I just wanted to say that my cat Nugget is psychic.

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...

My email is messed-up tonight. Sometimes I can send, but not usually. I haven't been able to recieve since about 7:00.

I feel like a caveman must have felt.

I need a new phrase. One besides, "This is huge!"

I know RockGirl has to be getting sick of me saying that over and over and over and over and over.

Nothing's great or cool or even fantastic anymore. It's all huge.

Like this thing that happened the other night. Or this other thing that happened three times tonight.

Fucking huge.

---

I think that one of my neighbors might be a dick. Not the one directly across the street; she's nice, and she has a hot daughter who sometimes comes over and mows her mom's yard in a bikini. And not the people who live behind me. They seem pretty cool, and they keep to themselves, the way I like it.

The neighbor who might be a dick is the one across the street and one house over.

He had a fucking streetlight put in his driveway.

The light pollution from that thing is ridiculous. Especially at times like tonight, when it's warm but the leaves aren't on the trees yet. I sit on my swing, trying to enjoy the darkness, and that damn light is all I can see.

I'd like to take a pellet gun and shoot the thing out. But I can't because I'd be the prime suspect, now that I've written about it.

---

I owe NotHideousGirl an apology. I will apologize to her in person the next time I see her but, for now, I will apologize here:

Sorry about that. It was only ever barely funny to begin with, and it's certainly not funny anymore. Plus, it sends the absolute wrong message. I will make every effort to never broach the subject again, except when I apologize to you in person, the next time I see you.

---

This weekend SassyGirl is coming to town!

Yay!

As always happens, though, I'm on-call this week. So my weekend could get ruined if some bad enough stuff happens at work. I certainly hope not.

---

I don't know what I'm going to do Saturday night. Rich O's will be closed because of this airshow and fireworks thingy in Louisville. They were open last year for Thunder Over Louisville, so I don't see why they have to close this year. To piss me off, I guess.

---

Huge, I tell you!

---

I wish I'd have let that guy in the Peril series of entries live. I just know I could write a lot of good stuff about what's been happening with that guy for the past year. But how was I supposed to know, back then, that things would turn around this drastically?

---

I'd thought that I might get to go to Las Vegas in May, but now that's doubtful. There were three of us going, and I guess now only one of us gets to go. I hope it's me, but I don't want to get my hopes up too high. Plus, it would feel weird to leave here when such huge fantastic things are happening.

---

People probably don't notice it, but I really am a totally different person now. Here's one example:

Before, my reluctance was selfish, but now it's pretty goddamn noble of me, I think. Me, noble. Who saw that coming?

---

Man, I really want to write something relevant. But, every time I start, I end up stopping myself. Because people might go, Oh shit, Dave's off his rocker again.

The thing is, I never got back on the damn rocker. Everything is as it's been for years, except that now I'm getting a little bit of validation. Not encouragement, I cannot stress that enough. Just simple validation that maybe I wasn't quite as crazy as everyone thought. As even I thought.

There. That's about as relevant as I can allow myself to get.

---

Fucking huge!

So today, instead of flinging myself off the top of the nearest tall building, I figured that I'd try HatGirl one more time. I was really starting to freak out, and I sent her a message telling her as much.

She responded!

Yay!

We traded a couple of emails. I guess most notable was that she looked at my entry from Monday and called the resemblance "scary."

She did not offer an opinion as to whether her ass is better than the one in the poster.

---

On another front, I keep saying that the tiniest little things can mean all the difference to me. Tonight someone declined an invitation I'd made. But it was still very cool, because I was expecting no answer at all. Even the tiny little act of turning down my invitation will end up being one of the high points of my week.

---

I think I'm going to try to take a day of vacation Friday. I've still got a lot of hours that I need to use or lose by the end of April. I'll most likely have to work several hours on Friday but, as I said last week, I can work from home and I won't have to put on clothes. Plus, having Friday off means that I can go to Rich O's Thursday night.

---

Saturday I go booze shopping. I'm trying to put together a list of stuff to buy, so if you know me you can send me an email and I'll add your choice to my list.

