Me and my Man Uggs takin' on the World

Man Uggs, I love 'em. Say what you want, call me whatever, but mUggs are where it's at. It's freezing in Chicago, there's snow on the ground constantly, and my feet are oblivious to these facts now that they are comfortably surrounded by sheep wool, encased in weather resistant leather. Yep, my dogs are warm. Now, there is one small issue with my mUggs and that's the smell. Not gonna lie, my feet smell like curdled milk after I wear 'em, but I can deal. You see, you're not supposed to wear socks with these things and amazingly enough, your feet sweat while snug in comfort. They actually sweat. Odd, given that it's usually, at least, 20 degrees outside. So, for the record, face experiencing sharp razor slices of pain due to negative wind chills, feet awesome....but sweaty. But back to the smell. Not good. Repulsive. 12 day old egg salad in Tupperware left in a car during the summer hot spells in Houston, Texas would smell better. It's not like I neglect my feet of soap and water, I'm a habitual foot washer. I need answers. How can I rid my mUggs of this stench?

God forbid I wear these things to someones house event and they ask for people to remove footwear. I can only imagine the response. Finger foods would be wasted due to loss of appetite. Non-smoking guest would be forced to enter the smoke circles outside as a form of refuge. A massive witch hunt for the smell would undoubtedly begin and by the time it finished, it'd result in several unfriendings of me on Facebook. Devastating. But a small price to pay for the comfort my mUggs provide.

Of course I could be overreacting about the smell. Stick your nose in or around my mUggs and find out for yourself. Being that I have a cold, right now, and can't smell a thing works out beautifully. But I like to think it's less of a cold, and more of a rebellious act on the part of my nose. A vacation. A sabbatical from smell persecution. What the hell am I talking about?

Anyway, I guess I could've just said, mUggs: For dudes that love feet that aren't frozen.

Hi Supercuts? Yeah, my hair hates you.

Thank you Supercuts. The recent haircut I was blessed with at one of your many chains was inspiring. It's inspired me to learn to cut hair so my head never has to endure the butchering it received, yesterday. It can't be too hard to learn, can it? I mean, I'm sure I can learn most of what I'll need to know from youtube videos, and the rest I'll pick up on that new show Shear Genius, or whatever it's called. Then I'll be ready to jack up my own head. Why should I pay $25 every 3 weeks, when I can run jagged lines around my own neck? Or weedwack around my ears? Yeah, I think I'll give it a go.

Supercuts, do you employ every former kid that couldn't color in between the lines? The kid that couldn't understand a 1/2 inch from 3? The kid that put paste in other kids hair? Do you stand outside of legitimate beauty colleges and swoop in on the flunkies? It'd be hard for you to convince me otherwise.

I bet you post ads on craiglist that read something like:
"Seeking human being with hands. Must have the ability to ignore customer requests. A lack of attention to detail is a plus.

If interested please walk to nearest Supercuts and pick up scissors."

Here's a little advice: If you've ever wanted to shave your head, but are slightly hesitant and need a push over the edge, google Supercuts, locate your nearest store, walk in and say, "Just take a little off the tops and around the ears". 20 minutes later you'll look like Lloyd Christmas and have no choice but to treat yourself to a buzz cut that Jarheads would be envious of. Yep, solid operation that Supercuts.

Mr. President, enjoy your holiday

So it's Presidents Day. Does Obama get presents, today? Seriously. I mean, it is "his" day, right? Dude's the Don of America. I'd like to think Ol' B-rack woke up this morning, rolled out of bed to find a stack of presents, all wrapped in presidential logo-style paper. Most likely he'd get an assortment of blue and red ties from everyone. Sean Hannity would know doubt use this opportunity to send BO a card thanking him for destroying America. After present time, I'm sure Barrack was pampered royalty-style (think Eddie Murphy in Coming to America). Joe Biden brushed his teeth. Hillary as a wiper. Rahm, Gates, and Salazar throwing rose petals at his feet. I can only dream.

