I was positive that I'd already written about this, but I couldn't find it, so I'll do it now.

Let's review.

1. Becomes a Jesus freak and pretty much stops all contact with a drinker sinner like me.

2. Moves halfway across the country, and then breaks a promise to call me.

3. Tells me, in both words and actions, that my friendship is not worth the time or effort required.

4. Goes to West Virginia, of all places, and breaks off all contact. Again.

5. Decides, out of the blue, to get back together with her old boyfriend.

6. Becomes an asshole. Or, possibly, unleashes the inner asshole that was already there.

7. Becomes a slut. Or, possibly, unleashes the inner slut that was already there.

8. Pisses off the bartenders so many times that he doesn't come into Rich O's any more.

9. Allows a woman to come between us.

Hmmm, I thought there'd be more. And there would be, if I hadn't limited myself to the last three months.

If I had a friend, then odds are that I either don't have that particular friend anymore, or at least that the friendship has taken a sharp turn for the worse.

But I'm not really complaining. People leave all the time. I'm not complaining, but I am certainly noticing.

It's like all of the rats are leaving a sinking ship. And I'm the captain of the ship.

At least that's one analogy that I came up with.

The other analogy is that practice is over, and all of these people are just clearing the field, because the real game is about to start.

I think that what's dragging me down is that everything is in transition. I suppose that saying I'm stuck in transition would be an oxymoron, but here I am anyway.

I mean, it was one thing to not know what happened. I got used to that, I suppose. It's been another thing to not know what's going to happen. I deal with that as well as I can, and I do what I can to maybe help steer things in a good direction.

But it's yet another thing to not have the slightest clue what's happening now. I get zero feedback. Am I doing a good job with this? A shitty job? Could I do this one thing a little more often, or this other thing a little less often? Should I just fucking stop altogether, or should I throw caution to the wind?

I look for signs all the time, but my world seems to have gone opaque. I know that things are happening, many of them as a direct result of my own actions and words. But I can't, for the life of me, tell what those things are, or whether they're good things or bad things.

Hmmm.

For the life of me

That's quite telling, right there. That's why this is dragging me down so much. Because the stakes are pretty high. I'm trying to save my own life here, and the patient is non-responsive.

I'm such a slacker when it comes to writing entries. This bothers me, but apparently it doesn't bother me enough to motivate me. Sometimes, I do get motivated, but then all this time has passed and nothing I write is contemporary anymore.

Anyway.

Some stuff happened, and now I have a date with NormalGirl. That's the girl from the comic yesterday. I was going to give her a different nickname, but NormalGirl fits my tongue better.

At least I'd like to think so.

That's bad. I shouldn't have written that. Oh, well, can't be helped now. It's not like I have some magic button, labeled backspace perhaps, with which I could erase stuff I've typed.

But my date with the hot girl isn't what I was going to write about. Nope, I was going to write more crap about this guitar and how I'm trying to learn to play make non-deadly noises with it.

I suppose that my strumming has gotten better. At least the upstrokes are better. That whole pointer that MusicalYuppieDude gave me, about turning my wrist when I strum upwards, has worked wonders. I still have a big problem with hitting extra strings when I strum. I can only hope that the frequency of these errors will diminish over time.

I also mentioned before that I may be tone deaf, because I couldn't seem to ever get the blasted contraption in tune. Well, I found this nifty guitar tuner program. It lets me pluck a string into the microphone on my computer, then it tells me how far off, and in which direction, I am from the desired note.

All of my strings were way the fuck off. But now they're not. I can tell this because the computer program tells me so, but I can also tell because of my cats.

See, before, when I'd strum the guitar, three things would happen. First, Happy would come running, hopeful that whatever animal torture ritual I was performing would leave edible body parts strewn around the room. Second, Nugget would haul ass down to the basement, for fear that he was about to become my next victim. Third, Buddy would ignore me, just like he always does when I do something interesting.

But now when I make noise with the guitar, all three cats ignore me.

Seriously, let me try to read a book or take a shit, and Buddy is all over me, but let me move and make noise and actually do something interesting, and he ignores me. What's up with that? Cats are weird.

My ability to count to four while strumming hasn't improved, but my ability to at least stick with a certain rhythm has gotten better. Not getting caught on a string when I strum has helped with that. So I can kinda fake it like I know how to count. So that's cool. Chicks dig guys who can count.

It's really amazing how much more fun and satisfying it is to strum a well-tuned guitar than it is to strum one that's badly out of tune. I estimate, in fact, that it's 833,241 times more fun. That's a lot.

The tips of every finger on my left hand are numb. I'm finding it difficult to type coherent words. This, I also assume, will get better as time progresses.

I've gotten better at making chords, but I still suck badly at changing from one chord to another. You're supposed to change chords between notes. I'm lucky if I can change chords between geologic eras. This has to get better, if only because it couldn't get any worse.

That's about it I guess. I'm getting better, but I'm still guitarded.

Did I mention that I have a date with NormalGirl?

Sometimes I think that I was born on the wrong planet. That just might be the most reasonable explanation for my utter incapability to explain this to those around me.

See, sometimes I hear shit. And it's the same tired old shit I've been hearing for at least 20 years. And it's just as wrong now as it was 20 years ago, and 100 years ago, and 1,000,000 years ago.

It's like people just take the easiest explanation, that the person they're dealing with is flat-out wrong, and they run with that explanation as far as they can.

Tonight, I heard this dude talking about how he'd ended a relationship. Why he'd ended a relationship. His girlfriend had a problem with his platonic friendship with another woman, so he dumped her.

Everyone in the area pretty much stood up and applauded. I'm surprised that nobody got their dick sucked, so frenzied was that orgy of appreciation.

Well, I guess the night is still young. Dicks may yet be sucked.

Anyway, I, like a dumbass, decided to contribute my own two cents worth to the conversation.

Sometimes, it's not jealousy or mistrust. Sometimes, it's simple insecurity. Sometimes, it's not unreasonable. Sometimes, it's understandable, if only the slightest attempt at understanding is made.

Sometimes, a little reassurance can go a very long way.

I've tried many times, over the years, to get people to accept these simple ideas into their heads. Not as absolute truths, merely as possibilities. I just get sick of hearing the same old shit over and over and over. So I speak up.

Each and every time, I've been met with ridicule and derision.

I should just stop trying, but I probably won't. It's a subject that's very relevant to me. I know a lot about it, because I've seen both sides of insecurity several times.

Sometimes, things can be fixed. It only takes a bit of effort and empathy. But people don't want that. They want the path of least resistance, and quite often that path leads right out of a relationship.

