Its official. I’m moving.
Sometime in the middle of August, my 7+ year stay in Columbus will be over. Part of the move is business related, part of it is socially related, but I think its a good one. If anyone is reading this that feels they should have gotten a more personal memo, I apologize, it happened pretty quickly and I was balancing a fine line between not getting my hopes up and telling people I’m moving when I’m not, and a drunken fit of “Hey, I’m moving to Indy!” So, now that I’ve gotten official word, here it is.

“Hey! I’m moving to Indy!”

Not that the fun-loving party guy image has to stop. I mean, Indy is a short 3 hour drive (tops!) away, so you Columbus readers can bring the festivities west, and I’ve already scoped out reasons to make it back to central Ohio on numerous occasions. And besides, I’ve got connections out there, including a one year old who’s mastered the art of pulling on door handles, it can only be a matter of time before he learns how to work a tap.

Now, with the sappy crap behind me, let me tell you how much I hate moving. How is everything that’s been scattered around this place in the past year going to fit back in its boxes and make the haul west? And more importantly, am I going to have a place to put it all when I get there? Apartment hunting sucks. Fortunately, I’ve got at least two sets of eyes and ears helping me find places, but when I key into a certain area and the response is, “Little Mexico”, its not good. (No offense to any little Mexicans reading this, please. In fact, no little Mexicans were harmed in the writing of this post. A couple Irishmen and a Ch… ah, nevermind, its too early for a Blazing Saddles reference of that magnitude, isn’t it?)

So I’m left to thumbing through listings, asking questions, sending people on hunts through somewhat Hispanic neighborhoods to see where I want to live, and its not fun. The roommate thing has been suggested, and I must say, there are some kick ass houses to share, with some great rent prices, but never having done anything like that, I don’t know what to think. I like my stuff to be my stuff, not shared across a fivesome. (Through the vatican? Kinky!)

******

This space was going to be filled by a recap of the Rangers game I *finally* got to watch last night. But, they got hammered, so I don’t feel much like rehashing.

One question I *do* have, however, is how does a 6-foot, 180 lb. white shortstop pick “Nuthin’ But a G Thang” as his “intro music” as he comes to the plate?

Oh, Michael Young, you’re such a paradox.