I didn't get around to watching last night's show until after 10:00 tonight. I don't know who was voted out. I guess I'll go look in a bit.

Carly: I really like Carly. I think she's easily one of the best singers. But maybe her voice is a little plain. It seemed that way tonight, at least. (80 points)

Syesha: She seems pretty full of herself. Maybe, if I were that awesome, I would be too. A fantastic performance. (85 points)

Brooke: I like Brooke, but she really blew most of the low notes tonight. She should have picked another song. The judges apparently heard a different performance than the one I heard. (60 points)

Ramiele: Just incredibly cute. Like a baby bunny riding around on the back of another baby bunny. Also, she is my favorite girl in the competition. (90 points)

Kristy Lee: Stupid song. Okay performance. Boring. (65 points)

Amanda: Painful. Everything from the hair to the pants to the "dancing" - and especially the singing - it was all just painful. I want those two minutes of my life back, please. (20 points)

Alaina: Great song. She mangled a couple of notes. Good job, though. (80 points)

Alexandrea: Seems like she picked a very hard song, and I think she did very well with it. (85 points)

Kady: One of my favorites, even after tonight's lackluster performance. I gave her 15 bonus points for being smoldering hot. (95 points)

Asia'h: Stupid name. Pretty good performance, but I've heard much better renditions of that song. her arrangement was a little weird. (80 points)

I was trying to remember if I ever made the actual promise to stay here. I'm not sure that I ever did. I know that I thought about it, and I might have even implied it, but I don't think that I ever really came right out and said it. Promised it.

This is all just speculation, of course. Things are almost never as bad as they seem to be. Perhaps, this too, shall pass. Perhaps I'll have a good laugh about it, someday. About how I worried about what I would do, if I were pressed into action.

The thought of starting over is quite intriguing to me. I'd be lying if I said otherwise. I mean, there's only one thing that would give me pause. And sometimes even that doesn't seem like much of a thing. A sense of potential isn't really a thing at all, I don't think, when I think about it objectively. I mean, it's nice to have something to wish for, but when wishing becomes the end all and be all of an entire life - it loses a bit of its luster.

Sometimes it seems like I'm stuck in the worst possible place. A hundred miles to the East, and things would be better. A hundred miles to the North, and I'd at least have a fighting chance. More than that - five hundred miles, a thousand miles, two thousand miles - things just keep looking better and better the further from here that I look.

All choices were taken from me a long time ago. This might just be a new choice. A new opportunity. It would be weird, and more than a little exciting, to have a choice again. But I really don't know if I could make that choice, or if there would really be any choice at all.

Would it really be possible to start over while leaving so many things unfinished?

I wonder which would be worse, a lifetime of regret, or a lifetime of unanswered prayers.

Sometimes I think about wasting the words. Sometimes I think of the words as a boil that must be lanced. Just to get everything out in the open. After all, I can never be completely forthcoming and honest while these words stay locked inside me. Festering.

So, I sometimes think about just saying the words. Casually, like I'd say that it was cold outside or like I'd say that it was Wednesday. Just another Wednesday, no different than any other. Oh, and by the way, here is the truth. Do with it what you will, but you can no longer pretend that it doesn't exist, because here it is. In your face.

I expect that the truth would be met with disbelief. That would certainly be the easiest way to deal with it. After all, only the truth matters - if words are deemed to be false, then they can be swept aside and pushed aside and brushed aside and ignored like the millions of other lies that are told every single day.

But a part of me wonders. A part of me wonders if she would remember my promise.

I promised that I would never lie to her, no matter what. I promised her that, and I tangentially promised myself the same thing. It was a compromise of sorts. I promised myself that I would somehow manage to keep my big fat mouth shut up until that hypothetical moment when I was asked the right question. When the right question was asked, all vows of silence would be rendered null and void. But until then, I would be silent, more or less. Until then, I would be patient.

But patience, as they say, is a virtue. And it's a virtue in which I feel sorely lacking at times. My patience is tried on a regular basis. I can't stand the thought of misunderstandings and misinterpretations standing in for the truth. I really can't fucking stand it.

So, sometimes, I think about just telling the truth. Wasting the words. To fuck with proper timing and romantic moments and everything else that I've been waiting for. Hoping for. Dreaming of.

