Why, I wonder, did you feel the need to share that particular bit of information with me?

Sure, I pretended to be glad for you, and I suppose the non-selfish part of me is glad for you, but c'mon!

Next time why not just kick me in the nuts?

Right now, I really want to write something, but I won't.

I wonder, do you want to read something, but you can't?

Read my mind, if you dare, and you may see those words that I want to write.

Read my mind, if you dare, and you may see those words that you want to read.

At least I hope you want to read them.

If not, then please ignore this entire entry.

It wasn't written for you anyway.

Unless it was.

Who's Your Happy Bunny?
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After reading this, you may decide that I'm an asshole.

If you do, then you're in good company, because I agree with you.

I can tell you what happened, but I cannot tell you what I said to make it happen. This stupid discretion thing is such a pain.

So I can tell you that I made MixedSignalGirl cry last night, and that's about it. Even if I tell you that I was being completely honest, even if I tell you that we've always been brutally honest with each other, even if I tell you that I'm as bothered by what I had to say as she was, none of that matters because I can't tell you what I said. I can't tell you because, because...

Fuck! I can't even tell you why I can't tell you.

So feel free to let your imagination run away with you, if that's what you want to do. I made the girl who's probably the only person to love me in over a decade - maybe ever for all I know - cry. I deserve whatever ire your imagination can generate, because I knew before I said anything what the outcome was going to be, and I still said it.

SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: This is completely unrelated, but I'm looking at the comic at davethepa's journal as I write this, and I really wish I could draw. I should work on that I think.

Anyway, there are two slightly mitigating factors. First, everything I said was the truth, even though it made zero sense, not even to me. Second, we've had a couple of talks since, and we're okay again. Until next time I suppose. Perhaps she'll learn to not ask questions of me unless she's sure that she wants to know the answer.

Not that I'm blaming her. Not at all. It's my stupid heart's fault. Again.

All of this drama took place at Buckhead's. I'd gone there to pass the time last night, rather than just sit around the house waiting for Nat to show up in my visitor list. Plus, I did need to talk to MixedSignalGirl. Plus they still have Upland Chocolate Stout on tap.

I called her from the Hooter's parking lot, and I made a quick run into that place to talk with my cousin Jeff for a few minutes, then I went across the street to Buckhead's.

As I said, I can't get into the conversation too much. Or at all.

To drink, I had a couple pints of Upland Chocolate Stout (262) and, after MixedSignalGirl had left in tears, I had a Weihenstephaner (311). Then I remembered to order some fried green tomatoes for VigilanteGirl.

I wrote recently that sometimes shit just happens. Well, shit is definitely happening. I wish I could explain it. I wish I could have explained it to MixedSignalGirl, and I wish I could explain it to my readers, and I wish I could explain it to myself.

But I can't, so I must be an asshole.

And that's right back where I started with this entry.

You ever wake up at 2:00 AM and think, wow, I sure am stupid?

How about, do you ever wake up at 2:00 AM and think, wow, Dave sure is stupid?

At about the time I arose from my semi-sleep with the realization that the title of that last comic made no sense whatsoever, at about the time I decided that I'd never get back to sleep until I changed it, my phone rang.

MixedSignalGirl.

"Hey, were you awake?" she asked.

"Hi. I actually just woke up," I answered.

"Me too. You know what woke me up?"

"What?"

"I can't figure out if you like Sam Adam's beer or not. It's driving me crazy. And that title makes no sense."

"I just realized the same thing! I'm going to change it now," I said, thinking that this was a little weird.

"What are you going to change it to?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," I answered. "Anything would be better than that."

"Okay, call me tomorrow?"

"I will. Bye Miss."

I never did tell her if I like Sam Adam's or not. That'll give us something to talk about tomorrow.

Anyone who's been sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting for my tale of drunken debauchery, is going to be very disappointed.

It was just not that exciting of a night. It most certainly was not the kind of party that RockGirl suggested.

I went to this very nice house that belongs to a friend of my sister, Dina. I spent the night talking with Dina and her fiancé Kenny and SpoonsGirl and her husband. I didn't know anyone else, and I really didn't see the point of getting to know anyone else. I'm kind of a jerk sometimes, I guess.

So we played some darts. SpoonsGirl's husband and I won two out of three games.

We played some Euchre. I think that Dina and I won 2 out of three games, then later Kenny and I lost two out of three.

To drink I had a couple bottles of Weihenstephaner (295) and a couple bottles of Alaskan Smoked Porter (286).

The highlight of the night, for me, was going outside at about 11:45 and doing my little yearly rehash thingy. Just like last year, I ended up talking with a ghost. But it was okay. I got through it, and came back into the house at about 12:15.

It's 2006. Yay.

Wow, one of the few resolutions I made for 2006 was to stop writing drivel and I couldn't even make it through the very first entry of the year.

I wish that I could memorize my little midnight conversations.

I call them conversations even though they're anything but that. Soliloquies would be more appropriate.

I wish I could record them, and hover my finger over a play button, until the next time I see her, then jab that button, stand back, and watch the magic unfold.

For some reason, at midnight on each December 31st, I know exactly what to say.

The rest of the year I'm tongue-tied and bewildered.

But tonight, tonight at midnight specifically, I was smooth.

Tonight at midnight, she would have at least listened.

And, tonight at five minutes after midnight, she would have at least understood.

If you want to come, you have my number. I will come and get you if you ask.

We may turn out to be little more than distractions to each other, but I think we may both need a little distracting right about now. I certainly do.