When somebody comes into my house to clean it and leaves the thermostat set at minus 61 degrees when they leave.

Well, my muse has been nagging me once again to write something. I've tried to explain that feeling nothing is often quickly followed by thinking nothing, and that thinking nothing is inevitably followed by writing nothing. But she'll have none of that nonsense apparently, so I'm going to write.

I'm going to write about this dream I had last night.

I tell you this now so, if you're like me and hate reading about other peoples' dreams, you can leave now before it's too late.

Still here? Well don't say I didn't warn you.

I was at a party at ElPresidente's house. Just about everyone I knew from Rich O's was there, including a certain girl that I may have mentioned from time to time in this 'blog.

I was sitting on a couch, talking with this certain girl about something or another - I don't remember what exactly. What I do remember is that, in a single sentence, she said the word "kiss" four times. There was just something about the way she said the word. The way she drew it out and added syllables.

She wanted me to kiss her.

My dream self is quite a bit more brave than my awake self. I leaned over to her and gave her the softest kiss I could manage.

I was instantly hard, and so I instantly regretted the kiss. I'd tried to do something sweet, to be a good guy, and my body was trying to turn it into something completely different. I pulled away and started to stammer out an apology.

But she, she would have none of that nonsense apparently, because she followed me as I pulled away, and she followed me as I leaned back as far as I could. She kissed me several times, then we kissed each other several times. Tentatively at first, like we were both just feeling things out, but after a bit our lips parted in unison.

I got to first base with her, and I was nearly weeping from the relief and the happiness - the joy of it. She was crying openly, and telling me that I had no idea how long she'd been hoping that this would happen.

So at that point, we both knew that things were going to progress beyond the point where the middle of ElPresidente's living room would be the appropriate setting. Luckily for us, the FirstCouple had planned ahead, and were taking reservations for the numerous bedrooms in the house.

Unluckily for us, we were told that we had at least a two-hour wait. Must have been a randy bunch at the party.

We spent the next two hours waiting, cuddling on the couch, sneaking kisses when we thought nobody would be looking. It was both the happiest, and the most frustrating, period of my life. I got some under the blouse second-base action, but I wanted to SEE.

Eventually, FINALLY, one of the bedrooms opened up. RealTrainGirl and MusicalHippeeDude came down the stairs looking disheveled and holding hands (WTF?!?) and ElPresidente told us that it was our turn.

We stood up...

...and I woke up.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

Now this damn dream kept me awake for the rest of the night. I could (and still can) remember every touch, every smell, every taste, every emotion. I've had very few dreams in my life that were this vivid and that had so much feeling in them.

I think what got to me though was not so much the specific content of the dream as the fact that I'd never had that type of dream about her before. Only a handful of times has my dream self ever even encountered her, and those times had never included anything romantic or sexual at all. Unless you count the time that I was seven and she was five or six.

Now, if I believed in this shit at all, I'd figure that maybe the girl in my dream was nothing more than a metaphor. A metaphor for the girl that even now continues to scale the walls of my fortress.

The girl that told me I had to write something.

My lovely muse, who is always forced to take a back seat. Even in my dreams.

But I don't believe in this shit, so I'm interpreting the dream as a true representation of what my heart wants.

I wish things were different. I really do. For her sake and mine.

One of my little weekly rituals as a 'blogger is to read back through the previous week's entries and see if there's anything worth putting into my quotes file.

There are usually a few things that manage to catch my eye as being funny or moving or insightful or ludicrous, so I add them to the file and they go into the random rotation on my main page.

Today I went through last week's stuff, and I selected a few things that I deemed quote-worthy. I put them into the file, and then I view them all in a browser to make sure everything still displays okay.

Viewing the page with all the quotes, it's kind of neat for me. I remember how I felt, what was going on with my life, when I wrote all of those things, so just viewing those little snippets never fails to bring it all back. I get kind of a 10,000 foot view of my own life and my own feelings and how they've progress (or not) since I started doing this 'blog stuff. Like I said, kind of neat.

I got to thinking this morning, wondering actually - What will this quotes file look like in 10 years? Will 'blogs still exist in 10 years? Will I still exist in 10 years? Will I still be fucked up? What will my life be like?

Of course I don't know the answers to any of those questions, but I know what I'd like to see in that quotes file, 10 years from now.

I turned 50 this year, but that's the physical me. I often feel like I'm just 10 years old. I remember being born a decade ago, and it was more painful than I could imagine. But if that's what it took to get me where I am today, with this beautiful person next to me, sharing my life with me, if that's what it took, then it was all worth it.

Last week I tried this new BBC beer. I promised to try it again, and tonight I kept that promise:

Bluegrass Smoked Porter (34)

(draft) The first time I saw this, they were calling it "Smokey the Beer." What a stupid name. This beer tasted terrible for the first few ounces, then once my palate had been beaten into submission, it tasted pretty damn good. A lot like their regular, non-smoked porter. It's probably the same beer. Just a touch of smoked malt, a little chocolate. I liked it.