I wasn't planning to go to Rich O's last night. Or all weekend for that matter. But, after the week I've had at work, I really wanted to relax for a while. Sure, I can relax at home, but it's just not the same. Plus, I think that I was actually fit for human company for a change, and I didn't want to waste that rare opportunity.

The place was fucking packed. Standing room only everywhere, even out in the Special People Room. The crowd was about 99.999% strangers and weirdoes. I recognized a couple of people at the bar. PlantDude and this other dude who looks like my friend Eric's dad. But that was it.

I stood at the end of the bar, ordered an NABC Old Bob's 15B (284), and surveyed my surroundings. It didn't look good. The strangers in the living room area seemed fully-entrenched, as did the weirdoes at the island. But luck was with me, because some dork left the seat at the end of the bar, and I sat there.

I didn't do much of anything for the next hour or so, except listen to PlantDude get progressively louder. Oh yeah, I did get to talk to MisunderstoodGirl for a few minutes, so that was very cool. She was wondering if I'd seen NotHideousGirl at all. I hadn't.

Then LaptopGirl came in, then some strangers left the loveseat and the throne, and we ended up moving over there. She with her obligatory Guinness, me with my second pint of 15B (304).

The next couple of hours were very nice. Even though it was still pretty crowded and loud, I managed to ignore all of the petty distractions so I could talk to LaptopGirl.

Let's see, I had a pint of Guinness (1528) next, in a fancy new Guinness glass that I might have to buy someday. Then a while later I had a half a Guinness (1538) that LaptopGirl donated to me. Yay for free beer!

Once LaptopGirl had gone, I stuck around for a little while and had a Diet Coke. I was thinking about maybe going over to The Pub to see BikerGirl. Her boyfriend's band was playing there. But I really couldn't justify the cost, so I just came home and shot pool until the Sun came up.

The night was much more interesting and wonderful than I've made it seem here.

One of the cops who'd approached me took my wrists, one at a time, pulled them down to my lower back, and handcuffed me. I didn't resist at all. My total cooperation didn't deter Officer Bullhorn, who by this was time was out of his car and therefore just Officer Loudmouth, from repeating, "Do not resist the officer, Do not resist the officer."

The thought crossed my mind, to scream out that I wasn't resisting shit, but I didn't. I was in serious trouble for some reason, and I was actually fearing for my life a little bit. I remembered that a lot of police cars have video cameras in them, and I resolved to make sure that any recording of what I suspected was my impending murder would show that I'd cooperated completely.

These cops were going to fry. Not that it would do me much good by that time.

Once I was cuffed, they pulled me to my feet that leaned me over against the hood of my car. They frisked me and found nothing. Officer Loudmouth said something about how they were going to search my car because of a felony or something. By this time I wasn't paying attention at all. I was mentally preparing my will, and wondering how my sisters and my dad would take the news of my death.

While one of the cops was searching my car, the radios in the cop cars crackled to life. "Blah blah robbery suspect in custody blah blah," they said. Even though I couldn't see anything, what with my face pressed against the hood of my car and all, I could sense the cops looking at each other with surprise and confusion.

The cop who still had his gun drawn, at least I think it was him, pulled out his microphone thing and talked into it.

The radios cracked some more. I couldn't make out anything, this time. But a lot of amazing things happened right away.

The cops all whispered to each other for a minute or two.

My handcuffs were removed.

Two of the policemen got into their cars and drove away.

I was still afraid to move, so I stayed as I was. Leaning over my car with my face pressed against the wet hood.

Officer Loudmouth and the last remaining backup cop talked for a bit, then the backup cop got into his car and left.

"Please stand up, sir," Officer Loudmouth said to me.

I stood up, and I turned to face him.

"The reason I pulled you over tonight, sir," he said, "was because your driving sucked."

He said it with such a straight face that I couldn't help but contrast his expression with a smile.

"I didn't think that cops were allowed to use language like that with civilians, " I said.

Officer Loudmouth managed to grin without cracking his face in half.

"Only when it's true," he said.

I was starting to decompress.

"Well, sorry about that. I was just having a really hard time seeing in the rain. The glare from the road was blinding me, so I slowed down. Better safe than sorry."

"Right," he said. "Better safe than sorry. You're free to go, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience, and be careful."

As I moved to get back into my car, I had to ask, "What was that all about? The handcuffing and the drawn weapons and stuff?"

"Sir," he said, "Your car matched the description of a car used in an armed robbery in Bellevue earlier tonight."

"So that's why you pulled me over?" I asked.

"No sir," he replied. "As I said, I pulled you over because your driving sucked. It was when I was running your plates that I was told about the robbery and the suspect vehicle."

"Okay," I said. "You thought I was dangerous."

"Yes, sir," he said. "Armed and dangerous."

"Well, I'm pretty much the opposite of armed and dangerous."

"That's good to hear, sir. You have a good evening, and be careful."

"You, too."

And I got back into my piece of shit Thunderbird and drove away.

A couple of weeks later, I finally stopped shaking.

After I drove my Lebaron off that cliff, saving all those lives, I found myself without a car. This sucked, as you might imagine, because I needed my car to work.

Problem was, besides not having any insurance on the Lebaron, I had very little money with which to buy another car. Luckily for me, unluckily for him, a friend of mine had recently gotten a DUI, not his first, and so he wouldn't be driving for a while. Or maybe forever.

I bought his Thunderbird for like $100. I may have been ripped-off.

But the thing ran. It was ugly as sin, but it got me around for work. And other fun things.

One rainy night I was driving home from some bar. Back then, I ran a pool league, so I spent a lot of time driving between bars. I didn't really drink back then, though, because I hadn't discovered any beer that I liked yet.

So I was driving home from a bar on a rainy night, and I was having a very tough time seeing the road. I bet I was going about 25 MPH on a road designed for twice that speed.

I saw flashing lights behind me. One of Washington's finest.

I pulled over to the side of the road, and I clasped my hands together behind my head. So the cop could see my hands and so wouldn't just preemptively shoot me. I saw a guy do that on the show Cops once, and I thought it was a good idea. I mean the clasping the hands thing, not the preemptive shooting thing.

Anyway.

This guy got on his bullhorn and told me not to move. That was fine with me. I wasn't planning on moving. But after I sat like that for about 15 minutes, I got a little fidgety. I'd thought the cop was just running my plates or something. Or maybe he was waiting for the rain to let up a little.

Nope.

He was waiting for backup.

Not one, not two, but three police cars arrived at pretty much the same time, lights flaring and sirens blaring, and they parked so as to surround me.

I got a little nervous at that point.