---

Tonight I watched this stupid I Am Legend movie. I also had most of a bottle of Left Hand Snow Bound (112). I say most of a bottle because I managed to backhand the glass onto the floor at one point. Oops.

---

I think that's it for now.

---

Oh, wait. LaptopGirl told me that I'd be sad when I found out who got eliminated from American Idol tonight. She probably thinks that I'd be sad if Ramiele was voted off, so that's going to be my guess.

I have now been told, by three different people, that the girl in this beer poster at Rich O's looks uncannily like Hatgirl.

I can no longer ignore these observations. So I figured I'd post this entry and let those readers who know HatGirl decide for themselves.

Above is the full poster. I will admit a slight resemblance if I ignore the fact that HatGirl no longer wears glasses and her hair is now much shorter than that.

Here's a close-up of the facial area of the poster:

Okay, it does seem to look like HatGirl. Except HatGirl's horns are not nearly so pronounced. This chick certainly has that hot librarian look that HatGirl is so famous for.

Here's a close-up of the assial area of the poster:

I, of course, would never ever look as HatGirl's ass. She's much too pure and sweet for me to sully her in that way. But, if I were to look at her ass, I'm pretty sure that (a) it would be even nicer than what is portrayed here, and (b) there would be no tail.

Anyway, NABC's artist Tony Beard does a heck of a job, doesn't he?

I spend a lot of my spare time, such as this time right now while I wait for the dryer to ding, playing this Euchre game on my computer.

I'm not going to try to explain what Euchre is except to say that it's a card game. If you already know the game, then no explanation is necessary. If you don't already know what it is, and I try to explain it, you're inevitably going to exclaim, "Oh! It's like Spades!"

And then I'll have to kill you.

It's not like fucking Spades.

Anyway, I play this Euchre game a lot. Me and a computerized version of my cat Happy partnered against computerized versions of my cats Buddy and Nugget.

Shut up, I am so not gay.

I must have played this game a million times. Way more than I've played it with actual humans. This might be a good thing.

See, Happy keeps pissing me off. He's constantly leading trump on defense. I think this strategy scored a point once, back in 2001 or 2002, but it had never worked before and it hasn't worked since. I'm constantly cussing out my computerized partner for this folly, but he won't listen. Because he isn't real.

I'm pretty sure that, if I ever have an actual human partner, and he or she leads trump on defense, I'll just have to kill him or her.

Okay, so I was just stung by a wasp. Right on my neck.

What's that vital artery in the neck called? The Get Stung Here And Die Artery, maybe? That's where I just got stung.

So, just in case I drop dead in the next few minutes - I love you all.

Except those of you whom I hate - You suck.

UPDATE 7:35 AM - I will apparently live.

This is not an entry with humor about assholes. If you came here excitedly expecting to read poop and fart jokes, I'm sorry.

One of the big conversation topics at Rich O's lately, for most of the area bars in fact, has been that the local New Albany High School basketball team was (a) undefeated, (b) ranked number one in the state, and (c) quite possibly the greatest basketball team in the history of the entire universe.

I pretty much stayed out of those conversations because (a) I went to a rival high school, and (b) I didn't care, and (c) basketball sucks.

Anyway, Saturday night PearlGirl came in and joined us in the red room for a bit. She very quickly informed us that New Albany had lost it's playoff game, and that they were therefore eliminated.

I said, "They lost? Well maybe people can shut up about them now."

Undeterred, PearlGirl then started talking about the game itself. "It was a really good game!" she offered.

"Or maybe not," I remarked.

Now, a couple of people chuckled at my remark. And I began to wonder why. I mean, did they understand and agree with my sense of humor, or did they completely misinterpret my words, and still find them chuckle-worthy?

There are two ways to interpret what I'd said:

1. I was suggesting that it must not have been that good of a game, because New Albany lost.

2. I was postulating that perhaps people wouldn't be able to shut up after all.

For the people who know me well enough, it's trivial to know that the second interpretation is the correct one.

