My home computer has died. At least some part of it has died.

So, until I get it repaired and/or replaced, I will be a little harder to reach. Especially to those of you accustomed to IMing me.

*coughStalkerGirlcough*

I'll still have access to my email via my work computer and my blackberry though, so all is not lost.

Depending on how much this crap ends up costing, it could be as long as two weeks before I have a real computer at home again.

I feel like a caveman.

This was a shithead at Pizza Hut today. Harassing all the customers about buying something or signing up for something. I don't know what he wanted, and I didn't care. I just wanted to pick up my pizza and leave without being harassed.

Okay, I just remembered how the conversation shifted last night.

I'd been telling TremensGirl about the crushes I'd suddenly developed on the girl at the island and the cute hippie girl at the bar. And the crush I'd had for a long time on the cute blonde bartender girl.

Those three girls all look very different from each other, and TremensGirl told me that I was weird. Then she was like, "Speaking of you being weird, LaptopGirl blah blah blah..."

Anyway, that's how that topic was broached. Now everyone can go on with their lives. You're welcome.

Got to Rich O's at 8:30 or so. I got to park in the actual Rich O's parking lot. So that was a good sign, but it was a misleading one.

The place was completely packed. With strangers. MusicalYuppieDude was sitting on the throne, I sat at the kiddie table. Neither of us recognized anyone in the place except for each other.

But, at least the strangers brought women with them. So the usual Saturday night sausage fest was cancelled.

My first attempt at a beer was something new to me.

New Holland Black Tulip

(draft) Pale amber, fizzy, good head. All standard for Belgians of this type. Aroma seemed a tad stale to me. Flavor was average but subdued. The finish was very reminiscent of rubbing alcohol. Bitter and drying. I was disappointed with this beer, and I didn't drink very much of it.

Let's see, there was a very pretty girl at the island. She reminded me a lot of LaptopGirl's friend WeatherGirl. She was sitting with a bunch of dorks and hippies though. And there was a very cute hippie girl at the bar with her boyfriend. When I started to explain to the bartender that I might finish the Black Tulip later, the cute hippie girl turned around and looked at me, and I totally forgot how to talk. It came out as something like, "I might sdflhgy sdwoq nnuue lllllllllllllllllllaaaa."

The bartender got the gist though. Then TremensGirl came in and I gave her the rest of the Black Tulip.

We just talked about various crap for a while. Like how I've never thought the simma down now skits on SNL are funny at all. At one point, I don't know how, the conversation shifted to that same old topic. And there were some pretty fucked-up opinions thrown my way. I was, as I said in my last entry, saved from getting all defensive and making as ass out of myself by the unexpected arrival of HatGirl and LuckyFucker.

HatGirl!

Yay!

So I moved up to the island (the strangers there had left) and talked with those two for an hour or so. It was nice.

Once HatGirl and LuckyFucker left, WomanRepellant came and joined me. I'd cut myself off after my second Gulden Draak so I just had a couple Diet Cokes while WomanRepellant and I talked about various crap.

I was going to stop at White Castle on the way home, but I forgot again.

I suppose that I was just - what's a good word? - flabbergasted by the opinion expressed to me tonight.

Not defensive, though it might have come to that before too long. Certainly not angry.

Flabbergasted.

I cannot think of any time in my life when I've been confronted with a more inaccurate series of statements.

Luckily, HatGirl came in and distracted me before I made a complete ass out of myself.

I'm in a much better mood this morning. I got to cross a person off my list. Yay!

People would probably look down on me if they knew just how much value I place in tiny little gestures. And, I know, it is sad that I pretty much base all of my happiness on such tiny things.

But, you know what's even sadder than that?

Basing my happiness on those things, and then they don't happen.

I don't want to go back to those days. It's a fairly constant fear of mine. And fear fuels the funk.

So I got to Rich O's at 8:30 or so, after a quick meal at the haunted Burger King. I should probably have gone to Wendy's or Arby's instead. The meal didn't sit right in my stomach, and that slight nausea only made my mood worse.

The place was packed, and loud. Too packed. Too loud. I wanted to turn around and leave, but for some stupid reason I didn't. I grabbed a Wostyntje (242) and sat on the sofa with MusicalYuppieDude and TremensGirl.

It was loud.

It was packed.

I should have left. I wanted to just get up and leave. I told myself that about every ten seconds.

But I didn't leave. I guess I still held out some hope that something would happen to renew my faith in humanity. If I could only hold out for just a little bit longer, then something would happen and I could go back to being happy.

I eventually moved to the throne, and I had a couple more glasses of Wostyntje (278).

My mood never got any better. Those poor souls around me, to their credit, did a fantastic job of resisting my attempts to suck all of the life out of the room.

I'm sure that everyone was very relieved when I finally left.

I know that I was.

It's a weird feeling. Happy and irritated at the same time.

Happy because, well, I'm still happy from what happened in May.

Pissed because...

I guess I'm irritated because, as a general rule, people suck.

Tonight, I emailed to RockGirl a list of people I'm irritated with. It was a long list. In fact, if you read this entry, and you wonder if you're on the list, then you probably are.

I'm both irritated and irritable. This is a bad combination for me. It basically means that everyone is fair game. It means that, if you haven't managed to piss me off yet, just wait a while and it's bound to happen before too long.

I've done some calculations. And my life is 142.6755 asstillion times better now that it was three months ago. I'm pretty sure that's all that's holding me together tonight. I can still look back at the fairly recent past, and I can appreciate the difference between then and now. It is, not literally but metaphorically, like the difference between night and day.

Anyway.

I was going to say that it wasn't anyone's fault that I'm so irritated. I was going to say that it was all my own doing. But I've thought about it, and I've decided not to say that. I've decided not to lie.

This mood was thrust upon me from external sources. One tiny little thing somehow joined forces with a thousand other tiny little things. And they created one great big giant thing, the sole purpose of which was to wipe the smile off my face.

Well, it worked. I'm frowning now.

But I'm still smiling on the inside.

So fuck you, giant thing.

You might have won this battle, but the war is mine.

You ever find yourself surrounded by a group of people, people who you kinda know, but not really? I mean, they're acquaintances, but not much more than that?

You ever listen to them rambling on and on and on, and then suddenly you're struck with the realization that they're all idiots? Or even worse, mindless sheep?

Yeah well, me too.

It's a very revealing realization, and not a particularly good realization.

This is why I remain convinced that talking to and/or listening to people is, generally, a pretty bad idea.

I was just out on my swing, drinking a yummy Koningshoeven Quad (522) and I managed to get excited about writing something. Not anything in particular, though, just a mish-mash of subjects.

I don't like the mish-mash entries. I know that I'm only using them as placeholders. Just so it looks like I'm an active blogger. And I use them to touch upon subjects which really deserve their own entries, but which I'm unable and/or unwilling to write about at length.

