Work really dragged today. Spent most of the day waiting for input from any of several directions. Input that never arrived. To make things worse, all day I had the sneaking suspicion that it was really Thursday, and that the universe had somehow managed to stick an extra Wednesday into the week just to fuck with me.

Lunch was okay. I talked to WeirdGirl for a bit, but not too much, as she was working. I'm not quite sure what's the deal with her/me/us, and I'm not going to ask. I'm thinking that maybe she should ask me. Also, I'd thought that NotHideousGirl was going to join me, She'd emailed me to say she was on her way, but then about 15 minutes later she reneged. Something about a heretofore unknown meeting where she works. Oh, well.

It was fucking stormy this afternoon. I hated having to be at work during that. I'd much rather have been at my house with a good beer watching the lightning. It would have been a nice way to spend a sneaky extra Wednesday.

Monday I have to be in Indianapolis first thing. So I'm thinking about driving up there Sunday and just spending the night. Actually I'm thinking about driving up there Saturday. But don't tell anyone.

Lately, more often than not, I find myself getting pissed when I think about you know who and you know who else.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: I realize that Americans assign a different meaning to the word pissed than do people from most other English-speaking cultures. In this entry, I'm using the word in its American sense. In this entry, the word pissed means angry. It doesn't mean drunk.)

Not depressed or sad or melancholy or whatever the fuck other words your thesaurus has in it.

Pissed.

At myself.

I managed to completely fuck over two wonderful relationships. One because I wanted too much, too soon and for no apparent reason. And the other because I didn't want enough until it was too late.

So what if I tried my best to be a good person?

So what if I had good intentions?

Good intentions can suck my dick.

Okay, now we're down to the final twelve. This is usually the part where I start to lose interest. Some shitty singer will keep advancing week after week, and one or more of my favorites will be eliminated, and I'll stop watching.

This year, I expect that the shitty singer in question will be that Sanjaya fucker. I hope I'm wrong.

Anyway, this week they sang Diana Ross songs. Gee, do you think the producers might have some favorites in mind already? Maybe some black women? Time will tell.

Brandon: Nothing really terrible, but he's just so damn boring. Plus, how do you forget the words to a song that's been famous for forty years? (30 points)

Melinda: She always manages to make whatever song she sings seem like the perfect song for her. She's an incredible talent. (100 points)

Chris S: Great song. He seemed to be drifting in and out of tune a lot. I usually really like Chris, but not this week. I didn't hate it nearly as much as the judges did. (65 points)

Gina: I like her hair. I don't like her song choice. She kinda seemed like she was singing with a gun to her head. She's still better than most though. (80 points)

Sanjaya: I didn't listen because he sucks. Please get him off my TV. (0 points)

Haley: She looks beautiful, and she picked a great song. She sang well. She forgot some words, but I'm inclined to forgive her because I'm so nice. (80 points)

Phil: Started out really flat, but finished strong. I like Phil, but I fear that I've already heard his best performance, and it's not good enough. (75 points)

LaKisha: What a stupid song. She did the best she could with it, I suppose. She sang like she was under restraint or something. Zzzzzzzzz. The judges loved it, so I may be wrong. (40 points)

Blake: Please, get this fucker off my TV. (negative 215 points)

Stephanie: Good song. Performance was decent, but a little boring and predictable. (71 points)

Chris R: Sang through his nose. He sucks. (25 points)

Jordin: Stupid Disney song, but she nailed it. I took off three points for the stupid song choice, but otherwise perfect. I think I adore Jordin now. (97 points)

Okay, if Sanjaya and Blake aren't voted out this week, then the viewers are stupid.

Just got back from the store, where I purchased the following:

- Two pounds of ground chuck
- Two boxes of taco shells
- Two packs of finely shredded cheese
- Two packets of taco seasoning mix
- One bottle of shampoo

Okay, so the young cutie running the checkout scanned all this stuff through and, in a leap of deductive reasoning that would have made Arthur Conan Doyle proud, asked, "Are you making tacos?"

Now, as blown away by her intelligence as by her beauty, I nonetheless managed to regain some of my composure. She was a real treasure, this girl. And one I couldn't let get away.

"Wow," I stammered. "Beuty and brains? Where have yo bee all my life?"

Yes, I actually spoke with typos. I was that unsettled.