This is asshole humor. It is my forte.

I wonder how many people understood that, and how many people thought I was actually being sympathetic to the losing team and its fans.

A week or so ago, I ran across this article. I've seen similar articles before. It seems like they pop up every year as St. Patrick's Day nears.

Then today I saw this article. This is just another rehash of the standard pets reduce stress story that news organizations use when Britney hasn't done anything crazy lately.

Anyway, for those keeping score at home, (a) I enjoy an occasional alcoholic beverage, and (b) I own not just one, but three cats.

I am, therefore, invincible and I will live forever.

When I see your great-great-great-great-grandchildren, I'll tell then you said, "Hi."

I was talking with my sister yesterday. She told me about how she'd been sitting out on her deck Friday night, trying to enjoy the snowfall, but it had become too cold and windy for her comfort.

So, she ran back inside her house.

I guess she ran quickly. Furthermore, I guess she ran too quickly.

Because she startled one of her cats.

The cat hauled ass out of the room to hide, but not until it had deposited two turds onto Dina's kitchen floor.

I think that cat was pretty smart. I think it deliberately shit on Dina's floor to provide a distraction while it made its escape.

I like that idea. I like that idea so much, I'm going to steal it.

In the unlikely event that my ex-wife ever sets foot into Rich O's, I'm not just going to haul ass out the back door. Nope, I'm going to drop my pants and shit on the floor first. That little distraction should buy me enough time to get away.

This plan should also work for other unwelcome intruders; my ex-wife is just the first one who came to mind.

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.

...you can find stuff like this.

As it turns out, I have spies everywhere. And I didn't even know that I had them. I thought all I had was people spying on me. Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean I'm wrong about that.

Things aren't as bad as they've seemed. They're still not good. They still suck, actually.

But, thanks to my spies, I feel better about something that's been kind of nagging at me for several months. Not a big problem in the grand scheme of things, but enough to distract me from what's really relevant.

And, speaking of what's really relevant. I feel a little tiny bit better about that, too. Thanks to another spy. I still don't really know what's happened, but I now know that it wasn't this one stupid thing which I'd never even seriously considered except during my darkest moments. So, that's cool. One less thing to worry about.

Anyway, spies are cool. I highly recommend them.

There's this thing that I'm not supposed to write about.

Not that one thing about which I keep writing, even though I'm not supposed to. A completely different thing. One which I've been able to more or less successfully steer clear of for years, except for a couple of minor, trivial, and harmless entries.

I fear all that may change, and that it may change soon.

I really hope it doesn't come to that. I'm really too old for that kind of shit.

I suppose I feel better now. I think that the only real casualty was my myspace account. It can't be retrieved, and I'm pretty sure that I don't care. It was pretty much irrelevant anyway. I did managed to save the facebook stuff, though time will soon tell if that was a wasted effort or not.

I don't think I'm going to write much about what happened. Something certainly did and, to deal with it, I needed to reset some things inside my head. Dial back some knobs, stuff like that. I've tried to find out what caused it, and I did manage to learn a couple of things. Bullshit things. I tried to do some damage control on that. I don't know if it worked or not, but at least I tried.

This morning, just now actually, I was reminded of something that bugs me.

Let's say I write this in my blog:

It was freakin' cold this morning. Nine whole degrees when I woke up at the crack of 10:00. And yes, I know it's a lot colder than that in other places.

I'm annoyed by this use of the "and yes" segue. It just rubs me the wrong way. It patronizingly presumes that the writer knows what the reader is thinking, then it casually dismisses the reader's thought. It's a little argumentative, yet the reader never gets his say. The reader loses an argument that he was never really in to begin with.

Another annoying use of the same segue is here, paraphrased from Slashdot:

It seems that the New Year's Eve fireworks show in Seattle had to be fired manually, because the software that was supposed to run things crashed. And yes, that software runs on Windows.

Anyway, that's my little rant for now. And yes, I know this was a silly entry.