Sometimes, I think about just blurting out the words. Wasting the words on unsuspecting and disbelieving ears.

Not all the time, though. Not even most of the time. Usually, I feel strong enough to keep my big fat mouth shut.

Not yet, I tell myself. Someday, almost certainly, but not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

The funny thing about tomorrow is that it never really comes. It's always lurking, just out of reach. Lying in wait.

Vagueness. That's all I ever really get, when I allow myself to imagine the unimaginable. Just the slightest sense of surroundings. The slightest sense of the surreal scene wherein everything comes to a head.

---

It might start with a fight, of sorts. An argument that's not quite taking place. A disagreement still mired in the throes of its own birth. A misunderstanding mangled and mutilated by misinterpretation. Something like that, anyway.

I've had enough. I stand, abruptly and purposefully. On my feet. On a chair. On a table. On a rooftop. On a mountaintop. I find the most visible, the most public place I can find. I can feel myself about to explode from the pressures that I've held back for so long. I will explode, finally and mercifully, and I'm determined that the noise of that explosion will not fall on deaf ears.

I scream the words that I've longed to scream for so long that I cannot remember a time when I didn't long to scream them. With every ounce of strength, I emphasize the words as they rip and tear their way out of me. I exist to say the words, and the words exist to be said.

Funny thing is - the words don't even matter. All that matters is the meaning behind the words. I pour everything I am, everything I ever will be, into the meaning behind the words, and I hope that it's enough. For understanding. For acceptance. For so much more. For everything.

---

Alternatively, it might be expected. Anticipated, even. A quiet moment, perhaps, I imagine, in the midst of a crowd that doesn't matter and that will never matter. A private conversation that crosses some invisible line between friendliness and something else. Something more.

My lips so close to her. My lips brushing her ear, caressing her ear as I say the words that I've longed to say for so long that I cannot remember a time when I didn't long to say them.

By this time, she expects the words from me, and she wants to hear the words from me. She needs to hear the words. From me, of all people. It is as surreal for her as it is for me, and that's saying a lot.

And I say the words in my softest voice, and my lips carve the words into her ear as I say them. And all is good. All is as it should be. I say the words, and my life grinds to a halt as I wait for a response, yet a large part of me doesn't even care what the response might be. She will know, without a doubt, she will know. And I will finally be free of all need for deception and deduction and denial.

---

I suspect that the truth will lie somewhere between these two extremes. I suspect that the truth will seem mundane by comparison. I suspect that the truth will seem boring to everyone except the two of us. Not that I will care what anyone else thinks. They won't matter. I will matter, and she will matter, and that's it.

I like, sometimes, to imagine the unimaginable. It's really not that tough, for me to do so. After all, I live the unimaginable every day. Every single day.

There seems to me a misconception at Rich O's lately. I'm sure I've heard this particular misconception expressed before, but I've heard it twice within the last couple of weeks, and so it may be gaining popularity. At least among the cretins.

The first time, it was this one supremely obnoxious guy. He tried to play himself off like he was some kind of uber regular who'd been coming in since the dawn of time, but my personal opinion is that he was just trying to fit in. Perhaps compensate for a tiny penis. Anyway, the fucker was loud and overbearing and totally clueless. He actually seemed to think that people actually liked him. What a dumbass.

So, he spouted his bullshit, and I didn't pay much attention to it. I treated his words just as I'd been treating him all night. I ignored them.

Then, last night another person expressed the same misconception. And this particular person should know better. She's been coming in long enough to know better, and she's also smart enough to realize that we're supposed to be living in a society that's somewhat evolved from the days when being the loudest and/or the strongest brought power.

This particular misconception, and I think I've got the quote correct, goes like this:

Move your feet, lose your seat.

Steal someone's seat, and you're an asshole.

Anyway.

Last night was kind of boring. I only had a couple of beers. A Schlenkerla Marzen (2930) and an Upland Wheat (206). I spent most of the night on throne listening to everyone else talk and choking on cigar smoke. This one dude's hot sister told me that I smelled good, and I'm pretty sure that Ric Flair was there. Other than that, it was a dull night.

Last night wasn't as bad as I'd feared. So I'm thankful for that. But it still wasn't a particularly good night.

