Part Two, in which – after a fitful night of sleep – the brother comes face to face with the pathetic shards of his life and apologizes to his sister.

I'm an asshole okay. I admit it. But give me a break: I'm 30 years old, unemployed and sleeping on my little sister's couch in a city I never intended to live in. So you'll understand that things are not all peaches and cream with me. I'm heartsick, that's the only way to describe it. And all I want is some love. Just a little: Like a dying man in a desert, lapping at the last drop from the canteen.

I tried to explain this to Aimee as she tossed my bags out the front door Wednesday afternoon. No kidding: I actually had to block the door with my foot. I actually had to press my face into the door, and I swear she would have crushed my head if I wasn't so convincing.

She does have a point though: I say 'all I want is love,' but I have nothing to give in return. Not even affection. At best, I have a smile and maybe a kind word. So there you go. Jesus, I need a glass of water.

Anyway, to bring you up to speed: I wrote the last entry because I was angry with Aimee, and I wasn't thinking clearly. Actually, I was thinking pretty clearly. Ask any heavy drinker: clarity comes quickly, but it's narrow, like putting one of those tiny screws into the hinge of a pair of sunglasses. It seems so monumental until you drop the fucking screw on the floor and it rolls away under the couch. Ahh, Adam Plumley: wandering poet, redeye. Suffice to say that I wasn't thinking clearly about the right things when I wrote the last entry.

So, without further ado, here’s what you've all been waiting for (Mom, Dad, press 'Control' + 'P' to print):

I'm sorry Aimee. I'm sorry Noah. I'm sorry to the rest of my family, whom I have once again embarrassed and dishonored. No, I'm not being overdramatic. I'm a horrible, horrible brother and I take back all the nasty things I said about you. Everybody, this is the God's honest truth: My sister is a very hard-working, humble and charitable person. I could not ask for more. And to prove how sorry I am, I have (with Aimee's permission) temporarily renamed this site: Adam Is A Horrible, Horrible Brother.

Whew! Now that that's over, I have some happier news. After serious negotiations, Aimee has granted me permission to continue posting on her site, my observations of New York City, and life in general – being as I am – unemployed, friendless and in need of something to which I can anchor my thoughts.

But first, a little background: As you know, I'm Aimee's older brother. I am recently divorced after a hasty and short-lived marriage to a local stand-up comedian. She really is funny, by the way – I still think so. The last I heard, she was trying out for that show 'Last Comic Standing' and I wish her all the luck in the world. You can do it Nancy!

Until recently, I worked as a claims adjustor for a large insurance agency in Tempe, Arizona, where I was fired for embezzling about $10,000 in trumped-up auto insurance claims, coordinated through a local body shop. It was a sweet deal while it lasted. But I've learned my lesson: don't get caught! Just kidding.

Anyway, between the lawyers' fees and the divorce (when it rains, it pours) I was forced into bankruptcy. My parents offered to let me move back in with them, in Scottsdale, but I refused, hoping to salvage any shred of dignity I might have left.

Then came the final straw: Like an idiot, I got blind drunk one night about six months ago and drove my truck into a dumpster. The truck was totaled, and I had to get 35 stitches in the top of my head. So buckle up kids! After that I decided it was really time for a change. I borrowed some cash from my folks, and came to New York, hoping to start over. I arrived about a month ago, and I've been staying with my sister ever since, trying to find a job and an apartment.

Anyway, here's my first New York City observation:

I hate how all my drinks sweat all over the place. Seriously, talk about a pain in the ass. I've broken about ten glasses already because they slip out of my fucking hands. It's the humidity I guess, because in Arizona that never happens. But there is one good thing about it: I finally understand why people use coasters. It never made much sense to me before. And I finally understand why coasters are made out of either spongy cardboard or corkboard: because it soaks up the moisture. Pretty stupid observation. But it's the small stuff, you know?