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Monday I finally had the water pump replaced in the Monte Carlo. So now I can actually drive it again. This is beyond cool to me. I even drove it to work today, risking door-dings in the parking garage. Once I get the exhaust repaired (it's a little LOUD) then there'll be nothing wrong with the car except that its owner still won't really be cool enough for it.
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One of these years I should probably fix the gutter that was torn loose in January.
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I think I want to go back to Covington this weekend. I seriously doubt that I'll do any such thing, because last time I checked, Covington wasn't located inside Rich O's.
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On Monday I got to hang out with NormalGirl and RahRahGirl for a while after work. They were dressed to the nines (whatever that means) in sexy slinky black dresses. I don't think I did a very good job of averting my gaze, especially regarding NormalGirl.
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I've felt myself starting to lose faith in one of my friends. Not that I ever really had any reason to think that I could trust him completely. But lately I've become a little convinced that he'd betray me in a heartbeat. So, I'm getting a little preemptively angry at him. I'm being stupid, I know.
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Oh yeah, I managed to poke myself in the eye or something last night while I was sleeping. It's been hurting me all day, and it's a lovely shade of red. I hope it doesn't rot and fall out, but if it does then I'm going to get a glass eye that's brown. That way I can walk around with two differently-colored eyes and see if anyone notices.
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It's midnight and I still have 3/4 of this Marzen (3591) left in my glass. I'd better get to drinking it.
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I still have better topics that I want to write about. I still can't motivate myself to write, though, so crap like this is all you get for now.
]]>Normally this type of mood would mean that I was about to start spouting drivel, but tonight I don't think it's going to happen.
See, I'm not allowed to write about feeling sad, which I'm not, because then people go, WTF happened this time? And I'm certainly not allowed to write about being happy, which I am, because then people go, OMG Dave is off his rocker again!
I could write about generic and/or hilarious things, like tonight's Indiana (preliminary) election results, but my heart's really not in it.
So I think I'll just go to bed. And maybe I'll dream something good that I won't be able to write about.
]]>He sensed that my mood was becoming unsteady, and he jumped into my lap and started licking my arm.
Now, if I can only get him to use his psychic powers to tell me the next winning lottery numbers...
]]>It was not murder. It wasn't even manslaughter, though a good attorney might have been able to wrestle a plea bargain from a gullible defendant.
Doesn't matter though. The past has, as they say, passed.
Then, several months later, another really bad thing happened, and I died again. Except that time, the really bad thing didn't just happen. Nope, that time, it was done to me.
That time, I was murdered.
There's really no other way to say it. No acceptable excuse, though a few excuses have auditioned for me. And been rejected outright.
It was done, to me, on purpose. It was premeditated murder. Murder most foul, as I read somewhere in some book I think.
But again, it doesn't matter. The past has passed.
Anyway, what I realized this morning, before it turned into a good day, was that I knew what I was more afraid of than anything else.
It's not the first thing happening again. It's not even the second thing happening again.
It's both things, at the same time.
A part of me expects both these things to happen at any time. Any second now, I expect to check my pulse and discover that I'm dead again. And bullshit like Saturday night only fuels that fear.
I've said it a million times, though perhaps not so wordily; it takes the tiniest of efforts to ease my fears, but it also takes the slightest disregard to create them and feed them and raise them until they're big enough and strong enough to consume me.
Just a little effort. Just a smidgen of empathy, leading to a hint of courtesy. I don't think that's too much.
I know that this is all clear as mud. Can't be helped, I'm afraid.
]]>I had a good day today.
First, it was beautiful outside. A little chilly, but that only matters when I'm outside, and I didn't go outside until it had warmed up to a semi-respectable 60 degrees.
Anyway, my day started, predictably enough, checking email and MySpace and Facebook, looking for some clue as to what the fuck happened Saturday night. Well I found no clues, and I started to get a little sad. But then, then I got the nicest distraction ever when HatGirl called me.
HatGirl!
Yay!
I talked to HatGirl for what seemed like a million years of bliss and, by the time our conversation was over, I was no longer in any danger of being sad. At least not for today.
Guess what I did next!
Guess!
Damn, you guys suck at guessing. Fine I'll just tell you. You'd better sit down.
I replaced the window switch in my Monte Carlo!
Yay!
This is the first time in 23,000 years that the windows in my Monte Carlo have actually been controllable from the driver's door. And, it also the first time in 22,000 years that the door panel has been on said door.
Yay!
