Well, it’s official. I finally live on my own again, after 4 months back with the folks. I’ve still got a ton to do, but I’m mostly moved in now. Will I miss the extra money I was saving on groceries, rent, utilities, and strippers (Pops always picked up the bill at Heartbreakers!)? Sure, but is it worth it to be in a house of my own where I can eat nachos, sans pants, while watching cartoons on the couch at 4 AM? You bet it is. I’m kidding about Heartbreakers, by the way…Pops never picked up the bill.

Unfortunately, Sunday was a lot warmer than it was supposed to be. It’s a widely known theory that furniture becomes exponentially heavier by each degree the temperature rises, which would explain why my TV wound up weighing 873 pounds (or 2 deciliters, metric). And as we all know, the heavier the furniture is, the more beer the movers are required to drink…by “movers,” I mean “Stan, HL, Lato and me.” Truly, under normal circumstances, the four of us would never drink a beer. But it’s actually written in the United States Constitution that you are required to drink beer while moving, and the four of us love and respect our country too deeply to disregard the wishes of the founding fathers. Take that, Commies! USA! USA! USA! USA!

Anyway, the furniture is all moved in and mostly in place, the kitchen has been cleaned, the bathroom disinfected, all that really remains is hanging pictures, waiting for the cable guy tomorrow and disposing off all the empty boxes on trash day. I’m waiting on the girlfriend’s input on which pictures to hang where. As a guy, if it were up to me, my walls would be covered with Pabst Blue Ribbon memorabilia and pictures of monkeys, dressed as clowns, riding unicycles, while throwing feces at each other. Although that would discourage unwanted visitors…

I’m probably jinxing myself by writing this, but life is pretty good right now. I like my job, have a new car, a new girlfriend who rocks out loud, and am moving into my new place soon. I guess I should mention that, since moving back to Columbia in May, I’ve been attempting to live out of my old bedroom at my parents’ house. While it has helped me save money (I’m still paying the mortgage on my house in Williamston that hasn’t sold) it has become increasingly difficult to remain both sane and sober.

Imagine taking all of your possessions that had been scattered throughout 1600 square feet of space and condensing them to 144 square feet of space. A lot of my belongings are in storage, but I still have plenty of boxes lining the walls that I get to rummage through regularly. It’s fun. Now, just for kicks, add in the fact that this is the first time I have lived with my parents since 1997. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve lived within 130 miles of them since 1997. I went from face time twice a month to face time several hours every single day.

Don’t get me wrong, my folks are great people, and I truly appreciate them letting me move back in for a while. It’s just that we have different ways of doing things, and different schedules, and we’re all set in our ways. Not to mention that my dad and I are incredibly stubborn when it comes to each other. We are polar opposites in personality, politics, priorities, and several other words that begin with “p.”

So…back to the original intent of this post, which was going to be bragging about how awesome the new female is. She actually gets along with all of my friends and my family. Well, all of the friends she has met, at least. I don’t see any problems with any of the others, though. They’re all fairly easygoing people.

She’s actually the first girl I’ve gone out with since I moved back that I had any interest in going out with a second time…which turned into a third time, which led to us spending every day except for Wednesday together last week, and planning two weekend trips together already. We had both been verbally dancing around the exact terminology of what we considered our relationship, until she slipped up Saturday night and referred to herself as my girlfriend. I gazed at her in mock horror and exclaimed, “You used the ‘g’ word!” Her response? “Oh…balls.” (“Balls” is her favorite expletive, which I find completely adorable.) We then both broke down into laughter, since the term really fits her, and for some idiotic reason we had both been hesitant to use it. So, to condense an extremely long, rambling post into a point (finally)…I have a new girlfriend. And she rocks…balls.

I just received an email from my ex-wife that she was legally going back to her maiden name. Is it appropriate for me to send a “Thank You” card?

Or does that make me a bad person?

Either way, I'm doing it.

I was talking to my friend Avril today, and she was wanting me to go find a TV so I could give her an update on Days of Our Lives. I just started making things up, and not only did she not believe me, she wasn’t amused. So, my dear readers, I give you a brief synopsis of what a soap opera would be like if I wrote it. Feel free to send donations in tribute to my genius.

The show opens up with He-Man killing Sebastian (disclaimer: there may or may not be anyone actually named Sebastian in Days of Our Lives. Once again, I refuse to do any research.) Then, Sebastian’s ghost comes back from the dead, and steals BattleCat from He-Man. Just when it seems like all is lost, P. Diddy shows up and banishes Sebastian back to Hell, saving BattleCat for He-Man.

Elsewhere, Michael Knight is minding his own business, when suddenly the A-Team shows up and steals KITT right out from under his nose. Face hops behind the wheel and takes off! Just when it looks like they’ll get away with it, Marty McFly shows up in the Delorean, and puts a stop to the shenanigans.