Rich O's proper seemed to be only about half-full, but that was an illusion. Every ostensibly empty seat was being saved, so there was no place to sit. I ended up going out to the special people room and sitting there like a dork for an hour or so, until MusicalYuppieDude texted me that this one weirdo had finally left and that there was a seat available.

So I sat on the sofa and enjoyed my second NABC Flat Tyre (593) of the night. At least I tried to enjoy it. My taste buds were still pretty messed-up.

Eventually, LaptopGirl emailed me that she was coming in, so that cheered me up some. When LaptopGirl arrived, HairDude gave up his seat at the kiddie table so she and I could sit together. We talked about various crap for an hour or so. It was nice to see her, as it had been a trillion years. I'd been hoping that she might want to split a pizza or something, because I was starving to death, but instead she went home.

I came home shortly afterwards, not quite finishing my third Flat Tyre (609).

Oh yeah, I got to hear this one story about a slut. I suppose it was an interesting story. Then I was talking to StupidGirl on the phone and she told me another story about another slut. What is it with all these sluts all of a sudden?

Okay, I hardly ever bother to do this. Link to things I find on the internet, I mean. Because that would mean less attention would be paid to me. But in this case I can't help myself, because it's funny.

Below are two of my favorites. There are many more at Instructions for looking after baby.

I just wanted to jump on here real quick and predict that tonight is going to be the worst night I've had in years.

I'd like to be wrong about this, of course.

I was just trying to think of something to write about. I was having no luck, as I seldom do. I was thinking about the absurdity of it all. Spending my precious time trying to write things that, by my own admission, I don't really want people to read.

But then the absurdity of the word absurdity struck me in the back of the head, that absurdity having been flung perhaps by my cat Buddy, who for some reason has hoisted himself onto the bookshelf behind me.

This thing I use for a life, such as it is - it's taken on a surreal form of absurdity for several months. I can't think of a single thing that's normal. Oh, I'm not saying that things are bad. Not at all. I know bad. I've lived bad. This isn't bad. It's surreal and absurd.

It's kinda like I'm in a play, and all the world's a stage. I pretend because everyone else is pretending. Even though I cannot really accept that anyone believes this crap, I can't be certain that it's not me who's being fooled. So I keep playing along, even though people keep ad-libbing. Even though people keep breaking character. Even though it's absurd, this show still must go on.

I'm in a weird mood.

The following people forgot my birthday, and now I'm devastated, and I fucking better get a hug to make up for it:

HatGirl

The following people ignored my birthday, even after a reminder, and now I'm devastated, and I fucking wish things were different between us:

LaptopGirl

Neither of these lists should be considered all-inclusive, except maybe the second list, because I don't think I reminded anyone else.

This damn flu has taken things to a very personal level, now. Twice.

The first time was Friday night, when LaptopGirl invited me to Rich O's and I had to decline. Yes, that sucked giant donkey dicks. First time in a million asstillion years that LaptopGirl has invited me to Rich O's, and I had to decline. Woe is me, indeed.

The second time this fucking flu got personal was about an hour ago. I'd forced myself into going to Rich O's, because I'm a stubborn asshole and also because it's Pizza Night. I saw, to my great surprise, that NABC Cone Smoker was back on tap.

Yay! My first beer in a week was going to be one of my all-time favorites!

But not so fast there, Speedy. The Cone Smoker (3177) tasted like shit. Not because there was anything wrong with it, but instead because there's something wrong with me. This damn flu has wreaked havoc on my taste buds. And so now even one of my favorite beers is unenjoyable.

And then my pizza tasted like crap, but I was expecting it by that point. Everything has tasted like crap since last Tuesday. I keep feeling like there's some magical combination of herbs and spices that will wake my mouth back up, and make things taste good again, but I just haven't found it yet.

I've been given the green light to return to work tomorrow, at least for a while. I've been sleeping between 18 and 22 hours a day for a week, and so I don't know if I'll be able to stay up long enough to put in a full day of work, but I'll give it a shot.

So, I'm sick again.

That's my excuse. It's weird. It's almost like there's something wrong with it being 70 degrees one day, and then being 9 degrees a few days later. It's like the human body doesn't like that or something. At least my human body doesn't like it.

My body is, apparently, all pussy.