I got really nervous when Officer Bullhorn instructed me to (a) use my left hand to roll down my window, (b) use my left hand to throw my car keys outside the car, and (c) place my left hand back behind my head.

I nearly pissed my pants when, while I was following Officer Bullhorn's advice to the letter, the backup cops all got out of their cars, crouched behind their doors, and pointed their weapons at me.

It was probably stupid of me, but I had to say something. "I don't want any trouble," I shouted into the rain.

"Shut up right now!" Officer Bullhorn replied.

So, I shut up.

Next I was instructed to use my left hand to open my door and get out of the car with my hands behind my head.

I did so.

Next I was instructed to lie face-down on the sopping wet pavement, facing away from my car, and to place my hands back behind my head.

I did that too. It was cold, but I don't think that's the only reason I was shaking.

All of the cops then stood up. Two of the backup guys holstered their guns and approached me slowly, while the third backup guy kept his weapon pointed straight at me.

I heard Officer Bullhorn open his door and get out of his car.

(to be continued)

I have serious doubts that this will work. I just wanted to say that, right up front. So there's no doubt about my doubt.

I went to this thing. A meeting, actually. For a thing called National Novel Writing Month. I'd never heard of it before, but apparently they're organized enough to have their own website. Not that that is saying a whole lot. After all, I have my own website.

Anyway. I went to this thing because LaptopGirl invited me to it. I would have, of course, gone to anything to which LaptopGirl invited me. A dog shit tasting. A neo-Nazi convention. A football game. So I felt a bit fortunate that this meeting was about something that I could possibly be interested in. Or, at least, something that I could feign interest in.

The point of this thing, for those of you who haven't clicked the conveniently placed link which I so generously provided, is that you write a 50,000-word novel in a month. The month of November, to be precise.

Also, I'm not really sure that it has to be an actual novel that you write, because I asked if I could just use my regular blog stuff and they said that I could. It can be autobiographical nonfiction. That would be a pretty shitty novel, I think. But I do have a title for it already.

A November to Remember.

Probably not very original, but as long as I don't Google it, I can continue to imagine that I made it up all on my own, and that I was the first to do so.

To write 50,000 words in November would require averaging 1,667 words every day. I looked back through some of my old blog entries, and the longest one I found was 1,800 words. So that was cool. But then I counted all the words for every entry for all of the months that I've done this, and the most words I found was a little over 12,000. So that sucked.

Basically, most of my most verbose writing came when I was crazy. So, to become verbose again, all I have to do is be crazy again. I certainly could do that, but I don't want to.

This entry is a test. To see how long it takes me to write 1,667 words, and also to see if I can do it without much effort. Because I can't imagine putting effort into writing 1,667 words every day for a month. If I do this, I'll just have to sort of skate through most days.

Okay, it was 426 words up to the end of that last paragraph. And it took me about 15 minutes, but I went to pee at one point, so maybe 13 or 14 minutes, tops. Now, all I have to do is quadruple my current output, and I'm home-free. Then, all I have to do is manage the same feat every single fucking day in November.

Doubtful.

I have a very strong suspicion that this would be an easier feat if I wrote fiction. Like a real novel. I've never really tried that, but I don't think I'd be very good at it. And I don't want to write something that has no real hope of being at least readable.

Only 543 now. Damn.

I do have some ideas for fictional stories. There are even a couple that I've had rattling around in my head since I was a kid. I even have a couple of opening sentences waiting at the ready for a story to back them up. I started one, once. It's probably in one of my notebooks around here somewhere. I only remember the first sentence.

Gary knew a flying saucer when he saw one.

Ulysses?

Nope, too dated.

Conan?

Ugh. Too much strength, and my character would not be gay. He would also wear a shirt at all times.

I dunno don't know do not know. Notice how cleverly I just increased my word count? Pretty subtle, I know.

Only 698?!?

Fuck. Not even halfway there.

I kind of think that writing this novel in blog format would be cheating. I'm not saying that I won't do it that way, I'm just saying that the idea doesn't seem quite legitimate. Kind of like when LaptopGirl asked if she could convert one of her existing screenplays to novel format. That, of course, would definitely be cheating.

See, I think that we're supposed to write new stuff. And, I get the impression, it's supposed to be stuff that we wouldn't be writing anyway. Like, it's supposed to be writing that we do specifically for this nanowrimo thingy. That's why I think the blog thing would be cheating. I already write 4,000 words every month, adding 46,000 more wouldn't be that great of a challenge. All I'd have to do is let the crazy thoughts back out of the bottles.

Would that be worth it? No way. Not even for a Pulitzer.

I was thinking about this for a while last night, because sleep was certainly out of the question. At about 3:30 in the morning, I had an actual good idea. Me, of all people. I think that, if I end up participating in this thing, the novel I write will be a direct result of that idea. So that means that I'm not going to say what my idea was so nobody steals it.

Muhaha.

Still only 928 words. I don't see how I could possible make it to my goal tonight. It's almost time to start checking my email every 10 seconds, and I can't be expected to write and do that at the same time.

I think that, tonight, I should stop at 1000 words. That's a nice round number. Wait, I guess that's actually an even number. Maybe, instead, I will stop at 999.

Six Years ago...
How have you changed since 2001?

1.) How old were you?
184

2.) Where did you go to school?
School of Hard Knocks.

3) Where did you work?
Started the year as an independent, finished the year with a regular job.

4.) Where did you live?
Same place I live now, Georgewardsville, Indiana.

5.) Where did you hang out?
Back then? Either at home or at Bailey's in Clarksville.

6.) Did you wear glasses?
Yes.

7.) Who was your best friend?
I probably hung out with my cousin Jeff more than anyone else.

8.) Haw many tattoos did you have?
None.

9.) How many piercing did you have?
None.

10.) What car did you drive?
1993 Dodge Intrepid, 1985 Toyota Pickup, 1985 Chevy MOnte Carlo SS.

11.) Had you been to a real party?
What a stupid question. Of course.

12.) Had You had your heart broken?
You mean by then, or during that year. If the former, then yes. If the latter, then no.

13.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced?
Divorced.

14.)Any Kids?
Depends on how you count them.

-------------3 years ago----------since 2004?

1.) How old were you?
852

2.) Where did you go to school?
School of Hard Knocks - getting my doctorate.

3.) Where did you work?
Same real job I had in 2001.

4.) Where did you live?
Same house I've had since 1999.

5).Where did you hang out?
Rich O's.

6.) Did you wear glasses?
Yes.

7.) Who were your best friend(s):
LaptopGirl, SassyGirl, MisunderstoodGirl.

8.) How many tattoos did you have?
Zero.

9.) How many piercing did you have?
Zero.

