It's understandable, this fear and this uncertainty that you feel. How could you not feel these things, given the deceits and disappointments of your past? Life and love have at times conspired against you, making you wary, watchful, suspicious. Maybe even paranoid?

You've never had much to go on, regarding me. You've had a glimpse or two, but not much else. Hearsay has clouded things even more. You don't know what to believe, or what to think, or what to feel, or what to do. A part of you tells you to run, as fast as you can, away from me. But another part is, at least, curious enough to stick around. On the outskirts of a relationship. A fisherman with a bite, but not quite willing to crank the reel. Not quite willing to see what's on the other end of that line.

You wrestle with yourself. And I wait, my heart leaping inside my chest, for a winner to emerge from the dust.

Doubt is universal. Fear is universal. It's perfectly normal for you to feel these things. But you don't need to feel doubt, and you don't need to feel fear. I can take those feelings from you. I can feel those things enough for both of us. And I can handle them, because I'm used to them.

I wish that things were different. I wish that you would trust me, that you would stop being afraid of me. I wish that you would look into my eyes, and see even the tiniest glimmer of what I see when I look into yours. That glimmer would be enough to erase your concerns.

I wish that you knew me, because if you knew me, then you would know what to do.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. But, there's no hurry. This offer is eternal.

Here, take my hand. I want to show you something.

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.

Found out today that BikerGirl will not be leaving The Pub and, by extension, my life.

This is great news. Frankly, I was getting pretty sick of people leaving my life.

If I had to guess, I'd guess that it was about fifteen times. It's impossible to know for sure, because a while ago there was this disaster of sorts and a lot of comments and private messages were lost forever.

But fifteen is a good approximation. So I'll use that number. Fifteen times people went out of their way to tell me pretty much the same thing. To tell me what I pretty much already knew, or at least suspected.

I have this other blog, you see. And, in my other blog, I don't hold myself back nearly as much as I do here. I don't have to hold myself back, because it's anonymous. More or less. I've told a couple of people about it, where it is, but for the most part I've managed to keep my big fat mouth shut.

Anyway.

In that other blog, I've said pretty much everything that there is to say about a certain subject. And, if I do say so myself, I've done a pretty good job of writing those entries. It's actually readable, almost all of it, and that's a lot more than I can say about this blog you're looking at right now.

What people have told me, what people have told me about fifteen different times, is that my words would work. They'd stir certain emotions, and they'd cause certain reactions. Good reactions.

But, the thing is, that's not why I've written those words. I haven't written them as an explanation of my innermost thoughts. I never intended to use them in lieu of simply saying the words out loud, someday, maybe.

That other blog is more like a giant Post-It note to myself. So I don't forget what to say, if the time ever comes to say it. So I don't forget what I've felt, even if the passage of time is constantly threatening to strip me of those, my most precious memories. I never really meant for anyone to actually read the thing - it just happened. It's not even a real blog. It's a series of speeches that I hope to make someday. Before I die.

It would be so easy, right now, to let that cat out of the bag. I could just post a link to the thing. I could do it. But, I won't. I want to say those things out loud. I don't want to run and hide while they're read and absorbed and digested. I want to be there, and I want to see the reaction to my words as it happens. As reality sinks in. I want to watch as skepticism becomes clarity becomes understanding becomes, whatever.

Everyone already knows. That's the thing that gets me. Everyone already knows, but they turn away from the truth, because it's just too much. They throw words like exaggeration and dramatization in my direction, like those words could actually affect me. Affect this.

Lately, I've let my other blog slip. Not that it was ever updated with any regularity, but lately I've had things that I should have written there, and I haven't.

I've turned away from it.

I think that, sometimes, the truth is too much for me, too.

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.

Sometimes I can't seem to shut up.

There are three people who are usually the brunt of my rambling assaults. OddlyFamiliarGirl may have gotten the hint and moved to Siberia so as to not have to listen to me any more. And RockGirl has never had to face me when I babble - it's always in email form. She's got it easy. But, MusicalYuppieDude is still hanging tough, only rolling his eyes when I'm not looking.

I can hear his eyes rolling, though. It's kind of a squishy/squeaky sound. He should get that sound checked by a doctor. It can't be healthy.

