...to those who wait.

So it's been a long damn minute since I've been here. I have only had sporadic internet access, and a lot going down.

In the past year and a half, I have:

-Had a son, LGG, born 10/25/2oo7
-Spent about six months living in my band's practice space
-Finally released our E.P., "Tea for Three", and recorded another one
-Got a decently paying job with a Financial / Insurance company
-Worked my ass off
-Moved four times
-Worked at a jazz cafe
-Played shows
-Cut WAY down on my drinking (pregnant girls apparently don't like it when you drink around them. Who Knew?)
-"Quit" smoking (quotes are for the few lapses I've had)
-Become obsessed with unicorns
-Damn near given up on the political spectrum
-Grown up.

Wow. And that's the super-mega-brand-name-only distilled version. Those of you along for the ride have known what it's been like. There's been bloodshed, tears, broken property, possums, and lots of medication.

The house that CCC and I have been living in with B, B, and Black Santa since March has been an adventure from day one. The landlord will be discussed in detail a little later on. When we first moved in, everything seemed alright. It was a nice big house with lots of room, a spare bedroom which we initially used as a practice room and then converted a baby room when booger showed up, nice shiny hardwood floors in the living area, CCC and I got our own little area, the in-law suite, and things seemed good.

Then we slept there the first night.

The in-law suite was about as well insulated as a jeep with the doors off, Black Santa's bedroom was infested with bugs that only came out at night (he went through two whole cans of Raid in three days), and most of the outlets upstairs were ungrounded. A month and a half later, right at the beginning of the sweltering Atlanta Summer Heat, the AC compressor blew out during the last decent storm this part of the state has had. Our brilliant landlord took a friggin month to fix it, during which time temperatures in our house hovered nicely in the 90s, even at night. Once he finally had enough of our incessant bitching and threats of legal action he finally came and had someone "fix" the compressor, which means he had the broken one replaced with a model that was about as old as I am, seriously, and only meant to service a house about half the size. This took maybe ten degrees off the top of the average inside our house, and we were left to spend the rest of the summer humping box fans. Needless to say our power bill was groan-inducing. The floor of the downstairs bathroom was badly cracked, or "shattered" if you want to be a dick about it, and after six months of further inaction by our landlord, and tired of walking out of the can with tile shards stuck in our feet, we finally cleared that up.

Coming soon: The great Possum adventure!