After the hangover I had last Sunday morning I knew that I'd have to do things differently. Unfortunately, this meant that I wouldn't be able to do what I really wanted to do, which was drink at least two Cone Smokers. This is something I've suspected before - there's something about the smoked ales that can give me a hangover even when I don't drink enough to feel anything the night before.

I got to Rich O's early, a little bit before 8:00. I was feeling sociable and I wanted to try and grab a seat in the living room area. I guess the place was fairly busy, but it was mostly people I knew. I sat on the sofa and talked to PhotoDude and MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl. There was one of the PBDs that I don't really know there as well.

My first beer was, of course, a Cone Smoker, but I only had a half-glass (1780).

We mostly talked about DaveFest and how surreal it's going to be for me to see people wearing t-shirts with my picture on them. Surreal, but cool. I emailed the picture to the artist yesterday. He says he's finishing up the design. I can't wait to see!

GlassesGirl told me that she'd seen Dina's friend SpoonsGirl out front, but I hadn't seen her when I'd came in, and I'd failed to spot her during a piss break, so I figured she'd left.

But she hadn't. She came wandering back into Rich O's proper and spotted me. We ended up talking for the rest of the night about various fluff.

My second beer was a Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar (70) which I hadn't had in a long time. It was much better than I remembered, so that was nice.

People came and people left. Specifically, CoffeeDude came and PhotoDude and the PBD I don't know left. I told CoffeeDude about how I'd gotten a hate-comment from one of those chicks that had been there the last time I saw him.

My third beer was an Avery The Reverend (80), which just keeps getting better and better each time I drink it. I may have to promote this beer from good to yummy.

SpoonsGirl gave me shit for her nickname. I explained that I'd had to pick something, and that night had pretty much been the defining moment of the ten or so years that we've known each other. We explained the nickname to the people sitting around us, so now everybody can call her SpoonsGirl. That's funny to me.

My fourth, and final, beer was a Smithwick's (746).

Once SpoonsGirl left I hung around for a while talking to my friends. GlassesGirl told me that she'd had some Rogue Chocolate Stout the night before! At Rich O's!

I wondered if that meant that the DaveFest kegs had arrived. If so, I wanted to see if I could spend a few moments alone with the Rogue Chocolate Stout keg. The bad news was that it had not arrived yet. The good news, the good news was that they had it in bottles.

Yay!

So I bought myself six bottles of incredibly yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout, and now I can't wait until the next time I feel like drinking at home.

Yay!

Once in possession of my six new best friends I went to White Castle and came home.

Woke up very dehydrated at 4:00 and I've been up ever since drinking water.

I went to Rich O's after work today for a Cone Smoker (1770), and PhotoDude told me about this:

That's the blackboard over at the Sportstime side of things. Nothing written on the Rich O's side yet, but maybe they've decided to go with neon, or maybe a blimp.

Dancing girls would be cool too.

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I found a picture today that makes me sad. This is good timing because the picture that I used to use for that purpose only makes me happy now.

I'm weird, I know.

On nights like this when the sea is calm and the breeze is cool and the sand is still warm under my feet, I can understand why I came back here.

I walk along the shore and I see what gifts the tide has brought for me. I keep my head down though, or straight ahead. I dare not look to my left, where the jungle's illusions of safety and refuge beckon. I must not look to my right, where the sea still shines with the last vestiges of sunset, and where the reflections of the night's first stars blink at me from each ripple in the water. Speaking to me in code that only I can understand. Calling to me.

Pieces of driftwood deposited at my feet in swirling foam. Some I ignore, and some I hurl back into the water, and some into the trees. Others, others I carry with me to make sure that the next receding tide doesn't reclaim them.

These are my most cherished possessions.

For I know that, on those days when the sea rages against me and sweeps my feet out from under me and pulls me away from my beach, I know that these treasures I've collected will keep me afloat until I can make my way back to shore.