Marty and Mr. Kotter sit Michael Knight and the A-Team down and they agree, over beers, that both of their former TV shows were awesome and decide to go have a few beers with the Duke Boys at the Boar’s Nest to patch things up. When they get there, He-Man and P. Diddy are already there, performing the oh-so-def remix of It’s All About The Benjamins. The best part? Willie Nelson is behind the turntables, holding it down on the ones and twos.

Later, after the bar closes down and all of the moonshine is consumed, everyone goes outside and has a roman candle war. However, just before the show fades to black, we see an ominous shadow in the background…

Well, this probably won’t come as much of a surprise to anyone, but I wisely chose not to wear sunscreen when I was out on the lake on Sunday afternoon. I know, it’s shocking, since I’m usually preaching about skin protection in the sun and the dangers of ultraviolet radiation, but I was feeling frisky. I actually didn’t get all that burned, just a bit red, which leads me to this conclusion: the sunscreen industry is nothing a giant hoax, like those get-rich-quick real estate schemes you always see on late night TV, or the metric system.

I did mention that I got a little bit red. No, this is not sunburn, it’s…it’s…not sunburn. My skin dried out a little bit and started peeling, so I did what any red-blooded American man would, and borrowed some of my sister’s moisturizer. However, I didn’t really pay attention to what bottle I was grabbing. I put the moisturizer on my face, finished getting dressed, and walked out the door to head to work.

I noticed after several minutes on the road that I seemed to have some sort of glitter on my hand. That seemed odd, but no worries, I would just wash it off when I got to the office. Then I noticed it was on both hands. All over both hands. Hmmm…puzzling. Wait…could that have come from the moisturizer I put on my face? If it did, well, that must mean that there was also glitter on my face. Sure enough, I looked in the rearview, and I was all glittery. It was really kind of adorable.

Well, rather than make this any worse than it already was, I turned around and went back home to wash my face. It turns out I actually grabbed some sort of shimmering body lotion. Appropriate for rave night at some warehouse in the seedy part of town? Yes. Appropriate for work? No. Well, not for my work anyway. Maybe some of my loyal readers (both of you) have a more interesting profession than I do. I’m just glad that my powers of observation kicked in when they did, or it could have been a very interesting day. However, I do kind of wish they would have kicked in earlier. That stuff is a bitch to wash off.

You know what I love? Football season…in case you haven’t guessed yet. In addition to the actual game, there is the tailgating. The joy of making a Bloody Mary at 9:30 AM, and not feeling remotely guilty about it, the making of new friends with those parked next to you, the drunkenly teaching a five year old how to do the Icky Shuffle (from back when the Bengals were good) while his mother watches and laughs…these are but a few of the joys of tailgating.

One of my favorite parts, however, is catching up with all of my friends that I haven’t seen since last season. There are five or six of us who only see each other between September 1st and the end of November. I’m not sure why, to be honest. We get along great, and were all friends in our days at Clemson, we just don’t make an effort to get together the other nine months of the year. Sure, we could just arrive in each other’s driveway easily, but we would prefer to lug a cooler full of beer halfway across campus in blistering heat while wearing a heavy wool sweater. Okay, I made up the part about the sweater, but it was meant to further illustrate that we are not smart men.

So, despite Clemson’s lackluster performance against Boston College this past weekend, I will still be in Clemson for every home game, arriving early in the morning, mixing up a Bloody Mary, and preparing for all manner of shenanigans, tomfoolery and hijinks. So, to all my football season friends, here’s to cannonballs, PBR, and the Icky Shuffle. See you boys in 2 weeks.

I don’t have a lot to write about this week. I’ve started four or five posts, but none of them seemed to be going anywhere, or they just didn’t seem up to par. I know, that’s never stopped me before, but I’m going to make a conscious effort to not just post for the sake of posting. Especially since I recently found out that people are actually reading this thing. Here’s a fun Spork Nation factoid: I have an equal number of European and vegetarian readers. Discuss the social ramifications of this in a two paragraph essay and leave it in the comments section. The best one will get a prize of some sort.

I got the chance to catch up with my buddy JM this past Sunday night. He was gracious enough to let me crash at his place since I had a meeting in Charleston Monday morning. We drank entirely too much beer Sunday afternoon and well into the evening, which is kind of par for the course with us. He took me to an awesome rooftop bar with a gorgeous view of the Charleston skyline. It made me wish I spent more time in Charleston. Of course, there’s nothing stopping me other than laziness.

On another note, boys and girls, it’s football season. Finally. Despite the fact that neither game last night was terribly exciting, it was still football. Not baseball, basketball, hockey, or tennis, but football. I am in charge of the tailgate for the Clemson game tomorrow. Why anyone thinks it’s a good idea to put me in charge of anything is beyond me. I forgot to pack pants once when I went out of town. Pants. One of those key parts of your wardrobe that keeps your junk from being on display. Do you really think I can remember all of the items necessary for a rockin’ tailgate if I forget pants? Here’s how I envision this one playing out: I forget everything other than beer and my tickets. Possibly even my sister.

Which is why I’m putting my sister in charge of the tailgate. I’ll foot the bill, she just has to work out the details. I already have the cooler in my car.