This is kinda cool to me.

I was sitting at The Hard Rock in Louisville for lunch. I usually go to The Pub, but it was too crowded today, plus I wanted some potato skins.

Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, and down about four or five seats from me were two hot girls. A short-haired blonde and a long-haired brunette. Both pretty, but in very different ways. One sexy and sultry, the other perky and vivacious.

So I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out which one was the hotter of the two. I know, it's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

I kept glancing over there, getting no closer to making up my mind as to which was hotter, and eventually the blonde caught me looking. She kind of smiled. I smiled back, then turned back to my food, 'cause I'm all shy and shit. I could see out of the corner of my eye that both girls were now looking at me, though I couldn't hear what they were saying. Probably arguing over which of them was hotter, I figured.

I'd just about decided to stage a kissing contest between them when the blonde spoke to me.

"You kept looking over here at us for a half-hour, and now you've suddenly stopped. What's up with that?" she asked in a not very nice way.

"Well," I said. "I was trying to decide which of you would be my new girlfriend, but now I've made up my mind and I don't have to look any more."

"Oh really?" the blonde said. She was smiling, so she was at least slightly amused.

"Yep," I said. "You're both very pretty, but I'm thinking that you're not very nice, so I choose your friend."

"You sure know how to hold a grudge," the blonde said.

Hold on a second. That didn't make any sense.

"Huh?" I asked. 'Cause I'm all eloquent and shit.

"Don't you remember me?" the blonde asked. "Look closely. Don't you know who I am?"

She then got up and walked over to me and stuck her face right in front of mine.

(to be continued)

Today HatGirl told me that I was craftily romantic.

When I got home, I went to dictionary.com to see if craftily was a real word. Indeed it is. So everyone please note the big brain on HatGirl. Beauty and brains. No wonder I like her.

Anyway, I became a little concerned when I read the first definition given for crafty:

skillful in underhand or evil schemes; cunning; deceitful; sly.

But, since my brain absolutely refused to ingest any thought that might indicate disapproval by HatGirl, I decided to take it as a compliment. I'm pretty sure that's what was intended anyway. Kinda sorta.

Come to think of it, I probably should have tried harder to be insulted. I need some more drama in my life.

But I didn't.

Instead, I decided to write this boring no-drama-having entry about being romantic.

When I was young, I used to bring my ex-wife roses. All the fucking time. Every Tuesday. Every Thursday. The 18th of every month. The 5th of every month. Sometimes just for the fuck of it. I thought, back then, that I was being romantic. But I wasn't. What I was being was needy and clingy. Though I didn't know it at the time, I was trying to save a doomed relationship.

The context of my attempted romanticism prevented it from being real at all.

Now that I'm a lot older and a little wiser, I think that romance should be spontaneous. It should never be needed. It should never be in response to anything. It should just happen. A tiny unexpected gesture that comes out of the blue and, for a few seconds or minutes or hours, completely disarms the girl.

Almost a year ago I wrote about a time I did something romantic. I think that was when I really started to recognize the power of romance. I began to watch for opportunities.

Opportunities for spontaneity. There's an oxymoron if I ever saw one. But that's what they were.

That thing with the card, that was a pretty grand gesture. It shouldn't have worked. It should have scared her off, once the initial shock had dissipated. And I suppose that it did, a little. It was weeks before I heard from that girl again.

It was too much, too soon. I had nothing to back it up. Nothing to top it.

I've gotten a lot better over the years. When I want to, I can sweep a girl off her feet. That's not me being cocky or egotistical. It's just me being honest. The hard part for me is wanting to do it. So few girls seem worth the effort.

Shit, I even did something romantic for LaptopGirl once. It was, of course, ignored. Because it was too late. It wasn't spontaneous. It was an attempt to fix something. It was needy and clingy.

But my shining moments, my shining moments were all with MixedSignalGirl. We've talked about it a lot. She really brought out the romantic in me. She was always surprised, every single time. And she'd smile and the room would light up. She told me that she'd go for days and it would seem that her feet would never touch the ground.

But, in the end, it wasn't enough. That cake was almost all frosting. For both of us.

Fuck. Now I'm in a bad mood. I think I'll stop writing now.

I forget where I was going with this entry anyway.

Probably somewhere stupid.

There's really only one mitigating thing about this whole mess.

It's still a long way off.

Good thing, too. I'm going to need all the time I can get, if I'm going to attempt to prepare myself. If I'm going to try my hardest to set things up so that I can stage my resurrection. If a part of me is going to survive.

There's no use on steeling myself against it. There are no walls strong enough to prevent this from overwhelming me and drowning me. There are no lies I can tell myself to alleviate the pain I will feel. There isn't a single fucking thing that I can do, except wait, and perhaps silently hope that I die before it happens.

Everybody leaves.

I need to get that fact into my thick skull. I need to learn it, and I need to know it so well that it becomes a part of me. I need to anticipate it, accept it. Relish in the pain it brings.

