Let it be known and recorded that on October 30th, 2004, I spent the entire day in a good mood.

Clinging to optimism may be difficult but it's pretty cool when it works.

This is a fairly small chance that the idea that popped into my head this morning is actually true. I don't think it's the least likely explanation, but it's certainly not the most likely.

What makes this possibility so intriguing to me is that, in this scenario, everything is not my fault. Some things certainly are, but not everything.

Of course I can't discuss this theory with anyone because they'd be sure to point out all kinds of blaring inconsistencies that I've managed to overlook in my sleep-deprived state.

an-noy-ing
adj.
1. Causing vexation or irritation; troublesome.

mo-ron
n.
1. A person regarded as very stupid.

loud-mouth
n.
1. One given to loud, irritating, or indiscreet talk.

I got to the bar a little before 9:00. The place was extremely crowded, but I was able to grab the only seat at the bar next to a group of Rich O's professional beer drinkers.

Oh yeah, before I sat down I grabbed the latest postcard from LaptopGirl and read it so I could get that task over with. Of course I got sad, and that pretty much set the tone for the next couple of hours.

I had a Mad Bitch and listened to the PBDs play a game of Trivial Pursuit while I checked every ten seconds to see if a spot anywhere else had opened up. The Mad Bitch tasted a little off to me - there was kind of a rotten flavor that I couldn't quite identify. My next beer was an NABC Tunnel Vision that tasted very good.

At one point, shortly after UnbearablyAnnoyingDude started arguing that opossums are not mammals, I had what I thought was the brilliant idea of leaving the bar area and sitting in the dining area. Anything to get away from the throng.

CoffeeDude had appeared and he ended up joining me at a table. I hadn't seen him since LaptopGirl's departure and I felt compelled to spew my guts out. I keep saying that I don't want to talk about it, but once I get started I can't seem to shut up.

CoffeeDude recommended a Bell's Best Brown Ale so I had one of those. Here's my ratebeer.com rating:

(draft) Not too bad, but not all that great either. There was nothing that really stood out at all. Just a decent fairly generic brown ale. I like Newcastle better.

LaptopGirl called for her Rich O's report and her horoscope reading. There seemed to be some kind of interference with the call and it was quite difficult to understand what she was saying. One thing I was able to pick up was that the original plan of LaptopGirl visiting me in Las Vegas next month has been replaced with my driving to visit her instead. To be perfectly honest, both plans scare me, and I told LaptopGirl as much. I'll just have to see what kind of a mood I'm in when the time comes. Perhaps we can just arrange to wave at each other from opposite rims of the Grand Canyon.

After what seemed like an eternity Rich O's proper finally cleared out enough that CoffeeDude and I were able to grab some seats in the living room area. We were joined by ExBartender. I didn't stay too long after that because it seemed that I'd miscalculated my alcohol intake. Got home around 1:00 and watched The Blair Witch Project.

The five most stupid reasons for voting for Kerry:

5. Because he was in Vietnam.

4. Because his initials are JFK.

3. Because the Red Sox won the world series.

2. Because of something he said.

And finally,

1. Because "Anybody but Bush!"

The five most stupid reasons for voting for Bush:

5. Because he can catch a football.

4. Because Clinton got a blow job.

3. Because the Red Sox beat the Yankees.

2. Because if Bush wins then Hillary runs in 2008.

And finally,

1. Because Kerry "looks French."

Halloween is in a couple of days, so I thought I'd write about the only "true" story of the supernatural that I've ever been a direct witness to.

My grandmother died on September 27, 1998 in a nursing home. Before she went to the home she'd lived in a relative's home for about a year. Before that, she'd been in the same house for nearly 60 years. That's the house I'm talking about here.

I grew up about 100 yards from MaMaw's house, and I spent a very large part of my childhood in it. With my parents working all the time my sisters and I spent nearly as much time in that old house as we did in our own. All of my cousins would come over to play pretty often. We had Christmas lunch there. From the time I was about 10 until I was 18 I spent at least two nights every week in that house.

No matter how much time I spent there, the house still scared the shit out of me sometimes.

It's just a creepy house. The upstairs in particular - many of the rooms have crudely-nailed panels blocking access to or from the attic. As a kid I was always afraid of those areas and would usually sneak past them while watching carefully for an arm, or a tentacle, or whatever I was most afraid of during that particular time in my life.

But enough background. I was a kid. It was an old house. It scared me.

A couple of days after my grandmother died my cousin Jeff and I went up to the old house to look around. Though nobody had lived there for over a year, there was still electricity and water since my uncle had been using it for storage.

This was the first time I'd been in the house since MaMaw had died, and it was the first time Jeff had been there in at least a few years.

So we went into the house and were immediately stunned by how warm it was. It must have been over a hundred degrees there. The furnace was going full-blast and the registers were almost too hot to touch.

I went to the thermostat against the kitchen wall and, sure enough, it was set at the absolute maximum. I turned it back down to about 50 or so and Jeff and I continued our explorations.

The next day I mentioned to another cousin (one who's father was using the old place for storage) that I'd lowered the thermostat.

He got a quizzical look on his face, and told me that there was no way that the furnace could have been going, that there was no way that the house could have been that warm.

You see, when my grandmother had moved out of the house, over a year earlier, they'd removed the propane tank.

I confirmed this rather alarming fact myself. The house had no gas supply. The furnace had no fuel. The pilot light was long dead.

So that's the story of the weirdest thing I've ever experienced. If I was better at writing about scary stuff I bet you'd be shitting your pants right about now.

I'm just sitting here giving my TiVo time to record Survivor so I can skip all of the commercials. I've got about five more minutes.