Oh yeah, after I went to the parts store to buy a switch, but before I went back home, I went to Polly's Freeze for lunch. All of the food was yummy as always. It kinda sucked that some asshole had my favorite table, though. I guess they haven't gotten around to chiseling Reserved for Dave on the table's concrete surface yet.
After I'd returned home, and replaced the window switch (yay!) I realized a couple of things. Thing the first was that it was a really nice day, weather-wise. Thing the second was that I didn't want to go back into my house on such a nice day.
So, I didn't.
I sat in my garage for several hours, totally kicked-back on my el-cheapo white plastic furniture, and I listened to the radio and I drank a couple of yummy beers and I glared at my phone and I thought about someone something wonderful and I smiled and I laughed.
It was a perfect day.
Then the Sun went down, and the temperature dropped 50,000 degrees, and I came back into my stupid house and watched stupid TV.
]]>I went to my friend Eric's Derby party. I hadn't been planning to make any bets beyond the pseudo-bet of paying $5 and drawing a horse out of an envelope. I got Anak Kara or something like that. I think it's still running.
But then LaptopGirl and I made an arrangement. I would bet her favorite horses and then split any winnings with her.
This betting frenzy, apparently, spurred BadPickleGirl's interest, and so she ended up placing her own bet.
She bet the filly. The only filly in the thing. The filly that came in second. The filly that, immediately after the race, broke both its front ankles, collapsed on the track, and was euthanized.
That filly.
Anyway, while I mostly rooted for LaptopGirl's (and therefore my) horses, I also found myself silently rooting for BadPickleGirl's horse.
Maybe, I think, if I hadn't rooted for the filly, maybe it wouldn't have run so hard. And then, maybe, it wouldn't have broken its ankles and had to be put down.
I'm not saying its all my fault. That would be silly. But I bet it's at least partly my fault.
Also, there seems to be a pattern lately of horses breaking their legs while running. Maybe it's a conspiracy. Somebody should look into this.
I'd look into it myself, but I'm too busy right now trying to figure out why I just wasted 120 minutes of my life.
]]>But now I've got to start getting ready to go to my friend Eric's derby party. I may be accompanied, I may not be accompanied. I may have a second party to go to later, and I may not.
I have a feeling that, by the end of the day, I'll know what it feels like to juggle cats while having a nervous breakdown.
]]>For example, I spent about half the day today wondering if I was thought to be gay. Then, I spent a good chunk of tonight wondering if I was thought to be a dick.
It's the latter thing that I want to write about now. The former thing was just silly. A fun little imaginary scenario that drove me nuts, but still silly.
The Dave is a dick thing is a little more serious to me. Because it might have actually happened. Be happening. Whatever.
See, one thing that my strange brain cannot do is read minds. Another thing is that it cannot reliably decipher vague messages. The lack of these abilities may be normal.
As if I'd know what normal is.
Anyway, the other night I got this email. Unfortunately I can't say, in this venue, what the email said. All I can say is that it was a little vague as to its meaning.
I immediately thought of, and assumed that the worst possible meaning was the correct meaning, and I responded appropriately. Or what I thought was appropriately.
That's how my brain works.
But then, earlier today, I thought of a second possible meaning. And then, tonight, I thought of a third possible meaning. All are equally possible, given the vague wording of the email, but taken in the context that is my life, there's about a 99.99% chance that I was correct with my initial assumption.
But what if I was wrong?
Well, if I was wrong, then I'm a dick for not responding in an appropriate manner.
It's only a .01% chance that I was wrong. But it's enough, I think, to keep me from getting any sleep tonight.
Good thing I don't have to work tomorrow.
]]>Anyway, I was in Covington, KY, which is across the river from Cincinnati and next to Newport. It was for a work thing, a series of meetings that lasted from 8:30 until 5:30 Wednesday. I drove up Tuesday after noon and spent the night.
After I'd checked into the stupid Marriot, I set out on foot in search of food and beverage. I walked from my hotel, at the river's shore, about 18,000 blocks South. All I found were pawn shops and cash advance places. So, not the best part of town, I figured. Next, I shifted a couple of blocks to my left, turned around, and trekked back towards the river. Still, pawn shops and cash advance places, but now with some strip joints thrown in for good measure.
I got back to the stupid Marriot, intending to get in my truck and drive to Newport. I know they have beer there. But, at the hotel, I got to talking to the doorman, and he told me where the touristy section of Covington was.
Remember, back two paragraphs ago, I said that I'd shifted to my left. Well it turns out that I should have shifted to my right. Because to the right was where all of the bars were.