For example: Today somebody was somewhere undergoing something. We were a little concerned, but everything turned out okay.

And that's all I can say about that, because it's nobody's business.

Anyway, on with the mish-mash.

---

This morning I was subjected to an interrogation. I evaded the questions as well as I could, but I didn't fool my questioner at all. There are answers that I'm going to have to provide before too much more time has passed. Just to ease some potential concerns if for no other reason. But I need to be able to answer my own internal questions before I can answer any external ones.

Things are complicated, and confusing, and convoluted.

I like it.

---

The ignore game champion of the universe has, apparently, challenged me to another match. I don't know why - her supremacy is undoubted. But I guess I'll play, because I've got nothing better to do.

---

When I was out on my swing just now, that one cat that I call Pete Jr. was there. He was scared of me on the swing, though, so I couldn't get him to come to me.

---

The other night MixedSignalGirl called to let me know that she was moving away Monday morning. Now, she's been gone almost four days. I'm pretty sure that I'm in deep deep deep denial about this. Otherwise I'd be a lot more sad than I am.

I told her everything. About how she's the one. About the rings. She still left. She's still gone. I'm still not as sad as I should be.

---

You guys hear about DeathCat? That cat in that nursing home that predicts when people are about to die?

Pretty creepy stuff, if you ask me.

---

The other day I was accused of being someone's best friend. This was a bullshit accusation, I thought. But, more than that, it put an awful lot of pressure on me to keep doing what I'm doing, and not change a single thing. This pressure is in direct opposition to some other pressure that I'm undergoing. Life is fun.

---

I've been on-call this week for work. This is always a pain in the ass, but this week it's been especially irritating because most of the problems which have arisen have been problems that I can't do a damn thing about.

---

Being on-call also means that I can't go to this dealie that my sister is having on Saturday, because I don't get any signal on my Blackberry at her house. This is annoying enough under normal circumstances - I feel like a caveman or something, being all cut off from the world like that. But when I'm on-call, I must be able to get text messages at all times or I'm screwed.

---

I spend about 33% of my time worrying about one thing, and about 33% of my time worrying about the exact opposite thing. For the remainder of my time, I'm free to worry about whatever suits my fancy.

What the fuck is a fancy, anyway? Sounds dirty to me.

---

I guess that's it for now.

I've used the mosquito metaphor before here. Hmmm, almost exactly a year ago. Weird.

Anyway, I suppose that's a lot of what's going on with me now. Just a bunch of little things, and no overshadowing big thing to occupy my mind.

One thing that I thought about today, as I sat at Rich O's - Rogue Chocolate Stout (2136) - after work, my brow still furrowed, was that I'm starting to see some disturbing parallels. Disturbing because parallel tracks quite often lead to the same destination. And I certainly don't want to go to that place again. Ever.

So that's part of it, certainly. But I also think there's something else. Along with the obvious (to me anyway) similarities, there are also quite a few glaring differences. Problem is, I think, that I don't really notice the differences except every now and then. Just once in a while, I'll remember something. And it kind of hits me harder than it should. Just for a second though.

For example, say you're lying on your back, with a book on your belly. No big deal, right?

Now have someone pick up the book and drop it onto your belly. A little uncomfortable, isn't it? But it only lasts for a second.

Now have that same somebody pick up and drop that book every ten seconds for hours and days at a time.

Well, that's a really horrible analogy. Maybe I should have used the Chinese water torture instead. But you readers are smart. I'm sure you get the gist.

It's not that the differences are bothering me. The differences will probably be what keeps me safe when it's all said and done. The differences don't bother me, but they try to bother me so suddenly and so unexpectedly. That's what's really irritating. Not the differences themselves, but the surprise that they arrive with.

I can't seem to keep any of these things in my head. So I forget. And I start wondering about the similarities. Contemplating the parallels. Sometimes I even catch myself getting excited about the parallels. Then the differences hit me. Repeat ad infinitum.

To summarize, I'm weird.

Kind of a wasted day for me. Went to work with hardly no sleep. Somehow managed to stay awake all day. Came home after work. Slept fitfully for a couple of hours.

Something is bothering me, and I'm not really sure what that thing is. Nothing in particular seems to stand out in my mind. But there's clearly something that's eating away at my subconscious. Out of those dozen or so little things that I kind of feel should be bothering me - one of them is managing to do exactly that.

My brow is furrowed right now, as I sit in this chair and let my fingers type their drivel. If anyone were to look at me, if anyone were here to look at me, they'd be able to tell. Something is bothering me.

And I'd kinda like to know what it is. So I could decide whether to do anything about it. Whether I should do anything about it. Whether I can do anything about it.

The smile that I wore for over two months is gone, for now, as is the joy I felt. Pushed aside by this unknown bullshit that I guarantee, fucking guarantee, is absolutely nothing in comparison. Because, really, there can be no comparison with that.

So I don't know what's going on with me. All I really know for sure is that it's something stupid and trivial.

I just spent a couple of hours trying to write an entry about something that's been on my mind for a while.

The results were less than stellar. Much less than stellar.

See, I have good ideas so seldom anymore, that when I finally get a good idea, I put all this fucking pressure on myself to write something worthwhile. And I end up with gibberish. And I give up.

It's much easier for me to just let my fingers do all the work while my brain snoozes in the background. That's what I'm doing right now.

This particular good idea, the one I just tried to write about, was born in an email I wrote to RockGirl a couple of weeks ago. An inordinate amount of my good ideas arrive via from that same route. This is because I can tell her anything, and I don't have to censor any of it.

Not like here in this journal, where I have to censor the crap out of myself.

So, I'll write an email to RockGirl, and I'll say some shit about some crap, and I'll go, "Hey, that's pretty deep! I should write an entry about it!"

Happens a lot.

Then I'll try to expand that idea into an entire journal entry, and like I said, I end up with gibberish. Sometimes it's because I have to censor the entry so much that it loses all meaning. But usually it's just because it starts to feel too much like homework writing the thing. I know it's a good idea, and I know I can and should write a good entry about it.

It's the should part that gets me, I think. I don't want to waste the idea on a mediocre entry.

Also, it's 4:00 in the flipping morning now. I've got to get up at 6:30. That sucks big ones.

Girls who want it:

That one girl.

That other girl.

That girl that I still think about every now and then.

Girls who need it:

The girl from that place.

That girl who I like a lot.

That girl I met that one night.

That one hot girl who doesn't think she's hot for some stupid reason.

Girls who deserve it:

Nobody I can think of.

You know what's annoying?

I know who she is now. I say it all the time. I'll mention her name, and whoever I'm talking to will ask, "Who's that again? Did I meet her?"

"She's the one," I'll say.

I don't hesitate at all. There's no doubt in my mind, not now. But back when it mattered, back when it might have made a difference, doubt tainted every thought and every action and every word in my life. And now, I can't find it anywhere. It's gone, like it never existed at all.

