un-com-fort-a-ble
adj.
1. Experiencing physical discomfort.
2. Ill at ease; uneasy.
3. Causing anxiety; disquieting

2. doomed
adj.
1. Marked for certain death.
2. In danger of eternal punishment of hell.
3. Marked by or promising bad fortune.

I didn't even want to go out tonight.

My body seems to be rejecting alcohol. Last weekend I got quite a hangover from three beers - this weekend I got quite a hangover from just two beers. Clearly something inside me is telling me to stay away.

Just as clearly, I'm not listening, though I hope to change that.

Tonight Rich O's was about as dead as I've ever seen it. This may be in part due to the incredible boringness of the beer board. IPA this, ESB that, not the best arrangement for someone with my tastes.

My first attempt at a beer was an NABC Beak's Best. Something was incredibly wrong with this beer. The bitterness was almost eye-watering. I could only take a couple of sips before returning it.

While I had a Diet Coke to calm my stomach back down I talked with LaptopGirl and her friend FLAZNCGuy. Actually I sat feeling uncomfortable while they talked. After a little while I got the idea that a Belgian ale might make me feel better so I had a Mad Bitch.

I was right - this helped a lot. By the time it was gone I was feeling like myself again so I ordered an NABC Tunnel Vision.

I think I've had this before, but I didn't remember much about it.

I liked it. The pale color scared me to death but this beer proves that you can't always judge a book by its cover.

Anyway, at one point we were joined by NotGeorge and CoffeeDude. I welcomed them both as they gave me something to do besides stare at my feet.

A bit of comedy was introduced when a bachelor party showed up at Rich O's. The poor groom had a bowling ball chained to his leg to symbolize his impending nuptials. Even though the ball and chain was cleary done in jest, I thought LaptopGirl had a good point when she said she'd never want to marry anyone that thought of her that way.

Anyway.

I've clearly screwed something up, and I feel like I'm under a microscope - everything I say or do is being noted and analyzed. People are making unwarranted assumptions about me, and while I suppose in some ways that's better than being ignored, it's still not welcome.

This, combined with my body's new behaviour of punishing me for every drink I take, has led me to the following decision.

I need to lay off.

I need, for a short while at least, to stop going out to the bar every weekend night.

This drastic measure would hopefully accomplish two things.

First, it would allow my body the time to heal from whatever the hell is causing alcohol to affect it so much.

Second, it would let me prove to myself and others that things I've been saying are true. I'm tired of being looked at with concern and pity.

I'm fine.

I don't believe in this stuff at all, but an old roommate of mine used to swear by his astrology books, and I remember he'd always tell me how August was my opposition month (I'm a Pisces) and how that opposition would tend to throw one obstacle after another at me. It was up to me to overcome these obstacles.

I'm not sure that "avoiding obstacles" would really count as "overcoming obstacles" but it's the best plan I can think of at the moment. This whole situation sucks and I have nobody to blame but myself.

mis-in-ter-pret
v.
1. To interpret erroneously; to understand or to explain in a wrong sense.

Apparently I've screwed up.

I wish I hadn't, and I hope the misunderstanding can be resolved.

I thought I was being completely honest and that I was doing all I could to avoid this misunderstanding, but I guess I didn't do a good enough job.

Anyway, today after work I went to The Bank Shot to shoot for a while. This was the first time I'd been there in several months, and I guess it was good to see that not much had changed. I suppose I'll post about my play in the pool 'blog.

I got to Rich O's at around 10:00 and, like it's been lately, the place was filled mostly with strangers.

There were a few people I knew, and I spent some time talking with them while I had my boring beers.

NotGeorge explained to me that I had fucked up.

CoffeeDude assured me that he was doing just fine.

MisunderstoodGirl reported that her sunburn was healing nicely.

I had a Fischer's and a Stone Smoked Porter, and that's it. I'd last eaten at around 4:00 and I didn't feel like I was ready for anymore alcohol.

There were several Russian girls at Rich O's. I was semi-interested for a bit until they started talking about how much they all hated cats.

What kind of person hates cats?

Not the kind of person I want to know.

One of the Russian girls had pretty cool hair though, and I urged MisunderstoodGirl to grow her hair out like that. I doubt she will.

This is the tale of two people who happen to inhabit the same body.