There is something inside of me.

It's not love, but it's something.

And it's going to scream of loss and sorrow. Then it's going to die.

In less than eighteen months.

I'm fooled every time, by the pretty carrots that life dangles in front of me.

I take a step forward, my mouth watering, but life matches my movements. Pulls my prize further away. No matter how far I go or what I do, the carrots never get any closer. I never get any closer to satisfying this hunger.

But I can live with that. Sometimes it's enough to just look at the pretty carrots. Smell them. Imagine that they're mine. Sometimes it's enough to just know that they're out there. Dangling out of reach, but never out of mind. Never out of mind.

I accept it. I get used to it. I even start to like it.

That's when life tires of its game, and ends the taunting.

That's when life takes the carrots completely from my sight.

Out of reach, and suddenly out of sight, but never out of mind. Never out of mind.

First, I went down to Rich O's at a little after 3:00. They're having an art show in the special people section, and I wanted to buy one of NotHideousGirl's paintings if there were any still available. The one that I wanted was still for sale, so I snapped it up.

I had myself a Wostyntje (209) and looked at the rest of the art. It was nice to see that MisunderstoodGirl had also sold a painting.

I'd planned on heading straight over to Louisville after I left Rich O's, but like an idiot I'd left my Blackberry at home. This always cause for concern, but yesterday it was especially so because I'm on-call this weekend. So I went back home and dicked around for an hour or so, then I went over to Louisville. With my Blackberry this time.

After a quick meal, I went to The Pub. I had a couple Newcastles (3224) and talked to a couple of the bartenders. The place was pretty dead, but it was still fairly early. next I walked over to The Hard Rock. It was packed as fuck with birthday parties for screaming teenagers. That, plus the fact that CoolHairGirl wasn't working, kept me from staying there.

So I went down to The Red Star, and there were only like three customers. I told the cute bartender that it looked like they'd had a fire drill or something. I didn't stay there.

I walked through the alley to this Third Street Dive place that I'd gone to with EllaGirl last weekend. That place was dead too, but the HotLibrarian bartender assured me that it would pick up by 10:00. I had a glass of BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (390) and looked at some weirdoes.

After a while, EllaGirl came in. She jokingly gave me some shit about ditching her last weekend. I explained my reasons. All was forgiven, and we moved over and sat at a little kiddie table. I had another Stout (406) and we talked and flirted and did various other things until a really loud band started playing. Then EllaGirl suddenly said that she was going to go clean her apartment, and to give her my number so I could come over after it was cleaned. I assured her that I didn't care how messy her place was, but she insisted.

So I gave her my number and she left.

I was pretty sure that she was going to flake on me, so I went back to The Pub. It was much more crowded by then. A bunch of hot girls and a bunch of yuppies trying to pick them up. I had a couple Diet Cokes, and a small sample of something new for me:

Belhaven Twisted Thistle IPA (4)

(draft) I'd never have guessed that this was an IPA. The aroma was mostly of malt and dirt, but good. Flavor was a little peaty and a little smoky. No bitterness. I liked it a lot more than I expected to.

And I don't feel guilty at all. Yet.

So I chickened out tonight. I stayed home, drank a bottle of Rare Vos (40), watched Apocalypse Now.

Just basically hid from the world, the idiots, the whores. And the disappointment and the pain and the anger.

Sometimes those things are all that I see. Or all I that I let myself see.

It's not you, world. It's me.

Some of my readers may know that I have two other journals. I mean, besides this one which exists in two places but which I only count as one. A somewhat fewer number may know, or strongly suspect, where those other journals are.

One anonymous journal is devoted to a love which was lost, the other to, well to a something that never got off the ground. They're both pretty much dormant now. Tombstones marking thoughts and feelings that might otherwise have never safely left my head. Words which needed an anonymous outlet lest they burst unbidden and unwelcome and unappreciated into my life and onto this more public journal.

Now, I'm thinking of starting another journal. About something else. Something new. Something bad.

It's too soon, I'm told. Wait and see what happens, I'm advised.

Sound counsel, certainly. But perhaps not appropriate for me, right here and right now.

See, I've learned a lot about myself over the past couple of years. And one particular thing that I've learned, one nugget of knowledge that has been beaten into my head over and over and over and over, is that I cannot stop myself from expressing myself when I'm sad.

Something bad happens, I need to complain about it.

Something good doesn't happen, I must lament its lack.

Something terrible might happen a year and a half from now, I am compelled to worry and obsess and be haunted by that possibility. And write about it. At length.

These thoughts and feelings and words will find an escape. It will happen.

The only remaining question, the only thing I can still somewhat control, is the form which that escape will take.

So I'm thinking of starting another secret journal.

Maybe you'll stumble across me there. Feel free to say hello, but don't expect an acknowledgement.