There's nothing I could have done differently. I know it. She knows it. I did what I had to do, said what I had to say, felt what I had to feel. And so did she.

We're not even friends anymore. Not really. We're just ghosts that haunt each other from time to time.

And so now I know, without a doubt, who she is, and it's too late. Sometimes I think it was too late before it even began.

I found the one.

Now, I have to find another one.

Hope that there's another one.

And hope that doubt doesn't come back.

All day, I looked forward to drinking the last Schlenkerla Marzen in my fridge. It was a nice feeling, knowing that, no matter how boring the rest of my day was, I'd be able to end it with something special.

But noooooooooooo!

Apparently, I drank my last Marzen last night, while Eric was here. So tonight I had a new (for me) Belgian instead:

Chimay Rogue (Red)

(bottle) Cloudy dark amber. Smallish head. Faint aroma of dark fruits and malt. Flavor fairly mild, consisting mostly of apples and plums. A little drying at the finish. Pretty good.

Anyway.

I don't know that I have enough material on any single subject to make an entry about it, so I suppose I'll just list some random crap.

---

At the hotel in Philly, there was some kind of showbiz-people convention going on. I know that television news was represented, because one of the guys I talked to a lot had been a TV news reporter in Chicago for like 38 years. And at least one guy I talked to was some kind of theatre performer or director or something like that.

Wednesday night, I was sitting at the hotel bar. I glanced over at the big TV, and they had The Larry King Show playing. I didn't think too much about it until I looked at the table directly in front of the TV and saw Larry King sitting there.

At least I'm pretty sure that it was Larry King. People always look older in person than on a screen. So it might have been Larry's great-great grandfather instead. Either way, it was kind of interesting.

---

I had a dream this evening about one of my female friends. The dream was disturbing to me. Not, as one might expect, because it was a sex dream. I'm actually used to having sex dreams about some of my female friends. This particular dream was disturbing because it wasn't a sex dream. Instead, it was one of those touchy-feely hugs and soft kisses dreams. And it was very nice and sweet. So, shit!

---

Today I bought a new George Foreman grill and a deep fryer. Then I grilled a couple of hamburgers and cooked some fries. I don't know why I do these strange things. I hate cooking for myself, and I'm perfectly happy going out to eat. So now I've got two new appliances that I'll never use again.

---

Some things in my life are starting to turn around. So I don't have much grief these days. This whole being in a good mood thing is something I might have to learn to accept. No matter how boring it makes the stuff I write.

---

But still, I find myself wanting more. All the time. That desire will probably keep my creative fires burning for a while longer. I hope so, anyway. A life without desire wouldn't be much of a life, I don't think.

---

Tomorrow is going to be a long day. I've got to leave extra early because of the construction traffic, then I've got to stay extra late to give NotHideousGirl a ride home. I'm sure I'll be pretty exhausted by the time I get home tomorrow night.

---

I should try to sleep now.

Ugh. This morning I'm hung-over. Not my fault though. More on that later.

While I was in Philadelphia, I had me some NotHideousGirl and BikerGirl withdrawal symptoms. Nothing too severe, but I most definitely noticed the lack of pretty girls to talk to. So, early yesterday afternoon, I went over and talked to BikerGirl while she worked. I had a yummy Newcastle (6680) while I was there. I was going to get something to eat, but nothing really looked appealing, so I picked up some Long John Silver's on the way home instead.

Later, when I left to go to Rich O's, I invited NotHideousGirl to come with me. She readily agreed, and we got to Rich O's a little after 8:00.

The place was completely packed, with about half PBDs and half strangers. The strangers were particularly annoying because they'd taken over the living room area. So NotHideousGirl and I sat at the island with some semi-regulars and drank and attempted to talk. I had a Rogue Chocolate Stout (2036).

Eventually, the strangers on the loveseat left, so we moved over there. Then, the rest of them left so I moved to the throne. The next couple of hours we just kinda vegged out. I had two more Rogues (2076).

Oh, yeah. Earlier in the night my friend Eric had called to say that he might be up for going out later. So after I took NotHideousGirl home at 11:00 or so I went back to Rich O's. I'd cut myself off by then, so I had a Diet Coke and talked to a couple of people I don't really know. Then I came home.

Eric called while I was on the way home, and I invited him over to my house for a couple beers. I broke into my beer fridge and gave Eric a nice Belgian that I'd been saving. I had a Schlenkerla Marzen (569) myself. I did end up having a bit of Eric's Belgian, but I didn't have enough to base an official review on. Plus, I was pretty tipsy by then.

So we talked for a few hours. We split a small bottle of some smoked beer that somebody gave me a couple of months ago. I liked it, but again, I was in no shape to remember enough about it to make an official review. Eric left at about 3:30, and I went to bed almost immediately.

Anyway, it's Eric's fault that I'm hung-over this morning.

The stewardess for the flight to Philadelphia provided not just one, but two sources of amusement concern for me.

First, there had been a bit of confusion behind me. People were sitting in other peoples' seats. These things happen, but I guess they got a little loud.

Then the guy with the window seat next to my aisle seat showed up. I moved to stand up and get out of his way, and the stewardess came running up to us. Not walking quickly, professionally, and with purpose. Fucking running.

So I've got the dude who needs the seat, standing in the aisle next to my seat. And I've got the stewardess standing about an inch in front of him. There was nowhere for me to go. The stewardess locked eyes with me and asked, "Do we have a problem here?"

"I was going to stand up and get out of this guy's way so he could sit down," I replied. "But you're totally blocking me from doing so."

For about 6 hours, absolutely nothing happened except that the stewardess kept her eyes locked onto mine. It was probably the creepiest six hours of my entire life. I fully expected her to call security and have them remove me from the plane and stick fingers into my ass. Then, finally, her meds kicked in or something. She said, "Foin" and turned around and walked back to the front of the plane.

Foin?

Yep, that's what she said. And that leads me to the second item of concern.

The chick was some kind of a freak. Or maybe a pod person. Or maybe a robot with a faulty language module.

At first I thought that it was just my imagination. But I've since talked with some of my coworkers, who shared the same flight, and they all noticed it.

The stewardess had a strong cockney accent, but only some of the time.

What's up with that?

Like, she'd say things like, "Ploise stoi yoi troi toibles to their loicked poisition, and ensure that your seatbacks are fully upright." And, when we had to sit on the tarmac for a half an hour for some stupid reason, she said, "Ladies and gentleman, I'll be doing a quick beverage service in a couple of minutes. Beer and woine are foive doillars. Soida and woiter and joices are coimplimentoiry."

Just freaking weird.

I realized a little while ago, as I sat smiling about the fourteen most beautiful words I've seen in a long time and emailing RockGirl, I realized that I'd better write something. Because it's been a while. And, honestly, it's been a nice little break. But I fear that if I don't write something quickly then I might never bother to write anything again.

And that bleak future scares me, so here I am.