10) What car did you drive?
Same three as before.

11) Had your heart broken?
Yes.

12.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced:
Still divorced, somewhat taken.

13.) Any Kids?
Still depends on how you count them.

--------------------Today--------------------

1.) How old are you?
8

2.) Where do you work?
Same place.

3.) Where do you live?
Same house.

4.) Do you wear glasses?
Same eyes. New glasses though.

5) Who are your close friends?
RockGirl

6.) Do you talk to your old friends?
Yes.

7) How many piercing do you have?
Still zero.

8.) How many tattoos?
Still zero.

9.) What kind of car do you have?
Still the same three.

10.) Has your heart been broken?
Still broken from before.

11)Single/Taken/Married/Divorced:
Still divorced. Looking.

12.)Any Kids?
Still depends.

I was wondering, what's the most important piece of advice I could give to anyone starting their own blog?

I didn't have to wonder for very long. The answer is obvious. At least now it is. I wish it had been obvious to me, back when I first started.

Keep it anonymous.

Don't let it be traceable back to you.

Don't tell your family where your blog is, and don't tell your friends where it is. Because, if you tell anyone where it is, they will read it. At first, you might think that you'd want these people to read it. You'll probably write some things that you're really proud of. You'll probably write some things that you want to say out loud, but which you are unable or unwilling to say out loud.

It will be very tempting. You must resist that temptation. I wish, with all my heart, that I'd resisted that temptation. Things would be very different now, if only I'd realized the obvious, back when I first started.

Back before it was too late.

I think that things went pretty well. Not as well as I'd dared to hope, but much better than they could have gone.

It could have been disastrous, but it wasn't. It could have been fantastic, but it wasn't.

It was normal. I was normal. Maybe even better than normal.

Imagine that. Me, normal.

I'll admit that this being normal crap is, and always has been, Plan B. But I've got to pick from the choices made available to me. So Plan B it is. Plan A would be seen as an act of sheer desperation, and so I'm thankful that it's never come to that.

Quite.

Yet.

Also, I'm in a good mood now.

Imagine that. Me, in a good mood. For a real reason instead of some trumped-up bullshit.

Wow.

Tonight I looked through my photo album for a certain picture. I never did find it, and so I fear that it's in South Dakota, but I did find a few that were worth posting. So long as I don't care about the things I post being interesting. Plus, this counts as an entry for today. So, ha ha!.

I took that picture in the cafeteria at school, in 7th grade. On the left was FoxyGirl, my first love. Her friends were quite cute, too.

In the 8th grade, I'd completely gotten over FoxyGirl, and UFOGirl was my new obsession. She's the one on the left.

This picture has nothing to do with the previous two pictures. I've just always thought it was funny. That's my sister Dina. I still think of her with huge 80s hair like that. Also, when I was a kid, I didn't think that gay guys really existed. I thought they were just something that adults made up to scare little children. Like the boogie-man and Jesus. By the time I'd reached adulthood, I'd begun to suspect that gay men might actually exist. This picture provided absolute proof.

I really wish I could take credit for the title of this entry. But I can't. I got it from my sister Neisha. It's really quite a clever word though. And it describes me much more effectively than musically challenged. That term being all my brain could come up with.

Anyway, I've got this guitar. It used to belong to SassyGirl, and before she moved away she gave it to me. The theory being that I'd pick it up every now and then. As opposed to what I actually did, which was lean it against a wall for a year.

I guess that after my nephew was killed, that's when I became more interested in the guitar. Cory's friends included a lot of musicians, and between the funeral and the couple of benefit performances I've heard his friends give, I've heard more acoustic guitar playing over the last three months than I'd heard in my entire life before the accident.

Plus, I got some of Cory's guitar picks. And what else do you need besides a guitar and a pick?

That's where the word guitarded becomes relevant.

I think I might be tone deaf or something. I tune that stupid guitar and then, 10 seconds later, it sounds out of tune again. Sometimes I just cannot tell if a tone is higher or lower than the one I'm comparing it to. I have to think that this type of tonal perception would be a handy thing to have, if a person wanted to do anything with a guitar besides scare cats.

I've been plowing forward anyway. I had Neisha loan me some of Cory's old beginner books. Waaaaaay too advanced for me, I soon found out. So I went to this music store in Clarksville and asked the dude for the most basic guitar book he had. He recommended one that came with a companion DVD. I've been messing around with the book and the DVD for a week or so now, and I've only reinforced my opinion that I'm guitarded.

I can't seem to get the strumming right. My downstrokes are okay I suppose. I hit the strings I'm aiming at, and sometimes I hit a bonus string or two. So that's cool, maybe. My upstrokes suck though. I get my pick snagged on the bottom string, and then I kind of jump over the next string or two on the way up.

I asked MusicalYuppieDude about this today. He suggested that I try turning my wrist counter-clockwise as I strum upwards. Then turn it clockwise as I strum downwards. Sounds like a lot of work to me.

But strumming isn't my biggest problem. Nope, my biggest problem is trying to contort the fingers of my left hand into the various claws needed to make the chords that the books tell me to make. I'm pretty sure that I'm doing something wrong at the most basic level. I can't even get close to most of the finger positions diagrammed. And then, even if I do, actually applying pressure to the strings? Ha, very funny.

And then there's that whole counting to four thing. Don't even get me started on that.

A while back I wrote about random hot girls. And how much I like them. How they're my favorites.

Well, today I have a new favorite kind of girl. This group is not really a replacement for the random hot girl group, more like a specific subset.

See, today it's been raining. I guess that this rain caught a lot of people off-guard. I, for one, was lucky brilliant enough to be prepared. My umbrella was in my laptop bag.

Anyway, this rain caught people unprepared.

So people got wet.

Random hot girls got wet.

People have been running down the sidewalks. To their cars, to their places of work, to restaurants, wherever.

People are running.

And they're wet.

Random hot girls are running. And they're wet.

Random wet hot running girls are my new favorites.

You know what would have been really cool, back when I was about 14?

If aliens would have came and beamed me up to their spaceship.

I used to daydream about that, back in junior high. The aliens would come and kidnap me and this one cute girl I had a major crush on. Then they'd make us have sex so they could study us.

Of course I'd pretend that I was against the whole thing. But secretly I'd be grateful for the aliens and their twisted obsession with watching teenaged humans have sex. I'd be grateful, of course, because it would mean that I got to have sex with that cute girl.

And, if she didn't like that we had to have sex, I could just say, "Sorry, it's not my idea. It's these damn aliens. Take your pants off."

And then, after a while, she'd come to love me and actually look forward to all the sex. Then we'd somehow kill the aliens and steal their spaceship and explore the universe together. And have lots of sex, of course.

