Of the millions upon millions of things my wife loves about me--my grilled cheese making abilities, the huge hugs I give her, my mad NCAA Football 2005 skills, etc--perhaps the most important to our relationship is my body temperature. I rarely get cold and--I've been told by multiple sources including an 80 year old woman on Christmas day--my body radiates heat. This is excellent for Krishni because she is just the opposite: she gets cold with the slightest breeze and loves that she has a smelly radiator laying in bed next to her on cold mornings.
My smokin' hot body has been especially important the last few days because our furnace is on the fritz.
Oh, sure...our furnace is creating heat just fine. It's just not, you know, blowing the heat through our duct work and into our apartment. As a result, there has been more than a few mornings in our condo lately where our thermostat read "53 degrees". I wish I was making that up.
Now, I love winter. I really do. It's not winter for me unless there is a foot of snow and it is quite rare to hear me complain about the cold.
This post just happens to be one of those times.
53 degrees really doesn't sound that cold; heck, if it was 53 degrees on a March afternoon, you would probably find me cranking Green Day and driving with my windows down. But 53 degrees in the "comfort" of your own home? That is uncomfortable.
As I type this, the temperature in our house is a balmy 58 degrees. This I can handle. I'm hanging on the couch in some sweatpants and a hoodie, watching the Bulls game and eating some deep dish pizza from Gino's East. And tonight, I'll crawl into bed next to my wife, make sure the space heater that's been blowing for the last 3 days is turned to "lava" and pull 3 blankets up over my chest.
All of the above is livable. You know what sucks though? My shower in the morning.
Those of you that have been to my place know that Krishni and I have separate bathrooms. Really, separate bathrooms is the secret to a great marriage. Unfortunately, the "Mens Room" is outside of our protected space heater area. This means I have to crawl out of bed tomorrow morning at 7, walk into my bathroom which, by the way, has a 5 foot tall window two feet from the shower head, take off all of my clothes and desperately try and keep my fat ass covered by hot water in a shower that can only be described as "igloo-like". Seriously...while the rest of my house is in the 50s, I have to believe that the temperature in my bathroom--due in part to the enormous picture window of tempered glass inconveniently placed IN the shower--is in the 40s.
Mornings this week have been awful. AWFUL.
Never fear; our favorite handyman is finally getting out here Thursday morning to (hopefully) fix the issue. However, if we can't get this issue licked, I'm seriously considering moving back to Oklahoma.
Just kidding! I'd rather live in Antarctica North on Paulina Street then move back to that shithole.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Whaaaaaat?
For those of you wondering where I've been, the truth is far less fun than you might imagine. "Oh," I bet you're thinking, "He must be on another Disney character cruise ship orgy."
While it's true that it's been a while since I've shared a post-coital poolside Mai Tai with Jasmine and Belle, I'd like to take a moment to announce that Mike Jacklich--winner of the Nobel Prize for "Contributions in Severe Couch Sitting, 2012", has found a job. A dream job, of sorts.
For the next--hopefully--few years I will be the Box Office Supervisor of a freakin' minor league baseball team.
Yeah, it's small time. The Boomers play in the Frontier League which is an independent league; that is to say the Boomers are not affiliated with a Major League Baseball team. Also, they pay is awful, I don't (yet) get benefits and I have a two hour, round-trip commute. But at least the hours are ridiculously long! Ha ha!
I kid. There are so many reasons why I should not have taken this job. But this position is a real, honest to goodness job in professional baseball. The Boomers are in their second season and the staff is aces. The team owner also owns the Gary Rail Cats and when he purchased the organization that would become the Boomers, he brought along with him some of his best and brightest from his other organization. I'll be reporting directly to the General Manager.
Our season--51 home games--kicks off in May and this is minor league baseball at its best. $2 beer nights, scout camp outs, promotions like the "World's Biggest Water Gun Fight"...and a whole lot of baseball. And since the Boomers are not affiliated with a MLB team, we play to win. There is no "we need to get this kid 5 innings so the big club will be happy". These are just 25 kids, scratching and clawing and dreaming of the big leagues.
There's also this thing:
That monstrosity is called the "Brat-a-Boom". I'll let the website describe it: "The Brat-a-Boom!, available exclusively at the third base concession stand at the home of the Schaumburg Boomers, is a giant 4.5 pound custom bratwurst made with Bobak's Sausage on a two-foot pretzel bun, slathered with Levy Restaurant's special beer cheese, topped with sauerkraut and diced applewood smoked bacon, finished with deep-fried onion strings." There's even a challenge to eat the thing: "The contestant will attempt to finish the Brat-A-Boom! and a side of cheese fries. The Challenge time limit is 30 minutes and only a tray of crumbs and scarce cheese stains will constitute a Brat-A-Boom! Victory. The Challenge must be completed alone and water will be provided for free."
I don't know about you, but the plate of cheese fries feels dangerously superfluous. At any rate:
Jimmy, the Brat-a-Boom is calling your name.
So, I have a job in professional baseball. Because of the hours and the fact that I won't be able to afford anything fun this summer, you may not see a lot of me.
But understand this: I could not be more excited about this job. Come on out and see us this summer...tickets are only $10. You'll also be happy to know that I've promised my wife I won't go anywhere near the Brat-a-Boom.
But I've told little white lies before.
While it's true that it's been a while since I've shared a post-coital poolside Mai Tai with Jasmine and Belle, I'd like to take a moment to announce that Mike Jacklich--winner of the Nobel Prize for "Contributions in Severe Couch Sitting, 2012", has found a job. A dream job, of sorts.
For the next--hopefully--few years I will be the Box Office Supervisor of a freakin' minor league baseball team.
I kid. There are so many reasons why I should not have taken this job. But this position is a real, honest to goodness job in professional baseball. The Boomers are in their second season and the staff is aces. The team owner also owns the Gary Rail Cats and when he purchased the organization that would become the Boomers, he brought along with him some of his best and brightest from his other organization. I'll be reporting directly to the General Manager.
Our season--51 home games--kicks off in May and this is minor league baseball at its best. $2 beer nights, scout camp outs, promotions like the "World's Biggest Water Gun Fight"...and a whole lot of baseball. And since the Boomers are not affiliated with a MLB team, we play to win. There is no "we need to get this kid 5 innings so the big club will be happy". These are just 25 kids, scratching and clawing and dreaming of the big leagues.
There's also this thing:
That monstrosity is called the "Brat-a-Boom". I'll let the website describe it: "The Brat-a-Boom!, available exclusively at the third base concession stand at the home of the Schaumburg Boomers, is a giant 4.5 pound custom bratwurst made with Bobak's Sausage on a two-foot pretzel bun, slathered with Levy Restaurant's special beer cheese, topped with sauerkraut and diced applewood smoked bacon, finished with deep-fried onion strings." There's even a challenge to eat the thing: "The contestant will attempt to finish the Brat-A-Boom! and a side of cheese fries. The Challenge time limit is 30 minutes and only a tray of crumbs and scarce cheese stains will constitute a Brat-A-Boom! Victory. The Challenge must be completed alone and water will be provided for free."
I don't know about you, but the plate of cheese fries feels dangerously superfluous. At any rate:
Jimmy, the Brat-a-Boom is calling your name.
So, I have a job in professional baseball. Because of the hours and the fact that I won't be able to afford anything fun this summer, you may not see a lot of me.
But understand this: I could not be more excited about this job. Come on out and see us this summer...tickets are only $10. You'll also be happy to know that I've promised my wife I won't go anywhere near the Brat-a-Boom.
But I've told little white lies before.
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