The guy told me it was a two-minute walk. It was more like a zillion years, but I finally made it there. By the time I arrived in the touristy area, I was dying for Newcastle. So I went into the first likely-looking place, called the Cock & Bull.
I'd been hoping to find a Guinness, maybe a Newcastle. I most certainly hadn't dared to hope that I'd find Delirium Tremens, or Unibroue Maudite. Or a bottled beer selection that even MrPopular might envy. It was a very nice place, and I stayed there for hours.
Because I had fish and chips for my late lunch, I was bound by both honor and propriety to have a Newcastle (9367). The glasses were only 16 ounces, but they were unchilled. I was very happy. Even though I thought the fish kinda sucked.
My next beer was a Delirium Tremens (1225), and I spent some time talking to this one dork who wanted Beck's and would settle for nothing else.
Next, I tried something new to me.
(bottle) Clear dark orange. Kind of a weird color. No head to speak of. An aroma of malts and hops that was pretty enticing. Medium mouthfeel. The flavor was extremely good. The hops seemed to be a mixture of the piney kind (which I hate) and the flowery kind (which I love) and there was also a strong malty component to the flavor. Definitely very interesting and balanced and drinkable. I'd love to try this on tap someday. Yummy.I ended up having three bottles of the OTR (36), getting progressively stupider as I went.
Just one example of my stupidity: I was talking for a couple of hours to this one cute girl about my reason for being there and the upcoming derby and beer and whatever else. It was a good conversation, I will call her EyesGirl, because she had two of them. Anyway, at one point she suggested that we go to some of the other bars in the area. Because I'd told her that I was only in town for one night, she said she wanted to show me a good time.
And not in a hooker way, I don't think. In a I'm a nice girl but I'll be naughty with you way.
So, naturally, I told her that I was seeing somebody. Even though I'm clearly not seeing anyone.
EyesGirl left shortly afterwards. Probably went home to masturbate, the poor thing.
I ended up convincing my boss, in town for the same work thing, to come up to the Cock & Bull and have dinner. I had another Delirium Tremens (1235) and then I talked my boss into giving me a ride back to the stupid Marriot.
Then today I had meetings then I drove home.
I need to see if Rich O's can get the O.T.R. there. I think people would like it, but mostly I'd just like to have it again without having to drive to Covington. It's kind of a cross between Rogue Dead Guy and Three Floyd's Gumballhead.
]]>There's this one date that I really wish I knew. But I don't
I can rattle off every other relevant date without batting an eye. But the most important date? The first relevant date?
At that, I can only guess.
See, I used to think that this all grew as time passed. That there was a reason for it. That I wasn't crazy. This was yet another series of lies that I told myself. So that I'd think that I was more normal than I really was.
But it didn't grow. Instead, my denial and my disbelief - they shrank. They shrank until there came a day when I had to believe, because there was nothing left to do. Occam's Razor definitely applied.
I know that fucking date, when I finally saw the truth. When everything changed inside while the outside remained exactly the same as it had always been. I remember that date. Like it was important or something.
That date was nothing. I'd finally opened my eyes. Whoop-dee fucking doo.
The important date, the one I should know, so that I can celebrate or mourn as dictated by whatever my current mood and circumstances happen to be, all I can do is guess at that date.
I think I'm going to guess September 20th, 2003. That's at least close. It's what you'd call an educated guess.
]]>Until now, perhaps. As that cold hard truth presses onto my chest and pins me to the ground, I remember that I have surprised myself before. With my resilience. With my strength. Even with my resolve, misplaced though it may be.
The truth.
I constantly seek answers to unasked questions, expired years ago. The answers don't matter anymore. I'm no archaeologist, qualified to poke and dig through the ruins of my own past, hoping to uncover some scrap of knowledge that just might help me in the future. Or the present.
The truth.
I yank and strain at doors, long rusted shut. I tell myself that I have another chance, but for what?
I don't know. Something.
Anything?
But there are no second chances. There are only similarities. So that I can say to myself, If only I can do that one tiny thing differently, everything will be better, this time. Everything will be great, this time. If only I can find out what that one tiny thing is.
The truth.
I have tried to resurrect the dead.
And I've failed. So now I need to focus on the living.
The truth sucks sometimes.
]]>Some, I think, should open their minds, and I'd like to see several open their eyes. The eyes thing - that's probably what I'd most like to see happen. I get very tired of seeing people I care about going through life blinded by their own assumptions and prejudices and opinions.