1. Trevor
2. Cocksucker
3. Cumguzzler
4. Hogarth
5. Blaine
6. Buttpirate
7. Lance
8. Anything with an apostrophe in it - i.e. J'on
9. Anything intentionally misspelled - i.e. Travys
10. Englebert

Keep this handy guide with you at all times.

Last night I whipped this together and sent it to a few people. I mainly made it for RockGirl. She was looking for ideas on what to send her boyfriend.

RockGirl decoded it in about two seconds. HatGirl came very close right away, but may have given up. LaptopGirl is probably forwarding it to her attorney. WeirdGirl cheated, but she said it was only to check her answer.

I could have picked another image altogether for the third image. I don't know why I didn't.

Happy birthday to HatGirl!

Yay for HatGirl!

I got this nifty voice recorder doohickey for Christmas. Tonight, I recorded myself singing happy birthday to HatGirl. I was thinking about posting the audio file here. But I realized that the risk that my singing might melt the hearts of women all over the world - it's just wasn't worth it.

Besides, HatGirl already got to hear me sing it in person.

The Internet is now complete.

I think we should all shut down our sites and our journals now, lest anyone ever be tempted to use the Internet for a lesser purpose.

This will be close, but it probably won't be exact. It's been a couple of weeks since this one dude told this to me. I'd say exactly who it was that told me about this, but his mother or grandmother might read this blog, and I don't want to get anyone into trouble. Even though he could say he was tricked into watching it.

Anyway, according to my friend, there was this video. On the Internet, I think. I hope. I'd hate to think that this was in someone's private stash.

At the start, there were two naked girls kissing each other.

I immediately thought to ask the obvious question - Were the girls hot? - but as my friend continued to tell me about the video, the issue of the girls hotness became irrelevant very quickly.

Apparently, these girls moved directly from kissing each other to shitting on each other. I know, not exactly a normal progression, right?

But that's not all.

Then, I guess, the girls began to eat each other's shit.

But that's not all.

Next, I heard, one of the girls proceeded to vomit shit onto the other girl's face.

But that's not all.

At that point, I gather, both girls then started licking the shit/vomit mixture off of each other's faces.

At that point, I asked what had become the new obvious question.

Was one of the girls Cartman's mom?

I know why my friend told me about this video. It wasn't because he thought I might get turned on. Nope, it was because his head was totally full of disgust, and so he hoped to give some of that disgust to me. But it was just disgust, not shit, so it was okay.

I can't help but wonder about the girls in the video. About (a) why they'd do such strange things, and (b) why they'd have it taped and put on the Internet.

I can think of two reasons.

First, maybe there really are people who are into this sort of disgusting stuff. Maybe these girls are two of those people. Maybe it was all done in the spirit of some bizarre kink.

Second, maybe they just did it for the notoriety and/or some monetary gain.

I really hope that it's the former, because the thought of people doing that to each other and not even getting to enjoy it - well that would just be sad.

And I don't like sad things.

I'm feeling much better, thanks for wondering. It's always like this with me. I get all worked up over something and then, well I suppose I get it out of my system. Or maybe I just get used to it.

I guess I'll just go back to what I've always done. I'll wait. I'm good at waiting, and I'm pretty sure that my wait won't be in vain. Eventually, something good will happen.

---

A guy at work shot himself this morning. It's in the paper, so I guess I'm allowed to mention it here. I didn't know the guy. I just knew who he was. I imagine that a lot of people would say exactly the same thing. Maybe that was part of his problem.

I fully support a person's right to end their own life. To choose when their life will end. We get so few real choices as it is. But I don't support shooting yourself at work, where someone will have to find your body, and where someone will have to clean up the mess, and where someone will be traumatized. It would be much better, I think, to just disappear and never come back.

---

The other day I had this totally brilliant idea for an entry. For an article, actually. If I ever get around to writing the thing, and if I do as good of a job with it as I'd like, it may end up being my main contribution to mankind. That would be cool.

---

It's hard to stop counting days. I count the days until something good, or I count the days after something good. Because, right now, I have nothing specific to look forward to, I'm mostly counting the latter. Then, when that number gets high enough, I get to freak out a little. So maybe I do have something to look forward to.