I've begun to doubt that I will ever feel any better. This has been dragging on for 48 hours. Usually I feel better by this time, but today I actually feel worse than I did before. I was thinking about getting a ride to the hospital or something, but I fear that my sister would take one look at me and take me to the funeral home instead. Cut out the middleman and all that.

Anyway, that's what's been up with me. Happy Valentine's Day, if you're into that sort of thing.

For the most part, I'm fine now. More than fine, actually. Good, even.

I haven't moved very far from the edge of this abyss, but that's okay, because I like it here. I may just build myself a cabin and retire here, I like it so much.

I'm like a mountain goat or something. Jumping around this precipice like gravity doesn't apply to me. Like I've learned nothing from the slips of the past.

But sometimes, I do worry a little bit. I think that's only natural. But I don't worry enough to make me step away from this edge. I like it here too much. The view here is really beautiful. It's a goddamn natural wonder, that's what it is.

---

I don't understand why people feel the need to meddle. Always trying to push us together or trying to pull us apart. Why not just let us be? Why not let us make our own mistakes and find our own solutions?

---

I could reach out and find nothing 99% of the time. I could do that forever. Odds are that I will do that forever. But it's my goddamn life, and maybe that's my choice. My life does not need fixing, because it's no longer broken. I'm no longer broken. And all it took for me to heal was to learn to love the pain.

So what if I keep reaching for that same cloud? Someday, I might just grab hold of something solid. Wouldn't that be something?

---

I've written before about how my wants vary. Usually, a particular want will get stuck in my head for a few hours, maybe a day, and then my mind will move on to something else. Some other want. But, this time, I've had the same want rattling around in my head for five days. I'm not sure that this one is going to go away anytime soon. Or ever.

I'm not going to write about what I want. The right person could ask the right question, someday, and I want my answer to be a surprise.

Well, the snowstorm was a dud. Despite some promise early in the evening, it petered out fairly quickly. I'm looking at two inches where I'd been expecting up to ten inches. So I can empathize with the ex-girlfriends of this one fucker at Rich O's.

I have high hopes for the coming ice storm, though.

---

The other night I saw someone reaching out to another person. I watched her reach out, and I watched her get absolutely nothing in response. I can certainly empathize with that, because sometimes it seems like all I do is reach out to find nothing.

Now, to be fair, every now and then people will reach out to me, and I'll either slap their hand away or squeeze it gently then move it aside - it depends on my mood and on who is doing the reaching. Sometimes, I do that. Maybe people think I'm a dick because of it, but I know the truth. I'm just trying to keep both of my hands free, in case they're ever really needed.

---

I'm really excited about this Jumper movie that's coming out. It's one of my favorite books. I know that movies are almost never as good as the books they're based on, but I have a good feeling about this particular movie. Also, I wish I could jump around from place to place like that. It would be cool.

That same guy wrote another book I really like. It's called Wildside. I think that would make a good movie, too.

This is just some crap I wrote tonight at Sluttopia. I'd had this great idea to write some moving and uplifting entries, but then, on the way there, I was reminded of three things. Two things that pissed me off, and another that caused me great concern.

Anyway, here's what I came up with. In case you can't tell, I was in a bad mood by the time I got to Sluttopia.

---

I thought it was a simple request, and I thought I'd asked it clearly. But, maybe not. So I'll ask again.

Please. Stop. Fucking. Interfering. With. My. Personal. Life.

There.

I don't know how I can make myself any more clear. Maybe if I throw in the word fucking a few more times.

Please. Fucking. Stop. Fucking. Interfering. With. My. Fucking. Personal. Fucking. Life.

If this simple request of mine continues to be ignored, I think that the circumstances will pretty much force me to reassess some friendships. And I don't want to do that. It would suck.

These latest instances of meddling, while perhaps oriented toward a different goal, are no less dangerous, no less disruptive, and no less despised than that last round of meddling.

I am actually teetering on the edge right now, between frustration and outright anger. And I don't like myself when I'm angry.

I don't want to lose friends over this. I really don't. But I will lose friends, if that's what I'm driven to do. If that's the choice I'm forced to make, then there is no choice.

My priorities are clear.

To me at least.

Some other people think they know my priorities. They think that they know me, because they've talked to me and/or read my drivel.

But they don't know shit. They only see the surface, what I allow them to see.