I know, this is a weird entry.

The other day in an email, I wrote or at least implied that things are worse now than they were before.

I didn't mean to imply that.

Things are not worse. They're just different.

Incredibly different.

What used to be an unrelenting ache has been replaced by something else. By two different things, actually.

Palpable potential for incredible joy followed, almost inevitably, by nearly unbearable disappointment.

I got used to that old life. It took a while, but I eventually learned to accept it.

This new life? It will also take time for me to adjust.

I'm trying to be patient about this. I really am.

1. The phone rings. What's your ring tone?
Depends on who's calling. Either the phone sound from the show 24 or a Homer Simpson WooHoo.

2. If you HAD to kiss the last person you kissed, would you?
Absolutely.

3. Has your life been going the way you want it to lately?
Things are turning back to the better, but I'm not taking full advantage.

5. Does the person you like know that you like them?
Either that or she's stupid.

6. What's the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
This question keeps coming up. Eyes, general shape, lips.

7. Where are you right now?
Lost somewhere in thought.

8. Did you go anywhere today?
To work.

9. When was the last time you cried?
Me strong man. Me no cry.

11. Ever liked someone who treated you like crap?
I usually stop liking them when they start treating me like crap.

12. Where's the last place you walked to?
Besides just to and from the car, yesterday I walked from work to The Pub to see BikerGirl.

13. Last time you had a sleepover?
The last time I stayed at WeirdGirl's house. It's been a while.

15. Who made you smile today?
Nobody yet.

17. What is the last thing you said out loud?
"No, Evangeline Lilly, I will not have sex with you right now. I'll call you after work."

18. Who's the 1st person on your missed calls list?
My phone got totally reset the other day. So my missed calls list is empty. Before that, I think it was Dina.

19. Who was the last text message you received from?
MusicalYuppieDude, wondering if I was alive.

20. plans for tomorrow?
After work, I hope to just stay home.

21. story behind your myspace song?
I like that song. David Gray is one of my favorites.

22. Whats bothering you right now?
A million things, most of which are irrelevant. And one relevant thing which I'm trying to be more patient about.

23. Where do you live?
In my house.

24. Wallet?
No thanks, I already have one.

25. Where was your default picture taken?
This varies. At JournalSpace, it's a picture of me with a beer bottle when I was a baby. I used to have that same picture at MySpace, but I got yelled at, so I made a new picture at some Simpsons site. At barenada.com it's just a picture of my eyes.

26. Eyes:
Two blue ones.

WHAT ARE YOU:

Doing this weekend?
I really should just stay home.

Wearing?
Work clothes. Tan Dockers and a blue shirt.

Wanting?
Progress would be nice, but I'd also accept closure.

Listening to?
Nothing.

Something you're afraid of?
I'm pretty sure that I'd be afraid of sharks and jellyfish if I ever went in the ocean.

Eating?
Nothing. I'll probably have some cereal when I get home.

Do you believe in soul mates?
Yes.

Do you remember your dreams?
Usually I do. Especially the vivid ones.

Do you speak another language other than English?
I can manage some conversational Spanish.

What's something you wish you could understand better?
Women.

What did you do last weekend?
Had a really shitty weekend and probably alienated everyone who saw me.

Have you ever been in a beauty pageant?
No.

Who were the last people you went out to lunch with?
BikerGirl. Or maybe NotHideousGirl. I don't remember for sure.

The most annoying sound in the world?
When my cats Buddy and Nugget get into a fight, their wails cut right through my skull. Also, my alarm clock.

Last person you hugged?
Probably NotHideousGirl.

Who do you hate right now?
The person I used to be.

Well, that didn't work very well. Not that I really expected it to, but I'd have taken it anyway. It would have been a nice surprise, if it had worked.

---

All of the chickens are dead. I'm not really sure, exactly, what happened to them, but if I had to guess I'd say that they starved to death.

Who knew you had to feed even imaginary chickens?

---

This most recent incarnation of my mood, it's certainly my fault. I expected the impossible. I dared to have hope, of all things. You'd think I would have learned by now.

---

I had a dream last night, during one of my two-hour naps. I don't remember many of the details of the dream, and I don't even remember the exact words spoken, but I do remember the gist.

"What is it that you want with me?" she asked, her voice managing to convey both fear and hope.

"My wants vary widely," I answered. "But right now, I want to use my tongue on you, until you're nothing more than a quivering puddle sprawled atop your bed. I want to make your body vibrate with the anticipation of ecstasy, so that my most gentle kiss, the lightest graze of my fingers, even the softest sound of my whispered voice, sets you off all over again. I want to melt you."

"That sounds fun," she said. "Do that, please."

I don't know if this, right here, is going to work.

I've got about five minutes worth of beer left in my glass. I have to pee really badly. But I thought I'd give this entry a shot anyway.

What's the worst that could happen?

That I'd write a shit entry?

I do that anyway.

Anyway, I've been kicking myself in the ass lately because I felt that I'd been fooled. That I'd been just incredibly wrong about something. Someone. Whatever.

But the thought just entered my head, or the thought just rose to my consciousness, that maybe I wasn't wrong at all. Maybe I wasn't fooled at all.

Maybe, just maybe.

Because see, people do change. I know this for an absolute fact. I know this from personal experience. People can change. Become a new person.

But, and this is the kicker, not always a better person.

Sometimes, sometimes they change into someone worse. Someone cruel and insensitive, perhaps.

I think that it would be cool, if I found that I hadn't been stupid all this time. It would still suck that I'd lost a friend, but at least I wouldn't feel stupid. About this.

Damn, I've really got to pee now.

I suppose it's pretty funny, if I think about it. As long as I don't think about for too long, or with too much intensity.

So about a half a second and with passing interest is about right. Any more is fraught with peril.

It's like I was given the keys to my very own time machine. I eagerly jumped in and slammed the lever to the past, as far as it would go. Reality shifted all around me, and *whoosh* back I went.

95,551,200 seconds. That was its limit. What a cheap piece of shit time machine. No wonder it was free.

Fuck!

There I go again. Thinking about it with too much intensity. I hate it when I do that.

Anyway.

I remember being here before. Almost drowning. The pressure. The cold. The almost overwhelming desire to just breathe in these depths and get it all over with. But I also remember that I managed to save myself. I remember how I did it. My feet unexpectedly touched bottom, and I instinctively jumped. Each and every time that I sank so far that I nearly gave up, so far that I would have surely and gladly died, each and every time I instead felt the ground beneath my feet, and I jumped with all my might.