---

Yesterday it took, I shit you not, an hour and a half for my pizza to arrive. And then, when I finally got it, it was ice cold. So much for enjoying Pizza Night.

So today I went back to Rich O's after work for another attempt. Rogue Chocolate Stout is back on tap finally, so I had one of those (2196). Right before I finished that glass, I got a little reckless.

Dave's Smoked Chocolate

(mixture) I mixed Rogue Chocolate Stout and NABC Cone Smoker in a 1:1 ratio. I'd been expecting these two very different flavors to elevate each other to new heights. But that's not what happened. They pretty much cancelled each other out. Good thing I didn't waste too much beer with this experiment.

Today's pizza arrived in about ten minutes, and it was yummy.

---

One of the things that keeps tempting me is the fact that, with about fifteen minutes, I could end all of this confusion. I could correct all of these misinterpretations. I could answer all questions. Now, knowing myself as I do, I realize that I'd try to stretch that fifteen minutes out to like a thousand years, but I think fifteen minutes is all I'd really need.

---

I just thought of something else, but it's worth an entry all on its own.

My Blackberry sucks.

Something has happened to its ability to save SMS messages.

Like tonight. Right before I left Rich O's, I drunk-texted NotHideousGirl. The gist of the message was that it sucked that there's nobody who'll miss me when I'm in Las Vegas this week.

Lo and behold, she responded. Something about how she missed me.

I replied back with some crap.

But now, when I go to look at my Blackberry to see what she said, and to see what I said in response - there's no record of any messages at all.

My Blackberry sucks.

Got this in an email tonight:

They really need to be more specific about stuff like this. I mean, I can immediately think of two MySpace friends with upcoming birthdays, but there may be more. Then there are at least a dozen people overall who are/have been very important to me - all with birthdays coming up within the next week. This particular week in November has always been a magic and/or cursed week for me.

Kinda makes me believe in astrology, sometimes.

Somebody help me out with my math here.

If the last three work weeks, consisting of 5 days each, seemed to last 13 days, 146 days, and 4.6 years respectively, then how long will this work week seem to last, given that it will only consist of two actual days?

On a slightly related note, should I strive to enjoy myself in Las Vegas next week, inevitably shortening the perceived duration of the trip, or should I wallow in misery in hopes of making the trip seem to last longer than it really does?

Well, I guess I'm not going to do the novel thing this year.

There are several reasons. I wrote most of them in an email the other day, in part saying...

I think that, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the nanowrimo thing just wasn't for me. Not this year at least. I don't want to do anything half-assed, and that's pretty much what they tell you to do, with that whole Quantity Over Quality thing. It just rubs me the wrong way. Plus, there are some weirdoes in the group.

I just don't have the time. Not this month. I've got this Las Vegas trip staring me in the face, and all I can think about is that I'd have to write my entire 50,000-word novel by the 24th instead of by the 30th.

I still really like parts of the idea though. So I might just try to write myself a 50,000-word novel. It won't be done in a month, though. More like several months or even a year.

It seems like it might be fun, as long as a deadline isn't constantly bearing down on me.

I can't think of anything lengthy to write, so I guess I'll just list more random crap.

---

I go to Las Vegas two weeks from today. I'm practically dreading the trip, but I'm hopeful that this attitude will reverse itself - probably when I'm about to land and I can see The Strip out the plane's window.

---

Several week ago, RockGirl told me something that I didn't want to believe. I knew that she was telling me the truth, but I fought that truth for a long time. Now, that truth has come to pass, and I'm much happier for it.

---

I had a weird dream last night. I don't remember very much about it, but my friend Eric's wife Teri was in it, and she was some kind of secret agent on a mission to kill me. Luckily for me, she was pretty bad at her job, and we all had a good laugh about it later.

---

Yesterday I went to my nephew's grave for the first time since the funeral. They finally got his headstone delivered. It's very nice, for a headstone. I took a picture of it, but I'm not sure that it would be appropriate for this venue. What with it being depressing and all that. I much prefer, as everyone knows, to write entries about good stuff like boxes full of cute kittens.

