There was just the cutest girl at Rich O's last night.

Now, I know that sometimes women object to being called girls. At least the ones who are bitches do. But this girl, this girl last night was so young, and so cute, that the word girl was a perfect fit. Plus, as it turned out, she wasn't a bitch, so I'm sure she won't mind.

This girl was allegedly 21-years-old. I didn't ask for ID, though. And neither did anyone else as far as I could tell. If she'd been carded, revealed to be underage, and subsequently asked to leave, I'm sure there'd have been a riot. Incited by me. And nobody wants to deal with that. Friday nights are busy enough.

Meanwhile, I have age spots that are older than this girl. Oh well.

The point I was going to make was that she reminded me of the sister of my sister's ex-husband. Joyce was equally cute, and almost as young, the last time I saw her. Which was years ago. I think she's married now. Oh well.

Rich O's was pretty packed when I arrived, but I was able to grab a seat at the island with MusicalYuppieDude and TremensGirl and some PBDs. I'd been planning to have myself a Mad Bitch, but it had blown, so I had an Urthel Samaranth Quadrium (92).

I listened to the PBDs talk about various crap. I joined in the conversation a few times, but mostly I just listened to everyone else. And looked at the cute girl sitting on the loveseat.

My next beer was going to be a Bell's Sparkling Ale, which I remember quite fondly from the one time I had it back in December 2005. But that was blown too. Shit! I should have had it first. Oh well.

So I had myself a Left Hand Snow Bound (92).

Lately, I've been quite remiss in describing new beers here. I'm still putting my reviews into my official beer list, but failing to transcribe those reviews into this journal.

I will try to get back on-track. At least this once.

Left Hand Snow Bound

(draft) Clear dark copper in color. Good head and lacing. Strong spice and malt aroma and flavor. Mouthfeel seemed a little watery at first, but it seemed to thicken as the glass emptied. Flavor is nutmeg and cinnamon and a touch of citrus. A lingering slightly hoppy finish. A yummy beer.

Once the island conversation shifted from fun topics, like one person's whore grandmother, to divisive political topics, I picked up my shit and moved over to the sofa and talked to those people for a while. I finished my Snow Bound and ordered a bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier, but only drank half the bottle (1757). That damn Quadrium had been too ambitious a beginning, I guess.

One chick came in to smoke a cigarette and told me that I looked like I was 19. So she was clearly drunk. I mean, I've been accused, many times, of looking younger than my years, but people usually guess me to be in my early 30s. Not my fucking late teens.

I did get to talk to the cute girl for a while. That's how I found out she wasn't a bitch. But then she and her friends left and some other strangers filled in the empty spaces. I got bored and went to White Castle and then came home.

Tonight, for a few minutes, I found myself thinking about whores, and how much I hate them.

I mean, they really are worthless human beings. Much worse than sluts.

But I also got to thinking, what's the difference between a whore and a slut? Have I ever really differentiated the two in my writings?

Because I also dislike sluts. Just not as much.

Well, I know the answer to that question. At least, I know the difference between my own definitions of those words.

It's pretty simple actually. It's the same as the difference between murder and manslaughter.

Intent to cause harm to another person.

I'm not bitter, though.

I just hate whores.

I ran into myself today, after work. Talk about a surprise! But there I was. Nestled between satisfaction and ecstasy, resting comfortably between unease and misery, I found myself.

It was such an easy thing, an effortless thing, to lose myself the way I did so many months ago. Finding myself again wasn't nearly so easy. It was actually impossible for a very long time. A very very long time.

In fact, I'd stopped looking. I'd given up. I'd almost forgot that I even existed. Until today, after work.

The thing is - this is a choice for me now. It was never a choice before. I can't even say I'm bottling things up, like I said a year and a half ago. Now, I can do what I want. Think what I want. Remember what I want. There's no more constant pressure pushing at my insides. If I don't want to think about her, well then I don't think about her. Simple as that.

And, when I want to think about her, I do. Like today, after work.

Just enough to make me laugh and cry at the same time.

I found myself today, after work, and we wept and laughed together.

It was good.

I've missed me.

Almost as much as I've missed her.

...having a bad case of the munchies, and then remembering that you have a brand-new bag of potato chips in your kitchen.

Just two things about tonight's Lost episode.

1. That chick was hot.

2. Being buried alive would suck.

This is just a short story about Saturday night. I'm only writing it because I'm waiting for Lost to get tivoed.

Anyway, I was driving from Louisville over to Rich O's. I was on I-265, going maybe 60 or so, and a black Trans Am flew by me. He must have been going at least 90.

He also had a taillight out.

So, to quickly review: He was going at least 90, on a Saturday night, in a Trans Am, with a taillight out.

Brilliant, right? I mean, except for the burned-out taillight, which wasn't brilliant at all.

At the exit for Grant Line road, TransAmDude and I both got stuck at the light. I was in the right turn lane, he was in the other lane.

I looked over at his car. The window was down. It was a warm night.

So I rolled down my own window, and I hollered over at him, "Hey! You've got a taillight out!"

'Cause I'm a good Samaritan and shit.

The guy looked over at me and kinda shook his head or something, like maybe he couldn't hear me.

So I hollered even louder, "YOU'VE GOT A TAILLIGHT OUT!"

The light turned green, and TransAmDude gave me the finger and yelled, "Fuck off!" and drove away.

Wouldn't giving someone the finger and telling them to fuck off, wouldn't that be redundant?

Just trying to get this out of the way so I can get some fucking sleep.

LaKisha: She was very wavery. Is that a word? It should be, because that's what she was. (65 points)

Chris S: A decent job, but he didn't sound like the Chris I'm used to hearing: (60 points)

Gina: Great song. Great performance. Take the title from LaKisha's wavery grasp and give it to Gina. Do it now! (100 points)

Sanjaya: I didn't listen because he sucks. I did, however, take off eighteen billion points for the stupid hairstyle. (negative 18,000,000,000 points)

Haley: Stupid song. Performance was way too timid. Nice voice, but I didn't care. Her hair looked great though. (70 points)

Phil: Wow, pretty damn good. I get the feeling that he's been singing this song for years. His best performance, by far. (90 points)

Melinda: Some song I never heard of. Fantastic job. She chose to sing this week instead of growl. Good choice. (95 points)

Blake: A good, but boring, performance. Very safe. The judges all want to fellate him. (70 points)

Jordin: Stupid song. Awkward performance. Yuck. (40 points)

Chris R: Great song. Performance was very good at times, and dreadfully flat at others, disappointing overall. (45 points)

I'm easily amused. Found this at kottke.org.

This is the type of fame for which Nugget is destined. I'm sure of it.