And, eventually, I breathed safely, and I made my way to a paradise of sorts.

Now, suddenly, I find myself back here. Struggling. Drowning again. Pretty funny, like I said.

The water seems deeper, this time. That's probably just my imagination.

But the drowning, that's not all that's funny. Or even most of what's funny.

The really funny part is that far is now near, and near is now far.

It's fucking hilarious, actually. As long as I don't think about it for too long, or with too much intensity. And as long as I don't think about how the surface might be frozen over, so that my jumps might be in vain.

Happy Birthday to my youngest sister, Neisha!

The world may be fooled into believing whatever you choose to tell them. Hell, the world is already fooled by your pretty face and your sweet voice.

But I won't be fooled. Not anymore.

Tell the world whatever you want. Bask in your false glory and revel in your unearned adoration.

You know the truth. And now, you know that I know the truth.

There are four fucking lights, bitch.

Not am wasted.

Not even was wasted.

Have wasted.

Feel free to imagine the duration of your choice. All are correct.

---

Last night, I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this (imagine duration of your choice) could be salvaged. All I needed was a teeny tiny bit of help. And I got shit, as usual.

Tonight, it's too late.

Wasted.

It would do me absolutely no good at all, to know exactly when, exactly what, triggered our derailment. It's not like I could do anything about it, what with it being in the past and all.

But I still wonder. A lot. More, I'm sure, than is healthy for me.

What/where/when/why did things go so awry between us? What it truly my fault, as I've always assumed? Or was it merely the result of a misinterpretation or an exaggeration of something I did or said or wrote?

It was so fucking sudden. Everything was fine and dandy. Then, a second later, everything was fucked-up. And I suddenly didn't even know her anymore. And suddenly I wasn't sure that I wanted to know her anymore.

I honestly don't know where we stand these days, in regard to each other. Outside? Inside? On the line? What line?

What fucking line?

I guess I think that, if I knew for sure what had caused this, then maybe I'd know that thing which is more important than anything else.

Maybe I'd know if it was fixable.

But, I don't know shit. I only suspect shit.

And I suspect that things are irreparable.

And I wish I knew why.

I suppose that, truth be told, I'm not really doing okay. Oh, certainly better than I expected at first, but all in all still not very well. I kinda feel like a little kid in the back of a car, on the way to some exciting destination.

"Are we there yet?" I'll ask myself a million times a day.

"Not quite," I'll answer myself. "Just a little while longer."

And every time the question gets asked, there's a little more urgency than there was before. And every time the answer is given, the reassurance is a little less believable than it was before.

As a result of this constant little dialogue, I seem to have lost the ability to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. So my nights are marked by a series of naps, and my days are marked by an unending series of yawns.

I find myself with zero patience. And it's only through some combination of altruism and fear that I've managed to at least feign patience for as long as I have. Which isn't very long. It just seems that way.

---

Let me see if I can get this right. This is a joke that TremensGirl told me this evening.

So this nun went to live in a convent. Upon her arrival, the priest told her that it was a silent convent, and that if she lived there, she wouldn't be allowed to speak. She agreed to this condition, and moved in.

For five years, she was completely silent, and the priest sent for her.

"My child," he said, "You have been living here for five years, and you have done very well. As a reward, you may now speak two words."

The nun thought about this for a few minutes, then finally said, "Room cold."

"Oh dear," the priest replied. "I'm so sorry. We'll get that taken care of right away."

And so they fixed the heat in the nun's room. And she was silent again.

Another five years passed, and the priest sent for her once again.

"My child," he said, "You have now lived here for ten years. Congratulations. As your reward, you may now speak two words."

The nun thought about what to say for several minutes. With a raspy voice, she said, "Bed hard."

"Oh dear," the priest replied. "We'll get you a better bed right away."

And so they replaced the nun's bed , and it was very soft, and she fell silent again.

Another five years passed and, once again, the nun was summoned to the priest.

"My child," he said, "You have lived here for fifteen years. This is quite an accomplishment. As your reward, you may now speak two words."

The nun didn't hesitate at all. "I'm leaving," She said.

The priest thought, for a few seconds, about what the nun had said. Then he responded.

"That would probably be best," he said. "After all, all you've done is bitch since the day you got here."

No cheating! No looking at answers already left, and no poking around through this blog for answers. Just answer the questions. After you've submitted your comment, you can poke around all you want.

---

Who knows me best? The race is on......this is funny. YOU fill in the blanks about ME ... even if you don't have any idea....and leave a comment with your answers.

PLAY WITH IT .. ITS GONNA BE AWESOME

My name:

My age:

How old do I act:

Summarize me in three words:

Where did we meet:

Take a stab at my middle name:

How long have you known me:

When is the last time we saw each other:

Do I drink:

Do I smoke:

Am I happy:

Am I a good person:

Do I get along better with guys or girls:

What was your first impression of upon meeting me/seeing me:

What's one of my favorite things to do:

Do we have any inside jokes, that no one would understand:

Am I funny:

How do you make me smile:

What's my favorite type of music:

Have you ever seen me cry:

Can I sing:

What is the best feature about me:

Am I shy or outgoing:

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:

Do I have any special talents:

Would you call me preppy, average, sporty, punk, hippie, glam, nerdy, snobby,
or something else (what):

Have you ever hugged me:

Kissed me:

Slapped me:

Whats my favorite food:

Do you know anyone that has a crush on me:

Have you ever had a crush on me:

Am I dating anyone:

If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be:

What's your favorite memory of me:

What is my worst habit:

Have you ever had a dream about me:

If you and I were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing I would bring:

Are we friends:

Do I believe in God:

Who is my best friend:

Where do I work, if I work:

Whats my favorite drink:

Describe my average weekend:

What about my week:

Here's the view from my deck. If you would indulge me for a minute, please. Ignore the rotting woodpile and the bird feeder, and just look at the tree. See anything? About ten feet up, on the left side?

Maybe, maybe not. I certainly notice something, whenever I'm out on my deck. Here's a closer look:

How about now? See that damn face, turned to the left? I'll tell you, once you notice it, as I did a couple of weeks ago, it's impossible to look at that tree without seeing that face.

One more picture, zoomed even more:

Now, to me, the face isn't as obvious as it was in the last picture. But it's still there and, at this magnification, I can see just a tiny hint of an eye. An eye looking right back at me.

This tree-face, along with Dilly the Armadillo, is one of my best friends now. I call him Treeface, which is a stupid, albeit descriptive name.

Upon seeing Treeface for the first time, I was of course reminded of all the Jesus and Virgin Mary sightings that keep showing up on the Internet. Pieces of toast, rust stains on sidewalks, stuff like that. I thought, for just a brief minute or two, about announcing that The Face Of Jesus had appeared on a tree in my backyard. I figured that maybe there'd be profit to be had.

