Roger didn't really say this, but it would have been funny if he had.

Sometimes I worry that I might have lost the ability to write a coherent sentence. But if I really think about it, I know that if I really apply myself, and if I really drink some beer, I can still pull it off.

This, for example, is a coherent sentence.

There. Subject and verb. And some other crap that probably has some official grammatical name but I can't really be expected to remember everything from my school days. I think that the word sentence might be called an object or some such.

But I digress.

Is it really a digression when I haven't even mentioned what the real topic is supposed to be? Maybe the actual digression will take place only if and when I finally get to that real topic.

I don't know.

I don't care.

Imagine, if you will, two people. Could be a guy and a girl. In this new age of enlightenment I feel like I should also point out that it could be two guys, or it could be two girls. In the future ever-permissive societal standards might compel me to point out that it could be a guy and a chicken. A chicken wouldn't really fall into the people category though. Anyway, for the purposes of this entry I'm going to stick with the standard guy and girl.

Try to keep up, please. I know, it might not be easy. Or worth it. I know that I'm rambling.

You know what? Screw the hypotheticals. This is about me and you know who. Again.

At least partly. I'll offer up other examples in an attempt to make my point. If I can ever remember what my point is supposed to be.

Oh, yeah.

I've written before that I've had fairly good success at staying friendly with my ex-girlfriends. Some more than others, to be sure, but overall I like to think that I've done a little better than average. That's just a guess. It's not like I took a survey or anything.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: I think it's funny that I've written all this crap so far and haven't said a single thing.

Anyway, I never fucked her. Not even close.

And, be assured, this is not some trick wherein I'm now going to be all sensitive and shit and say that what we really did was make love. We never did that either. Not even close.

Not even close.

Nobody ever believes that though. I don't know why they don't believe it. I mean, look at her, then look at me. Or, since looking at the two of us to make such a comparison would be costly in both time and money, just take my word for it. She and I are member of two completely different groups of people. I guess the more common term is leagues.

We are not in the same league.

Now, where was I?

Right, I was somewhere that was not inside her. I really cannot stress this enough. It's kind of the basis for my whole point that I may actually get to someday.

So there I was, not inside her, yet I developed feelings for her. Strong feelings. Overwhelming feelings. I may have mentioned them from time to time in this journal.

And there she was, going about her life without me inside her, and also - and this is the part that really sucks for me - without any feelings for me.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: This is kind of weird. It was really pretty tough for me to write that last sentence. It's even tougher to read the thing. Funny how you can know something is true but it gains all those extra bonus validity points simply because it's been written out.

I know a girl. A different girl. I've never been inside her either, but that's not relevant right now. What is relevant is that this girl, what this girl has been going through - it's the same as what happened to me.

She knows a guy. She developed strong feelings for the guy, yet the guy would not or could not or at any rate did not return those feelings. And then the guy left her life. Perhaps wihout the totality with which you know who left my life, but he did leave.

So this girl and I have a lot in common, and we've become friends over the Internet. We email each other and discuss our mutual woes because we each know that the other will understand those woes and not be a judgmental asshole about it.

By doing this, we sometimes we even help each other get through the sadness that we're dealing with.

I think I've digressed again.

One of the topics of conversation that my friend and I have shared recently is the question of whether a guy and a girl (or two guys, or whatever - you know the drill) can ever be friends when the feelings are so lopsided.

I've been thinking about this a lot. For like a year and a half. I keep thinking about because I don't like the answer that I keep coming up with.

I don't think, if I'm completely honest with myself, if I'm as objective about all this as I can possibly will myself to be, I don't think that friendship is an option.

It's just too difficult.

It's just not worth it.

Because, you see, it's not the same thing as breaking up with a girlfriend. There's never anything to break up. There's never anything but pain and longing and holding things back and letting some things slip out and watching for reactions that aren't there.

It's disappointment. Pure and simple. Forever. And ever. And you try to tell yourself that just having that person in your life is enough for you, and you try to tell yourself that the pain you feel when you're near that person is nothing compared to the pain you feel when you're not near that person, and you try to tell yourself that you can be strong enough to keep the friendship intact.

You lie to yourself.

I lie to myself.

I never fucked her. Not even close.

If I had, then that would have at least been something. That would have been proof that the feelings weren't completely lopsided, that there was something there, simmering between is, something that we both at least tasted. Something that we had in common. Something that we shared. Even if it didn't work out, we would always have the memory of that physical intimacy and all of the emotional intimacy that accompanied it.

We would have at least known that we'd tried.

