Last night was just strange.

The parking lot was full. The lot across the street was full. The lot at Kroger was pretty fucking full.

Not a good sign.

So I walked into Rich O's. The loser area was completely packed. The front area was completely packed. Rich O's proper was...

surprisingly, not packed.

So I sat in the throne and wondered what was going on with the crowd. There wasn't a single familiar face in the entire establishment except for the bartenders and the two people sitting on the sofa. It was like I'd walked into the wrong bar or something.

Pretty damn weird.

My first beer was an Upland Winter Warmer (180). This beer would later prove to be my downfall.

I talked with the couple on the sofa about nothing much. SassyGirl called to let me know that she'd be in later. WomanRepellant showed up, as did a few of the PBDs.

But mostly the place was full of strangers and assorted idiots. I ended up theorizing that these were people that had come to the area for the big Thunder Over Louisville air and fireworks show. At least that's one possible explanation. Another might be that the universe hates me.

My second beer was a yummy BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (184).

By the time SassyGirl showed up, I was already starting to regret drinking the Upland. Not that it's not a great beer - it just seemed to hit me harder than it ever had before.

So I ordered a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier but I only drank a little bit of it (856). I ended up coming home a little after 11:00.

Now tonight the place will be closed because it's always so dead in there when they have the stupid Thunder show. So I don't know what, if anything, I'll do tonight.

...I am not dead.

That's too bad, actually, because now I'm left with no reasonable excuse whatsoever for not posting anything for two days.

The truth is, I've done nothing but work and watch TV and sleep.

I wish I could draw.

I'd draw a lot of things, but the first thing I'd draw would be a wall. A very high wall, completely unscalable. The wall would also extend to the sides forever and ever.

The wall would block a long road. It would be impossible to even guess, let alone see, what was on the other side.

I'd also draw myself standing on that road, at the base of that wall.

I'd be looking up, my mouth open in a silent scream.

I wish I could draw.

UPDATE: The next best thing to being able to draw is having a friend who can draw. My friend RockGirl drew this 22 years ago, and it's been waiting for me ever since.

Well, that was a load of drivel.

I'm not rewriting it though. I kinda sorta managed to make my point.

Most of it anyway.

I guess the other thing I was trying to say, what I didn't quite manage to convey, is that it's not hopeless. We're not all doomed. Pain from long ago can sometimes wash over us, but that doesn't mean that we're going to have to relive it all. Sometimes scars just itch, and all it takes is a scratch to make it feel better.

I think that what people need to understand, what people should understand, is that the old adage time heals all wounds is utter bullshit.

Sure, some wounds may heal. Some wounds may fade away so completely that there's no trace left of them. Sometimes we even forget about them ourselves.

But not always.

Sometimes they leave scars, and sometimes those scars stay with us forever.

Things that happen to us, maybe things that we do to other people, they can leave scars either physical or emotional and there's not a damn thing we can do about them except learn to live with them as well as we can. If we can.

I've got a scar on my nose. When I was 5 I ran through a sliding glass door.

I've got a scar on my foot. When I was 12 I stepped on a nail.

When I was 20 a thrown plate shattered against my left arm and severed an artery. I almost lost my arm completely. That scar still itches, from time to time.

These things are now a part of me, and in a way they made me the person that I am. But these small scars only changed my physical appearance. They are nothing.

At some point in the coming weeks or months or years, somebody will see me smile. It's bound to happen. Somebody will see me smile and that's all that they'll see. They will assume that I'm happy.

When I was 16, my first real girlfriend killed herself.

When I was 21, my marriage ended.

When I was 22, my mother died after a long illness.

When I was 27, my wife and I split for the last time.

When I was 33, my grandmother and my father died within weeks of each other.

When I was 39, I finally knew what I wanted from life, but it was ripped away.

At some point in the coming weeks or months or years, somebody will see me cry. It's bound to happen. Somebody will see me cry and that's all they'll see.

They'll assume that I'm sad, but they won't know why. Maybe they'll ask.

And then I'll tell them that my scars are itching.

Time does not heal all wounds. Sometimes they leave scars, and sometimes those scars stay with us forever. Sometimes healing is nothing but an illusion.

I've often wondered how I would know that this was over. Or even if I'd ever know.

What started as screams are now nothing but whispers, and even those soft voices are fading fast. One by one the demons inside me are going silent. They do not leave - where would they go? Instead, they sleep. They sleep and they dream of sweet things.