They haven't seen with my eyes or listened with my ears or felt with my touch. They haven't lived in my world, every perception distorted and only then interpreted by the tangible and intangible senses that make me who I am. What I am. How I am.

Conspiratorial whispers and blatant attempts at manipulation - does that crap really work? I mean, besides with children and idiots? I am neither of those things.

---

Then, I stopped writing, because I was starting to feel mean. I started to write a different entry, something much less controversial and more irrelevant, but my mood was already shot to shit by then.

1. Get up at 6:00.
2. There is no step 2.

Dedicated stalkers readers may recall that I was supposed to have a date tonight. ArtGirl and I were supposed to go to see some band at some place.

Well, that didn't happen. The band wasn't going to start until midnight, and that was way too late for me, since I have to work in the morning. Plus, I never could get ahold of ArtGirl.

---

Tonight, I went to Rich O's and I held my breath for three hours. Then, at about 10:00, I breathed sweet refreshing air for about ten seconds. Then, I held my breath again.

For what it's worth, I will not apologize for things I cannot change. I've already done enough of that, and it's never done anyone a bit of good.

---

So my mood held fairly steady at content for most of the night. Maybe, there at the end, it might have jumped up a notch. Maybe.

But there was a brief period earlier when, for about ten seconds, I was filled with joy. That struck me as patently unfair, that something so trivial could affect me that much. I mean, I'm getting way more than I'm giving. The same thing happened last night. I got to be deliriously happy, and the best anyone else got was to have to put up with me.

It just doesn't seem right. I've felt guilty about it, a lot, over the past twenty-four hours or so.

You know what it's like?

It's like I'm a closeted gay guy in a men's locker room. Or a pedophile working as a janitor at an elementary school.

I'm enjoying my life way too much, and nobody is the wiser. I feel like I'm taking advantage of things. Taking too much advantage.

I do not like it, and I do feel guilty about it. But I will not apologize for things I cannot change.

Early Friday evening I was, as is quite often the case lately, trying to convince myself to do something besides go to Rich O's. I was toying with the idea of maybe going to this Sergio's place I've heard about. I was thinking about maybe going down to our local casino on the river. I even thought about just staying home and watching some movies.

It's just that sometimes I don't get the point of that place, and I felt like I needed a break. Even if it's just to prove to myself that I can take that break. Plus, I'm on-call this week, and that always sucks the life force right out of me.

But then HatGirl texted me that she was on her way to Rich O's, so what little willpower I might have possessed evaporated like spit on a summer sidewalk.

I had to park on the far side of Mars. This was a bad sign. Another bad sign was that there was an unlikely abundance of huge 4WD trucks in the Rich O's lot, all with those lift kit things that make you need a ladder to get into them. It was like Rich O's had turned into a redneck bar. Or that there was a tiny-penis convention taking place. I wondered if they would try to block my entrance.

Inside, the place was beyond packed. I nodded and waved at several people who were sitting around the living room. MusicalYuppieDude, TremensGirl, PlantDude, PearlGirl, PearlGirl's hot friend, probably some other people.

HatGirl and LuckyFucker were sitting at the bar, the only two seats available in the place, so I went over and stood behind them.

HatGirl!

Yay!

After about a million years, two cool things happened. First, some chick left the bar, and I grabbed the seat, Second one of the bartenders caught a glimpse of me through the crowd and took my beer order.

After a bit longer, UPSDude left the bar, so I took my NABC Flat Tyre (463) and slid down closer to LuckyFucker and HatGirl.

After a bit longer, some strangers left the loveseat, and PlantDude left the throne, so we all moved down there.

The next couple of hours were quite pleasant, talking to HatGirl and LuckyFucker. He's finally going to make an honest woman out of her, or vice-versa. I'm happy for them, but I know that the world will mourn when HatGirl is officially and legally off the market.

By the time HatGirl and LuckyFucker left, I was on my third Flat Tyre (503), and I'd moved over to the kiddie table because HairDude had stolen the throne when I went to pee. That was okay, though, I'd been starting to feel a bit claustrophobic because of this one chick from the sofa.

So I was sitting at the kiddie table with TremensGirl. It was a strange conversation we were having. Like we were breaking up or something. But we weren't, I probably just felt primed for that activity because WeirdGirl and I had just broken up over the phone. Something about my priorities and hers not matching up often enough. Oh, well.

