It starts with a sound.

Not just any sound, but the sound of a voice from an almost forgotten past. Just a word or two, snaking their way through the din of the crowd. It's not much, but it's enough. I prepare myself, as much as I can anyway.

I think that I'm ready. I believe that I've steeled myself for what will come next. I tell myself that this is what I've been waiting for, that I'm prepared. That I will be strong.

I'm wrong.

I see the sparkles long before I see her. Walls inside me begin to crumble almost immediately. Pressure that has been bottled up for months is suddenly free and unrestrained. Something deep within me is exploding. I cannot prevent it, and I'm suddenly not sure that I want to.

I see her face.

For a fraction of a portion of a second, I am afraid. But the fear is quickly overwhelmed by something else. By desire. By determination. By relief. By the knowledge that the world is finally right again.

I stand up.

My knees are shaking. My heart is pounding. My very soul is shattering and rebuilding at a frantic pace inside me. I take a step, then another. My legs, miraculously, are still amenable to my will. They are no longer a part of me, for I am naught but a heart on fire, but they obey my will nevertheless.

Our eyes meet.

Time stops.

A million eternities pass by in an instant.

I reach out the hand that I somehow still control, and I take hers into it. The circuit between us completes, and it flows with ferocity. Our fingers fuse together.

But it is not enough.

Suddenly aware of the eyes upon us, I crave privacy for what will come next. I pull her through the crowd, then away from the crowd. She resists shyly, more from surprise than anything else. By the time we reach our destination, a dark and empty room, I'm unsure as to who is doing the leading.

We stop. We breathe. We exist. Together. Alone. The heat from her body warms my very bones.

But is it not enough.

I pull her to me and I embrace that part of myself that's been missing for such a long time. I am finally complete. I am finally whole.

But it is still not enough.

I pull my head back, and I open my eyes.

In her eyes I see, not myself, not her, but us. I see everything I've ever sought, and I see a future filled not with pain, but with desire, and with passion, and with hunger for each other.

In her eyes, I see love. Mine. Hers. Ours. It's all the same.

But still it's not enough.

I move my head towards hers.

Our lips meet.

Something is happening. Something different.

I wish I could describe it more clearly than that, but I cannot. Not even to myself.

It's just a feeling, really. An inkling of a hint that something is afoot, that something is skulking around just outside my peripheral vision. I turn to look, but it moves with me, anticipating and evading.

Whatever it is, I don't think I like it very much. Nope, not very much at all.

I awoke at 2:00 feeling severely dehydrated. Now it's 2:47 and I'm on my fourth glass of water.

This reminds me of a funny story I heard at work today.

This guy was telling EwokGirl and me about his aunt or somebody that was told by her doctor that she had to drink 8 glasses of water each day.

So this lady, as soon as she got up every morning, poured 8 glasses of water, and...

...put them in the fridge.

Oh, did you think she drank all 8 glasses first thing in the morning?

Me too!

That would have been a funny story. Instead it's just a stupid one.

...that everybody sucks.

Why I failed to notice this before, I don't know.

Maybe because my rose-colored glasses hid the truth, which is that everybody sucks.

To the approximately three people on Earth that don't suck: You know who you are, and you may safely ignore this entry.

Because I missed all of Saturday night, I knew that the only chance I had of making it through the Saturnalia beer list was to go every day after work and have at least one. My plan was to only have new beers, at least until Rogue Chocolate Stout entered the mix. Then all bets would be off.

That plan isn't going so well.

Monday I had myself a Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar (60). I didn't remember having it before, but I had tried it two years ago.

Tonight I started out with a Mahr's Brau Christmas Bock (20), which I've also had before, and which I also didn't remember having before. Neither is a particularly memorable beer, and my failure to recall drinking them before kind of reinforces that point I guess.

I nursed the shit out of the Mahr's until RealTrainGirl showed up. Then, we were having such an enjoyable conversation that, instead of going home for my nap appointment, I had one of these:

Summit Winter Ale (20)

(draft) had a decent flavor, but there wasn't much flavor to it. I kept getting hints of spices and such, but the hints faded as soon as I started to detect them. Good, but not great.

This beer I also nursed the shit out of, simply because I didn't care that much for it. I wonder if my chocolate beer cravings that I've had for the past several months have permanently tainted my judgment. We'll see.

RealTrainGirl wasn't even close to finishing her glass by the time I finished mine, so I decided what the Hell and ordered a half glass of this:

Schmaltz HeBrew Jewbelation 5766 (13)

(draft) Tried some the other night and wasn't impressed. Had a full glass tonight and still wasn't impressed, but it certainly went down easier. For all the hops and malts used, I should have detected more complexity. Just a decent beer that does a very good job of hiding its high ABV.