---

Dina has redone Cory's room into a sort of sitting room. It's very relaxing, and quite a contrast from the teenaged boy's chaotic room it used to be. The walls are now painted a color that I can only describe as school bus yellow. I'd been led to believe that setting foot in that room would cause immediate blindness and/or skin cancer, but it's not bad at all. It really looks nice in there.

---

I've been talking to FirstGirl about maybe making a necklace or a pendant out of my rock. The whole thing was my idea, but it still makes me very nervous. I'm not sure that I'm a necklace kind of guy. I also don't want to do anything to damage my rock, so no drilling.

---

You know what's weird? The only dirty clothes in my house are the maroon scrubs I'm wearing right now. Last week, I did a million loads of laundry, and I've been keeping up with it ever since. Very strange, and my cats are beside themselves without the normally ubiquitous piles of clothes upon which to nap.

---

The other night NormalGirl and I were talking about some of the places I've lived. That discussion got Seattle stuck in my mind, and now I really want to go back there for a visit. Even though it's a long way away, I think I'll put it on my short list for next Spring's Easter trip. I'll have to stop smoking first though. I think that the new law in Washington allows people to shoot smokers on sight.

---

I'm pretty sure that I just did something stupid. I meant well, though.

---

I've been very tempted to delete my MySpace account. It no longer serves any purpose for me. I'll probably end up leaving it there, but ignoring it. We'll see, I guess.

---

I've noticed lately that a couple of my friends are very bad influences on me. Just to be clear, I blame myself for any and all personality defects that arise when I'm around these people. I somehow remain hopeful that I will eventually learn to spot, and stop, these defects before they ruin any more nights for me.

---

Hey, it's 11:11 on 11/11 now. I think I'll stop writing for a while.

That show Extreme Makeover: Home Edition is in Louisville makeovering a home.

Yeah, I know that's not a real word.

It's been all over the radio, how they're redoing a house for some semi-famous blind guy. Plus I guess they're all staying at this fancy hotel across the street from where I work. At least there's been a very large bus parked there all week, and everyone is saying it's the people from the show.

I used to watch that show. I used to like it. I mean, the things that they do to transform those houses are truly amazing. But I haven't watched it in a couple of years. It just got to be too much, with all the heartwarming and the tears and the uplifting moments.

It used to be that they'd swoop in and fix up a house for any of a number of reasons. Maybe because you were cool, or you needed more space, or maybe just because you applied for the thing. And, of course, there were the charity cases. People in real trouble, who needed real help.

But things changed. I guess the heartwarming stories rapidly became the most popular ones. And the more desperate the lives of the people being helped, the better the ratings were. So it kinda snowballed.

It used to be, back when I first started watching that show, it used to be that I could almost imagine them showing up at my house someday. I liked the semi-randomness. For me, that was a really big part of the show's appeal.

Now, though, they don't do that semi-random stuff anymore. If they show up at your house now, then you know that your life truly sucks big ones.

Like, we had a storm here in August, and one of my Tivos broke. I seriously doubt that the people from the show are going to give my house a makeover because of my broken Tivo. But, back when the show first came on, it was fun to fantasize about it. Now, it would be a horrible fantasy. Because first I'd have to imagine that half my family was dead. And the other half had cancer. And the other half was blind or otherwise disabled. And that my cats all hated me. And that, despite all the problems, I still spent all of my spare time and all of my spare money helping those even less fortunate than I was.

It used to be fun to fantasize about that show redoing my house. But now, I wouldn't wish that fate on my worst enemy. Nobody deserves to have a life that's so crappy as to lure that show in.

A little while ago I got an email from RockGirl. Earlier today, we'd been discussing various meal choices, in particular my own preference for eating a lot of a single thing instead of a small amount of several things.

RockGirl asked me what I'd serve if a hot girl (she specified a certain one, but it's not important for this exercise) came over to my house for lunch.