Does the guy get President's day off? I sure as hell don't. But I would have to think BO does. If he does, in fact, take the day off, can other countries leaders get a hold of him? Or is there an away message on his voicemail: "In observance of Presidents Day, I will not be working on anything, today. If this is a nuclear resolution issue and requires immediate assistance, please press #2 now and you'll be transferred to Joe Biden". So many holes to this holiday. And it's obvious that Hallmark has missed its chance to saturate the already delightfully awful card market.

I guess I'll never know what Mr. President's up to. I can only hope...

Strugglin' with automatic flushes

I have a huge problem with toilets that flush automatically. Let me clarify. I have a problem with the toilets that I sit on that flush automatically. I can't take it anymore. Now I don't wanna get all poop-talk on everyone, but there's no way around it when discussing these damn things. I'm sittin' there and without warning, in mid session, these modern day porcelain assault machines flush and, in turn, splash dirty, unsanitary toilet water all over my good area like a malfunctioning bidet. It's disgusting. Some might argue it's a small price to pay for automatic courtesy flushes. But the reality is, I don't trust that water, and I sure as hell don't want it anywhere near my body. It's bad enough that I'm in a public bathroom, sittin' next to stall buddy who hammered down Taco Bell and a 12 pack the night before. I don't need the stress of splashing waste water. I'm on edge, counting the seconds between flushes, trying to time it so I can initiate hover mode as a diversionary method. Technology has stolen my peacefulness in the bathroom.

Thanks a lot guy who never flushed. This is your fault. Was it that hard to pull a silver handle?

Will you accept this rose... made of razor blades?

You know that feeling you get when Julia Roberts say's to Hugh Grant, "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her?" in Notting Hill? You know that, I wanna punch someone for making me watch this stupid movie-feeling? Well that's how I feel when I have to watch, listen, or be reminded of the TV show "The Bachelor". Women say it's mindless entertainment, right? But it's more than that. Take this years show; the dude's a complete moron. I was forced to watch the latest episode during my lunch break (the GF was knee deep in the drama, hording the flat screen) so I've earned the right to completely destroy this gym-class flunky.

1) The guy was obviously an underachiever in the female dept before this show. He's about as interesting as a Q-tip covered in earwax. Lame encapsulates him.
2)He's waaaaaaaay too emotional for a guy. Maybe he's secretly interested in other erotic avenues; time will tell.
3) He tells every chick that he's falling in love with them? If the guy were out to hammer each of 'em, then kudos on the strategy. But he's not. He's bullshitting for the the sake of WHAT?
4) Probably the biggest problem I have with the guy is that he comes off like the type of guy that tells another dude's girlfriend that she's too good for him. A serious accusation by me, yes, but he fits the bill.

If you watch this show, do I think it's the biggest waste of time? Yes. Do I think supporting the dipshits that seek out love on a television show is absolutely stupid? Yes. But I'm sure I'll watch another episode b/c I'm a decent guy who'll sit through it with my GF. And the whole time I'll be wishing I was watching Steven Seagal: Lawman...because he's a bad ass.

Sidewalks: A daily battle

Every single time I walk around the city of Chicago, I always seem to find myself in the same situation. Some dude is walking straight towards me, like he's on a mission from God. He shows no sign of making a move to walk around me, and I don't exactly feel compelled to deter from my line, either. Before we go on, it should be noted that historically I've been a "shoulder turner". Mainly to balance out the number of "anti-turners" in the city. On this day, however, I wasn't budging. Like the Titanic heading towards an ice berg, I'm full steam ahead.

So the dilemma was born.

He might've been thinking it, I sure as hell was: "This dude's not gonna go around. He's gonna keep, yep, he's just walkin' right at me. Doesn't he see the rest of the sidewalk? Go around dude. Come on. Just...we're gonna hit!"

Of course, our shoulders crash and we each mechanically offer an apology. But here's the thing, I'm not sorry. There was plenty of room for Johnny shoulder banger to navigate and he easily could've walked around me. I, on the other hand, had zero room to move because there was someone walking next to me. What, am I suppose to hit the breaks, stand there, and let this wanna-be Olympic speed walker pass? Come onnnnn. Dude was leakin' on a fire hydrant, he was bangin' his chest, trying to establish himself as the sidewalk champion. Not this day, no. I wasn't having it. My only regret is how I handled the aftermath. Why offer an empty apology? Soooo.....

