Well, it was bound to happen.

At some point, the good life was bound to end and I’d find out what the other side is like. Now is the time. Unfortunately.

See, back in the day, when I had the good life, sugar-mama was mostly at home and I’d go on the road a lot. I had a good life, just basically going to football or basketball games for a living and then working a lot while watching football or basketball games on TV. Then I’d come home and do a little cleaning occasionally but really have no major duties around the house. Nice gig if you can get it as far as I’m concerned.

Well, now the tables are turned.

We’ve been here in Atlanta for about 14 months (a bit longer for sugar-mama) and it’s glaringly obvious how different things are now. See, her job, she can now travel a bit. Me? I’m pretty much on the road maybe two weeks out of the year.

I liked it better the other way when I was gone. There’s too much to take care of around here. I can’t imagine what you fucks with kids go through. Not worth it to me, but that’s well-documented.

She’s been working in Washington, D.C. each of the past three weeks, home only on the weekends. So during that time, it’s sucked because I missed her (don’t laugh you fucks, I have feelings too), and I’ve had to fend for myself.

That second part blows.

See, before I used to go on the road and things would be taken care of for me. We’d get a charter plane with (relatively) quick in and out access. We’d get immediate seating for our group at dinner, I’d get a little pocket money, enough to pay for beer unless we’re on 6th Street in Austin or at Eskimo Joe’s in Stillwater, which there’s no way per diem would ever cover my beer tab (if Hinerman, Bruhn or Camden ever read this blog, they’d concur). And we’d get catered food on game day and police escorts to the arena or stadium, where it was like you had no restrictions on where you could go.

I never took it for granted because it was a great fucking life.

Now? Not so much.

Timeout. I don’t mean it like I I don’t like my current life. I do. I’m really thankful sugar-mama got a job in Atlanta and that we live here because I love it down here. And I really like our house and the area we live in, and everything we can actually do in a big city. Sorry, Lincoln.

But now, sugar-mama is the only one who gets to travel and I’m stuck at home with fucking cats and  their puking, and with annoying jackass fucking co-workers who make Uncle Randy look like someone I’d want to be best friends with and drink with every weekend (if you get that inside non-joke, you totally understand how horrible my current situation with one person is). Sugar-mama, on the other hand, gets to earn hotel and airline points and, while I know she’s working here ass off more than even when she’s at home, she still gets to look at D.C. or Tampa or whatever city she’s in every other month and I’m just staring at our overgrown dirt lawn and weeds that I don’t want to mow.

Yes, I’m fucking jealous.

Even more, I’m disgusted with myself.

Why? Because I’ve learned a lot about me the past three weeks while she’s been on the road.

I’ve had to feed myself. Much of that has included food, or lack thereof of good food being made in the house as it has included basically the same meal 3-4 times a week. Take a pile of chicken, an onion, some mushrooms and throw them in a pan. Viola, there it is. Dinner for the week.

And I’m not the cleanest person ever. Right now, this place is sparkling, but before I cleaned, yeah, I don’t think it’s much different than the half trailer I lived in when I was an intern in Carbondale. That place was pretty fucking disgusting, even on my scale of cleanliness.

Oh, but don’t think I didn’t learn some things:

  • Poblano peppers. They’re fucking hot when you eat a whole one. Especially on the third day in a row. For the second consecutive week. FML.
  • PCU is still one of the greatest movies ever made, and I’m watching it right now. “Just the dog in me, baby” P-Funk. Money. Jeremy Piven rocks and David Spade is perfectly preppy prickish. Honestly, there are parts of that movie that I swear were written by someone following us around the Beer Garden in 1992-93. “Sanskrit?  You’re majoring in a 5,000-year-old dead language?” Droz? The scene where he’s in the Jerrytown guys’ lair and tempted to take a bong hit and then wakes up curled in a ball three hours later? Hmm, no comment.
  • Wine is good. I knew this before, but tonight, right now, I’m finishing a bottle of what I expect is a classic, some wine aficionado’s perfect white. A bottle of Flipflop Pinot Grigio 2010. As a side note, I gave up beer and haven’t had any alcohol of any sort since Oct. 1 as I’ve started training for Tough Mudder Georgia 2012 in February (Sidenote: I was down 12 pounds today, and had a really easy 3.5-mile run, but I have a LONG way to go before February. FUCK). My goal was no beer from now until after the run on Feb. 11, so this whole bottle is making me feel pretty, um, …  And it’s within my rules because I only said I was giving up beer.

I don’t really know where I was going with this blog. Other than I’m looking forward to watching the end of PCU (I own it on DVD and it’s in my top 20 all-time favorite movies), and to sugar-mama getting home Friday afternoon.

That is all.