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 ended up burning a day and a half of vacation Thursday and Friday. Still had to work several of those hours, but at least I got to work from home and I didn't have to put clothes on. Except when my sister came over Friday morning. I wore clothes then.

Let's see, Thursday night I got to Rich O's very early. My time sense was all out of whack because I'd left work early. I remember being excited because it was Thursday night and the usual group of weirdoes wasn't there. I pointed this out to MusicalYuppieDude, and he pointed out that it wasn't time for the weirdoes yet. What a buzz-kill.

Sure enough, the weirdoes all showed up for their 7:00 circle jerk. But they stayed in the red room, so it was okay.

I spent most of the night talking to FirstGirl's legs. I think FirstGirl was there too. Yes, in fact she was, because we talked about why so many women's shoes have such pointy toes. I think they look like elf shoes.

At about 9:00, suddenly and desperately looking for any distraction from a violent craving to bother LaptopGirl, I started texting and emailing everyone else under the Sun. A few people even replied, thank you very much. So that was cool. Except HatGirl didn't reply, so that sucked. And my craving subsided, so that was cool.

I had an NABC Cone Smoker (3297) and then about a bottle and a half of Rogue Chocolate Stout (2487). The Rogue was particularly yummy.

Friday night started out pretty loud. When I first arrived, I sat at the island where ExBartender was sitting with a couple of other dudes. Now, ExBartender is generally a fairly loud person. But I'm used to that, and it's part of his charm or whatever. What I wasn't used to was sitting with three people who were basically screaming at each other. Not screaming in anger, just with the joy of life or alcohol or something.

So I only put up with that noise for about 10 seconds before I picked up my shit and moved to the bar. I finished my Cone Smoker (3317) and then had a Regenboog Guido (42) for the first time in a few years.

I texted HatGirl again. Still no reply. So I'm officially freaking out and becoming convinced that HatGirl is mad at me for some reason. I can't imagine what that reason might be, though. Maybe my awesomeness is making LuckyFucker look bad in comparison.

(I'm kidding. Really. Maybe if I rag on you two you'll come to Rich O's and defend yourselves.)

TremensGirl had said that she'd be in, but there was no sign of her. So I texted her that this one blonde chick she knows was there. You know, in case I wasn't cool enough on my own to lure TremensGirl in.

About ten seconds passed, and TremensGirl came in and went to sit with the blonde chick.

Several million years passed, during which I accomplished taking a piss and moving to the sofa. But finally LaptopGirl came in. After I had established that we weren't fighting (I had to ask) we sat on the sofa and talked about various stuff like how my brain works. Or doesn't work. Whatever.

I felt a little bad because I'd texted TremensGirl to invite her to come in, but by the time she'd got around to me, LaptopGirl was there and everyone else blipped off my screens. But then MrPopular came to the rescue and kept TremensGirl company except for this one tense moment when she almost tried to pick a fight with LaptopGirl over politics.

(There. I used your new nickname. Your life is now complete.)

By the time LaptopGirl went home, I'd finished a second glass of the Guido (54) and a couple of glasses of Diet Coke. I'd been thinking about maybe going over to Louisville, but instead I just came home.

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 the red X is about where I was standing, just outside the building where I work. To the left of the X, directly across the street and about 50 feet away, is the 21C Museum/Hotel. So, imagine my surprise when two girls, who were walking around looking lost, stopped and asked me how to get to the 21C Museum/Hotel.

Nice guy that I am, I gave them directions. "Go South and turn left at the light, then go East and turn left at the light, then go North and turn left at the light, then go West and turn left at the light, then go South. When you get back to this exact spot again, go across the street."

Then I had to get back inside to work.

I hope they found the place okay.

Meanwhile, I keep writing. I don't post much of it, but I do keep writing.

I pour myself onto this keyboard, and then I censor almost every word. I protect the people I care about from the truth. What a fucked-up situation it is, that I keep feeling compelled to hide the most important parts of myself from the most important people.

I keep getting these fucking thoughts in my head. Not random thoughts, though they seem to come at random times. From some dark place inside me that I'd rather didn't exist.

But the dark place exists. The thoughts exist.

I am actually angry right now.

As if I have any right to be angry. As if I have any reason to be anything but deliriously happy. As if my life isn't a million times better than it was a few short months ago. As if I didn't get the two seconds I'd wanted, and a whole lot more.

As if I did anything wrong. As if this is somehow my fault.

This is not my fault, dammit!

So why am I so angry at myself?

I didn't feel like taking very good notes tonight, because I'm kinda in the middle of this bullshit preemptive depression thing. But I noticed enough to make this entry.

Contestants 1 through 9: zzzz, zzzz, wtf, blah, zzzz, blah, blah, wtf, blah

David C: Fucking awesome (100 points)

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.

Every now and then someone will make a statement, and nobody really pays much attention to it. Maybe they dismiss it as simple conversation.

But perhaps they should pay close attention, lest they miss something important. Something immortal even.

Like these words of MisunderstoodGirl, from March 2005.

Man, it's really pouring down snow out there.

I guess I'm starting to get a little nervous. That's probably not the correct word, though. Whatever the word is, I've found myself in a pretty deep funk for the last couple of days.

I need a good word for preemptive depression. I bet such a word exists.

Wait, I suppose it could have been the 48 hours of relentless rain that dampened my mood.

Nope, I'm sure it wasn't the rain. It was the stuff that caused it. The fucking stuff.

A hint now, a mention then, an insinuation every so often. That fucking stuff.

Nothing certain. Nothing that couldn't be rescinded if circumstances changed. Though I don't think anything that formal would ever happen. That would be really out of character. I think that the hints and the insinuations and the mentions would simply stop.

I'd take that. Easier for everyone involved to just pretend that the stuff never happened.

And if it doesn't stop? If the stuff continues and the thing really and truly takes place?

Well, that will suck. But only for me. And I keep saying that I'm not important. Maybe, by the time the thing happens, I'll even remember why I keep saying that.

I have other stuff to write about, but for now, the chance to make OddlyFamiliarGirl feel envious of me, of all people, is just too good to pass up.

After I got home, I sat on my swing and had a lovely Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (2357). It was yummy, and though the wind made it a little chilly, it was well worth it.

So, ha ha!