Bands that I never heard of that had a free concert in Louisville tonight
Blue October

People that I don't like
That one bitch that called MixedSignalGirl a cow and tonight poured me the wrong beer or maybe she poured the right beer but she peed in it

People that are nice
That chick from Evansville that I talked to tonight

People that confuse me
All those Irish guys that drank nothing but Bud Light all night and one of them stole my glasses for a while

People that do not freak out
HatGirl

People that freak out
Every other woman on Earth besides HatGirl

Food that is good
The Curry Fries that The Pub sells

Girls with horrible taste in ex-husbands
That one chick that was married to my cousin once

Cute girls
That blonde bartender at Rich O's

Girls with cool hair
That one bartender at Hard Rock in Louisville

None of these lists are meant to be all-inclusive.

Sometimes, the thoughts come as if from nowhere. As if they just materialize out of thin air.

But that's not where they really come from.

I've written about that night, back when I couldn't control myself enough to stop my words from flowing out my fingers onto my screen and out into the world. I've written about what a good person I was. What a good friend I was. I've written about how I wondered what might have happened. If I'd been less of a good person, less of a good friend. If I'd been like most guys, on that night so long ago.

Sometimes, the thoughts come unbidden. And they refuse to go away.

Everything I did that night was wrong. Or, more accurately, everything I didn't do that night was wrong. When I pretended to be noble, told myself that I was doing the right thing, what I was really doing was cowering in fear. I patted myself on the back for being so selfless, but I'd done the most selfish thing imaginable.

Sometimes, the thoughts get stuck in my head. And I dream the thoughts, and I rip myself away from my dream, and the thoughts are still there.

Even when I wrote about that night, even then I was being selfish. Weighing the alternate possibilities and judging their merits based on would I be better off if, just if, I'd reacted differently.

I wrote about how I might know the answers to some of the questions that had been plaguing me. I wrote about how I could have traded certain and predictable pain for months and years of random anguish.

How could I have known? I asked myself. I was just doing what I thought was right.

Sometimes, the thoughts take me back to a place and a time. Sometimes, they leave me there to find my own way out. If I can.

I should have done something.

I should have brushed the hair from her eyes, and let my fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary against her face.

I should have looked into her eyes, and asked her in my softest voice if she was okay.

I should have pulled her to me, and told her how special and pretty she was.

I should have kissed her, and let her dictate what happened next.

I should have done all of those things. But not because I was a bad person. Not because I was a bad friend. And not even because it was what the world expected of me.

I should have done all those things because she expected it.

And I let her down.

She needed to feel special and pretty, on that night so long ago, and I let her down.

Sometimes, the thoughts abandon me in the dark, to force me to see the light.

That night was never about me. It was never about us.

It was about her.

And I didn't realize that until just a couple of nights ago.

It was about her.

And I let her down because I thought it was about something bigger and more important. On that night, in that place, the only thing that mattered was her.

And I let her down.

This is not another what if entry. This is not another entry about how I wish I'd done things differently. I've written enough of those to last a lifetime.

This is an apology.

I don't know if she will ever read this. I like to think that she will, someday when she's bored and maybe feeling a little nostalgic.

There are a lot of things that I've wanted to apologize to her for. Most of them will fade with the passing of time and the resumption of separate lives, but not this one. This one will remain. Because this one was, as far as I can tell, this one was the first time.

I let her down.

And I'm sorry.

My grandmother used to have this little Pekinese dog. She had several of them over the years, actually. I don't know what this one particular dog's name was. It might have been Raindrop. I know there was a Raindrop at some point during my childhood.

One thing about this dog was that it was ugly. But that should go without saying. All Pekinese dogs are ugly with their squashed faces and their stubby legs and their weird compact torsos. Selective breeding gone horribly awry.

Another thing about this one particular dog was that it was terrified of storms. But not petrified. Whatever the opposite of petrified would be. Maybe frantic with fear.

Whenever thunder would rumble, this dog would start running. My grandmother's house was a big circle. The dog would run from the kitchen to the laundry room to the bedroom to the foyer to the living room to the kitchen - on and on and on until the thunder stopped. That dog, with it ugly little tongue hanging out of its ugly face, that dog would run that circuit nonstop until the storm had passed.