Anyway, I'm back home. Got back Friday afternoon. The trip sucked, as I'd known it would. I scribbled a few notes, so I might write up a Philly Trip Report eventually. But I might not. Ditto for a Friday Beer Report about last night.

I think I need to ease back into this blogging stuff.

Thanks to everyone who noticed that I was gone.

Okay, I'm leaving now. Going to have lunch with NotHideousGirl, then go to the airport for my fun-filled Philly week.

I might not post for a while.

It's kind of interesting, in a sick and twisted way, to see just how much bullshit I can put up with. To see what, if anything, it might take to wipe this smile from my face. This happiness from my soul.

Trivial and ostensibly non-trivial bullshit keeps trying to knock me down. But I'm still standing.

The latest round of bullshit, the one I've been thinking about tonight, is all coming from myself. Outside forces are trying to bother me, but they're not having any success, and I'm a little annoyed by that fact.

I mean, there are things that I should be concerned about. There are things that I should be pissed about. But, I'm neither of those things. Not very much, anyway. Certainly not as much as a normal person would be. And that's what bothers me even more than those things that aren't bothering me.

The best I can come up with is a bit of mild irritation, and maybe some slightly more than passing interest.

Anyway, everybody has been lying to me. For days now. Maybe weeks. Well, everybody except for a couple of people. Gotta be careful with that everybody word - it's loaded.

(Deleted several examples of the aforementioned lies.)

I really should be sick and tired of all of this bullshit. But I'm not.

It's even kinda fun, in a sick and twisted way.

I forgot about this. When I got home I had an email from NotHideousGirl in which she said that I'd called her several times, but not said anything when she answered. I was pretty sure that I'd remember something like that, but I checked my phone anyway.

Sure enough, right after midnight I'd called her five times. All of the calls were less than a minute. See, I seem to have misplaced the holster thingy for my phone, so my phone was in my front pocket. Those calls went out at about the time I was driving home, so the pressure from the seatbelt must have caused the calls. Either that, or my dick really wanted to talk to NotHideousGirl. But that wouldn't make any sense, because they've never met. Maybe my dick was trying to call WeirdGirl and kept misdialing. Stupid dick.

I'm a little hung-over this morning. I don't think it's that I drank too much. It's just that I didn't eat anything all day yesterday except a pack of crackers. I don't know why I didn't stop and eat something either before Rich O's or after. Probably because I'm stupid.

Anyway, I got to Rich O's a little after 8:00, and sat in the throne, and had a Rogue Chocolate Stout (1856). Then I don't think I did anything of import for a couple of hours except text NotHideousGirl a couple of times. I was getting pretty bored, but then HatGirl texted me that she was on her way. That perked me right up. I texted NotHideousGirl that HatGirl was coming, but she was busy.

After a few minutes HatGirl and LuckyFucker arrived. By that time I'd managed to run everyone away from the sofa and loveseat, so those two sat on the sofa and we talked for an hour or so, mostly about hookers I think. This was about when I ordered my second Rogue Chocolate Stout (1876). TremensGirl was there at some point.

HatGirl has apparently been taking night classes on drinking or something. She actually finished her Chimay. LuckyFucker had a Rogue Imperial Porter, and I tried to smell it to see if I wanted one of those next, but the Chocolate Stouts I was drinking had deadened my olfactory nerves, and I didn't smell a thing.

Oh yeah, they were having a 20th anniversary party for Sportstime Pizza in the special people room. I walked through there once but I didn't stay.

The whole damn night was really subdued. After HatGirl and LuckyFucker left I had another Chocolate Stout (1896) and a Diet Coke. I talked to MusicalYuppieDude and WomanRepellant for a while, then I came home.

Okay, there was a time, at first, when I honestly didn't know the truth of the situation.

Then, many weeks later, when I finally did know the truth, it was too late to do anything about it. Inertia demanded that action be taken. So I took action. We took action.

And that was, as they say, that.

Then the world around us found a new equilibrium, and it's been in balance ever since. More or less. Mostly more, except from my perspective, where it's been less. But I don't really count, so more is what we'll go with.

Here's the thing. I will try. Because how many people get the chance to witness their own funeral?

This is way too melodramatic. And, hopefully, just cryptic enough that nobody but the two of us will know what the fuck I'm rambling about.

I suppose this makes it official. I've lost my mind.

It started the second I woke up this morning. It continued throughout the day. Through taking a shower and shooting pool and reading and watching The Black Knight and emailing RockGirl and NotHideousGirl. It mercifully stopped during my nap, but now it's started up again.

I'm singing to my cat, Nugget.

And, as if that wasn't strange enough, I'm singing the same stupid verse over and over and over and over.

Lord, I was born a ramblin' man, Nugget,
Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can, Nugget.
And when it's time for leavin, I hope you'll understand, Nugget,
That I was born a ramblin' man, Nugget.

I was thinking this morning about what I might have said, back then, if I'd been asked. What I might say if I'm asked tomorrow, or next week, or next year.

Because it would be really important to say the right things, you know?

I'm not sure that the actual words would really matter all that much. Not as long as the meaning and the passion behind those words was readily apparent. The words wouldn't need to really mean anything. Like a fist pounding on a podium, the words would only serve to add emphasis to the underlying meaning.

But still, emphasis has its place, I suppose. So I was thinking about what I might have said, and what I still might have the chance to say someday.

I should think about it some more, because so far the meaning is all that I have. It's always been enough for me, but for her I'll probably need some emphasis.

After a quick meal at Wendy's, I got to Rich O's at 8:45 or so. The place was packed. Seemed to be an even mix of regulars and strangers.

Oh yeah, they finally got their order of Schlenkerla beers in. This was good news, but it caused me a bit of a problem right off the bat.

See, Rogue Chocolate Stout was still on tap. And I have a contractual obligation with my liver to drink Rogue Chocolate Stout whenever it's available. But I really wanted to have a couple of Schlenkerlas at the end of the night, and I knew that there'd be much clashing of flavors if I had the Rogue first.

So I broke my contract, and I had a couple Dirty Helens (202). I sat at the bar and talked to some dude who should probably get a nickname, I got a text message from NotHideousGirl featuring the drunk womanese word wrAnfo and deciphering that word occupied a good part of my brain for the rest of the night. I still haven't figured it out.

I talked to MusicalYuppieDude and TremensGirl for a bit, and some people cleared out from the sofa so I moved over there. I talked with a chick who I shall call FirstGirl. Not, as one might suspect, because she was my first girl, but rather because she was the first person to ever talk to me at Rich O's after I started hanging out there. Anyway, FirstGirl was puzzling over her own little mystery.

She'd found this napkin on the table, and her brain was about to explode from trying to figure out its meaning. We spent some time trying to figure out the napkin, and we spent some time trying to figure out NotHideousGirl's wrAnfo, but we never did decipher either one of them.