Anyway, then LaptopGirl came in and, after TremensGirl left, sat at the kiddie table with me. We proceeded to have a very nice conversation about all sorts of relevant stuff. I had a half-pint of the Flat Tyre (513) to close out the night.

Oh yeah. MusicalYuppieDude said that the band that ArtGirl and I are supposed to see tonight doesn't start until midnight. We'd been told before that they would start at 7:00 or 8:00. So I called ArtGirl to let her know, in case that would affect her plans. She hasn't called back. I'll call her this afternoon.

Oh yeah again. NotHideousGirl came in for a while. She missed HatGirl by about twenty minutes, and I bet she was disappointed by that. It was nice to see her.

There was this one opportunity, for something not quite definable, where I totally screwed up. I blew it, and tonight I was reminded that I'd blown it.

I already knew that I'd blown it. So, it wasn't a big shock or anything, being reminded. Maybe a little mean, but still honest, and therefore acceptable.

Like I keep saying, timing is everything.

I'm not, and I never have been, one of those everything happens for a reason people. Those people are, by and large, idiots. But sometimes I can almost concede their point. Sometimes, it's very tempting for me to blame fate or God or whatever for those things which have happened or not happened in my life.

It's tempting, but I don't do it. I won't do it. Everything is my fault, everything has always been my fault, and everything will always be my fault.

People misinterpret me all the time. This is bizarre to me, because I keep no secrets, if only I'm asked the right questions.

The people who really understand, I love every one of them. Even as I hurt them, I love them. Because they know why I do the things that I do, say the things that I say, want the things that I want.

Sometimes, people seem surprised by the things that I do and say. This is bizarre to me, because I keep no secrets, if only I'm asked the right questions.

It's really quite simple, to define me and the things that are important to me. Explaining those things, now that's a much more difficult task.

I bet RockGirl could do it. Probably better than I could do it myself. She's all eloquent and shit.

I just realized that she didn't even tell me the date of the wedding. I don't know if they've even set a date. Probably my birthday or something fucked-up like that.

It probably shouldn't matter. But dates are important to me, for some reason.

I want to know the date, so I can plan to be sad, and to have a legitimate reason for my sadness.

That will be pretty rare, I think.

I get to be sane, on that day.

Whenever it is.

Doing is, of course, much harder than saying. Or writing, in this case. That's my disclaimer - I have no realistic expectations of ever actually doing this. Perhaps someone will read this, someone with more strength than I possess. Perhaps this will do someone good.

Anyway, I think I might know the secret. This entry is part one. Part two is still sloshing around in my head like milk in a churn. Eventually it will solidify and I'll take my knife and smear it across the internet.

That's a good metaphor. I like it.

Anyway, the secret of the secret, it goes back to that first paragraph. The part about expectations.

Expectations are bullshit. You should never have them. Instead, let yourself be astonished by everything that ever happens. Especially the good things.

And hopes? They're even worse than expectations, for they bring with them an emotional bond to your heart and the emotions therein. And, when hopes are dashed, as they are so wont to be, guess what happens to your emotions.

Wishes? Wishes are acceptable, I think. As long as that's all they are. But it's so easy, so fucking easy, for a wish to turn into a hope. I don't know how to stop that transformation, that evolution. I wish I knew.

Every fucking day, I wish I knew.

Not expect. Definitely not fucking hope.

I just wish.

It happened twice tonight. While I was watching my tivoed recording of American Idol and drinking a yummy Schlenkerla Urbock (320) and mentally kicking myself for, once again, letting my nap run on for far too long.

I don't even think I dreamed tonight. That's strange, because usually there's something about sleeping on my back, on my couch, that gets the old eyeballs moving rapidly. But not tonight, I don't think.

So, I was sitting there on my loveseat watching mostly bad singers, hoping for a good singer, or at least a hot girl to look at. During the boring parts of the show, I'd think about things. Do some navel-gazing, basically. And twice I was completely overwhelmed. I was completely overwhelmed and nearly incapacitated. The first time it was sadness that washed over me, the second time it was joy. Each time, it was perfect. Just incredible unblemished emotion. The first time a single sob left my lips. The second time, it was a laugh.