Then, finally, some spots opened up in the living room area so we went over there and talked with TallLady for a bit.

I had just about decided that I'd be going home when, lo and behold, HatGirl and her boyfriend came in. HatGirl was wearing her hat, so I of course recognized her immediately. I ordered myself a Diet Coke and we all just sat around talking about nothing much for ran hour or so.

I should have known, and if I take off these mental blinders and really let myself think about it, I suppose that I did at least have my suspicions. At least on some layer, I even wanted it to be true. Even though it was one of my biggest fears, even though I laid awake nights worrying about the possibility, a part of me still wanted it to happen.

The hints were there, I just chose to ignore them. For good reason I think. Or at least I thought so at the time. Lately I've tried not to think about it at all. Water under the bridge and all that rubbish.

Still to have confirmation, from such an unexpected source, after so much time had passed - it freaked me out a little. Okay, it freaked me out a lot. Because no matter how much I've suspected this, having my suspicions confirmed was a little like pouring gasoline onto a fire that has almost, but not quite, gone out completely.

My feelings flared up, and I spent a few hours enjoying the warmth of that fire.

After a while, though, I knew. That warmth was nothing but an illusion.

I'd reacted to the news the way I'd expected myself to react. I'd reacted, I think, the way any normal person would have reacted. I'd reflexively told myself Wow! This is huge! when in fact it didn't change a thing. I'd reacted like a normal person when in fact I haven't been one of those in a long time.

A secret kept for so long must have had a damn good reason for staying hidden. Signs are ignored for a reason. Hints are twisted into something else, something innocent, for a reason. I had justification for keeping quiet, and she must have had her own. Maybe we even shared the same motive for our secrecy. I don't think it even matters.

When I heard this news, I felt for a time like all of the possibilities in my life had suddenly merged into a single reality. But the truth is, that reality was already in place, and I was already living it. Nothing was changed by the knowledge I had gained. Too much time has passed.

I'm going to stop rambling now.

What's this? A beer report on a Sunday?!?

It didn't start out that way, but not many things in my life live up to the promises made at the beginning, so what the fuck.

After I spent all day Saturday working in the prison hospital with that girl, I was feeling a little ripped off. No beer make Dave something something. Or something like that.

Today, after I slept off the 20 hours of work from Saturday, I awoke at about 11:30, just raring to go. Go where, you ask? Back to bed actually. But I didn't.

Instead I went and got part of my Christmas shopping out of the way. A couple of things about that:

1. Remember when Toys R Us used to have actual toys? Now it's a damn clothing store.


2. This store called Hobby Lobby was closed. On the Sunday before Christmas. A sign in their door proclaimed This store is closed on Sunday to allow our employees the opportunity to worship with their families. As an agnostic that lives alone, I'm offended by this shoving of the so-called Sabbath into my life, not to mention the rubbing into my face the fact that I have no family to spend my Sunday with. Plus, I really needed to pick some shit up there for Christmas, and now I'll have to go back on a weekday. Fuckers.

So I got about half my shopping done, and because it was still a little bit early, I went to Buckhead's in Jeffersonville to get something to eat.

This was either a brilliant idea or a huge mistake. I haven't decided yet.

As is typical for me, I first checked out the taps. Did my eyes deceive me? No! That's Upland Chocolate Stout! Yay!

I sat at a table and ordered a beer, remembering to get an unchilled glass.

I tried to divert this nagging impulse that had taken over my brain. I really did try.

I relished my Upland Chocolate Stout (44) and I perused the food menu.

I called my cousin Jeff, but he was busy doing some shopping of his own. He said he'd be at the Hooter's across the street from Buckhead's in a couple of hours though.

I called SpikeBoy, but he was on his way to work.

Once the waitress, who recognized me from before, asked me if "that blonde girl" would be joining me, my resolve was all gone.

I called MixedSignalGirl.

So much for that compassionate disassociation thing that I've been trying.

She made the quick drive over to join me for lunch, and we did a bit of catching up. I told her about my Las Vegas trip. Everything about that trip. She told me about her new job, and that her car (the one that she hit the deer with) had finally died so she was driving a new one.

I'd like to say that it was just like old times, but it wasn't. Something was definitely missing. We both noticed it, but neither of us would say it. Not to each other anyway. I'll say it here.

Whatever it was that she felt for me during the Summer, it's gone now. I looked into her eyes and I saw nothing. Serves me right I suppose.