It took me about a half a second to come up with an answer.

Homemade chocolate pudding. Then I'd say that I had no clean bowls or plates or spoons, and so we'd have to just lick it off each other's bodies.

I'd probably get away with it, too. Because in this fantasy universe of yours, wherein a hot girl comes to my house for lunch, anything at all is possible.

Maybe I'll sue myself later. I'd probably settle out of court, though. I wouldn't want to give myself too much hassle.

I'm dewrinkling some clothes now, so I have a little bit of time to kill. This one stupid shirt probably won't get dewrinkled, and I'll have to iron it. I hate it when that happens.

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment. It was routine, except for the girl who did most of the work. She was far from routine. She was gorgeous. Way too pretty to be working in a dentist's office. I mean, I generally like for any girls sticking their fingers in my mouth to be of reasonable appearance. I wouldn't want some old hag doing it, neither would I want a super-model doing it. At least not in that context, super-models should all feel free to stick fingers in my mouth at other times. And this chick was as pretty as any super-model I've ever seen. Especially when she had her cute little mask on, and all I could see were her incredible eyes.

So I spent all of my time in that chair thinking about baseball, so I wouldn't spring an erection and distract the poor girl as she worked inside my mouth with sharp metal utensils.

The greatest moment that I ever personally witnessed in baseball was several years ago. The Mariners were playing the Indians, and Kenny Lofton had spent about a week calling Randy Johnson a headhunter. When the game started, Lofton was the lead-off batter, and for the first pitch Randy threw a fastball straight at Kenny's head.

A big to-do ensued. There was no fight, but there was a lot of arguing. The umpire gave Randy a warning not to do that again, ever, young man.

Things settled back down, and the game resumed. For the second pitch of the game, Randy threw another fastball straight at Lofton's head, then he walked off the field. Classic.

Anyway.

Last night I went to Rich O's. I hadn't been planning to go, but LaptopGirl wanted me to take a look at her computer. That's not a euphemism. Her computer has been acting up.

So I had a nice pleasant evening talking with LaptopGirl. It didn't seem as surreal as it has lately, so I guess maybe I'm getting used to this new reality. I hope so.

Her computer is running Vista, and it's got some crap wrong with it. I managed to correct one glaring problem, but the rest will have to wait until we can scan the thing for spyware. I'm fairly convinced that's what's causing most of her computer woes. Also, the damn thing bluescreened on us three or four times. I didn't think Vista was ever supposed to bluescreen, and I'd definitely thought that Microsoft would have done away with that particular anachronism by now.

Like I said, it was a nice night. I had most of two bottles of yummy Koningshoeven Quad (722), and I had most of three bottles of yummy Schlenkerla Marzen (1938). LaptopGirl had the rest.

Later, the place turned back into a sausagefest. I stayed around for a little while, though. Talking to MusicalYuppieDude and a couple of other guys. I left just before they started kicking every out.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

I totally forgot to mention that I've booked my next trip to Las Vegas. After Thanksgiving I'll be there for a week, for the same conference I attend every year. It's always been at The Rio, but now they're moving it to The MGM Grand. This is probably a good thing, especially since The Tilted Kilt will surely be gone from The Rio by then, but it will still feel pretty weird. I think I'm actually feeling a little ambivalent about the whole trip.

I wonder if I should try to call StupidGirl. I guess I've got almost three months to decide.

---

I thought I'd have more to write, but I guess not. Except that women are strange. And everybody already knows that.

So today it was suggested that I be bluntly honest at all times. The unspoken implication, of course, being that I'm some sort of pathological liar.

I'm annoyed by this. Annoyed enough that I will now present two facts.

Fact One: I do not believe that honesty should be used as an excuse for cruelty.

Fact Two: I do not believe that discretion and honesty are mutually exclusive.

That is all.

My family has suffered an unimaginable tragedy.

I don't know when I'll be back here. I'm not going to trivialize what's happened by writing my usual irrelevant drivel.

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

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

Yeah well, me too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, on with the mish-mash.

