Hey Jenny Slater! Hey Jenny Slater! Hey Jenny Slater!

Four Months Later...

I've been back from Los Angeles for just over four months now and every week, I still manage to bump into someone who's surprised to see me standing in front of them. I will take at least 47% of the blame for this as the past few months have seen me turn into a bit of a recluse, especially in the blog since. I, however, think the majority of blame should lie on the lack of news coverage of my every move. Shame on you liberal media!

Anyhow, I've neglected, broken-up with, secretly missed, drunk-dialed at odd hours, came crawling back to this blog in its various forms throughout the years, I don't feel the need to tell you the thoughts and feelings that went into my latest return, because it's been well-documented that A. My emotions are now and have always been the weakest part of this blog, and B. You're going to believe me anyhow, and you're not letting me unpack my metaphorical bags, cause you think I'm just gonna' grab 'em again a week later.

Let's just agree to treat this moment like the fourth season premier of Seinfeld in which Kramer announced he and Jerry were through, and he was moving to Los Angeles. And despite a friendship reconciliation (As well as a serial killer sub-plot that felt out of place), Kramer decided he was to stay in LA, and his time in New York was through. However, in the last scene, Kramer entered Jerry's apartment as if nothing had changed, and they never spoke of it again.

I can get you up to speed though:

• I'm still living in the basement of my favorite aunt and uncle, so named cause theirs is the current roof over my head, though I was sat down by my uncle the other day, and politely told that while I'm not technically being evicted, I'm not NOT being evicted, and the time has come for me to move on, and for their downstairs bathroom to be clean once more. Therefore, I am on the hunt for my next living quarters, and while a few ideas are on the table right now, I am always open to more suggestions.
• The bar tending job on the golf course* is going very well, despite the occasional soul-depleting rush of cranky-ass golfers not experiencing the calming effect the game is rumored to provide, or the knowledge that despite my degree** I am still in a place in my life where I have to be yelled extensively on which orange juice I should be using while making a Screwdriver. Quibbles aside, I've had no need to go to a cash machine in the last four months, and I've somehow managed to save money to the point where the above-mentioned idea of getting my own place is no longer a scary, Here-I-Come-Male-Prostitution prospect.
• Being so close to a golf course as somehow turned me into a golfer. A poor golfer, but I golf now. More on that later.
• Inexplicably so, I have met, began dating, and now am embroiled in a hot and heavy relationship with a beautiful, smart, funny, young women who, for some reason that remains a mystery to myself and my closest friends, has a fondness for the current fella' behind the computer, no matter how much he continues to act like himself. Her only fault at this point is her annoying desire to point my*** gray hairs, and tweeze my eyebrows while I'm not-quite-sleeping. She's also determined to make me start eating better ("No hot dogs for breakfast? What is this, communist Russia?!?!") and as gone as far as to trick me into eating tofu. Due to her love of organics eating, I have affectionately dubbed her as the Hippie, which I shall hereafter refer to her as on this blog, though she couldn't be more different than actual hippies.****

So, that's pretty much the what. I moved back from LA to discover the next phase in my life, and I'm still waiting to discover it, but the good news is I've decided to crawl out from under the rock I've placed upon myself, and the odds of discovering something while actually looking for it are much, much greater.

Before I go, I would like to acknowledge the passing of George Carlin. Always one of my favorite stand-ups, the world is a less funny place without him. On the drive back from LA, my father and I had a chance to attend a Carlin concert, which we passed up, because Father was tired, and I wanted to explore the streets of Vegas while publicly intoxicated. Please let this be a lesson to all that if you ever have the chance to attend the concert of an artist you're fond of, do so. Your lack-of-attendance will eventually contribute to your favored artists demise.

Which is why my Neil Diamond tickets are that much more important!

* How's THAT for some MFing exposition?!

** Yeah, yeah -- liberal arts degree, so I suppose I should've just said "degree"

*** VERY LIMITED AMOUNT

**** She showers.