Two weeks from today I will be helping load a U-Haul truck with Elizabeth's (Read: The only stuff allowed in our new apartment) stuff. Apparently my green leather recliner is not welcome. She's lucky there isn't a basement or enough square footage for it anyways. My man cave will have to wait.

So the place I'll be attempting to lock down for us is going to be a half mile walk from a bustling city center. It's THEE destination for nightlife in the area. The Suburban Socialites, if you want to sound like a complete douche, flock to the area for the bars and restaurants. It's also a huge draw for the newly married as most of the homes in the surrounding area are perfectly sized bungalows and such.

We'll be going two bed two bath industrial design loft with a sick terrace. Seriously, this fucker is a 22x23 private terrace. It's total square footage is damn near half the size of the loft!

A buddy of mine already brought up the idea of an outdoor poker game, and I think that idea, as my mom would say, is the titties.

The best part of the whole deal is that they have a ridiculous two month free offer right now because they need to start generating some income. The place was originally slated for purchase only. Turns out the bad economy helped us in this case.

I loves me some free rent!

What more could Elizabeth want? Concrete stained flooring, exposed brick and ductwork, and me walking around naked every morning. (Your welcome for that image, by the way)

Here are a couple examples. Not the best pictures in the world, but at least it will give you a tiny idea.






It's mostly identical in design to what we'll have. The walls won't be that bright and black guys won't be allowed in our living room. Gotcha! Kidding, of course. We'll totally allow black people in our living room. Besides, I'm basically black from the waist down, out on the dance floor, and while out on the basketball court anyways. I am a man of the people.

So long as you aren't a douchebag or a D-Lister, you'll be welcome.

(Sorry Joaquin)

((Goddamn, I'm on fire this morning!))

I'm blogging, bitches. It's for good reason. Things are about to change drastically. For those of you in the midwest...sorry, but you are about to be invaded, because after waiting and waiting and waiting and more waiting, we (I) have decided that since the move down south isn't going to be possible any time soon (thanks, shitty economy and lack of job transfer possibilities!), it's time to bite the bullet. So, later this month I will be moving out there. There. I wrote it. It's totally real now.

After the saddest MYTGOD post ever, I'm sure there were those of you who were all "ugh, what a heartless bitch." The fact is that deciding NOT to go then and there was very difficult. However, it would have been the result of a hot-headed and rash decision and likely would have resulted in the loss of one of my best friends. So, I got some stuff cleared up and feel a lot better about making the move in a few weeks. Not that I'm happy about moving there. It's cold...colder than it is here, and I realize that people who live in that general vicinity will claim that this is just snobbery, but the fact is that culture, cuisine and general life pace is just vastly different. When the closest large city requires a Kevlar® vest, people just tend to chill out in their subdivisions 40 minutes away from everything else. It's just foreign to me. So fine, I suck, but deal with it.

There is plenty I have to be happy about there. Most importantly is my man, who was audibly thrilled when I told him about my decision to move yesterday. He has already started laying the groundwork for finding us a sweet pad in a place that I will hate the least amount possible. That should be a fun project! It's possible he'll be regretting his insistence that I move there once he tries to find said pad. Now he's stuck with me.

Oh Baltos, how you woo me with your deliciousness
Artistic label alone you are not
You move me, center me, on a cold day
In the middle of summer
Get off my back
I'm not a poet
Earthy with velvet upon finish
Sure to win you butt sex from the ladies
Two or more bottles of you
Makes for shitty poetry

All seven of you, loyal readers.

I officially put in for a transfer to my future home a few weeks back. Everyone seemed ok with it and I resumed my normal business duties, which include looking fan-fucking-tastic and kicking competitor ass.

Then, a higher up is speaking with a teammate of mine and when I get brought up (Because I always do, you see. I'm like the largest bag of beef jerky in the world's largest beef jerky store. If that makes any sense) and this higher up proceeds to explain to my fellow employee how I won't be able to transfer for at least a year.

It isn't because I'm bad at what I do. Believe me, I'm the Lexington Steele of my industry. Bigger, stronger, blacker.

It happens to be because of some potential restructuring that will be going on within the company. Because of this the timing happens to be about as bad as you could ask for in terms of transfering.

This craptacular luck is right up my alley.

The Detroit Tigers were on a 6 game winning streak when I finally bet on them. They had won something retarded like a hundred zillion games out of a hundred zillion and one.

They, of course, lost.

Now I owe the Drizzle a ten spot and I have to come to terms (yet again) with how shitty my timing and luck is.

For example...

Ah, fuck it. I ain't giving any examples.

You'll just have to trust me. I have shitty luck and timing.

Anyone who has witnessed me gamble can attest to this.

Thankfully I still have the love and support of s particular female to help keep me from going postal and shanking someone.

Thank you, Japanese restaurant waitress lady Elizabeth, for letting me luck out and win the relationship lottery.

I haven't been lucky in a relationship since old man Jackson failed to see me hiding behind the haystacks. Both of his daughters would like to thank you for that as well.

Of course, Bella can't form sentences any longer, on account of the thrashing I gave her, so you'll have to interpret her hand signals and grunts to get the full picture. If she happens to grunt with wide eyes it's because she pooped herself.

Just so you know.