---

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

Things are complicated, and confusing, and convoluted.

I like it.

---

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

---

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

---

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

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

---

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

Pretty creepy stuff, if you ask me.

---

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

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

---

I guess that's it for now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happens a lot.

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

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

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

Girls who want it:

That one girl.

That other girl.

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

Girls who need it:

The girl from that place.

That girl who I like a lot.

That girl I met that one night.

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

Girls who deserve it:

Nobody I can think of.

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

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

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

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

Thanks to everyone who noticed that I was gone.

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

---

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

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

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

It would be win-win!

---

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

---

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

---

Not that it really bothers me.

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

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

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

Anyway.

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

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

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

Okay, now fast-forward thirty years or so.

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

So they wanted those trays returned.

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

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

Okay, pop quiz time.

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

What do you do. What DO you do?

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

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

The letter corresponding to the correct answer is a vowel.

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

I like girls. Especially hot girls.

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

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

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

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

It feels good to vent sometimes.

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

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

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

So I guess I'll stop now.

Or at least change subjects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something I told ArtGirl I'd look up.

Moon Signs Compatibility - Pisces with Virgo

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

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

Sexual Compatibility - Pisces and Virgo

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

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

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

Compatibility rating: 4 out of 4 hearts

Love and Marriage - Pisces and Virgo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See, me and whores, we go way back.

Anyway.

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

I never made Leesa cry.

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

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

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

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

She didn't give me cooties.

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

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

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

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

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

It was always Leesa.

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

I hope she's had a happy life.

First, a public service announcement:

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

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

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

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

Hi,

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

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

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

The last, and only, time I did one of these was almost a year and a half ago. I figure it's time for an updated list.

My apologies to anyone I left out. I assure you that it wasn't intentional. I will continue to make updates here as memories resurface and new things happen.

I've also decided clarifications of the women I write about are indeed frequently asked questions, so I'll be updating my FAQ page with a link to this entry. The things I do for you people.

AlliGirl: One of my favorite people slash girls slash bartenders anywhere. Makes me wish I was a couple of decades younger.

ArtGirl: She's an artist, and she works in a museum. I have a crush on her.

BadPickleGirl: A friend of my sister Dina. I like her, but it's not mutual. The nickname is because I misheard her one time.

BamaGirl: A girl from Rich O's. I only see her and her husband every now and then these days.

BigWheelGirl: One of LaptopGirl's friends. She drove us to see Screech. The nickname is because of a story that LaptopGirl told me about when they were kids. I'm pretty sure that BigWheelGirl hates me with a burning passion.

BikerGirl: See AlliGirl. A hot bartender at The Pub. She has a motorcycle, hence the nickname, which I don't use anymore.

Bubbles: A Rich O's regular. She just has a bubbly personality.

CanadianGirl: She used to work at my company, and she'd show up at Rich O's every now and then. She moved to Omaha. The nickname is because she's from Canada originally. She's a very friendly drunk.

CannonGirl: Another name for TrainGirl. She used to work at this historical place with cannons. I don't know where she's at these days.

CrewCutGirl: A girl from Rich O's. She has the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I wrote an entry about her once.

CuteAsFuckGirl: She grew up in Washington County. She wants me. The nickname is self-explanatory. I haven't seen her since the day I met her.

CuteBartender: A cute bartender at Rich O's. I have a crush on her.

CuteBlonde: One of the regulars at Rich O's. She's married to some guy who's name I can never remember. Another nickname that needs no explanation. I don't think I've seen CuteBlonde in over a year.

Dina: My sister.

DooRagGirl: See NotHideousGirl.

EllaGirl: See WeirdGirl. This nickname, which didn't stick, was because she looks like a girl name Ella from JournalSpace.

EnglishGirl: I spent several hours talking with her in Boston. Extremely nice. I should have given her my email address. She's from England. I haven't heard from her since, probably because I didn't give her my email address.

EwokGirl: Our cubicles used to be next to each other. Sometimes she would bring me free germs. She told me to use EwokGirl as a nick