But then I remembered, I certainly don't want those people here. Weeping and wailing at all hours of the day and night as they prostrated themselves all over my lawn.

I also thought about that Face on Mars that so conveniently was photoshopped away disappeared soon after it was first noticed. I thought that maybe Marsface had somehow relocated and changed his identity to Treeface. Via some kind of interplanetary Witness Protection Program, perhaps.

But I certainly couldn't disclose that theory to the world. The freaks who would show up then would be even worse than the bible thumpers. If you can imagine that.

At 5:30 or so this evening, I said, "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Things are much better now, but all the stress has wiped me out.

Since last Wednesday, I've looked forward to several things. Most of those things have come and gone, usually with much less impact and import that I'd envisioned. But one thing has remained in the to-do list I keep in my head.

Last Wednesday, I bought a couple bottles of Schlenkerla Marzen. And they'd been sitting in my fridge until tonight. Waiting for tonight. Waiting for the night when I wouldn't feel like going out, because I'd have to work the next day. For the night when I could sit on my swing and drink yummy beer and contemplate the universe that surrounds me and suffocates me.

Today was a so-so day. I really can't give it a better rating than that. I played Half Life 2 all day, then I went to this country-fried place for my grandmother's birthday dinner. I ended up paying over $3.00 for one french fry, and it was gross. Cold and raw and bland.

After the birthday "dinner" was over, I went to Famous Dave's in Clarksville and had some real dinner. Then I came home, and opened up a Marzen (1509), and sat on my swing and relished it. Then I had another one (1526). Then, I was out of Marzen.

Waaaaaaaaaah!

I think that, the sad thing is, this was probably the highlight of my week. It could have been so much better.

I want a lot of things from this life of mine. Most will prove to be unattainable. But some things, I could have, if only I'd do a better job of planning ahead.

I wish I'd bought more Marzen, when I had the chance. Another bottle would be terrific, right about now.

I keep having dreams about moving away to a different city. Usually it's Las Vegas in my dreams, but sometimes it's not. Last night, for example, I dreamed that I'd taken a job in Seattle, so I moved back there. Then, later this morning, I had a dream that I'd been transferred to someplace in Northern California, so I moved there. Over the last couple of months, I've dreamed a lot about moving to South Dakota.

I'm very interested in dreams. I think they can, at times, display pretty interesting interpretations of what goes on in our heads and in our lives. It seems that I read somewhere that dreams are what we experience as our short-term memories and thoughts are filed away into long-term storage. I suppose that's as good an explanation as any, of the biochemical process involved. Not that I really care about that - I just like the symbolism and the metaphors.

And sometimes there are hot girls in my dreams. And I get to have sex with them.

But I digress.

I don't think that I keep dreaming about moving to a different city because I want to move. Or even because I fear moving. I think it's yet another metaphor. New jobs, new cities, those are just the symbols that my brain chose to use as it processed my desire for a new life. I could have a new life right here, with the same job, with mostly the same friends. A new life which would be entirely self-contained, in my own head. It can consist of nothing more than my own attitudes and interpretations of the world around me. All I have to do is choose to start over, and my new life could begin.

I think that's what I want. To start over. But I'm afraid that would require a leap of faith that I'm not ready to take. Just as dreams can turn into nightmares, so can lives.

---

Saturday afternoon, I took a nap. I dreamed that I'd gone to this guy's house, and he was cooking steaks for us. Problem was, he'd forgot to ask me how I wanted my steak cooked, so it came off the grill too rare for my tastes. So I put it back on the grill to let it finish cooking.

Once the steak had cooked, I took it from the grill and put it on my plate. It looked and smelled delicious. Then I woke up, before I got to take a single bite from the damn thing.

After I woke up, I was starving for a steak. I figured that I'd go to this Tucker's place and have one. I haven't been there for a while.

But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my dream hadn't really been about a steak at all. It had been about my own stubborn quest for perfection, and about my annoying tendency to wait too long for that perfection to arrive.

About how I wait too long, and how it's suddenly, terribly, horribly, too late.

MixedSignalGirl used to give me shit, if I didn't write something every day. She'd tell me about how she couldn't properly start her days until she'd had her coffee and read my blog. She was, along with many other wonderful things, my muse. Though that's not really the correct word. She didn't always inspire my writings. What she did was inspire me to write. The difference is subtle, but it's still a difference.

Anyway, the other day TremensGirl told me pretty much the same thing that MixedSignalGirl used to tell me. That I should write something every day. I tried to protest that my blog is boring now, but then I realized that being boring just might be a good thing.

I mean, if I write a boring entry, as I'm so wont to do lately, and somebody reads it first thing in the morning, well then they have nowhere to go but up. It's the contrast that's important.

Maybe, just maybe, I provide a valuable public service here, with my boring drivel.

Oh yeah, I spent several hours tonight talking with OddlyFamiliarGirl. She said that she was excited because she might be mentioned in my blog. Far be it from me to crush such lofty dreams, so I have indeed mentioned her.

Also, I had a new beer tonight.

Brooklyn Abbey Singel

(draft) Looks like a hazy pale lager. An odd aroma of what I guess is Belgian yeast. Flavor a bit like a saison, but weaker. It looked so much like a lager that I think I imagined lagerish components to the flavor and the finish that weren't really there. Decent, but that's it.

After that I had a pint and a half of Three Floyds Gumballhead (85) and then a Diet Coke.

It was a boring but pleasant night. Just what I needed after the drama of this past week.

A dude asked me tonight, when he saw me relax for the first time in hours, how I was doing. He was just being polite, I'm sure. It's just something you ask people when you kinda know them and can kinda sense that they're deep in thought.

"Hey Dave, how are you doing?" he asked.

He was just being polite. He certainly didn't ask for, or deserve, the crap I answered him with.

"Things are incredibly fantastic," I said. "And things are unimaginably terrible. There is no middle ground. But at least I'm not bored."

In other words, I told him the truth. And that truth led to even more truth. I couldn't shut the fuck up. It was a fucking endless loop, until OldBob joined us and managed to swing the subject to something besides how I was doing.

Thanks, OldBob.

What was I thinking? Very few people deserve to hear the unwashed truth from me, and even fewer people ask for that truth. And this guy was in neither group. I don't even know his damn name.

I should have said, "I'm fine" and let it go at that. Or maybe, "I'm just ducky." Because I say that a lot too, when I want people to leave me alone. It confuses people, when I say that I'm just ducky. They're not sure what it means. Gives me time to escape, or at least change the subject.