My next beer was a Schlenkerla Weizen (222), and I overlapped the last part of that with a Schlenkerla Marzen (547). I wanted to do a side-by-side comparison of the two. I don't think that I can really declare a winner. The Weizen is certainly lighter, and it would make a better session beer than the Marzen. But the Marzen is flat-out yummy.

Even though the Marzen was flat-out yummy, I only drank about 8 ounces of it before I cut myself off and then snuck out and came home. I don't think I missed much, because they'd declared last call at 11:30 even though the place was still totally packed.

I was at Rich O's.

The place was much larger and more elaborate than in real life. I went to go to the men's room, and it was (a) huge, and (b) packed with people of all genders. I went over to a urinal and did my thing. While I was doing my thing a big giant fat dude stood at the urinal next to me and did his thing. Except he was so big and giant and fat that he was basically leaning against me and causing me to miss my urinal about half the time.

When I went up to the sink, there was a girl there that I was supposed to know. She clearly knew me, at least from the past. All I knew was that she (a) was hot, and (b) looked familiar. Even now, wide awake, I have the feeling that I should know who that girl was.

Anyway, she wanted me. She wanted me bad. But she was working at the door to the men's room, and she didn't have a break coming for at least an hour. So she flirted with me, and stroked me, and kissed me several times. I got a little hot and bothered, and I was going to splash some cold water on my face, but there was a little girl taking a bubble bath in the sink. The little girl saw my dilemma and scooped up some water from her bath into her hands. She then poured that water into my hands so I could splash my face. It was quite a touching gesture, and several people said, "Awwwwwww."

Then the hot girl had to go direct some people to the back of the men's room. It turned out that all the hubbub was because there was some cult guy in town, and he was getting a ceremonial bath in one of the back stalls. That's why they were letting everyone into the men's room, so they could see the cult guy.

Since the hot girl was busy all of a sudden, I decided to go back to my waiting beer. But first I wanted to show everyone a trick. At first I was going to walk through the closed door, because I can do that in my dreams, but they had the door propped open so the throng outside might catch a glimpse of the cult guy. So, instead of walking completely through the wooden door, I figured I'd just stick my hand through it. It would still be impressive, just not as impressive.

I stuck my hand through the door, almost up to the elbow, and everyone gasped. Then I tried to pull my hand back but GlassesGirl had grabbed it from the other side and I was stuck.

Then I woke up.

---

We were at a drive-in theater.

I don't know if it had been built on top of a volcano, or if it was a new volcano springing up. But, regardless, there was lava erupting from several holes in the ground. Everyone around me just kept watching the movie, so I decided to watch it too. Then this little girl, the same one who'd been taking a sink bath earlier, said she couldn't see the screen so I put her on my shoulders.

Then the big giant fat guy from the urinal tried to take the heavy cooler from the back of my truck. The exertion was too much for him, and he had a heart attack and died.

Then I woke up again.

Yesterday, after NotHideousGirl's ass finally got off work, I took her to buy a doghouse for her dog, Harry.

The place we went is this SuperPet Warehouse, or something like that, on State Street in New Albany. I used to go there to buy canned food for my own cats, but I haven't been there in a couple of years because they started having actual cats for sale and I couldn't stand the temptation.

So we went in yesterday, and of course I went straight to the big cage at the front of the store to look at and pet the kitties. There were three of them, and they were all adult cats. Not kittens. As in not so cute anymore. As in nobody will ever love them and take them home.

The poor things.

Well I somehow managed to leave the store sans three new kitties. All I bought was a foam bed thing for my own cats. I bought it mostly for its comedic potential - there's no way that any of my cats could ever fit into that thing. Maybe just their ass. When I set it out on the floor, Happy and Buddy spent about an hour smelling it. Once they'd decided that it wasn't edible, they left it alone.

Nugget, of course, was immediately terrified of that scary white thing so he hauled ass into the basement as soon as he saw it.

But I digress.

I wish I could honestly say that I don't have room for any more cats. But I can't. My house has plenty of room.

I wish I could honestly say that I can't afford any more cats. But I can't. I make good money, and I could afford it fairly easily.

So why didn't I buy those three cats yesterday, especially when it became clear that they were too old, and that, if I didn't take them home, then nobody ever would?

I don't have a good reason, so it must just be because I'm an asshole.

I just came in from sitting on my swing outside. I was going to sit out there until I managed to think of something entry-worthy, but it's a little too chilly, so I came back in.

---

At Rich O's today after work (Rogue Chocolate Stout (1826)) I had an idea. What if I took all of the penis-enlargement spam that I get and bought everything they offer?

A couple of inches from a special diet, four inches from pills, an additional 20% from some stretching gizmo. And so on. What if I could add them all up?

I bet that, six months and a couple of thousand dollars later, I could sit at Rich O's and drink beer all day, but I'd continue to get paid because my dick could still be sitting at my desk at work doing my job.

It would be win-win!

---

There's a new stray cat outside. It's a very light gray color. I have named it Ghost, in case I ever see it again.

---

WeirdGirl is being a little mean to me. But I guess that's better than being nice to me. Because nice would remind me of what I'm missing.

---

Not that it really bothers me.

It's kinda funny. Not too long ago I kept trying to convince myself that I was a normal happy person. That deception never worked. These days I catch myself trying to get in a bad mood, and that doesn't work either.

---

Today, for some reason, I thought about this one kid from my youth. Not a friend by any stretch of the imagination, just a kid who lived next to my cousins for a while. So we were kinda forced to play with him sometimes. He was a real dick. He's probably in jail or dead by now. Or he's a billionaire. Man, what a dick that guy was!

---

There's something that keeps becoming more of a possibility all the time. Something that I should really be more worried about than I am. But I'm not worried about it very much at all. This may end up biting me in the ass.

---

I can't believe it's 1:00 AM and I'm still up. This is pretty stupid. Especially since I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn again tomorrow. I'm giving NotHideousGirl rides to work as her car woes continue unabated. It's nice to feel useful though.

---

If you ever want to see something funny, go to Rich O's when Roger is there and say something about how 8664.org wants to tear down I-64 in Louisville.

---

I was watching Big Brother tonight (shut up, I like it) and I got to thinking about a Rich O's reality show in that same vein. I don't think I'd be the first regular evicted, but I bet I'd be in the first five. I know without a doubt who the first evictee would be. And I'm pretty sure I know who'd end up winning it all. At least I know who I'd vote for.

---

I'll be gone all next week. If it's anything like the last time I went to Philadelphia, I won't have any time for anything but work. So I might go as many as five days without posting anything. The world will probably keep turning without my input.

---

Now it's 1:18 AM and I'm still up. I am stupid. I think I'll go to bed as soon as I finish this Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (2085)

...and yay and yay and yay and yay and yay and yay!

Two wonderful things in as many days!

Problem is, now my smile may spread, out of control, and end up ripping my head apart. Like that one apparatus with the hot girl at the beginning of Saw.