And that knowledge, that knowledge just might be enough to ease the pain, to lessen the disappointment, to put things into a better perspective.

To make the whole let's still be friends thing a viable plan.

Without that knowledge, without those memories, I don't think a friendship could work.

I hope that I'm wrong. I really fucking hope that I'm wrong.

If all or nothing are the only choices, and if all isn't available, then all that's left is nothing.

UPDATE 04/20/08: I have updated this entry on this date. I removed some of the crudeness, but the main thing that I want to say is that I was indeed wrong. And I'm glad that I was wrong.

This should be a brief entry. I don't feel like typing anything.

Saturday night started out weird. The first reason it started out weird was that I arrived at 7:00 instead of my usual 8:30ish time. The second reason it started out weird was that I went into the Sportstime side instead of the Rich O's side.

Both these bits of weirdness had the same cause. My sister Neisha, and her husband Chris, and her friend that was visiting from up North, were all there.

That side of the building is just strange, but at least they have the same beer list. I started out with a Guinness (1137) which I drank while everybody else had pizza. I had already eaten, plus I've pretty much given up on the pizza at Sportstime.

Three people that I know from Rich O's had expressed interest in seeing Neisha if she ever came in. The only one I knew how to contact was DooRagGirl, so I texted her. HotRedHead came in on her own, so she got to see Neisha, and I guess she also called GlassesGirl.

After everybody was done with their pizza we went over to Rich O's, stopping on the way to say hi to my cousin Jamie. He was sitting out front.

So, this is boring.

We sat in the living room area and talked and drank some. I had myself a Gravity Head beer:

Christoffel Werelds Winterbier (10)

(draft) Poured a lot darker than I expected. A pretty good beer. No spices or adjuncts that I could detect, so I'm not sure that I completely agree with the "Winter Beer" classification. Good though.

GlassesGirl arrived about two minutes too late. I tried to call Neisha to see if she wanted to turn around and come back but I guess I fat-fingered my phone and I ended up leaving a message at her home number. Duh.

I think that it was about this time that I had another Guinness (1157).

I talked with DooRagGirl and GlassesGirl for a while. Eventually I had myself a Weihenstephaner (618).

I came home fairly early myself because I had to work early Sunday morning.

I could write about more shit from Saturday but I'm not going to.

I remember when I used to be able to come home from the bar and write out halfway decent crap. Tonight makes two nights in a row in which I'm afraid to write anything for fear of making things worse than they already are.

Yeah, like that's fucking possible.

Yesterday we had to go to our local Caesar's for this work thing. I really don't get the purpose of these things. It's like there's this perception that nobody likes each other, but that would all change if we could somehow be forced to spend time together away from work.

Brilliant.

Not.

The people that I like I still like, and the people that are assholes are still assholes.

Actually, I think I like most of the people that went yesterday, so if there was an asshole among us it was probably me.

Anyway, I turned my $10 into $110 playing blackjack. It was quite boring though. My dealer's name was Chance I shit you not. What a stupid name, but if you're going to be a casino dealer I guess it's not too bad.

I'd considered just staying at the casino Friday night, because Rich O's has been so full of idiots lately, but by the time we got released from our team-building stuff I was just too tired. So I called SassyGirl and let her know that I'd be at Rich O's later if she got off work and wanted to come by.

Then, then I got home and I had an email that put me in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

I got to Rich O's a little after 8:00. It was of course standing-room-only. So I stood at the end of the bar and ordered my first beer. I had a sip or two of this a long time ago, but this was my first official tasting:

Urthel Samaranth Quadrium (12)

(draft) This beer is evil. Pure evil. To taste the way it does, which is actually fairly mild, but to pack that much alcohol - well like I said it's evil. As I said, a fairly mild (and fairly standard) Belgian taste. A slight alcohol finish is the only thing that hints at the wolf underneath this sheep's clothing.

"That Guinness, it's only for little girls and pregnant women. I can't stand that stuff," he said to his posse of fuckwads. They all chuckled of course, and I decided that I hated them all.

So, of course, I ordered myself a Guinness. I looked all the fuckwads in the eyes and waited for one of them to say something. They didn't though, because they're all fuckwads.

I drank my Guinness (1117) fairly quickly, and I was considering ordering another one just to push the fuckwads over the edge, but some strangers left the loveseat so I picked up my shit and went over there.

That was, in retrospect, a stupid thing to do, but I guess it was at least better than standing. Maybe.

I finished my Samaranth, and ordered another Gravity Head beer:

Founder's Blushing Monk Belgian Razz (5)

This really sucked.

