Caught up...

I bit into the apple.

I always seem to find the wrong apple. I always seem to bite off more than I can chew.

In Warner Robins, the apple came in the form of a girl -- 19 and about 5-foot-8 with sun-kissed skin, hazel eyes, blonde highlights that flowed down her back -- I met on an assignment covering something wack.

She told me about Georgia Bob's. I had to check it out. Oddly enough -- and a month later, no less -- she was there when I went.

The food was bangin. I'll definitely be back (but they can keep that concoction they tried to pass as banana pudding).

We sat there and talked. It was weird, because I haven't had a real conversation with a girl/woman in years (unless she's Cunty). We talked about everything from the state of the economy to the excitement for Whitney Houston's new album (which my boy says stinks, but we'll see).

Sunday night, I got invited over for a movie. "There's nobody here, and I hate being in this big house all by myself," she insisted.

I went.

I was there for an hour before we got the movie in. Seems neither of us had seen The Hangover, and she had it on bootleg. We were sitting through the previews when I felt her breath on my neck.

"I hope you don't mind..." she said, trailing off between kisses on my neck.

I was getting seduced. And I was liking it.

Innocent turned to full on when I realized she had her hands on my waistband, sliding the zipper down my Polo jeans.

Just when she slipped her hand inside and was pulling the toy out the cereal box, in walks her mother, groggy and yawning, wiping snot from her eyes...

(to be continued...)

A sign of the times

I've had a hard time keeping my apartment clean lately. It's not the size (which I'm still trying to get used to) or the fact that I work long days at least twice a week, and still find time to fit in tennis, too.

My life is in disarray.

I've yet to adjust to the new climate and culture of my new habitat. I haven't really given myself a chance to sit still and say, "so, this is gonna be done here, and here, and here, and here.

The only thing in my life that's on a schedule is Charlie (and she's doing fine by her standards). So I'm taking Lazy Sunday to get my act together.

I need to eat better: I may have IBS, or be slowly becoming lactose intolerant. Either way, I'm cutting things out of the diet to determine the correct route for fixing things. The first sign that something was wrong? The fact that I'd lost 15 pounds in less than two weeks, then put it all back on overnight -- with the tight stomach and cramping and back aches that come with a sudden body change. I was tempted to do like my melanin-challenged counterparts and simply get a colonic. Aah, but that pricetag is a bit too much... lol

I need to respond to the demands at work: I was told specifically what I'd be covering when I got here.

Boy, has that drastically changed.

Now that I'm doing the job of two people, I need to do a few things to make sure all the stress isn't falling to me. My editor needs to know some things (such as that business portion of my beat) need to be reconstructed on my beat. I also need to figure out how to let him know politely that I'm paid for 40 hours, so I'm about to start putting in 40 hours. I don't make enough for the madness!

I need to be on that treadmill: I got on the other day after realizing I was walking around hungry, but my stomach was full. Three quarters of the way in, panic (and back pains) set in. I know it wasn't because I hadn't been on the treadmill in a month, but still...

I'm headed out to Kroger to get some things to get the week going. Then I'm back to the house, cleaning up and washing/ironing clothes for the week ahead.

Peace.

Papa Can You Hear Me...

I feel like I'm neglecting Charlie.

I leave early and come home late. I play tennis and work out to get down this weight. I stay on the ground to get to know the people here (and learn the secrets).

In between, I find time for Charlie.

We walk together when she's not being a butthead. We play with the toys until she bores of them (which is usually within 10 minutes). But she's still trying to go home with everybody. She even gets more excited to see strangers.

Today, I put her in her cage on the patio because I unleashed her and had her walk with me, but she ended up jumping on another dog smaller than she.

I had to go retrieve her when the floodgates opened. She was in the cage, struggling to stay dry in the small space that hadn't gotten rained on.

I hated myself some more.