Tuesday, I talked to ArtGirl about experiencing every moment. Good, bad, or neutral, all moments of life should be lived and experienced in their entirety. Because they're not going to happen again. Ever. So, may as well pay attention to them. They might be important. They probably are important.

Tonight I had two perfect moments. One was good, the other was bad. I wouldn't trade either of them for anything. Perfect moments are our most precious gifts to ourselves.

Anyway, this all got me interested, so I did a search on my blog for the phrase perfect moment. I found one promise, one declaration, and one memory. I'd have thought there'd have been more. It certainly seems like the kind of thing I'd write about more often.

I think that the whole purpose of this entry was to put that link in. I think that I just wanted to prove that I used to be able to write decent drivel, even if I can't seem to do it anymore.

I feel all deep and contemplative tonight. Like I could really grab hold of something and make it important through thinking about it and writing about it. I'm not really sure what that something might be, but I'll be up for a while longer, so maybe it'll come to me.

---

I had the strangest dream earlier. It was all bits and flashes. I was married to some famous chick, and the dream was a bunch of snapshots of our life together. But it wasn't sequential at all. We'd be old and retired on a beach, and then we'd be young and just meeting for the first time. It was kinda like a documentary or something, but really weird. Like this one time I was in bed, and I opened my eyes to see this thing coming toward me. You know those inflatable boxing dudes that you punch and they keep standing back up? It was one of those things. It was coming towards me from the far end of the room, holding a shotgun. But then my wife came in and popped it with a knitting needle. That was nice of her.

In another, much later scene, we were at some fancy party, and my wife was crying because she was supposed to sing (I think that's why she was famous, for her singing) but some whore had just sang the exact song she was going to sing. So my wife was very upset and crying. She was so upset, in fact, that she dove into this trash barrel to vomit and hide. I ended up rolling her back to our suite (I think we were at The Rio in Las Vegas) and the police were there asking questions about the popped boxing dude.

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ArtGirl and I are supposed to go see some band Saturday. I never heard of the band before - it's called Rufus Huff - but MusicalYuppieDude highly recommends them. I'm kind of excited about it. I haven't been to see a band for a song time. Plus, I like ArtGirl. It should be fun.

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Tonight there were all kinds of storms around here. The tornado siren went off for about two hours straight. All I got was some hard rain, though. Enough to get some water in my basement. I hate it when that happens.

---

My sleep schedule is seriously hosed.

What was I thinking?
To succumb to cute and nice?
That is not like me.

Sunday night, the pizzeria side of the NABC complex was open for some sporting event. Usually, they're closed on Sundays, so it was a special occasion, and I usually go. Just because it's such a rarity. I really couldn't care less about the sporting event.

Anyway, while I was on the way there, OddlyFamiliarGirl called. I'd texted her Friday night because I had a question about astrology. She's into that stuff, she's just not into returning text messages in a timely manner.

While I was talking, and driving, I happened to glance down at my odometer. I quickly said goodbye to OddlyFamiliarGirl and pulled off the road at the earliest opportunity.

The earliest opportunity, it turned out, wasn't quite early enough.

That there, even though it's really hard to see, is the odometer on my truck showing 100001 miles. I think it would have been cool to get a picture of it at exactly 100000 miles, but it wasn't meant to be.

Here's a close-up. Still hard to see, though.

Once at Sportstime The NABC Pizzeria, I had myself a couple pints of their Old Lightning Rod (490). The place was really dead. I guess nobody cared about the sporting event. Or maybe they were all at some cool party to which I wasn't invited.

So they closed the place down at 7:30 or so. I went over to Tucker's and had some cheesesticks and a glass of Guinness (1783). I'd been thinking about having a steak, but I changed my mind for some reason.

And that was Sunday. Pretty exciting, huh?

Monday wasn't anything special except that while I was at Rich O's The NABC Public House, waiting for my pizza and having a yummy NABC Old Lightning Rod (510), OddlyFamiliarGirl and NotHideousGirl came in for a bit. It had been a million jillion gazillion years since I'd seen OddlyFamiliarGirl. It had only been a couple of days since I'd last seen NotHideousGirl, but it always seems longer when it's her. I just thought I'd better mention seeing them, lest I get into trouble for some reason.