I wonder, will they ever wake up, and once again tell me about their dreams?

Okay, I've let you all suffer long enough I suppose.

Nothing lewd or lascivious happened.

Me and the bathroom girls and the Romanian girl just sat outside and made fun of all the idiots, then they wanted to go to some club I never heard of, and I let them go.

I took a cab back to where my truck was and then went back to the hotel to sleep.

Sunday morning I drove home.

And thus ends another Easter weekend trip.

I had fun. St. Louis was a good choice. I stayed busy, but I never felt like I was in a rush to see everything. Like if I ever go back to D.C. I'll be really stressed out because I'd need at least a week to see even half the stuff I'd want to see. Fuck, I could spend an entire week at The Smithsonian.

The next trip is already in the early pre-planning stages. I'm thinking that I'll go to Cleveland next. Or maybe Detroit. That way I could cross Michigan off my list.

Like I said, it's in the early pre-planning stages. I know that I want to go somewhere. I just don't know where yet.

I need these little trips. I need to get away from here every now and then. And on May1st I'll start out fresh with three weeks of shiny new vacation days.

I still want to use one of those weeks to go to Hawaii in the Fall, but the more I think about it the less likely it seems that I'll be going. There are just too many things that the money could be better spent on.

I don't have any Las Vegas trips scheduled until late November. I'm not sure if I'll be able to wait that long. Maybe I'll take a short trip out there and see PictureGirl. Maybe.

Oooooh! New Mexico! I need to go there so I can cross that state off my list too. The owner of Rich O's just spent some time in Albuquerque, so he can give me pointers on places to visit there.

New York and Atlantic City and Myrtle Beach are all on my short list. I suppose Phoenix should be on that list too, but I doubt that I'm quite ready for that.

We'll see.

I just have to stay motivated to actually go and visit some of these places instead of just wishing I would do it.

For my final night in St. Louis, I decided that I wanted to experience Laclede's Landing. So I took a cab back over to the Morgan Street Brewpub.

I took notes.

7:45
The bar is packed. The street is packed. I steal a stool from a guy that got stood up and I sit. I order a yummy Morgan Street Irish Stout (16) and a Diet Coke. I know I'll need to pace myself tonight.

7:47
The exact same bartenders are working - two hot girls and a neo-nazi and a punk rock guy.

7:50
This one bartender with the pigtails reminds me of someone. I don't know who though. Somebody hot I guess.

7:55
I didn't pace myself very well today. I think it was that Scotch Ale that messed everything up.

7:56
This beer is more roasty than I remember from yesterday. Still yummy though.

8:00
I missed HatGirl's party today. That sucks.

8:03
Piss time.

8:07
I'm ordering some smoked duck in wontons. I don't know why - I guess it just looked intriguing.

8:09
One of the hot bartenders asked me what I was writing about. She asked me if I was writing about what I ate and drank, and I said that I was. She then asked if it was because I was on a diet. Ouch.

8:11
The guy I stole the stool from is talking on his phone. He's talking about his dick and how he makes it go grocery shopping and check his mailbox for him. It's hilarious.

8:17
OMG this duck stuff is delicious!

8:24
The last one was burned. Oh well.

8:26
DickGuy and LongHairedHottie are talking about tans and the lack thereof. They both, at the same time, pointed at me and said, "Now that guy is white!" So now I'm a fat albino. Great, just great.

8:39
The brewer's name is Mark Gottfried, according to LongHairedHottie.

8:47
I spent the last 10 minutes telling a guy what he'd just sampled and explaining the differences to him. He then went and asked the bartender the exact same questions. WTF? I'm wearing a shirt that says "Beer is Food" right on the front so that should be a slight indication that I know what I'm talking about.

8:49
LongHairedHottie and PigTailHottie just tore ass out of here. They're probably going home to masturbate while fantasizing about my fat albino ass.

8:55
Piss time.

8:58
OMG The World's Most Lickable Girl is sitting right behind me!

8:59
DickGuy just now ended his phone call.

9:03
The new hot girl that took over for LongHairedHottie must be new. I'm dying of thirst and she's just standing around looking pretty.

9:07
I order a Winter Lager (40) and I move to the outside seating. It might be too dark to write out there.

9:08
It seems like it may storm soon. Cool.

9:10
I guess I'm in the Morgan Street patio area, not the street seating. It's boring here.

9:13
I'm moving to the street seating.

9:16
I've been sitting out here two minutes and I've already been interrogated twice. I'm staying until somebody want to sit here and eat.