For I know that, on those days when the beasts of the jungle emerge slobbering to attack and devour me, I know that these treasures I've collected can be wielded against them and can fend them off until they tire and move off to seek easier prey.

It's not such a bad life that I find myself living. I walk this beautiful beach and, though I am alone, I am safe.

I can understand why I came back here.

It's paradise, after all.

I see you, you know.

Skulking around. Hiding in the shadows, in the dark places that you helped to create, you crouch and you imagine yourself to be invisible. But, the problem is, you generate your own light. You are a beacon of color in this gray place, and so I cannot help but see you shine.

What do you want? Why are you here?

Are you waiting for something? Are you staying so close because you hope to watch me descend into madness once again, or because you dread it? Do you wish happiness for me, or do you only seek validation for your own ego's sake?

What happens is up to you. It's always been up to you. I'm sure that you don't want that kind of responsibility. I'm fucking positive that I wish you didn't have it, that I was in charge here.

But I'm not, and I never have been, and it's entirely possible that I never will be again.

See, you have something of mine. Something important. I wish you'd either give it back, or at least admit that you have it.

Is that why you're here? Do you have something for me?

I see you, you know.

I wonder. The next time I say the words, I wonder if I'll do so as a whisper or as a shout. Or as a scream.

So many times, I've bitten my tongue and walked the other way. So often, I've rambled on and on about anything and everything to distract myself until that moment, that moment when the words needed to be said, had passed. So many countless fucking times, I've picked up the telephone only to slam it back down to its resting place.

And I write. I beat around the bush. Time after time I bring myself right up to the edge beyond which the words must be written, but I stop myself. Each and every time, I hover my toe over that line in the sand only to pull it back and then pat myself on the back for my great show of resolve.

The words don't give up though. They fester inside me and they wait. For that inevitable moment of weakness. For that sought-after period of clarity. For that first opportunity, that first instant when I've forgotten that they're even there at all.

That's when they'll make their move. That's when they'll escape.

And then I fear that they'll be gone from me forever.

Don't get me wrong. I want to say the words, but I don't want to waste them.

I want to say the words.

I just want someone to be listening when I do.

Go here! Read this!

Okay, so a few more choices have fallen off the list, but Roger has made up for those losses, and also inspired me nearly to giggles, by adding Newcastle to the list.

Yay!

Today, after work, the Sun was shining.

But that's not all!

When I got into my truck, it was very warm inside.

Almost hot actually!

That was the first time I've been warm in a couple of weeks.

It felt so good that, for a moment or two, I thought about peeling down and molesting myself right there in the truck.

But then I remembered where I was.

There's probably a corporate policy against that sort of thing.

I guess I'm just writing for the fuck of it now.

I overdid my after-work nap, and now it's almost 2:00 AM and I'm probably up for the rest of the night.

Gotta do something, may as well write.

For those of you reading this at barenada.com, you may or may not know that I duplicate my 'blog over at barenada.journalspace.com. Well, that site has been down since Friday morning. Some kind of hard drive crash is what they claim, but I don't buy it. What I think happened is that this chick's new profile picture melted the hard drive.

It's that hot.

Anyway, today after work I stopped by Rich O's and had a small Cone Smoker (1670) and a small Smithwick's (736) while I talked with Roger about DaveFest. It's looking like all of the beers I selected will be available except for the Avery Old Jubilation, so that's cool. I was expecting six taps but it's looking like there'll be eleven.

The t-shirts are still a go I guess. I met the artist the other day and I'm expecting him to contact me again about designs and colors. Or maybe not. Maybe he'll just wing it. He's the artist after all. We're going to order a couple of dozen shirts, and I suppose we can order more if we need to. I really have no idea what kind of interest there'll be.

I'll be at Rich O's both nights of DaveFest's opening weekend, June 2nd and 3rd. This will get me into trouble with my family. Maybe when their favorite hangout decides to honor them with their own festival they'll understand.