The beautiful genius blushed and said, "I've been right here since 5:00. You're not going to put the shampoo in the tacos, are you? I never heard of that."

Sunday, during lunch, I wished I could draw. I'd have drawn us. Except we'd have been the only ones who knew it was us. Me because I drew the thing, and you because I'd tell you.

I was wishing that I could draw a couple of railroad tracks, starting out far apart but converging and running parallel in the middle of the picture. Farther away towards the hazy horizon, I'd have drawn a man and a woman. One on each of the tracks. They'd be walking in the same direction, at least for the moment, but still not quite walking together.

And they'd have their hands outstretched towards each other, but they couldn't quite reach.

But I can't draw, and I know I can't draw, so I didn't even try.

Besides, I don't think I like the railroad track visual anyway. It seems to me that it implies fate, and I don't believe in that. We're not on tracks. If we are, then what's the point of any of this?

I like to think that it's not fate that steers us. That it's much more random than that. Faced with millions of choices and opportunities during our lives, we choose our own paths. Right or wrong, it's up to us.

Sometimes, to be sure, inertia takes over for a while, and our choices seem to dwindle, but I think that's as close to fate as we get.

To me, the concept of fate is a crutch. An excuse for the mistakes that people make, and justification for the bad things that life seems to throw our way. After all, saying, "It was meant to happen that way" is a lot easier than admitting, "Boy, I sure fucked that up. My bad."

I forget where I was going with this.

Oh yeah, wherever I wanted to go.

It's recently come to my attention that I write boring stuff. Especially when it comes to my beer reports. There are, in fact, surprisingly few people who care what I drink when I go to the bar. And even fewer care about where I sit, or who I talk to while I'm there.

So I'll try to be less boring. But I can't make any promises.

Saturday night at Rich O's wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. The Daytonians who usually overrun the place on the first Saturday of Gravity Head were, apparently, diverted to Columbus. At least most of them were. Only a half-dozen or so made it here to New Albany and, as luck would have it, they were the polite and charming half-dozen.

So that was nice.

Let's see, my first beer was an Avery The Beast (22), and my next two were Koningshoeven Quads (376).

MusicalYuppieDude was on the rag over something or other. Probably some chick, they're all trouble. Too bad they control the world's pussy supply.

I found out that WomanRepellant's mom passed away last weekend. That really sucks. They were quite close, and he'll get my full condolences when I run into him again.

Oh yeah, this one dude ordered, I shit you not, an NABC Community Dark. This is an odd enough thing to do during Gravity Head, but get this - he ordered the thing with a fucking lemon wedge. The obvious yet unstated request - that the bartender also spooge into the guy's glass - was not granted. And for that I'm grateful. Nobody wants to see that. Except for LemonWedgeGuy I guess.

Anyway, as I hinted at a couple of entries ago, when I left Rich O's I went over to see WeirdGirl. I've changed her nickname because, well, because she's weird. I mean, two weeks ago when she found out how old I am, she basically accused me of being a child rapist. Now I guess it's okay. She says it doesn't bother her. I think maybe she gets off on it. Or maybe she figures I'll die in the throes of passion and she'll inherit my kingdom.

Sunday morning I didn't feel like going home. So I decided to go for a drive. I asked WeirdGirl if she wanted to go, but she declined. Fine with me. I needed to do some soul-searching anyway. Needed to try to find myself as I seem to have gotten lost lately.

Well I drove all the way to St. Louis and back, and I never did find myself. I'm a slippery bastard I guess.

I should have written this entry when I got home last night, but instead I wrote an email to RockGirl and, by the time I finished that, I was too tired.

So now I've got to try to go by memory. There was a lot of stuff. I'm sure I'll leave something important out. As an excuse I offer up the indisputable fact that I'm old.

Anyway, last night was the start of Gravity Head 2007, which is the annual Rich O's beer festival featuring high gravity (as in high alcohol) beers. The first weekend of Gravity Head is typically the busiest time of the year at Rich O's.

I'd planned to go there at my more-or-less regular time, like maybe 8:00. But when I was on my way home from work my sister Dina called and said that she was probably going there because she was bored. So I stopped by my house just long enough to change clothes and do a little straightening up, then I went to Rich O's. I got there at 6:30 or so.

I parked on Mars, and to help kill some time during the trek from my parking spot to Rich O's, I called SassyGirl and told her that I'd arrived early.