Me?
I want to be able to see the whole person, not just their worst perceived flaw or their best perceived asset.
And I want to have a more consistent memory - too often I forget everything but the most recent encounter. Or I do just the opposite - I ignore everything that's happening right in front of my face and I instead relive past transgressions or affections over and over and over.
And over.
]]>I think I've said this before. If so, I'm going to say it again. I think that Rich O's is going to become more and more unbearable between now and November. They don't even pretend to be neutral anymore, as the new signage on the front door attests. Now, I certainly don't mind people having opinions, in fact I support it with everything I have. But it's become perfectly clear to me that only one opinion matters at Rich O's. No dissenting opinion may be spoken, lest the speaker be treated to a verbal assault that would make the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket seem like Mr. Rogers.
Anyway.
The place was only about half full, and most of the people there were strangers crammed into the living room area. I sat at the island with UPSDude. WomanRepellant and this one dude who looks like my cousin Robbie were at the bar, but I didn't recognize anyone else.
I had myself a Paulaner Hefeweissbier (501). I talked about random crap with UPSDude. I glared at the strangers in the living room area. I watched the door.
At one point, I think about when I ordered my second Paulaner (518) I texted HatGirl with the incredibly clever and sweet message, "Hi, HatGirl!!!"
I guess it worked, because about ten seconds later HatGirl walked in.
HatGirl!
Yay!
She hadn't got my text message, she and LuckyFucker had already been on their way - probably in the parking lot - when I'd sent it. But I still took the coincidence as proof that great minds thing alike.
LuckyFucker ended up at the kiddie table talking to WomanRepellant, and HatGirl joined me at the island. So I was treated to an uninterrupted hour or so of HatGirl's company. That was very very cool.
Oh yeah, I ended up drinking the last several ounces of HatGirl's Delirium Tremens (1215), because she's going through another lightweight phase.
Yay for free Tremens!
Oh wait, I paid for HatGirl's beer. But still, yay for Tremens!
A few minutes after HatGirl and LuckyFucker left, some utter bullshit happened that put me into a very bad mood, and I left Rich O's. I ended up going to Sluttopia for about 10 seconds, then I came home. What happened next will not be written about.
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One weird thing was that, while I was filling out the little card so I could drop my key in the slot, a little black car pulled into the parking lot. I thought to myself, That looks kinda like Dina's car.
As it turned out, it was exactly like Dina's car, because it was Dina's car. She'd seen my truck and pulled in to say hello. So that was cool.
The next day I don't think anything remotely interesting happened except that I got my truck back.
By Friday night, I'd decided that I wasn't going to go to Rich O's. So of course I went to Rich O's. This has become a very annoying pattern for me. I decide that I'm not going, that I'm going to go someplace different, but then I go because I'm afraid of missing you know who anyone anything. Then, I get in there, and too often lately I find that I'm miserable because of the weirdoes and the fucking loud music and the increasingly belligerent political discussions. But I stay and I watch the door for hours and, more often than not, I leave disappointed. And I vow that, next time, I'll do something different.
But last night was pretty decent. For one thing, it wasn't very crowded at all. Certainly not like a usual Friday night. It was mostly regulars, and we mostly just sat around and babbled about random things.
I'd started out at the kiddie table, where I had two glasses of yummy Delirium Tremens (1209), then when TallLady left I moved to the throne. Most of the night the living room area held myself, MusicalYuppieDude, PlantDude, and PillowDude. At one point PearlGirl came in. She had apparently time-traveled back to the 1960s to buy a dress before coming to Rich O's.
My next beer was a Paulaner Hefeweissbier (484). Then I switched to Diet Coke for a while. I was considering going over to Louisville. AlliGirl had invited me to come see some band I never heard of. I asked MusicalYuppieDude about the band, and he said they're supposed to be pretty good. Plus it would have been nice to see AlliGirl again.
But then LaptopGirl came in and I forgot about wanting to leave. I forget about a lot of things when LaptopGirl is in the room.
I most certainly will not apologize for that.
I babbled a lot. I blame the Tremens I'd had earlier. Plus, she kept asking me questions that seemed to necessitate babbling answers.
Oh yeah, we ended up splitting a glass of Browning's Bourbon Imperial Stout. I already knew that it was yummy, but I think this was LaptopGirl's first time to have it. She said she liked it too.
Once LaptopGirl went home, I briefly thought about heading over to see AlliGirl and the band after all, but in the end I just came home and sat on my swing and did some navel gazing.
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