The other day I was driving to the doctor to get my dog bite looked at. Sharing the bridge with me and several other vehicles was DrunkOrStonedAsshole in a little black Neon. This guy was driving at about 30 MPH and was weaving across all three lanes, nearly causing a half-dozen accidents. Once I finally got in front of this jerk I felt safe enough that I called 9-1-1 and reported his ass to the police. I gave his license number, vehicle description, and a basic description of the driver. I told the police that he'd taken the first New Albany exit and just when I told them that, the guy sideswiped another car and just kept going. I hope they caught the guy before someone got seriously hurt.

So that was GoodCitizenDave, defender of the roads. I felt pretty good about my little bit of crimefighting, and I made sure to tell VigilanteGirl that she'd inspired me with her earlier adventure.

Now fast-forward to Thursday, and I'm sitting at a red light.

For 10 minutes.

With no cross-traffic in sight.

The light was obviously broken, but I still tried the old backing up/pulling forward trick several times trying to get the light to notice my truck and change to green.

It didn't work, so I ran the thing.

Of course I made quite sure that it was safe to proceed, but for the rest of the way to work I couldn't help but look in my rearview mirror every three seconds for the flashing lights that knew were inevitable.

The lights never appeared. I seem to have gotten away with my little crime spree, but I'm sure that VigilanteGirl would kick me out of the SuperFriends if she got word of my alter-ego, CommonCriminalDave.

ra-bies
n.
1. An acute, infectious, often fatal viral disease of most warm-blooded animals, especially wolves, cats, and dogs, that attacks the central nervous system and is transmitted by the bite of infected animals.

One of my neighbors has this dog named Dino.

Dino is a very friendly Black Lab that always "helps" me mow my lawn.

By "helps" I mean he follows me around and barks at my mower, and whenever he sees a stick he picks it up and places it directly in front of said mower. If he doesn't see any sticks he'll go into the woods and get some.

That way, see, I'll have to stop and throw the stick to keep from running over it, and Dino (a Black Lab, remember) thinks that thrown sticks are The Greatest Things In The Universe.

Sounds like a pretty smart dog, right?

Maybe, and maybe not.

One of Dino's less brillant activities is to wait for small sticks - those not worth being moved out of the mower's path - to be thrown by the mower blades. When this happens Dino recognizes the sound immediately and rushes out to try to catch these fast-moving little missiles.

So yesterday Dino is helping me mow as usual and the mower kicks up a stick that's about 4" long and 1" thick.

After he caught the stick Dino started making gagging motions. I thought he'd managed to catch a stick in his throat so of course I got off the mower to help him.

Well the stick wasn't in his throat, but it was lodged in his mouth pretty well. One end of the stick had been impaled by a tooth, and the other end was lodged against the roof of his mouth.

It looked quite painful, and there was some blood.

I must have tried for 15 minutes to get that damn stick out of his mouth, but all I accomplished was to make it hurt more.

He didn't really bite me.

All he did was reflexively close his mouth while I just happened to have both thumbs jammed in there trying to get the stick out.

I don't blame him a bit. Hell maybe his fuzzy dog brain thought I was trying to jam the stick in even further.

I gave up on trying to get the thing out myself and called my neighbor. While I was inside putting hydrogen peroxide on my thumbs I guess Dino managed to remove the thing on his own, because when I went back outside to finish mowing he was right there to help some more.

Today I have a lovely bandage on each thumb, but they're more precautionary than medical. I probably won't need them beyond maybe Wednesday.

im-pro-pri-e-ty
n.
1. An act of undue intimacy.

un-fit-ting
adj.
1. Not in keeping with what is correct or proper.

pa-thet-ic
adj.
1. Arousing or capable of arousing sympathetic sadness and compassion.
2. Arousing or capable of arousing scornful pity.

Wow what a rambling mess that last entry was.

I just had a couple more thoughts that I thought were worth recording.

LaptopGirl, normally a very outgoing and friendly person, suddenly became quite shy when it came time to ask Screech a question about his old show. It was really quite cute when she said that "we" (she motioned to BigWheelGirl and me) had a question "we'd" been dying to ask.

Also, there was a guy in the back of the room that was some kind of lameass heckler. I'm pretty sure this guy has been at the Comedy Caravan every time I've ever been there. I think he must be on staff and they pay him to heckle the performers.