Some other shit happened. There were idiots all over the place. I did my best to keep to myself, and I came home fairly early.

There's a saying.

If you don't have anything nice to say, then say nothing at all.

Or something like that.

I think that will be my motto for tonight.

Here's a picture of Paco the Alpaca, brought to me all the way from Peru by SassyGirl.

Paco is admiring my second yummy bottle of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (606).

I had a couple of remarkably similar conversations tonight, with two different friends. The subjects were similar, as was the advice I offered. The other thing that was similar was that I'm pretty sure that both conversations ended with my friend thinking, Wow, what a fucking hypocrite Dave is.

I believe that my friends were thinking this, because I was certainly thinking it.

...

I was going to write a lot more, and I have written a lot more. I've deleted hundreds of words three or four times.

It was all bullshit.

I was going to write that I've thought things over, and that I no longer believe that I'm a hypocrite. I was going to write that too much time has passed for me to take my own advice. I was going to write that 18 months ago I did try those things that I suggested tonight.

I was going to write a lot of things. I did write a lot of things. But I deleted it all several times.

It was all bullshit.

I guess the motto of this little piece of drivel, if you feel like you need one, the motto would be, Do as I say, not as I do.

I tell myself that it's too late for me to take my own advice. I've been telling myself that for over a year. I've told myself so often and with such conviction that I've managed to make it true.

I am an idiot.

Use that for a motto, if you prefer.

Every now and then, not as often as before but still often enough to be noticeable, I feel a little bit like a fly on a plate.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: That sentence really seems familiar to me. Not the words, but the general flow of the thing. I think it might remind me of Moby Dick. I'm not intentionally plagiarizing anyone though, so I guess it's okay.

Years and years ago, when I used to be one of the best pool players in whatever bar I happened to be shooting and/or hanging out in, I guess I got used to that feeling. Of being in the spotlight. Of everybody watching me. All the time.

I guess I got used to it, and I guess I kinda liked it even. It probably motivated me to excellence and shit.

But that was a long time ago. In the years since then, the spotlights have come from completely different directions, for completely different reasons.

These days, my friends at Rich O's often look to me to set the mood. To tell the jokes. To keep them entertained. These days, more often than I really care to speculate on, I seem to be in charge of whether my friends enjoy themselves.

Talk about pressure!

For the most part, I think, my friends eventually figure out that I'm a bit of an asshole. At that point they either stop talking to me or they at least stop relying on me to be their only source of entertainment. This is perfectly fine with me. I cannot be "on" all of the time. It's exhausting.

My family is an entirely different matter.

The thing about my sisters, and of course I love them like sisters, is that they just don't seem able to accept the fact that I'm not the same person that they know from before. Hell, I'm not even close.

Back then, I was introverted, and friendly, and caring, and patient.

These days, these days I'm not.

Patient? I don't have fucking time for that.

Caring? What's in it for me?

Friendly? As long as you can prove that you're not an idiot within 10 seconds of meeting me.

Introverted? Okay, fine. That's still there. It's just not as noticeable as it used to be.

So, basically, like I said up above, I'm an asshole. I'm self-centered, and I'm kind of a beer snob, and I'm so easily annoyed by strangers that I make Boo Radley seem like Richard Simmons in comparison.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Mr. Simmons was just the most extroverted person I could think of on such short notice. There are probably several people who would be better suited for the purpose for which I wrote the above.

Anyway.

This weekend my sister Neisha is supposed to be coming to Rich O's. This is such a fantastic and rare occasion that I'm a little worried that the denizens of Hell may be at risk from frostbite.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Now would be a really good time to open a Winter clothing store in Hell. Or maybe go down there and hang a shingle proclaiming myself as a personal injury attorney. But then again, Hell is probably already full of lawyers, so I should just stick with the Winter clothing store idea.

So, even though it's still three days away, and I remain aware anything could happen between now and then, I'm a little excited about the prospect of Neisha coming into Rich O's.

I'm also a little nervous about it.

Not because my sister is coming. Nope, I'm a little nervous because she's bringing a friend. She's bringing a friend from out of town specifically to meet me.

Talk about pressure!

I have no idea what my sister has told her friend about me. I can only imagine. Probably the usual stuff.

Dave is funny.

Dave is charming.

Dave is smart.

Dave can juggle.

Dave walks on water and performs other miracles.

At least I don't have to worry about the Dave is HOT thing because (a) I'm not hot, and (b) it's my sister.

Saturday night, I need to be on my best behavior. Saturday night, I need to do whatever I can do to keep my sister from being called a liar.

Saturday night, I need to be on.