Does someone love you?
There are some who claim to do so. At least one I believe.

Do you know anyone named Dave?
Besides my lovely self, there's a bartender at The Pub, and a regular at Rich O's. Probably more.

Ever kissed anyone with the name starting with a J?
My first serious girlfriend was named Jackie.

Has anyone ever mistaken you for a family member?
I don't think so.

What colour are the walls of your parent's bedroom?
They were dark paneling.

Do you think that hair extensions look skanky?
I have no opinion either way.

Are you named after a grandparent?
No, after my dad.

Say you were given a drug test right now. Would you pass or fail?
I'd pass. I"m a good citizen.

Are you taller than 5'6"?
Yes.

Do you know anyone in jail/prison?
I'm not sure. I wouldn't be surprised.

Ever see a dead body?
At funerals.

Do you like the colour green?
On grass and trees, yes. On pizza, not so much.

What is your best friend's Dad's name?
Paul.

How old are you?
1344910813 seconds.

Who was the last person to send you a text message?
TremensGirl.

Ever drove into the ghetto to buy drugs?
Nope.

Last restaurant you went to?
The Pub.

What is the weather like today?
Unseasonably warm. I like it.

Last voice mail you received?
RockGirl telling me about travelling through time.

What did you do yesterday?
Worked, slept, watched some TV. Glared at my phone.

What's the first thing you would do with five million dollars?
Pay off my house.

What nationalities are you?
Most of the European ones.

How many hours did you sleep for last night?
Maybe two.

Any upcoming concerts you want to attend?
Nope.

Who's the last person that you felt was stalking you?
My stalkers must be doing a hell of a job, because I haven't noticed any of them.

What jewellery are you wearing?
None.

If all of your friends were going on a road trip, would
you?
It would depend on where and when. And who was going.

How much money do you have?
Enough to last until payday, I hope.

Do you swear at your parents?
I don't think I ever did. In front of them, certainly, but not at them.

Is your phone right beside you?
Always.

Have you cried today?
Nope.

Do you think that someone is thinking about you right now?
As I write this, I doubt this. As people read this, almost certainly.

Do you untie your shoes every time you take them off?
This is a stupid question that keeps showing up in these things. No.

What is the colour of your bedsheets?
Varies. I have gray ones and green ones.

Have you ever crawled through a window?
Yes.

Are you photogenic?
From far enough away.

What's your star sign?
Pisces.

Where do you spend most of your money?
Mortgage..

What was the last thing you did?
Checked the progress of a backup job at work..

Do you have a tattoo?
Nope.

Do you still watch cartoons on Saturday mornings?
Nope.

Is there a secret you've never told any of your friends?
Yes.

Have you ever told someone you loved them but didn't mean it?
No, but I've said it when I wasn't true. I only thoought it was true at the time.

Have you ever changed your clothes while in a vehicle?
When I first started dating my ex-wife, I'd take the baby to his grandparents house, pretending that I had to work. Then I'd change into my civilian clothes in my car and go play pool.

What are you doing in 2008?
I'll let you know.

What is your ring tone?
Varies between a standard ringer and a Homer Simpson "WooHoo" depending on who's calling.

What were you doing at 2am last night?
Shooting pool.

Are your parents married/divorced/separated?
They came within 13 days of their 25th anniversary before Mom died.

What are you doing tonight?
I'm keeping my options open.

What are you doing tomorrow?
Awfully concerned about my plans, aren't you?

Who did you last message on Myspace?
LaptopGirl.

What's your opinion on sex without emotional commitment?
I think that I need at least the potential for a commited relationship. I have strayed from this in the past though.

Does it annoy you when someone says they'll call but never do?
It destroys me.

What did you dress up as for your first Halloween?
Like I have a clue.

Favourite Disney movie?
I don't know.

What is the wallpaper on your cellphone?
A picture of the bar at The Pub.

There are certain things in this life that we can just take for granted. Immutable and immobile laws of reality.

Sunrises and sunsets. Death and taxes. Cats are finicky. Water is wet. I don't like hoppy beers.

Today I was at Rich O's after work, wondering about something and enjoying a beer. At about the time I ordered a second pint of the same beer, Roger (The owner of Rich O's) came up to me. Incredulous, he asked, "Do you really like that?"

Since I'd never lie about beer, I had to admit that I did. It seemed to be a bit more citrusy than I remembered, but it was still pretty damn good.

Roger then commented that it was, "Loaded with hops."

I guess I kinda sorta knew that already. It was an APA after all. But this isn't a normal hoppy APA. See, to me, hoppy has always meant bitter - especially in the finish. And this particular beer isn't bitter at all. Nope, instead of the usual piney hops, this one has what I can only call floral hops. I'm sure there's a more technical term than that, but floral is good enough for this humble venue in which I write.

The beer?

Three Floyds Gumballhead (53).

If you think you don't like hops, well then maybe you're wrong.

I know I was.

There's a first time for everything, I suppose.

For a while, an hour or so ago, I was thinking that it doesn't have to be like this. That it could be much better, easier, smoother. It could be good, even fun. Uplifting and revealing and relieving and shit.

But now, an hour or so later, now I'm not so sure. Maybe this is not supposed to be easy. Maybe these particular circumstances require a certain amount of uncertainty and impatience and trepidation just to ensure that they don't pass by unnoticed.

Not like that would ever happen, but maybe I'm the only one who knows that with any certainty. It's weird to be certain of anything, but here I am anyway.

I suppose that I'll just do what I always do. I'll wait and I'll see what happens. It won't be easy, waiting, but it's something I've become accustomed to doing.

I can do it for a while longer. As long as it takes, actually.

It won't kill me.

It was brought to my attention, earlier this evening, that I haven't written anything in a few days. Almost exactly three days, to be precise.

Well, that's not quite right. I've written a shitload of drivel since Sunday night. I just haven't posted any of it anywhere. And I've written one entry that I kinda like, but I haven't posted it here.

So I am writing stuff. But mostly I've been trying to keep this chicken ranch of mine running somewhat smoothly.

Just cleaning up their shit takes hours every day. I don't know why I talked myself into this.

I was going to write about something. I even wrote some preliminary thoughts and a rudimentary draft in my notebook. But I soon discovered that it was going to be really boring, no matter how much I tried to dress it up.

Plus, I thought of something else to write about. And my new thought pushed all of my old thoughts out of my head and they shattered when they hit the floor. So they're gone for good now, those old thoughts.

Now, all I have to do is write something good about the new thing that I thought of.

But not right now, because I thought of the idea quite recently, and I think it needs more time to develop.

So there.