I had another Upland (60). I'd really like to have a beer-off between the chocolate stouts from Upland and Rogue. It just may be possible, since Rich O's is slated to get the Rogue sometime during Saturnalia.

After we'd eaten I walked her out to her new car. It's pretty nice. We exchanged a hug and a quick kiss, and said goodbye. Perhaps for the last time, I dunno.

Kind of sad.

On the way back to my truck, I stuck my head into Hooter's to see if Jeff had arrived yet. I wasn't sure if I'd even recognize him since it's been about nine months. He was there, and I did recognize him.

I sat and talked with Jeff for an hour or so and had a couple glasses of Newcastle (1760). Yummy as always.

I guess that's it.

A million zillion years ago, or it might have been Friday night, I went to Rich O's.

It was the first night of their Saturnalia festival. A couple dozen yummy rare, seasonal, and festive beers from around the world. The highlight of my beer year.

I arrived at about 8:00. The place was pretty crowded, but not quite as crowded as I'd feared. I managed to grab a seat at the kiddie table, and I ordered my first beer.

Ridgeway Seriously Bad Elf (20)

(draft) Arrived within a storm of convtroversy, so a bit of a tough reputation to live up to. I don't think it quite managed. A nice dark amber beer, with good head and lacing. The flavor was a little sour - something that I wasn't expecting at all. I won't be bothering to have this beer again.

During my time at the kiddie table, I spent most of my time talking with TallLady and GlassesGirl. I also focused most of my attention on the throne, where some shithead was sitting, because it looked like said shithead would be leaving soon and I wanted to grab that seat. To sit in the throne on the first night of Saturnalia would be a rare privilege indeed.

But that's exactly what happened. About 1.2 seconds after the shithead stood up, I planted my butt onto the throne. I ordered one of these:

De Dolle Special Extra Export Stout (10)

(draft) Fizzy and a little metallic, which was quite a strange sensation coming from a stout. More coffee than chocolate flavored, so not my favorite even once the fizz had faded.

Oh yeah, UplandWheatDude was there. He's one of LaptopGirl's ex-boyfriends. Not that asshole - the cool one. We did quite a bit of bullshitting throughout the night until he dropped a bit of a bomb on me and I sort of shut up. More about that later, maybe.

After a while, HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in and joined us in the living room area. There was also some patronizing fuckhead that I didn't like at all. He basically badmouthed everybody's beer selection all night long. What an asshole.

My third beer was another new one for me.

Oaken Barrel Epiphany (10)

(draft) A fairly standard tripel with a hint of apricots. Quite good. I wish I could say more about this beer, but there was really nothing special about it.

I'd like to be able to say more about Friday. It was a fun night. It was good to see UplandWheatDude, and seeing HatGirl is always a treat. In fact, once PatronizingAsshole left, it was one of the most enjoyable nights I've had in a long time.

But most of the conversations will either remain private or they'll get their own journal entry. So for now, you readers will just have to yawn your way through the beer descriptions.

My last beer of the night was, again, a new one for me.

Anchor Our Special Ale 2005 (20)

(draft) Pretty damn good. Higly malty, with a touch of coffee. No chocolate or licorice at all, but still a good beer.

Anyway, like I said, it was a good night. I got to talk with GlassesGirl, and HatGirl, and TallLady, and UplandWheatDude, and LuckyFucker. I talked to RealTrainGirl on the phone for a bit. I had fun. It was expecially fun considering how crowded it was. Without the good company I'd have been a basket case.

Cat hair. The bane of my existence.

Cat hair exists in a gaseous form in my house. Cat hair drifts through the air until it comes into contact with a solid substance - usually some dark fabric that I'm wearing - at which point it clings with a tenacity that would make even my Chinese stalker proud.

That strand then acts as a sort of a beacon for other cat hair still floating around, and it all begins to swarm, like moths to a flame, towards its brother.

If I stay really quiet I can almost hear the tiny whump! whump! whump! of all that cat hair slamming into me every second of every minute of every day.

Today the repairman vacuumed approximately a gazillion cubic meters of cat hair from beneath my refrigerator. Enough hair that, if I were so inclined, and if I were an expert in such dark arts, I could conjure up a new cat for every man, woman, and child on Earth, and still have plenty left over for festive holiday decorations.

The repairman couldn't find anything else wrong. "You just had no air flow down there," he told me. "That meant that it took the ice forever to form, if it ever formed at all. You should vacuum under here about every three months."

So that's just great. More work for me, unless I can talk the girl that cleans my house into vacuuming under there for me.

Of course I won't know for sure that everything has been fixed until I see actual ice accumulating in the hopper.