I think I'll chance it.

*smile*

An unstated number of days ago, I heard something kinda disturbing. Nothing that affects me. Not directly anyway. But there will surely be an effect on one of my friends. And then there'll be a sort of a ricochet, and that's what will hit me. Right square in the nuts.

Ouch.

So I've got two choices.

One, I could say nothing to my friend. Hope that, when she inevitably finds out, that it won't be that big of a deal.

Two, I could tell her, and then try to steel myself for the backlash, but hope that my honesty garners me some tiny bit of respect. Some flimsy wall of protection.

Right. Like that would ever happen.

I think that I'll go with option one.

When in doubt, do nothing.

Man, I should put that on a t-shirt.

---

Now, I get to smile again. Probably for about a week, if the recent past is any useful indication. And I'm not sure if it is or not. It is, after all, recent. And what are a couple of months when compared to the years that preceded them?

So I've been happy for almost two months now. In a couple of days it will be exactly two months, as of this writing. For all that time, I've been happy, but I haven't always been smiling. Smiling takes something more than happiness, for me.

The nice thing about being happy is that it's such a short distance from there to an even better place. From happy to joyful is a distance measured in tiny things.

Well today, a teeny tiny thing happened. And joy washed over me. And I smiled. And I'll probably keep smiling.

For about a week.

Today, I was given a girl.

"She's all yours, Dave," this dude told me. "You can have her."

We'd both been interested in her, but now the dude was seeing someong else. So he gave her to me.

Pretty sweet gift, huh?

I can't wait to tell her. I think I'll have her wear a big bow, tied around her waist, and nothing else.

I don't know if this entry will go anywhere. Besides my drafts folder, I mean. Where it could sit until the end of time. This is just something I caught myself wondering about the other day.

I've mentioned before that my best friend growing up was Eric, and that Eric's parents own Polly's Freeze. I've also mentioned that my mom worked there, as did my aunt. I grew up 200 yards from the place. So it was maybe like a fourth home for me. After my own home, then my grandmother's, then Eric's, there was Polly's.

Anyway.

I remember back when we were kids. Eric and I would be walking or riding our bikes down some random road, and we'd come across a discarded plastic serving tray from Polly's. Sometimes we'd find these trays miles away from where they were supposed to be. Which was in the Please return trays here - Thanks bins scattered over the Polly's compound. We'd find them miles away because people are lazy and inconsiderate assholes.

Heh, I think it's funny that I used the word compound there.

So we'd come across these discarded trays, and Eric would invariably stop and pick it up so he could take it back to Polly's. "These things cost money," he'd always say. And I'd always think he was a dork, because it's impossible to look cool carrying an empty tray along the road. It was nearly impossible to look cool being around somebody who was carrying empty trays along the road, but I think I managed it okay.

Okay, now fast-forward thirty years or so.

I go to Polly's now, ostensibly as an adult. A lot has, of course, changed. But not enough to make the place any less of a pleasure. I order the same stuff that I used to order, except that milkshakes don't agree with me as much as they used to, so I get a Diet Coke sometimes with my double cheeseburger and fries. I try to sit at the table from which Eric and I would sit and look for pretty girls. Eric's parents are still there running the place. My mom and my aunt are long gone. The girls are still cute, but now they're all jailbait to me, and I find myself wondering what their mothers look like. And every now and then there'll be a dude working the counter. And that's just plain wrong.

Wrong, I tell you! Like a milkshake poured by a guy will taste anywhere near as sweet as one poured by a cute girl.

But I digress.

When I get my food at Polly's, the drink never comes with a lid. I always ask for one, because I'll be driving with my drink and I don't want to spill it. My food always comes with exactly one napkin. I always ask for an extra one, because I'm a slob. My food always comes with maybe a teaspoon of ketchup. I always ask for more ketchup, because I like ketchup with my fries.

The other day I had a late lunch at Polly's, and I asked for all three of these things. This special treatment, if you will. And for some reason I was reminded of Eric, carrying plastic trays along the road like a dork, simply because these things cost money.

And I got to thinking. Lids cost money. Napkins cost money. Ketchup costs money.

When I was a kid, I always used to think that Eric's family was rich. They certainly had more money than my own family ever did. But as I think about it now, I think that it was more just the fact that they got all of their money from Polly's Freeze during the six months each year they were open. Then all Winter they'd live on what they'd saved.

Not a bad gig, if you can get it, but they were not rich by any means. They worked hard for what they had, as did everyone. I'm sure they watched their spending even more than a lot of families did, because they always knew that they'd have to make their money last through the Winters.

So they wanted those trays returned.

And now, I have to wonder about that lid, and that extra napkin, and that extra ketchup. Those things don't cost me any extra, but they cost Eric's parents. By asking for those extra things, I'm essentially taking money from them.

By bringing those trays back to Polly's, Eric helped to pay for his own college education. By asking for a lid and an extra napkin and ketchup, I'm probably taking away from his inheritance. Now, because of my clumsy and slovenly and gluttonous ways, I'm probably denying his kids, and his sister's kids, and his brother's daughter, I'm probably denying them all the chance to live fulfilled lives. So, instead of being all they can be, they'll probably end up living in cardboard boxes in alleys, fighting rats for scraps of food.

Okay, pop quiz time.

Say you make pizzas for a living. An order comes in. The order specifies "light on the sauce."

What do you do. What DO you do?

A) Use less sauce that you normally would. The customer is always right, and even if they're wrong, they should at least get what they paid for.
B) Ignore the request and make a regular pizza. Fuck the customer. You're the goddamn pizza professional, after all. Who does the customer think they are?
C) Be an asshole and load the pizza up with twice the normal amount of sauce. Customers suck. You hate them all and you wish they would die. Or at least leave you alone.
D) Forget about the special request and use the regular amount of sauce, then try to hide your mistake and fool the customer by using additional amounts of all the other ingredients. Customers are all stupid, they will never notice.

This is not a particularly hard quiz. But I'll give you a hint anyway.

The letter corresponding to the correct answer is a vowel.

I'm pretty sure that this, like everything else, is going to end. I can accept that fact. I don't have to like it very much, but I know that I can live with it. Survive beyond the point where this thing can be mentioned in the present tense.

I've certainly lost more important things in my life. Not to say that this isn't important to me. Because it really is. It's just that I've kind of had perspective forced upon me over the last few years. So, when this ends, it will definitely be something, but it won't be something I can't handle.

I think the thing that irritates me the most about it is that I always find myself wondering if it has already ended. Like maybe I'm just no longer needed. If I ever really was. Or perhaps the last thing I did or said or wrote, or even worse, the last thing I didn't say or didn't do or didn't write, that maybe that thing is what ended it. Will end it. Is ending it. Whatever tense is appropriate.

I wonder about this a lot. I worry about it a lot. Because, like I said, I know it's going to end eventually. All good things do. I can handle it being over. It's just the actual ending that worries me. I don't want to miss it.