Anyway, the thing is, this thing right now, I think it's perfectly reasonable that I'm concerned. I keep thinking that I'm being reasonable. I keep telling myself that I'm being reasonable. And, so far, nobody has told me otherwise. Including myself, and I'm really the only one listening anyway.

If only I could explain myself, just a little bit, without causing trouble.

I don't know how do that. I don't know what I could say that might actually be believed. I don't even know where to start.

I made a pact with myself, a long time ago. I promised myself that I would resist the urge to start babbling, and keep babbling, until I'd said everything that there was to say. As a compromise, I promised myself that, if I were asked and only if I were asked, well then all bets would be off.

I fear that I may end up breaking that pact. I fear that I may never be asked, and I fear that invalid assumptions will be made.

I cannot allow that to happen.

This is too important.

This is everything.

If I were to start babbling, I think I'd say that I'm not writing wedding vows, and I'm not out buying gallons of anal lubrication. It's not like that, and it was never like that. Never never never never never.

I'm just trying to get my life back, That's all. And, for the last couple of days, I haven't liked my odds very much.

It was really a no-win situation. I mean, every fiber of my being told me to leave, but I knew that leaving would have only made things worse. It would have been misinterpreted, just like everything else.

This isn't about what people think it's about. Occam's Razor, once again, fails to live up to its reputation. It's a false lead. Fuck, it even fooled me for a little while there, before I'd had some time to digest things.

Sometimes I think about becoming more forthcoming and spontaneous. People tell me that I should do that. But, when I really think about it, I don't really see how that would help anything. Seems like I'd have to start spending all of my time explaining myself and doing damage control. I think my current modus operandi for living, waiting to explode, is much better.

Still, it would be nice to be able to say some things. Just to clear the air a little. I know there are questions that should be asked yet never will be asked. So sometimes I think that maybe I should just start preemptively providing answers.

Maybe I would, if I thought I'd be believed.

I went out tonight. I wrote a bunch of stuff in my notebook. It was relaxing, I suppose. I haven't done that in a long time.

Anyway, nobody needs my bullshit. So I'm going to stop for a while.

Plus, I'm very tired.

I'm in a crappy mood.

I'm not allowed to be in a crappy mood, and I'm not allowed to say why I'm in a crappy mood. These two restrictions combine to shove me into an even crappier mood. It's all circular and shit.

I actually wrote a nice little entry about my crappy mood. It stayed up for about eight hours before I deleted it. I hate it when I write bullshit like that.

Anyway.

I got to Rich O's a little after 6:00 last night. This was pretty early for me, but I wanted to give myself the best chance of getting a seat. I needn't have bothered - it wasn't too crowded at all, and seats were fairly plentiful.

I sat on the loveseat for a while. This dude who looks like my cousin Robbie was there with some of his friends. I had myself a Gouden Carolus Noel (50) and listened to them rag on each other for an hour or so. Then I moved to the kiddie table so I could eat some pizza in peace.

My second beer was new to me:

Jolly Pumpkin Noel de Calabaza

(draft) Hazy dark amber. Decent head that faded quickly. Slightly sour aroma. Slightly sour finish. Not much else to it. A decent beer, but not really worth my time. I tried to give half the glass away, but nobody wanted it.

Then some bullshit happened.

Then HatGirl came in with LuckyFucker.

HatGirl!

Yay!

This was about when I had a Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout (14). It was quite good, and quite strong. So I cut myself off for a while, and had Diet Cokes while I talked to HatGirl and LuckyFucker.

Then some more bullshit happened.

Eventually I found my way to the throne. I sat there and talked to HatGirl and TremensGirl for quite a while. After HatGirl and LuckyFucker left, I continued to talk to TremensGirl for a while. I don't remember what any of the conversations were about. Probably stuff like, "Stop being such a grouchy pussy, Dave."

I ended up having a couple glasses of Schlenkerla Marzen (2263) to close out the night.

Sometimes, I get the impression that people give a shit. Hell, sometimes they even come right out and tell me that they give a shit.

When that happens, it's like a ringing in my ears. I notice it, but I kinda wish that I didn't.

Because it's distracting to me. And I don't want to be distracted. I want to listen, with every ounce of my being, for a sound that will never come.

I'm an asshole, by the way, in case anyone was wondering.