Also, I really don't like it when comedians use politics or other controversial subjects to get cheap applause or boos. I like it even less when people in the audience reflexively react to these obvious ploys.

This is not the WWE where everyone has to be a heel or a face to be successful. Just tell some damn jokes. Entertainers using their position in the spotlight to push their own agendas make me sick.

Also, and this may have just been because I was sitting in the back seat of a fairly large vehicle, BigWheelGirl's driving really made me nervous. I kept wishing she'd just pick a lane and stay inside it.

Finally, LaptopGirl got a call that was a wrong number or something that evolved into a 15-minute conversation during which I don't think she quite told the stranger on the phone her address or Social Security number.

It was a fun night. A little strange to be out without drinking though.

Add awkward ending here.

LaptopGirl asked me a couple of hours ago, "What are you going to write about tonight, Dave?"

I sit here now completely unable to answer that question.

Total writers-block.

Not that I'm a real writer or anything.

Well maybe I'll just start rambling and it will all make sense.

Or maybe not.

Tonight we went to a comedy club to see the guy that played Screech on TV years ago.

When I say "we" I mean LaptopGirl and I, but this was not a date. LaptopGirl's friend BigWheelGirl came as well, probably to make sure I didn't get any ideas.

It was kind of fun to watch them interact - I usually only get to see LaptopGirl interacting with regulars at the bar.

So anyway, this was the first time I'd gone to the club in a long time. Several years ago it seemed like I went fairly often with family and friends but that all stopped for various reasons.

There were three performers, and all were pretty funny. The second guy did a Barney Fife impression that was hilarious.

The people sitting at the table in front of us were assholes - talking to each other during the entire show. Why do people pay money to see a show then completely ignore it?

Because that's what assholes do.

LaptopGirl seemed quite determined to get one of the comedians to go to Rich O's, but I think they all thought she was a little too SwimFanish or something and they kind of blew her off.

I didn't drink anything but Diet Coke all night - my hangover was still enough of a presence that even the whiff of beer I got at Rich O's waiting for LaptopGirl to arrive made me ill.

I had fun though.

There.

I guess now the question of what I'll write about tonight has been answered.

And the answer is:

Nothing much.

I've been tweaking the layout of the 'blog entries - mainly just adding a background and a border as you can see.

I have some more to do. The text padding above the entry headers is not consistent.

I'll have to dig out my CSS book to see what I'm doing wrong.

"Sometimes, when you're putting up a mirror, you realize just how ugly your shirt is."

-- Guy on TLC's In a Fix

e-clec-tic
adj.
1. Selecting or employing individual elements from a variety of sources, systems, or styles.
2. Made up of or combining elements from a variety of sources.

ac-cus-tomed
adj.
1. Frequently practiced, used, or experienced; customary.
2. Being in the habit of.
3. Having been adapted to the existing environment and conditions.

form-fit-ting
adj.
1. Snugly fitting the coutours of the body.

Not much to report tonight. It was a regular Friday night. I had a Great Lakes Anniversary Ale, a Fischer's Amber Ale, and an Alaskan Smoked Porter. All were good, and all were beers I've had before...

...Just not in that particular order.

I've decided to call this particular alcohol combination the TimeBomb.

Last night I was fine for most of the night. I was fine at Rich O's talking with LaptopGirl, TrainGirl and RealTrainGirl, and DooRagGirl's husband and ExBartender. I was fine when MysteryLady and I had a surprise phone conversation while I was on the way home. I was fine once I got home. I was even fine when I started making this entry last night.

But at one point - specifically when I typed the words "and all were beers I'd had before" - The room started spinning. Then the house started spinning, followed in quick succession by the Earth and the entire Milky Way.

I did not get sick.

I just wished that I would.

Now today I've got that lovely dehydrated feeling that can only come from too much alcohol.

So yesterday I was bored so I decided to sign up at ratebeer.com.

I then went back through all my old 'blog entries and put all of my beer ratings into the ratebeer site.

I was a little surprised to see that I've already got 59 ratings, and I only need 41 more to qualify for their elite premium membership.

That's when things will turn around for me.

I mean, chicks dig guys who drink a lot of beer, right?

Right?