I do have thoughts, sometimes. Really, I do. Serious and deep thoughts. Problem is that, lately, I don't have them very often. And, when I do, it's almost always at the most inopportune moments.

Like when I'm driving. I'm always coming up with good shit to write about when I'm driving. But then, when I reach whatever destination I was driving to, it's all gone. Vanished in the proverbial puff of smoke. At those times, I can remember what I was going to write about, but it seems pointless. Because whatever clever turn of phrase or humorous metaphor it was that first put the idea into my head - it's gone.

So I end up not writing about whatever my brilliant idea was. Instead, instead I write drivel about nothing.

I don't think I've written anything worth reading in several days. Since last Tuesday. And even that entry was more of a reflexive brain fart than something I put any actual effort into.

Anyway, it's 1:39 Sunday afternoon, and I'm bored. I'm alternating shooting pool with watching a movie. A Simple Plan. I've seen it before. It's okay.

I'm thinking about maybe going to get something to eat, but frankly it just seems like too much trouble. I'd have to take a shower, then put on clothes, then figure out exactly what I was hungry for. All tasks too daunting for me right now.

I never said this would be interesting.

Last night was fun. Weird, but fun. A little disappointing, but fun.

I got to Rich O's at 8:00 or so. The place was packed with strangers. It was like I'd walked into the wrong bar or something. Not that I really paid that much attention to the crowd. I was on a mission. Checking the beer board to see if Rogue Chocolate Stout was really back, or if Roger had just been fucking with me again by writing it on the employee board.

It was there! Yay!

Inside Rich O's proper, there were more strangers. I didn't recognize a single person except GlassesGirl. She was sitting at the island, so I sat with her. She was very relieved to see someone she knew, and I immediately felt pressure to keep her entertained. But after a bit TremensGirl came in and joined us, so the pressure was off a little.

For the next couple of hours I talked with the girls and had a couple Rogue Chocolate Stouts (1706). I got a million text messages from various people, including HatGirl. I had a million phone calls from various people, including HatGirl.

After a while some other regulars started showing up and joining us at the island. I started to get a little claustrophobic, but there wasn't anything I could do about it because the fuckers in the living room area were still showing no signs of ever leaving. But NotHideousGirl came in for a bit so I talked to her and that made me feel a little better.

I think that's about when I had my third Rogue Chocolate Stout (1726).

After NotHideousGirl left, the strangers finally left the living room. So I high-tailed it over to the throne where I could get some breathing room. Everyone else, of course, followed me over there. Or maybe they were going there anyway.

Once MusicalYuppieDude came in and stole all the women from me, I had a fourth Rogue Chocolate Stout (1746) and then came home.

It really was fun. I got to talk to a lot of pretty girls. I got to see NotHideousGirl. I got text messages from HatGirl, and I got to talk to her on the phone. I was pretty disappointed that ArtGirl didn't come in. And BikerGirl had said that she might even come in, so I was pretty disappointed when she didn't show. I think it would have been funny to watch BikerGirl demolish some of the wannabe pickup artists at Rich O's.

But it was still a fun night. I think that I might have been a tad too honest in a couple of the conversations I had. I'll just have to wait and see if there are any repercussions.

I'll admit it. I'm not ashamed. I'm not embarrassed.

I like girls. Especially hot girls.

I will go out of my way to see them. To talk to them. To do other things with them, when the chemistry and timing is right. This does not mean that I'm an asshole, or a bastard, or a player, or a male chauvinist pig.

It means that I'm a normal straight single guy.

Like today, I went to lunch. I had a yummy meal, and two yummy Newcastles (6479), and I talked to a pretty girl. If BikerGirl hadn't been working, I might have turned around and gone somewhere else. If BikerGirl was an 800-lb geriatric paraplegic with bad body odor, I'd probably have gone somewhere else in the first place. Like to Lucky Strike maybe. There are pretty girls who work there every now and then.

Appreciating female beauty and company is not a fucking crime against humanity.

It feels good to vent sometimes.

There's not really a whole lot to say about Friday. Though I guess I issue disclaimers like that a lot, and then I ramble on for hundreds of words anyway. I'll try to restrain myself.

Because I had to burn a day of vacation for some stupid thing, I spent a very long lunch at The Pub. Had a couple Newcastles (6439). I was going to eat something. I was going to order fish and chips, eat the fish, and give the chips to NotHideousGirl, but she didn't have time for lunch. So we just met outside for a while. Then I went back in and talked to BikerGirl. Then I went and did the stupid thing.

Later, at Rich O's, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn't too crowded. The throne was empty, so I sat there and talked to a couple of regulars about various crap. I'd thought that maybe Rogue Chocolate Stout would be back, but it wasn't. I had a bottle of Avery The Reverend (476) which was quite good.

HatGirl texted me a couple of times. She's out of town, so that sucks. NotHideousGirl texted me that she didn't didn't feel like coming to Rich O's, so that sucked. Really, the only thing notable about last night was that there was a moderate infestation of hippies in the red room, and they provided some amusement for me. Other than that, it was a pretty boring night. I ordered a Paulaner Hefeweissbier next, but I only drank a little bit of it (152) because The Reverend had pretty much used up my alcohol intake quota for the night.

I came home at 10:30 or so and IMed StalkerGirl for a couple of hours. Then I emailed RockGirl, then I went to bed.

See? I just used 290 words to pretty much say nothing.

Wednesday night, when I was waiting to see if BikerGirl was going to join me for dinner, I took this picture. On the left is the building where NotHideousGirl works. On the right is a building where irrelevant people work.

Today was the first day of the latest phase of this construction project they have going on here. They're closing a stretch of Interstate 64 in Louisville. It'll be closed for a month and, if this morning was any indication, it'll be a pretty shitty month for commuters like me.

I'm hopeful that, after a couple of days, people will start to settle in to their new routes. If traffic stays this bad, I'll have to start leaving a couple of hours early. It'll be like living in Seattle all over again.

Anyway, this morning the Interstate leading up to the closure zone consisted of stopped traffic. Not stop and go traffic. Stopped traffic. For at least five miles. So I took an alternate route. Me and about a gazillion other people. Including the girl who decided to crash into the back of my truck while I sat at a red light.

She didn't really hit me that hard. Didn't even spill my soda. Her hood got crunched a little, and one of her turn signals broke, but my truck emerged unscathed. Because the girl was cute, and also because nobody got hurt and because my truck was okay, I told her that it was up to her if she wanted to bother with filing an insurance claim. I doubt that she will.

My first prediction is that I will wake up tomorrow full of resolve. My second prediction is that my resolve will evaporate by 11:00 or so.

I know what I should do. Or, more accurately, what I shouldn't do. It's perfectly clear in my head. It would be perfectly understandable to anyone, if I felt inclined to explain it.