Then tonight it was really warm, so I sat out on my swing and enjoyed a Schlenkerla Urbock (286) and smiled a lot. I thought about all of the times I'd sat out there and thought about sad things, and about how much happier I am now. It really doesn't take much to make me happy. Even the tiniest things can do it, especially when the tiniest things are so incredibly huge to me.

Somehow, I managed to get magically drunk last night. I have a theory about this, and I'll write about it in a bit, but first I should have a disclaimer.

The lines between reality and fantasy and imagination are blurred almost beyond distinction, at least as far as last night goes. So you should probably treat this entry as fiction, just to be safe.

The place was almost empty. This contrasted in a stunningly beautiful way with the madness that Friday night had been. Dina was on the sofa, all by her lonesome like a weirdo or something. I sat on the throne and ordered an NABC Flat Tyre (343). Dina and I bullshitted with each other for an hour or so, then she left to go meet the chick, and I found myself sitting all by my lonesome like a weirdo or something.

A couple of people drifted in and out of the area. They'd come in to smoke, and I could tell that they were all wondering who the weirdo sitting by himself was.

Eventually, the regular Saturday night crowd started to form. This one cute blonde accused me of being 23. That's actually starting to get a little tiresome.

Oh yeah, when I was bored because I was in the living room area all by myself, I texted AlliGirl and WeirdGirl and VigilanteGirl. VigilanteGirl texted back asking who I was. I said never mind, and she called me. I reminded her that she'd given me her number. She said that she would call me for directions to Rich O's, but I never believed that for even a second.

TremensGirl came in and sat on the sofa where Dina had been. I think this was about when I ordered another Flat Tyre (383). I started getting emails from LaptopGirl, hinting that she might come in.

This one chick, who kept coming in to smoke, took one look at TremensGirl and I talking and announced, "You two should date."

So that was weird, how quickly she picked up on our vibe. I said that TremensGirl and I have massive crushes on each other but that things are complicated, and I left it at that.

Then, I had a Schlenkerla Marzen (2828), which was yummy.

After a million more years and a few more emails, LaptopGirl finally showed up. At that point I pretty much started ignoring everyone else in the room, because LaptopGirl and I somehow found ourselves having an actual relevant conversation. People kept trying to interrupt us and/or worm their way in, but for the most part I managed to keep it just between the two of us. It was very nice.

At one point, I looked up, and NotHideousGirl had managed to sneak in. Of course I talked to her as well, but I kept returning to my conversation with LaptopGirl.

I think this was about the point where I got magically drunk. Please note that I'd had three weak beers, over the course of about four hours.

Some dude bought a round of drinks for everyone. I didn't want a whole beer for myself, so I just ended up drinking most of LaptopGirl's free Guinness (1761).

It seemed like everyone left at about the same time, but I stuck around and had a couple Diet Cokes. And I wished that LaptopGirl and I would have shared that pizza we'd discussed, because the room was really spinning. Food would have been nice, but the kitchen was closed.

I ended up taking a cab home from Rich O's. That almost never happens, because it's almost never necessary.

I said, back at the beginning of this novel, that I had a theory about how I'd managed to get so drunk on so little alcohol. Well, my theory is that the alcohol had very little to do with it. I got to have an actual relevant conversation with someone very important to me. This was something that I'd waited years to do. My theory is that I got drunk on that surreal series of moments.

So there.

No entiendo.

Algo pasó, sin embargo.

Tal vez habría sido bueno.

For the most part, I think it was a pretty boring night, at least until I left Rich O's. It was very crowded. It was very loud. I talked to some people. I drank some beer. I got groped. I think that the most unusual thing about my time at Rich O's last night was that I received the most unsubtle text message ever from this one girl.

I ended up having a pint of NABC Old Lightning Rod (450) and two pints of NABC Flat Tyre (343). All were yummy.

WeirdGirl kept having to work later and later, as usual. So I walked over to this Jack's bar when Rich O's closed. I sat with some of the Rich O's people for a while and had a Diet Coke. Then, out of the blue, my friend Eric called. He was over at Sluttopia, so I went there for a while. It was cool to see Eric and some of his friends from his high school class. Sluttopia didn't live up to its new name last night, though. It was pretty much a sausagefest. They had a band there. I bet if they'd had karaoke there'd have been more girls.

Then at about 2:00 I went over to wait for WeirdGirl to get off work.

...you can find stuff like this.