Inside, it was of course crowded as fuck. The special people section was full of PBDs, and the loser area and the front area were all full of strangers. Inside Rich O's proper, it was packed as well, but not as bad as I'd feared. It wasn't quite standing room only.

Dina was sitting on the loveseat talking to GlassesGirl. I sat on the coffee table and ordered my first beer. Koningshoeven Quadrupel has recently become one of my all-time favorites, and this was the first time I'd seen it on tap. So of course that's what I had first (356).

Then this one chick left the kiddie table so I moved over there. TallLady was in the throne, so I talked to her and to Dina and GlassesGirl. The chick who's seat I'd taken came back and we talked for a bit as well.

Some strangers left the sofa at about the time that SassyGirl and JauntyGirl and SassyBoy arrived, and they sat there. TallLady left the throne, so I sat there. Dina's husband Kenny had also arrived by that time. My second beer was a new one for me.

Kasteelbier du Chateau Triple Blonde (10)

(draft) Hazy dark ruby-colored. Minimal head. Mild fruity aroma. A smooth and creamy mouthfeel and flavor, with a hint of an alcohol bite at the end. Damn good.

At about 8:15, I drunk-texted HatGirl to complain that everyone was at Rich O's except for her and LuckyFucker. After a shorts series of questions and answers about how crowded it was, then about an hour of waiting, they showed up.

HatGirl!

Yay!

First thing I had to do was introduce Dina to HatGirl. So now Dina can stop worrying that I'd just conjured HatGirl up in my imagination. As unlikely as it may seem, she's real.

Let's see, at one point I got a weird picturemail of some meat from NotHideousGirl. What was even more strange was that when I went to reply, I got FutureDude's cellphone instead. FutureDude checked his phone, and he'd certainly not sent me any meat pictures, or any other pictures. So that was very strange, and eventually I'll talk to NotHideousGirl and asked her (a) What's with the picture of the meat? and (b) How'd she do that?

My third beer was another new one for me.

Schmaltz HeBrew Genesis 10:10 (10)

(draft) A very nice surprise. Dark clear amber. Minimal head. No detectable aroma. The yummy malty and fruity flavor came out of nowhere. There are supposed to be citrus adjuncts but I couldn't detect them at all.

It was a very nice night. I got to see my sister and SassyGirl and HatGirl all in the same night. I got to drink some good beers. It was such a nice night, in fact, that I only caught myself missing LaptopGirl and MixedSignalGirl a few hundred times each.

One time I went outside to make a phone call, but HatGirl followed me and I ended up talking to her for a while instead. Got some shit off my chest, but mainly I urged her to not read too much into what I'd written Thursday night. Pointed out that I'd been drinking when I wrote it.

Then Dina and Kenny left, and HatGirl and LuckyFucker left. SassyGirl told me that they were leaving town Saturday (today) instead of Sunday, so there was much hugging and wailing when they left.

My fourth beer was yet another new one for me.

Regenboog t-Smisje BBBourgondier (10)

(draft) Clear dark copper-colored. Decent head and lacing. A dry fruit aroma and flavor. The alcohol is hidden very well. Pretty damn good.

Then FirstLady and ElPresidente came and sat on the sofa, and I talked to them for a while. Those nicknames are no longer accurate, but I'm not changing them. FirstLady told me that reading my blog makes her want to kill herself, so that was interesting. I told her what was supposed to happen was that people would read my shit and then feel better about their own lives.

At about midnight or so I gave Roger a ride home, stopping at White Castle on the way, then I came home myself.

It was a good night.

Mindfreak is the show that the illusionist Criss Angel does. My Tivo records it all the time, and it's a good show. That guy is amazing.

Tonight I watched an episode where he was levitating people. He'd start out by hypnotizing them, asking them to imagine their perfect moment and relax into it. Then he'd levitate them. Like I said, the guy's amazing.

So of course I searched my memory to find my own perfect moment. It didn't take long before I found it. The most perfect moment out of a thousand similar moments.

There was a night, back in the Summer of 2004. Rich O's was packed with strangers and weirdoes, and I was sitting on the loveseat being miserable. Then she came in. She came through the door into Rich O's proper and she kinda frowned when she saw how crowded it was, but then she saw me and she smiled and then she sat with me.

When she smiled, that was my perfect moment.

As I once wrote, it most certainly was not a crush. And fuck anyone who tries to dismiss it as such.