You ever just get sick and tired of being taken for granted? Of being lied to? Of being used and then discarded? You ever just want to turn your back and walk away?

Yeah, me too.

Tonight, I sat on my swing and drank a yummy Schlenkerkla Marzen (484) while all around me neighbors shot fireworks into the air.

I wrote to my friend that it was like my life in a nutshell. The Reader's Digest version of Dave. Every now and then the sound of laughter would make its way to my ears, adding insult to injury.

My second Marzen (501) went down as smoothly as the first.

Tomorrow, I will wake up full of resolve. By 11:00 or so, that resolve will be gone. Because, by 11:00 or so, I will have remembered three things.

Sometimes, I'm appreciated. Even if it's for one tiny little thing, for one tiny little moment, those snippets of appreciation still give validation to this thing I use for a life.

Sometimes, I'm told the truth. It's happened before, and I'm certain that it will happen again. Eventually. If I can just be patient, and hang on long enough.

Sometimes, I'm merely set aside instead of discarded, and the possibility of being needed again is palpable, and it keeps me breathing.

I kinda feel like I owe my readers a couple of beer reports. One for Saturday night, and another for last night. But then I remember that nobody cares, and that even I don't care all that much.

Besides, I'd have to stop them both at midnight, because some things are nobody's business.

Sometimes I hate it that people who I know read this thing. Hell, sometimes I hate it that people in general read this thing. At least I can do something about the latter case.

I can be boring and pointless. I'm working on it. Like with this entry.

I assume that people are out there celebrating July 4th. At least the Americans are. I don't really know for sure. I just prefer to think that at least some of my friends are having fun today.

I'm certainly not. What seemed like good timing, long ago, has decayed over the years into one of those unfortunate coincidences that my life seems so replete with.

And that unfortunate coincidence is one of the things that I cannot bring myself to write about. That I will not allow myself to write about.

So I guess I'll stop now.

Or at least change subjects.

When I walk from work to The Pub for lunch - something I haven't done for a week because of rain and back twinges - I invariably pass one or more groups of protestors. I don't know what they're protesting. Some work atrocity, perhaps. I just know that I hate them all.

There's something wrong with the whole concept of protesting, I think. These people certainly have the right to free speech, but do they really have the right to annoy the fuck out of people with their chanting and marching?

That can't be what the founders had in mind.

I mean, if I wanted to protest, say, the lack of lesbian porn on prime-time television, I could do it. I could go get a permit. Make some signs. Perhaps recruit some like-minded individuals. And we could all go to our designated public-property sidewalk and march around and wave our signs and demand very loudly about how badly we want more lesbian porn.

Maybe some television executive would hear our demands, and maybe not. But it's a certainty that a lot of other people would hear them. People just walking by, trying to live their lives. They'd be subjected to our chants even though they (a) didn't want to hear our pleas, (b) didn't give a fuck, (c) couldn't do anything about our cause anyway.

But I'd still get to annoy them, because I had a permit allowing me to do so. It just doesn't seem right.

I think that one of the protest groups infesting Louisville, I think that they're demanding more pay or some shit like that. Hey, here's an idea.

If you don't like your job, then go get a new one. Take that energy you're putting into pissing me off every day, take that energy and use it to (a) take a fucking shower, and (b) find a better job.

I can get my lesbian porn off the Internet. You can find a better job. I don't annoy you, and you shouldn't annoy me.

This entry brought to you by Left Hand Smoke Jumper (75).

I've decided to try an experiment. I'm just going to type. Whatever comes into my head, I'm going to let it flow out through my fingers.

I don't expect this to be anything good. Or interesting. I suppose that I do expect it to be real, though. And that's gotta be worth something.

I'm a sucker for tears from a woman. Wait, that doesn't sound quite right. Because the word sucker implies that I'm being deceived. That I'm being naive. And I'm not. At least usually I'm not. Usually the tears are real.

They cut right through me. Make me want to drop everything else in my life and do something, anything to help make the tears stop. Even if I don't have a fucking clue what I should do or say, the need to do or say something is almost overwhelming.

That's pretty normal, I think. To want to help someone in need.

But then there's the other thing. The realization that something special is happening. The realization that I'm seeing a girl at her most open and honest, and that she feels comfortable enough to share that kind of intimacy with me. It makes me feel a little bit special, and a part of me actually wishes that it would continue for a while longer, so I could feel special for a while longer.

If I could somehow milk the tears. Control their pace and their ferocity to something manageable. Ride that wave for as long as I can, and carry the intimacy that we're sharing along for the ride.

I think that tears are a lot like orgasms. A woman is never more real to me than when she's crying, or when she's climaxing. At those times, she's her most primal self. Her most authentic self. No bullshit. No games. No doubts. Just her. The real her, and she's sharing it with me, of all people.

I want to help. I really do. To turn my back would be just incredibly selfish, and that's one thing I'm not. But what if I can't help? What if I shouldn't help? I mean, maybe I'm just supposed to listen. Maybe I'm just supposed to be there for her, offer a shoulder to lean on, lend an ear, say a kind word every now and then.

I want to help, I really do. But if I can't, if I shouldn't, then I'd still want to be there. I'd still want to share that intimacy. I'd still want to feel special for a while.

I don't think that makes me selfish. I think that makes me human.

Human. Imagine that.

This morning I've got a slight twinge in my back. Last time this happened, the twinge turned into pain turned into agony by the end of the day.

So now I'm afraid to move.

I think I'm turning into one of those people. Those people who never believe, never trust anything. Or maybe I've always been one of those people, but I didn't believe it, so my disbeliefs cancelled each other out.

Lately, to me, everything is too good to be true. I suppose that I always knew that. At some level. But lately I'm realizing it on every level.

It's like I've spent my life in the audience of a magic show. By now, I've seen it all. And it's all been fake. Even if I don't know how a trick is done, even if I can't see the mirrors or the wires or the trapdoors, I still know that it's all fake.

And most of the enjoyment goes away.

Disillusioned. That's a pretty good word. I no longer want to be fooled by life, so its illusions are often wasted on me. And lately it's gone a step beyond that. I find myself actively looking for the tell-tales to all of the illusions that I see. The red flags. The smoke and the mirrors and the misdirections. Those thing aren't working on me as often as they once did. Instead, they're sometimes having the opposite effect. Instead of blinding and distracting me, they're calling out to me loudly and clearly, that this is all fake. You should trust nothing and nobody.

Sometimes.

Not all the time.

All the time would be cool. I'd never be fooled again.

But I'm not quite there yet.

I am still fooled. Every now and then. The most fantastic illusions still captivate me and suck me into their world. Until I remember the truth.

There is no magic.

It's all fake.

Every bit of it.

The bigger the illusion, the more disappointing the reality.

Ladies cannot be sawn in half. Men cannot fly. Doves cannot appear out of thin air.

Fake. All of it.

There were no sparkles. There was no electricity. There was no connection.

Fake. All of it.