Unless somebody messed up and opened the kitchen door.

When that happened, somebody - usually me - would have to go out into the storm and chase the stupid little thing down.

It was amazing how fast those stubby little legs could propel that dog.

---

This past weekend I went driving. A lot. And I thought about that dog and how it would run and run without ever getting anywhere. How it would run for the simple reason that it was too terrified to stay where it was.

I wondered if I was doing the same thing. And not just with the driving around. With all of my traveling, and with all of my life, I wondered if what I was really doing was running.

Maybe.

And if I am, then that begs the question of whether I'm running from something that I cannot escape, or running toward a destination that I cannot see.

How badly am I fooling myself?

Am I as stupid as that ugly little dog, running simply because it's the only thing I can do?

Apparently, anyway.

Part of the problem is that the things that are funniest to me, they're funny only from my perspective.

For example, probably the most hilarious thing ever in this journal was something that I didn't write, back in early August. See, it was the omission that was funny. Like if I won the lottery or something, and then decided to never mention it. Not out of privacy concerns, but just because to neglect mention of such a life-changing event is, well like I said, funny to me.

Then I had to go and ruin the joke, a couple of weeks ago, by rambling on and on about that same topic which I'd so carefully avoided for over two months.

Oh well.

Another problem is that, when I try to write something funny, it never works out for me in the long run. I mean, I can go back and read the entries that were supposed to be funny, and I barely crack a smile most of the time. So attempting to write anything funny is never self-reinforcing.

But some of the stuff I write is, apparently, funny to other people. I get compliments on some stuff. I get told how I made someone's day. Shit like that. I usually just say thanks and dismiss those people as humor-impaired because the stuff they're chuckling over or maybe even wetting their pants over just isn't that funny. And it never was, except when it was still being brewed inside in my head.

I was going somewhere with this entry. I have no idea where.

Yesterday, I went driving.

First, I went to get my oil changed in my truck.

Then I went out to my sister's house to see her new kitten.

Then I hit the road.

After about six hours of driving, I ended up in downtown Louisville. A mere five miles from my home. I obviously took the scenic route.

So at a little after 7:00 I was sitting in this place called The Dark Star and I was eating a yummy cheeseburger and drinking a yummy BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (314), and the cast of all the Batman movies walked in.

There was Batman, and Catwoman, and The Joker, and Two-Face, and some harlequin chick that I guess was one of the Joker's henchmen.

Catwoman and the harlequin chick were hot. All of the costumes were great.

After I'd finished my meal and my beer I walked up the street to The Pub and had a couple of Newcastles (2626) and I wrote down all of the costumes that I saw. You should be aware that some of these might not have been actual costumes. Those characters marked with an * are the ones that might have been real:

• The Blues Brothers


• Pirate


• Stupid Hairstyle Guy *


• Active Herpes Outbreak Girl *


• Joe Dirt


• Kermit (or, Green Tights Dude with Frog-Shaped Tumor On His Head)


• Terrorist (had a bomb in his turban, how original)


• Hot Rasta Girl


• Security Guard *


• Prostitute *


• Fireman


• Hot Pirate Girl


• Fat Bumblebee Girl


• Assorted Zombies


• Living Crocodile Hunter


• Dead Crocodile Hunter


• Nacho Libre


• Assorted Faeries


• Stick Up Her Ass Girl *


• Cute Devil Girl (my waitress)


• Rambette (like Rambo but a girl)


• Green Dude In A Suit (maybe an alien?)


• Vampire Couple


• World's Gayest Guy *


• Assorted Sexy Nurses


• World's Ugliest Cheerleader


• Goth Girl


• Orange Pants Faggot *


• Joe Dirt (another one)


• Fatass Ex-Jock Guy *


• Assorted Evil Clowns


• Assorted Non-Evil Clowns


• Striped Shirt Girl


• Skinhead Punks *


• Gay Black Uncle Sam (his description)


• Really Tall Skull Dude


• Little Miss Muffet


• Bloody Surgeon


• Hot Navy Girl


• Hot Army Girl


• Hot Burkha Girl


• Assorted Cute Princesses

At 10:00 or so, my phone vibrated.

HatGirl!