Back in 1994 or 1995 I ran out of gas on the way home from pool league. I let my car coast into a driveway - pretty much the only wide spot on that rural King County WA road - and since I was only about a mile from home I just walked.

The next morning I had my roommate drive me to get some gas then drop me off at my car.

What I found at my car was both funny and scary at the same time.

These people had cows. A lot of cows. They also had no fence - just some metal tubes crossing their driveway that the cows couldn't cross without twisting their ankles or whatever.

Do cows even have ankles?

Anyway, I guess my car being parked there must have been just about the most exciting these cows had seen in years.

There must have been three dozen of them, mostly standing but some laying, completely surrounding my car and mooing up a storm.

The cows' excitement at having a car in their midst was trumped only by the presence of an actual human being (my lovely self) and those things crowded around me like photographers around a celebrity. Their moos increased their tempo and volume. I was a rock star to those cows.

Once I'd gassed up my car I pulled out of the driveway. I actually had to nudge cows out of the way with my car.

I felt really bad seeing them as they watched me drive away.

I like to imagine that they made a legend out of my visit, and that they pass the story down from generation to generation.

Moo, my old friends, moo.

This stupid dingbat at the gas station this morning tried to charge me regular price for my Diet Vanilla Cokes because - get this - she thought that the sale price was only for the bottles on display directly under the sign in front of her cash register.

The fact the the same sign was taped to the door of the cooler unit I got my bottles from meant nothing to her because she couldn't see that sign from where she was standing.

What a stupid bitch.

(I'm in a good mood. I'm not breaking my new rule about depressing entries. Seriously.)

Back seven or eight years ago there was a time when I thought I was sad.

Oh, maybe I actually was sad in the watered-down way I felt emotions back then.

The source of my discomfort was, of course, a woman. She'd wronged or mistreated me in some way and so I got these pseudo-emotions whenever I was around her.

I remember going to my favorite bar each weekend back then, hoping that she wouldn't be there. I was a nervous wreck every time I went up the hill and turned into the parking lot. This continued for several months until I moved away from Seattle.

Then, last Fall when I visited that old bar, I found myself nervous all over again. Even though I hadn't thought of her in years those old pseudo-emotions still managed to work their way back to the surface.

Luckily she was not there and I was able to really enjoy my visit.

For the past several days I've been reminded of those days because every time I round the curve leading into the Rich O's parking lot I find myself scanning that lot for a certain car. A car that I know is a gazillion miles away.

Someday that car will be there. Maybe weeks from now, maybe months from now. Maybe sooner, maybe later. At some point, I keep telling myself, I'll round that curve and see that car and...

and...

And then what?

This is what makes me nervous today. Back in Seattle I didn't want to deal with the sadness I thought I was feeling. These days it's not the threat of sadness that's giving me pause - it's the threat of joy. Of unbelievable relief. Of pure giddiness. Of making a complete ass of myself.

Someday, I'll round that curve, see that car, and probably have a nervous breakdown or something.

These are not watered-down emotions I'm dealing with anymore. No matter how fleeting or unwarranted or ridiculous - they're still completely real and at times they still threaten to overwhelm me. This is the price I've paid for allowing myself to become human again.

Ha ha. I just remembered this dog we had back when I was a kid. That stupid dog. Every day when my sister Dina and I would get off the school bus this dog would come running across the yard, just pissing all over itself it was so happy to see us. It was like a moving piss fountain, a beautiful expression of love that has me grinning ear-to-ear while I sit here twenty five years later thinking about it.

I keep telling myself that she will return someday. That's what keeps me going. The alternative is unthinkable - I will see her again someday.

Every time I round that curve I just know her car won't be there but I still look. Every time a shadow darkens the door inside Rich O's I just know it won't be her but I still look. Every time I hear a woman's voice I just know it's not hers but I still look.

Someday I'll just know she's not back and I'll be wrong and there she'll be.

I wonder, though, if anything short of pissing all over myself will be enough to express what I'll be feeling when that day comes.

I'm nervous because I don't know what I'll do. Probably just try to play it cool, act all nonchalant. Maybe give her a hug and buy her a beer.

I'm sure I'll be pissing on the inside though.

(Writing this entry made me smile.)

Man I'm so ate up.

This evening, fueled I'm sure by the two NABC Tunnel Vision pints I had while waiting for my calzone to arrive, I found myself calling LaptopGirl.

I was stuck in traffic, or at least what passes for traffic in Southern Indiana, and the need to talk to her just overwhelmed me. Just for a couple of seconds, but long enough to scroll to her number in my cell phone's memory and hit talk.

It was very nice to talk to her if for no other reason than the paranoia-easing tone of the conversation.

Beyond that, however, I'm truly happy for how relaxed she sounds on the phone. I'm truly relieved that she didn't simply hang up on me.

I think I just need for her to know that even though she's a zillion miles away there's at least one person back in Indiana that misses her unconditionally. Of course there are undoubtedly several, but none of those people are talking to me anymore. What with everything being my fault and all.

Oops, there's that paranoia again.

Oh yeah - I'm supposed to read this new postcard that she sent to Rich O's, and the thought of that fills me with dread, but I'll read it because she asked me to.

I've decided to pretend that I didn't hear the part about the new job. That just sounds too permanent so I'm going to pretend I didn't hear it, and I won't write about it again.

I'm going to stop writing now because I'm in a good mood and want to stay that way for a while.

One thing that's strange is that I've got this brace on my left wrist but it's my right wrist that feels weird because I had to move my watch there.

I don't know how those damn southpaws do it.

Last year at about this time I sprained my wrist.

Last night, because I'm still so wild in bed, I sprained the damn thing again.

I should get someone to kiss it better.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I have nobody.

Now where's that wrist brace?