I ended up having two glasses (a 20oz. and a 10oz.) of this beer. I talked to the bartender for a while (see previous entry). I also attempted a couple of conversations with the people sitting near me at the bar, but they would have none of that. If the place wasn't so damn far from my house I probably would have just stayed there for the entire night. There were a lot of pretty women there. Women that have no idea what a dork I am. I felt like a tourist, and I liked it.

But I did end up driving back to the world after just the two glasses, and I went to Rich O's, where something strange happened.

When I first walked in, there was this incredibly hot girl sitting with a bunch of people in the loser area. She locked eyes with me and licked her eyebrows. Or maybe she just smiled. Doesn't matter which - the result was the same. I got weak in the knees and transformed into a shy schoolgirl. As my powers do not normally work inside that building I just smiled at her and then went into Rich O's proper.

NotGeorge was there at the bar, so I sat and had myself a Spezial Rauchbier (620). I bullshitted with him a for a while, pausing about 10 times to go to the bathroom so I could lock eyes with the hot girl again.

I still wanted to do something with my Saturday, and the living room area was full of loud people, and there seemed to be no chance that they'd be clearing out anytime soon, and NotGeorge was leaving, and I was obviously incapable of actually approaching the hot girl in the loser area. I remembered that DooRagGirl's ex-husband's band was playing at this Mac's place, so I decided to go there.

Oh yeah, while NotGeorge and I were sitting at the bar this dude came and sat with us. It was one of the guys that had blown me off at the BBC earlier! He swore that he wasn't stalking me, but I couldn't be sure.

As I was leaving Rich O's, the hot girl smiled at me and said "Bye, Dave." I managed to sputter out that I was going to Mac's Hideaway if her and her friends wanted to come, then I left.

I have no idea where this girl knows me from.

So I went to this Mac's place and ordered a Newcastle (1620) in a non-frosted glass. There was a wedding reception going on (how classy is that?) and so there were a half-dozen pretty girls in their bridesmaids dresses. It was fun watching them all dance, and I had a couple Diet Cokes to finish out the night.

Taken from faymow.

7 things I plan to do before I die:
1. Visit all 50 U.S. States.
2. Visit Europe.
3. Find a two-sided relationship and nurture it.
4. Grow a spine.
5. Be understood by at least one person.
6. Explore Alaska some more.
7. Get some fucking closure.

7 things I can do:
1. Play pool.
2. Juggle.
3. Solve a Rubik's Cube in under two minutes.
4. Carry a conversation with just about anyone.
5. Win at Blackjack.
6. Enjoy my own company.
7. Hold a grudge.

7 things I cannot do:
1. Handle rejection.
2. Wait.
3. Take a hint.
4. Be cruel, even when it's necessary.
5. Dunk a basketball.
6. Eat hot peppers.
7. Read minds.

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Sense of humor.
2. Friendliness.
3. Intelligence.
4. Eyes.
5. Smiles.
6. Soft touches.
7. Empathy.

7 things I say most often:
1. Who are these fuckers?
2. I have no plans.
3. Yummy.
4. Yay!
5. That's a brilliant idea. Not. (I say this to myself)
6. Buddy, stop shitting on my floor!
7. Anyway...

7 celebrity crushes:
1. Piper Perabo.
2. Elisa Dushku.
3. Evangeline Lilly.
4. Liv Tyler.
5. Amy Lee.
6. Patricia Velasquez.
7. Kate Beckinsale.

7 people I want to do this:
I don't care.

You know, I'm sitting here, beginning another double-venue entry, and I just don't see the point. This will be very brief and it will still be too long.

Yesterday afternoon we had lunch at The Red Star. I had a Goose Island Honker's Ale (84). Seemed a little more bitter than it was in Chicago, but that may have just been my mood.

Next I had a draft Bluegrass Dark Star Porter (110). Pretty good I guess, but I'm starting to think that this beer is nothing but burnt malt, with a little burnt chocolate in it.

Last night, Rich O's was completely full of idiots. I grabbed a seat on the sofa where I was treated to some words of wisdom from this old lady who was there with her grandkids or great great great grandkids or something.

I bet that 90% of the people that stayed in New Orleans only stayed so they could rob the houses of the people that had evacuated.

You racist bitch.

I almost spit out some of my precious Delirium Tremens (337) when I heard that one.

The next vomit to leave this woman's mouth was this, about 'blogging:

What happens is, these 'bloggers get a consensus about some current event, then they write about it, and there's a discussion about it.

You utter moron.

This is pretty much the exact opposite of what 'bloggers do.

At about this time I got shit from one of my friends for not wanting to drive eleven zillion miles to sit around and do nothing but drink. I can sit around and do nothing but drink at Rich O's (much closer to my home) and there's always a chance that somebody that's not retarded may come in and make an interesting evening of it.

