Okay, so the house in the lower left is mine, and the house in the upper left - two houses up from me - that house isn't there any more.

Pretty messed up.

Weird.

The house two houses down from me is burning.

At least that's what we all assume. The six fire trucks and the four police cars are sort of a dead giveaway. They've blocked off the street at my driveway, and again about a mile down the road, so you can't actually see any fire. A couple of hours ago the smoke was impressive though.

So I went down to Buckhead's for my birthday dinner. I was alone, but I kinda had a point to make, so I did.

With my meal I had some Newcastle (1854).

I came home to find nothing changed except that there's no more smoke. All of the fire trucks are still there, and the road is still blocked off. I walked out and asked the cop in front of my driveway if everyone got out okay, and he said that they did, so that's good. I don't know those people but their cat used to come and eat some of Spook's food back when Spook was alive.

Just a couple of things that I didn't write about already.

In December, when I was in Las Vegas, My friend Eric and his wife were, unbeknownst to me, also in Las Vegas. This sucks that they were there and I didn't know about it. It would have been so much fun to hang out and do touristy stuff with them!

One of the nice things about this, um, emotional reversion I've done is that not much can really bother me. It's given me a nice sense of perspective. Stuff that a couple of weeks ago would have pissed me off or made me sad - it is all nothing when I compare it to what I've already been though, and what I'm going through again.

So, world, throw your worst at me, you fucker. I can take it.

Having said that, it is a little annoying how I continue to find myself attracted to women that are inappropriate or unavailable. This is a defense mechanism that I'd really like to shake off.

I guess that's it.

(Part two)

Up to this point, we'd all still been sitting in the red room, but maintaining watchful eyes for any other seats to open up. I still didn't know who was going to show up, and the red room - even with both tables - will hold about ten people and that's it.

Once a couple of strangers (ha ha, take that, FutureDude!) left the island we moved there and took advantage of the more compact grouping to bullshit about various fluff.

I showed everyone my new rock.

My next beer was a yummy Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (510), which has I guess switched to twelve-ounce bottles for now. I actually had two more of these (534).

At one point my friend Eric came in. I hadn't seen him in like a million years. His wife had to stay home with a sick child, so Eric ended up completing the attendee list. So, to review:

1. My lovely self


2. SpoonsGirl


3. SpoonsGirl's husband SirTalksALot


4. My sister Dina


5. Dina's Fiance Kenny


6. My oldest friend Eric

1. MusicalHippyDude


2. GlassesGirl


3. HotRedHead


4. This other hot girl that turned out to have the worst taste in ex-husbands I've ever seen

1. HatGirl


2. LuckyFucker


3. SassyGirl


4. SassyBoy


5. TacoBell


6. SpikeBoy


7. My cousin Jeff


8. DooRagGirl

Eventually, as nights tend to do, this one wound down. Eventually it was just me and Eric. I had myself a half-pint of Guinness (1092). We were joined, at various intervals, by NoNicknameDude and ElPresidente and FirstLady, though they were there for their own reasons - not for my pre-birthday thingy.

Several people wanted to go over to Jack's once Rich O's closed. Eric was one of those people, and because it's so rare to see Eric anymore I agreed to go as long as nobody tried to force me to drink shots.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: There's still only one person one Earth that I'll do shots for, and her name is Holly, and she wasn't there last night. I miss Holly.)

So Eric and I and NoNicknameDude and HotRedHead all went over to Jack's. I had a couple of Diet Cokes, and we played a few games of pool. We ended up closing the place down. I'd planned on going to White Castle but the temperature was in the single digits so I came straight home instead.

One of the more unpleasant, but not at all unexpected, repercussions of having friends and family gather at Rich O's for an occasion like last night's pre-birthday thingy is that I'm roped into being the beer guru for the evening. At least for those VPs in the group that are, as Roger would say, flavor-impaired.

Of course, I'm the logical choice for this assignment, but that doesn't mean that I have to enjoy it.

So, first things first. DooRagGirl left me a voicemail at about 6:00, suggesting that I call Rich O's and tell them how many people I was expecting and ask them to reserve some seating for me. I didn't do that because (a) I didn't know how many people would be there, and (b) To ask for reserved seats, in last-minute fashion, for a Saturday night, in that ever-shrinking smoking section, well it's just not something I'd do. I may be evil, but I'm not an asshole.

I arrived at about 7:30, sporting my new WTF? t-shirt that RockGirl had included in my birthday package. It did shrink quite nicely, RockGirl. Anyway, the only people from my group there were SpoonsGirl and her husband, who were sitting in the red room. I was immediately asked to choose a beer for SpoonsGirl that was not bitter, or hoppy, are those the same thing?

Having my priorities in order, I went up to the end of the bar to order myself a beer first. ActualGeorge was sitting there, and we talked for a bit. I mentioned that it was my pre-birthday thingy, and that there were an awful lot of strangers clogging up the living room area. This is my standard gripe lately, as you all probably know, but for whatever reason FutureDude decided to give me shit about it. He told me that those people were there all the time, and that it pissed him off when I called people strangers. Gee, I wonder how he'd have felt if I'd called them assholes or fuckers like I usually do. My definition of a stranger is a pretty basic one: If I've never seen them before in my life, then guess what? They're strangers.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: Also, if you crowd into the living room area, and you pile several hundred coats onto the throne, thereby eliminating that seat from the already small number of seats in the place - if, in other words, you don't have enough people to completely take over the area so you use coats to prevent anyone from sitting there and breaking the flow of your little circle-jerk or whatever you're doing - then you most definitely deserve to be called something worse than strangers.)