9:21
These streets seemed a lot more rowdy 20 years ago. Nice everybody is nice and tame. I wonder where the woohoos are. I guess it's still kinda early though.

9:23
This Winter Lager stuff is fucking yummy!

9:26
It's an older crowd here than I would have expected. Some of these people are even older than me if you can believe that.

9:27
I feel sorry for these horses that have to pull idiots around all day.

9:29
I finally, just now, heard my first "WooHoo!" of the night. About fucking time.

9:34
I might vomit now, because this chick walking past me is gross.

9:35
Crisis averted. I closed my eyes and thought about MixedSignalGirl, and how we were always supposed to come to St. Louis together, until the skanky gross chick had gone by.

9:36
Guess who I miss now.

9:38
I'm taking my shit back into the bar because I have to piss.

9:40
Piss time.

9:42
LongHairedHottie and PigTailHottie are back. They just went to get something to eat. Or so they say. I'm sticking with my masturbation theory.

9:50
LongHairedHottie keeps talking to me. She wants me. Can't she tell that there are like three or four other girls ahead of her in the line for my affection?

9:51
I wish I was a poet. I could write a poem now.

9:55
The gay hockey fans just arrived.

9:57
LongHairedHottie has a nice ass, but it's not as nice as the girl's from last night.

9:58
The gay hockey guys are woohoos.

10:00
Either the lights just dimmed or I'm having a stroke.

10:01
Whew! It was the lights.

10:04
Under the arch there's a museum. In the museum there's a stuffed bison. The bison is posed with its tail slightly raised, so its asshole is exposed. The taxidermist must have spent a lot of time perfectly preserving that bison's asshole. Maybe my job isn't so bad after all.

10:10
I'm cutting myself off. I'm such a good citizen.

10:14
I kinda want to stick something into one of PigTailHottie's orifices. I don't really care what I stick, or where I stick it. My toe in her nose? That would be awesome.

10:33
I just spent 15 minutes talking to some Romanian chick. I must be the first person that's ever talked to her in her entire life because she wouldn't shut up.

10:40
Piss time.

10:45
The chicks that were in the bathroom have asked me to joined them at their table outside. I have to stop writing now so I can go sit with hot girls. Woe is me.

---

I should just stop this entry right here. I had one hot bartender, one Romanian chick, and two hot girls that like to go the bathroom together - all interested in me.

I should just stop writing and let everyone's imaginations run wild.

Everybody told me that I just had to go to Schlafly's bar slash brewery.

So I did.

I went there at around four I think. I drove myself, figuring that I could always take a cab back to the hotel if the situation warranted.

It's a pretty big place, and at first I thought they might be closed because the parking lot was almost completely empty. Inside was almost empty too. There were just two people sitting at the bar. Some dude and some lady.

I recognized the dude!

It was EvilLou, a pool player I know from my days on the rec.sport.billiard newsgroup and also from the Derby City Classic.

Man what a small world it is.

Of course I knew that EvilLou lived in St. Louis so I guess I shouldn't have been that surprised. I, on the other hand, surprised the shit out of him.

So I sat at the bar and talked with EvilLou and his wife while I had some beer.

Schlafly's Hefeweizen (20)

It's always a crap shoot as to whether a hefeweizen is in the true German style or the crappy American style. This was American, so I didn't like it. As with most beers, however, this did get better as the glass got emptier. By the end, it was passable. This is not the beer's fault - I just don't like the style.

My next beer was much better:

Schlafly's Scotch Ale (20)

More malty than other Scotch Ales I've tried, and that extra maltiness was needed to help mask the alcohol. A very good beer.

The place I went to was called the Square One brewpub.

I guess they're affiliated with the Augusta brewery because all of the coasters were from that place.

I had myself some yummy beer-battered chicken tenders, and a beer sampler tray. They had a Belgian Red listed, and that sounded intriguing, but the waitress said they were out. Oh well.

Square One Nut Brown Ale (6)

Pretty good. Malty with a hint of cola to balance it out. A lot like Goose Island Hex Nut Brown Ale.

Hoppy and malty, with a bitter finish. Common is a very good name for this beer - there are a zillion just like it, and I don't like any of them.

The aroma is fantastic, as is the flavor. Maybe a bit more mellow than other German-style wheats. A very good beer.

A typical dry stout. Nothing wrong with it at all but nothing great either. Quite roasty, and better than average I suppose.

I ended up taking a cab back to the hotel.