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.