So, that was just great, FutureDude was on the rag, and I'd managed to piss him off, and I still hadn't even ordered my beer.

Still having my priorities in order, I took care of the biggest problem first. I ordered myself a t Smisje Mustard Ale (54).

By talking to SpoonsGirl and FutureDude, I gathered that she had already asked for a sample of almost everything Rich O's had on tap, and that she was probably about to send FutureDude out to the local liquor store to pick up more stuff to sample, when I came in.

Okay, so the problem wasn't me. Or it wasn't all me. SpoonsGirl was sampling them to death. I pitched a couple of proposals to her - she had already sampled and dismissed them. So I had her try some of my mustard ale and she liked it enough to order her own glass. So, yay! One down.

My sister Dina and her fiancé came in at about this time, and I was once again pressed into service. Dina didn't want to like anything either, but she was eventually, no thanks to me, able to find Lindemann's Peach tolerable enough to drink.

(SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: When trying a new beer, it is sometimes necessary to do more than simply dip your tongue into it. Beer is meant to be experienced, from the aroma through the flavor to the finish. And sometimes it takes more than one drink before the full experience can be appreciated. To dismiss a fine beer like Bell's Kalamazoo Stout after only a token sip, well it just seems wrong to me.)

My next beer was what was left of Dina's Kalamazoo Stout (354).

(To be continued)

I don't know why the picture turned out so small. I guess the guy that took the picture messed something up.

Got out of the shower to the sound of my ringing phone.

It was MisunderstoodGirl!

Yay!

I haven't talked to her since forever. She was sitting at Rich O's talking to a couple of PBDs, and they told her that they were there for my pre-birthday thingy. She won't be able to stay, but she wanted to call and wish me a happy birthday. That was sweet.

Anyway, besides the coolness of hearing from MisunderstoodGirl, there was another thing I got out of that phone call.

There are people that are there already. At 6:00.

I won't get there until after 7:00 myself, so they'll just have to wait.

The other, more general thing I got out of that phone call is kinda scary.

There are going to be people there. To see me.

I used to, back when I was playing pool publicly, I used to enjoy being the center of attention. Now, not so much. Or not at all.

Plus, I've got a mild case of surprisaphobia going on.

I told RockGirl that I should just stay home, but she told me not to be a dork. So I'm of course going.

I'll just keep an eye on the exits, just in case.

It's snowing like a mother fucker right now.

Do mother fuckers really snow?

What am I, a piece of meat?

The bar was pretty crowded last night, but there was an opening at the left end of the bar. I sat and ordered one of those mustard beers that I like so much (44). There was a chick standing at the end of the bar smoking a cigarette, and she kept poking her head around the wall and looking at me.

So after about five minutes of this, the girl stepped two feet to her right, which put her right next to me, and just stared. After a few seconds, which to me seemed more like a million years, she asked me if I was okay.

I told her I was just ducky, and asked her why she wanted to know.

She said that I looked like I was deep in thought.

I told her that I'd be sure and stop that.

We told each other our names, and she began rubbing my arm while we talked for a few more minutes.

When she left to go rejoin her friends in the front area, she told me that it was nice to meet me.

That's what she thinks.

Weird.

The annoying part was that she was standing like a foot away from me, so all I could see of her was her face. She had a pretty face, but I couldn't check out the rest of her without being obvious about it.

Anyway.

I spent the next hour or so just sitting at the bar. I like sitting there sometimes. With my back to crowd, I can let my imagination out to play for a bit, and travel back to a time when Rich O's was a much happier place for me. To a time when she was there. It's a nice feeling.

WomanRepellant came in and took the seat next to me, and we talked for a bit.

I had a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (315).

After a half-hour or so, I noticed that there were about twenty people completely surrounding me. They were all talking to WomanRepellant. I don't like being closed in, so I picked up my shit and moved over to the throne.

Then, some people came and sat around me and started yakking, so I picked up my shit and went and sat at the island.

I had another Bell's (335), and eventually made my way back to the throne where I talked for a bit with FutureDude and ExBartender.

Came home a little before midnight and shot pool for a while.

I got a PM today, basically telling me that whoever it was liked me better when I'd been drinking because, and I'll go ahead and quote here, "You write much more good stuff when you have dranked alot and your drunk."

Okay, so I'll be a nice guy and ignore the obvious problems with this statement, and I'll instead focus on the underlying message.

Such as it is.

You, whoever you are, you are right, for the most part. I do write better when I've been drinking. I know this, and anyone that's been reading me for any length of time knows this. When I've been drinking, words flow out of me much more easily. When I've been drinking, my inhibitions are either lessened or completely neutered. When I've been drinking, what I write is always a lot closer to what I want to write than it would be otherwise.

So, I have no problem with anyone thinking that I write better when I've been drinking. Hell, I agree with them when they say that.

What I have a problem with, what I take slight umbrage with, what I simply must disagree with, is that I write better when I'm drunk.

The problem I have is this: I've never written a single word here when I was drunk.

The reason for this is simple. I don't get drunk. I am waaaaaaaay too much of a lightweight to ever get drunk, and on those very very rare occasions that I do drink too much, I find myself too busy trying to cope with the swirling and spinning world around me to even consider writing anything.

So there.

And thanks for reading.