Next time you find yourself on a collision course with a similar shoulder, I say stand your ground, don't turn, don't give way to enemy shoulders. Walk straight. And when he or she offers an apology, give a creepy eye, nod your head a bit, and say "I win". Maybe even show 'em your bicep.

Void advice if situation involves one of the following:
1. Gang members
2. A crazy bum (it's not worth it and you'll smell like shit afterwards)
3. Old ladies - unless you're feelin' real salty

Your thoughts? No thanks.

Wednesday's are generally a terrible night for television so I knew I'd be forced to watch her shows, American Idol and the dreaded Millionaire Match Maker (tivo'd from last night). I know I've already mentioned the "Millionaire" show but it's worth repeating; this is the dumbest show on television and it infuriates me to know end. Last nights episode recap: 42 year old woman millionaire without the possibility of a natural facial expression due to all the botox injections needs help curbing her appetite for 20-something year old Abercrombie look-a-likes that spend all her money. Lord take me, I give up. A mercy killing is in order.

Moving on, 'Idol' had its normal batch of mommy-said-I-can-sing jokesters lining up to entertain me. It's actually becoming a guilty pleasure of mine. With the exception of "Yo dog, you pitchy", Randy what's-his-name, it's a decent show.

The best thing about last night? I got to talk about furniture with Michelle for, like, an hour and a half. It was awesome. Why do girls insist on bringing up subjects like this to dudes? I'd rather discuss the WNBA. She shows me a piece of furniture, ask me if I like it. "Do you like this one better? What about this one?" To her credit we talked about adding a 32 in LCD flat screen in the bedroom. That's how she roped me in. Then she flipped the shit on me, and when I came to, I was picking between a round glass top kitchen table and a Voodoo art piece for the wall.

I need a night job.

Happy National Signing Day, Geeks

I am a geek. I'll admit that. I follow college football recruiting like some people follow politics, or Jesus. And I take a lotta shit for it at times. So what if I know there's a defensive tackle out of Philadelphia who's 6'4 285, that can't be blocked in high school and projects as 1-tech in college, and has been compared to Gerald McCoy?

Of course my hobby takes its toll on the lady friend every once and a while. Most of the time I just sit in front of a computer, looking up the latest recruit info, while she dumbs down to an episode of Millionaire Match Maker. Speaking of Millionaire Match Maker, oh my god. If I could punch a collective group of people everyday for the rest of my life, the douche bags that sign up of this show would be working for the top spot on the list. What millionaire needs help landing a chick? These people need to be stoned in front of a live audience. But I digress.

So she watches awful television and it could be hours before I even acknowledge her existence even though she's right next to me--it's actually quiet extraordinary. and there've been times when she thinks I need to show her more attention (go figure) and some would agree, but whatever.

Good thing for her that today is National Signing Day and when the day ends so does the 2009 recruiting season. Bad news is I've already started following the 2010 season.

Introducing Mr. Perfectly Adequate

So here we are. First I figure I should give you at least a glimpse into what the hell I'm doing on blogspot. Well, I recently moved in to a place with my girlfriend (cannons firing). As if that wasn't a big enough leap, I did so while also moving into an apartment that's a measly 1000 square feet. Christ, I can't even begin to tell you how small the place feels. You know that unfresh recycled air in planes? Got the same thing going at my new digs. Anyway, there've been some changes, lately, some bad some good, and I figured "hell, let's write about it". She's an interior designer/slash biz owner/cuddle junkie. Me, I'm just a guy in sales, slingin' junk in the Chicago Loop, who longs to be a copywriter in the advertising world.

Tv shows, arguments, "will you love me forever?", beards, my gas, her yelling at me about my gas, American Idol, 2% vs skim; I'll just lay it out there for ya, and, I guess, whatever? Not sure after that. So, again, here we are.

Maybe even some romantic tales ala Danielle Steele.

Ready. Set. Go.