I love my puppy. I really do. But everytime I feel I'm doing right by her, something happens to make me realize I may be neglecting her. My cunty friend has already said I should give her up if I must beat her. I beat her -- beat the hell out of her -- when she disobeys, like this morning.

What's a guy to do? What say you?

Save me...

Hello, old friend...

I've been busy as hell trying to adjust to life in humid Georgia to even think about getting on here and updating you.

My sincerest apologies.

In the meantime, there's so much going on in Little Town, Ga., that I have to share. Drum roll, please:

Frank, the drunk tennis guy -- I broke a racket playing tennis with the reformed alcoholic military vet who says he's getting back into the game because his son plays. I love playing tennis, and it's been good for all this unemployment weight. But here's the problem: Frank's legs don't work no good. He shuffles to smack a corner-line-grabbing volley only to miss the one on the other side. SO I find myself hitting shots directly to him, which isn't gonna do anything for my game.

Tiff, the make-up lady -- Anyone who knows me knows I'm a sucker for a pretty lady, but I think the one I've met here wears too much make-up for my liking. Sure, she's an attractive woman. She loves the puppy, we get along well AND she apparently knows how to bake. But, er, there's a problem if I have to worry about your face rubbing off on my clothes and furniture.

I'm at work, so I'm gonna stop this now. But there's more. Trust.

A change is comin

OK, so I haven't been here in a few weeks because I've been getting ready for some major changes.

First, I'm moving.

Again.

This time to Georgia.

I also have to get a new car, figure out what -- if anything -- I'm taking with me, find a new apartment, make new friends, get enough vacation to do the things already on my calendar, track new flight schedules from ATL, say goodbye to the people in Raleigh, find a barber, get someone else to pay me real money for a tennis blog (that I'd keep up with... lol).

Oh, and say happy birthday to Venus Williams.

It keeps on getting better...

This may confuse you, but:

I turned 28. I'm still talking to editors about jobs. My SUV got stolen.

I'm honestly the most happy I've been in nearly a year.

It's been two months since I was fired/laid off/what the hell ever happened. Money is still coming in consistently. I've been able to finally work my way out of this slump and get to the other side. And they're finally gonna start sending ya boy some of that good unemployment he's been working hard for and giving up over these years.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine last week while I was in Detroit that put everything into perspective. We were talking about our respective job losses, and she mentioned that -- though she wasn't excited about it -- she was going back to school.

I, on the other hand, have been getting consistent work and the job interviews have been happening. Is it because I know more people? Maybe. But I know more people because I've been out here so long and I want this so bad that people have picked up on my energy -- and kept in touch with me.

Can't hate on that whole "what you know/who you know" thing. At. All.

I'll miss you, Oscar. We had some fun times.

Blame it on the...

The tennis game was exhausting.

Caprice, the 34-year-old who may become a regular hitting buddy, ran circles around me for nearly two hours, with a score of 6-1, 6-4. It didn't matter. After the first reply to my Craigslist ad, just getting out on the court was a blessing.

So I jumped in the car after the match, called my boy Greg back and remembered Mickey D's is offering any size drink for a dollar.

Great!

The plan was simple: Pull through, get sweet tea, keep it moving.

By the time I pulled on my street, it was gone. It. Was. That. Good. And I wanted more.

So I hatched another plan.

I kept driving past my house, through to the other end of the road, near a gas station. I pulled in a block later.

It was another McDonald's.

This time, I ordered a sandwich. When I got to the window, I asked the woman for a refill on my drink.

She stared back.

"I. Want. A. Refill." I said, like the Mexican woman couldn't speak English. I felt bad, but PC goes out the window when the sweet tea is callin!

"Let me ask my manager," she said. By now, Greg couldn't stop laughing at me.

The manager told me to come inside to get a refill. When I got inside, they looked dumbfounded.

Like I wasn't gonna come in for some free stuff? Psssh.

So I drove home, Greg still laughing at me, determined to drink slower the second time around...