Also at about this time I ordered a Baltika "6" Porter (142). Yummy.

But my favorite idiocy of the night came from one of the great great great great grandkids. He was sitting on the loveseat, reading a food menu, and he stopped the bartender and asked:

Hey, Chief, can we get food here?

I so wanted the bartender to tell him that sorry, the menus are for decoration only. But he didn't.

When these people finally left (off to a Mensa meeting no doubt) the old lady dug out some Mardi Gras necklaces for me. That was nice of her, but she's still not getting any. I gave the red necklace to TallLady, and after a while Bubbles came in so she got the purple necklace. I'm saving the green one for VigilanteGirl.

The Tremens had, as I'd known it would, screwed up my drinking schedule, so I only had the two beers. I got home a little after 10:00 and watched The Blues Brothers.

Wow, this entry turned out to be a lot longer than I'd expected. Still boring though.

One of the nice things about my company is that we get a four-day weekend for Labor Day.

So that made Thursday a virtual Friday. So I went to Rich O's.

The place was pretty dead. Only a few semi-regulars, and nobody that I'd consider a friend. WomanRepellant was there so that may have had something to do with it.

To drink, I first had a Baltika "6" Porter (125). Yummy as always. Next I had a Young's Double Chocolate Stout (135). This craving for chocolatey beers has been going on for quite a while now. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I do find it surprising to be craving anything that's not a smoked porter or a Belgian.

It was a fairly boring night. Once CrewCutGirl and her friend left I sat alone in the living room area for a while, then I went to White Castle and came home.

So there's this one chick, a semi-regular at Rich O's, who is perhaps the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Note, please, that I said seen and not known. Or even met.

She's maybe little too stocky. She's perhaps little bit on the "cuddly" side of slender. She's possibly a little bit bottom-heavy. Her hairstyle is a crew-cut, of all things. A girl that you might not notice at all, and if you did you'd probably figure she was a carpet muncher. In other words, a completely normal person for Rich O's. You probably wouldn't give her a second glance if you weren't a lesbian yourself.

Unless you got lucky, as I did when I first saw her. Unless you got lucky enough to see her smile.

This girl is possessed of what TallLady once called "Good bone structure." That's how she pulls off the crew-cut. So she is pretty, in a generic and unremarkable way.

Until she smiles.

When she smiles, angels in heaven claw their own eyes out because they cannot bear the beauty that's revealed.

When she smiles, flowers close their petals, and butterflies ground themselves, and sunsets halt their progress. They all know that they cannot compete, so they do not even try.

Her smile lights up a gloomy room the way a lighthouse does a rocky coast. It shows everyone that there is an unthreatening path, that there is a safe harbor, that there is something worthwhile at the end of the voyage. Whatever that voyage may be.

I don't know this girl at all. I talked to her for the first time tonight. I said something funny, and I made her smile.

That right there, that I could, if only for a moment, bring such beauty into the world, that should be enough to carry me for quite a while.

Okay, I'm going to go ahead and make some predictions regarding the outcome of this show.

These predictions should prove, once and for all, that I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. Especially when it comes to music.

I mean, a half-hour ago I was talking with my sister about INXS (the olden days' version) and I actually found myself disagreeing with her.

I'm the guy that, two months ago, wouldn't have recognized an INXS song or a band member if, as Jack Nicholson so famously said, I were pissing on one. My sister, meanwhile, probably knows all of that old stuff by heart.

Anyway, like I said, I'm going to make some predictions. Here they are:

Suzie: I just can't see INXS picking a woman to sing for them. I'm not really saying that I think that they're a bunch of chauvinistic pigs. Okay, maybe I am saying that a little, but the main reason that I don't think Suzie will win is that she's just not good enough, or possessing of range enough, to carry an entire album or concert appearance.

Jordis: I've already said this, but I really hope hat Jordis doesn't win the thing. I don't think that she will, both because she's a woman, but also because I don't think the INXS members are idiots. They have to realize that any band with Jordis doing the fronting is going to become The Jordis Band and every other member will become irrelevant. I don't think these guys want to become (any more) irrelevant, so I don't think they'll choose Jordis.

Mig: Mig is my sister's pick to win the thing. I guess I can picture it happening, but I'm still a little concerned about Mig's range. He can definitely sing some songs really well, but he can also suck if the song doesn't suit his voice and style.

Marty: I like Marty's singing a little better than Mig's, but I think he's got the same set of problems. If he wins I don't expect INXS keep him past that first album and tour. Marty is the one I'd like to see win.

JD: JD is my prediction for winning this thing. Not not not not because I think he can sing. Also not because I think he's cute, though my female friends seem to think so. Nope, I think he will win because he's the performer most likely to sloppily lap away at the 15-year-old genitalia of the band's rock stardom. I think that's what the band is looking for - someone to kiss their asses and tell them how great they are.

Those are my predictions. We'll find out in a few weeks just how much of a dumbass I am.