I got an email from SassyGirl this morning. She hinted that she and JauntyGirl may be coming back soon. I don't know if it would be for a visit or to stay for good though.

Either way, yay!

---

Last night we got what I'm sure will go down in history as The Blizzard of '07. I got a whole 3/4" of snow at my house. And, as if nature hadn't already tortured us enough, they're forecasting another inch tonight. Good thing I've got four-wheel-drive on my truck.

---

My kitchen sink is pretty close to being completely clogged. As of about a half-hour ago, I've dumped about 15 gallons of Drano into the thing over the last couple of months. End result: Nothing.

It may be time to get a plumber in here with one of those snake thingies.

---

Last June Rich O's held a beer festival in my honor, called DaveFest. I might have mentioned it here. With that honor, as it turns out, I get some responsibility too. I'm one of three judges deciding who gets to have the next Rich O's customer appreciation festival. So I've got these essays to read through. Then we judges will get together and try to pick a winner.

It would be a lot simpler if they'd just have DaveFest every year.

---

Yesterday I talked to this girl during lunch who looked almost exactly like Sarah Silverman. In other words, hot. In even more words, fucking smoldering hot.

I got her number, but when I called her today she flaked-out on me.

There's a lot of flaking going around lately.

---

Tonight, unless I chicken out, I'm going to eat ground beef. In yummy taco form. This will be the first time I've had ground beef since my explosive illness the second week of January.

---

I guess that's it.

Right now, I'm sitting here feeling myself shut down. It's a familiar feeling to me. Too fucking familiar.

I see the blow that life is throwing at me, and I feel myself reflexively turn away. I might just run and hide while there's still time.

If people knew what the fuck I was rambling about this time, I know what they'd say.

"A lot can happen between now and then," they'd say.

I know this because that's exactly what I've been trying to tell myself for the past two hours.

Everybody's right, of course. I'm right.

A lot can happen. It's just that I can find little solace in that particular platitude.

I'm too busy being a selfish prick, feeling sorry for myself.

I don't remember much about Friday night. I'd been deprived of a nap by some unsettling news. I remember that Rich O's was crowded as fuck, and that I had some Wostyntje (149), and that I left early.

---

On Saturday, well at least she called. To tell me that she wouldn't be able to accompany me. Even though it was a negative RSVP, it was still was very nice and considerate of her, and it kept me from thinking that she might be a bitch or something. So that's good. I don't like thinking bad thoughts about people.

---

Plan B was DooRagGirl, but she was, understandably, hesitant to attend a party where she wouldn't know anyone but me. I am, apparently, not good enough on my own. Oh well. Story of my life, right there.

---

I had no real plan C, so I decided that I wouldn't be attending the party at all. Instead I was going to go to Louisville and hang out there for a while. Maybe talk to CoolHairGirl and see if she'd liked the Newcastle she'd finally tried.

But nooooooooooooooo!

I got a text message from HatGirl, leting me know that they were going to Rich O's.

So I went to Rich O's, where I sat with HatGirl (yay!) and LuckyFucker. He was being a dick for some reason. I don't know why. I had myself a couple glasses of Wostyntje (169) and talked to HatGirl about what lousy drivers we used to be.

After the happy couple left, I talked with DooRagGirl for an hour or so. I had another Wostyntje (179). I really like that beer. Plus, it's nice and light. I seem to have some kind of mental block about dark and heavy beers. Ever since my illness. That, and ground beef. Ugh.

Anyway.

Once DooRagGirl left, I became concerned that some weird people were going to try to talk to me, so I left too.

(Note: I have been working on being more sociable. It just doesn't seem to work very well at Rich O's.)

----

So I went over to Louisville. CoolHairGirl wasn't working, so I didn't get to see her. I went over to the pub and got to talking with EllaGirl. She actually remembered my name this time, so that was cool. After a while, we all went to this little dive bar so everybody could unwind. It was okay I suppose, but I'd cut myself off hours ago, so I could only sit and watch while EllaGirl and her friends got shitfaced while I drank Diet Cokes.

At 3:30 or so, I came home alone. By choice.

---

On Sunday, I didn't do much except play pool and watch a couple of movies. I watched Sleepy Hollow. HatGirl had told me before that she looks like Christina Ricci, but she's wrong. Christina Ricci fucking wishes that, on her best day, she looked a gazillionth as pretty as HatGirl looks on her worst day.

---

Sunday night I had one of the beers that I purchased the other day.

Unibroue Trois Pistoles (25)

(bottle) Black, revealing amber only when strongly backlit. Huge creamy head. Aroma of oak and malty apples and cherries. Flavor is like the aroma, only better. There's something else there, maybe grapes of all things. Pretty damn yummy.

Oh yeah, it's freaking cold here. It's supposed to get down to single digits tonight, with a wind chill of minus 8,000,000 or some crap like that. Also, it snowed all morning, but there's not even a light dusting. What a waste of cold weather. I hate Winter.