. After an inch or so was gone, this started to taste a little better. What was strange was that I got absolutely zero indication of this beer's alleged bourbon influence.

My intention, once I got back home, was to take a nap for an hour, then go to Rich O's. Well my nap ended up being two and a half hours long, so that sucked, and I didn't get to Rich O's until after 9:00.

The place was pretty dead, but I didn't care, because LaptopGirl was there on the sofa.

Push number one!

Yay!

I sat in the throne and had a Diet Coke. My stomach was a little upset, I think because of the coconut beer. I didn't get to talk to LaptopGirl because (a) these people on the loveseat kept talking to me, and (b) LaptopGirl was talking to BigWheelGirl the whole time anyway. Still, it was of course nice to see her. And I'm probably not supposed to say this, but she looked very pretty in her pretty dress and pretty shoes.

About ten minutes after LaptopGirl and BigWheelGirl left, HatGirl came in.

Push number two!

Yay!

Take that, universe! I got both pushes, you asshole!

Feeling much better, I had myself a Delirium Tremens (1008) and a Koningshoeven Quad (508) while I talked with HatGirl and LuckyFucker for an hour or so. HatGirl was wearing these transparent sandal things, and I had to fight the urge to play "this little piggy" with her toes. It was a tough fight, but I did manage to win.

Once HatGirl and LuckyFucker left, I had another Diet Coke and talked with WomanRepellant and MusicalYuppieDude for a while, then I went back to Louisville to hang out with WeirdGirl some more.

Oh, yeah, I have LuckyFucker's phone. It had fallen behind the sofa cushion. So maybe I'll get to see HatGirl again when I take his phone back to him. Two days in a row would be very cool.

Okay, first I need to get this out of the way. It's a beer I tried for the first time on Thursday.

Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Marzen

(draft) I was not expecting to like this. I don't know why. A nice clear dark amber color. The aroma of a smoky campfire. The smoke flavor is fairly apparent, and it's just smoke - no bacon or grapes or anything else to taint the flavor. I liked this a lot.

Anyway, on to Friday night.

Rich O's was moderately crowded when I arrived. Mostly with strangers. And there was a buttload of SteveFest celebrators out in the special people section. I sat at the bar and had a Koningshoeven Quad (498), then one of the aforementioned Marzens (55).

NotHideousGirl called at one point from Louisville, and I went outside so I could talk with her for a bit. She invited me to join her at the pub but I needed to stick around Rich O's for a while longer just in case anything cool happened. When I went back in to Rich O's, I had Roger introduce me to SteveFest Steve. As I'd been expecting, I never saw him before in my life.

I was thinking that maybe there could have been some official ceremony to mark the passage from the year of DaveFest to the year of SteveFest, but there was none. One dude took pictures though, so they might show up somewhere.

After a while the strangers left the island, so I moved there. I had another Marzen (75) and talked with various people for a while. This one chick said that a ceremonial beer stein might me a good thing to incorporate into future ceremonies.

Right after I ordered my third Marzen, some secret admirer arranged for a new beer to be delivered to me.

Monk's Cafe Flemish Sour Red (10)

(draft) Clear ruby-brown in color. A nice fluffy head. Sour cherries and apples in both the aroma and the flavor. Very comparable to Metreechs. Quite good.

I ended up only drinking the last half of the Marzen (85). I went over to Louisville to see this fashion show they were having for breast cancer awareness. By the time I got there, NotHideousGirl had already left. WeirdGirl wasn't working. So I hung out at Hard Rock and talked to CoolHairGirl and had several Diet Cokes.

Once the models started stomping along the runway (why do they have to stomp around like that?) I went out and watched them for a while. I tried to take pictures but none of the turned out worth shit. All of the models were, of course, quite hot. But I found myself thinking that maybe they should divert some of the proceeds from the event to buy the poor girls something to eat. It was cool though. First time I've gone to a fashion show, mostly because I'm straight.

Oh yeah, I texted HatGirl to let her know that Dragon's Milk is on at Rich O's. She replied that they might come in Saturday night. If so, yay!

I think that's about it.

Eight or nine months ago, I attempted to predict the future.

I was waaaaaaaaay off, or so it would seem at first.

But, aside from some timing discrepancies, lately I've been thinking that maybe I just got some roles switched around, and that maybe I'll end up not being the injured party.

That would be weird, I think. And not in a good way.

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It's almost 4:00 AM here, and I still cannot sleep. But this is the fun kind of insomnia. The hopeful kind.

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Today I sent my weekly text message to HatGirl. This time I said, "Guess what... Hi HatGirl!"

She responded with a, "Hiya." And so now my life is complete for another week or so. Like I keep saying, it really doesn't take much.

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WeirdGirl is mad at me. I think we've broken up again. Not that there was officially anything to break.

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Today I had to write a bunch of crap for my annual performance review at work. NotHideousGirl offered to dress it up with legalese, but the truth is that it doesn't really matter what I write.

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I have several irrelevant topics that I kinda want to write about, but I can't seem to be able to get into the writing mood.

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I had this crazy stupid idea of not going to Rich O's this weekend. I kill me sometimes. Of course I'm going.

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I guess that's it. Pretty exciting stuff, I know.