Yay!

They were at Rich O's.

So I went there. Out on the street there were a gazillion more people in costumes, but I didn't stop to write any of them down or I'd still be writing.

Oh yeah, I'd talked to this one zombie at The Pub and he gave me a beer shirt and a free glass to give to HatGirl. I had to lie and say that they were for my girlfriend, but the sheer joy in HatGirl's eyes when I gave her those gifts - well it was certainly worth a little fib.

When I got to Rich O's I got to sit on the throne because TallLady had just left. I knew this because I'd talked to her in the parking lot. There were some girls I didn't recognize scattered around the living room. They might have been cute but I wouldn't know because HatGirl was at the kiddie table.

Yay!

I had myself a Diet Coke and talked to HatGirl and LuckyFucker for a while. I got NotHideousGirl's phone number from HatGirl, but it might have been a fake number because I sent a test text message and I've recieved no response.

Then after HatGirl and LuckyFucker left I talked to WomanRepellant for a while.

Then I came home.

Now I'm going to actually leave my house.

During the day.

I'm going to drive. And drive. And drive.

I'll probably come back, but not because I'll want to come back.

And certainly not because there's a reason to come back.

8:00
I haven't cheated on a entry like this in a while. By taking notes. Tonight seems like it's going to be one of those nights though. Boring and irritating and disappointing.

I got here about 15 minutes ago. There are fuckers sitting and eating in the living room, but I had to sit with them for a bit because there were no other seats available. Now I'm at the kiddie table - the people who'd been here left for a table out front. Good riddance.

I'm having a Rogue Smoke (460) and I'm already regretting coming here tonight.

8:05
I hope this fat fucker leaves the bar so I can move up there. I hate this little table. That picture of me and SassyGirl is right in front of me, reminding me of all of the people who don't come in here anymore. Plus the ghost never sits at this table with me.

8:10
There are three semi-hot girls sitting at the island. I bet if I drink enough I can promote them to fully-hot.

8:17
I managed to stay awake through HatGirl's ringer, and I left a message.

8:23
This is stupid. What am I doing here?

8:26
I think these fuckers might be leaving!

8:32
Nope. They ordered another round. I hate them.

8:40
I hate this fat fucker at the bar too.

8:42
Oh fucking boy, that one shithead is here now. I hate him as well.

8:43
I think I hate most people tonight.

8:45
Damn, it just got crowded in here!

8:46
Notice how I haven't used any variant of the word fuck in four minutes? I must be slipping.

8:49
Another Rogue Smoke (480). Yummy.

8:51
That one shithead started talking the second he walked into the room. I predict that he will shut up no earlier than 11:00.

8:56
The guy finally left the bar. Yay! I'm moving up there.

9:00
I have drunk-texted BadPickleGirl.

9:08
Piss time.

9:14
I never said it was a good idea, I just said it was different.

9:29
This is a shitty night. No responses to anything. And, for those keeping score at home, that shithead has not closed his mouth even once.

9:36
This one dude is pissing me off, carrying on like he didn't just throw something wonderful away.

9:44
This was a waste of time. I'm outta here.

9:56
I'm at this Mac's place that I don't like. I'd thought that NotHideousGirl might be here, but she's not. This place sucks.

9:57
I'm having a Newcastle (2602).

10:00
They're having a Halloween party here tonight.

10:04
You know who I hate? Whores, that's who.

10:08
There are three hot girls with spray-on pants standing right in front of me. Maybe my life isn't so bad after all.

10:12
Piss time.

10:25
They're starting karaoke now. It might be entertaining.

10:28
You ever think of a million reasons why something is a bad idea, but you don't care? I'm doing it right now.

10:37
Piss time. That's not the bad idea though.

10:39
A bunch of weirdoes have joined me at my table.

10:44
Having another Newcastle (2618).

10:47
This Pocahontas chick is an awesome singer!

11:30
I've been talking to Pocahontas. She's nice. Finally, the night doesn't feel as much like a total waste.

Today I got to take a half day off. This is my reward for putting up with being on-call last week.

So, yay!

Also, I got the pictures from BadPickleGirl. One of the pictures features flab oozing out of my shirt. And not in an attractive away.

So, boo!