Mirror mirror on the wall

Another one where the picture certainly does not do the post justice. Imagine if you filled a magical stomach with: paper mache, pleather, a few parkers painter paper hats, and a loose fitting pair of black 80's track pants. What would that magical stomach crap out you might ask? This dudes pants.



I had never seen anything like em. I wanted to pull a Costanza and casually feel his material.

While certainly everyone is free to look and dress however they like. I have always wondered; when someone comes out of their home with pants like these on, or a fanny pack, a mullet, denim on denim etc... Do they look in the mirror before they leave home? Does it cross their mind that they are about to embark on a solo mission of ridiculousness? Differen't strokes for differen't folks sure, but, I would just hope that when people get ready to leave the house in the morning, at the very least they take a look in the ol' mirror, and say "you know what world, I'm doing the best I can with the cards I was dealt." Unfortunately, humans daily, prove this to be a tall, tall order.

Vassup

This is my friend Sean. Sean is straight.

Boom shakalaka

Went 0-6 in stall ball this morning... I felt like the Shaquille O' Neal of the bathroom league.

Freedom

My goal is to not go 10 or more posts without a shot like this. So, while this is a throwback, it is necessary in keeping the essence of this blog alive.

I found this guy while I was out at Emerald Downs celebrating my freedom this last 4th of July. One thing that was not free... this mans underpants from his butt.

Who told you to put the balm on?

So apparently a crowded coffee shop is as good a place as any to apply a generous amount of balm all over your face, neck and ears.



Sorry it's blurry, but hey, they can't all be winners now can they.

hot poop

PS - it is hot as poop outside, and in reference to that, this is google's 17th image result when googling "hot poop".



PPS - I realize PS is supposed to come postscript, I also realize that it should contain punctuation. However you should realize, the image is what this post is really about.

PPPS - the 20th image result for hot poop is a picture of Sarah Palin... ahh... you just can't make this stuff up.

yee haw

Just missed a real gem of an opportunity... picture an angry butch lez, pulling a full size dumpster down Bellevue ave on cap hill in between Pike and Pine with a riding lawn mower...

I even got a courtesy wave from her as I slowed down and tried to fish my phone out of my pocket, but alas, world 1, matt 0.

Big Ballin'

Every week on my drive to work I see some ding-dong, driving some ratty car, with the same stupid message across the back window about how they are making thousands of dollars from home. It's already embarrassing enough to write any message across the back window of your car, let alone one about all the money you are making, when your car is a 1994 Toyota Corolla.

If I had the choice to a) stand on a busy corner for a day with a sign that said "I stole" or "I suck", or b) drive a shitty car for a week with that message on the back window for a week, I'd go with option A. I'm not sure if the people with the blaring I suck at life decal on their back window are frequently mocked or ridiculed, or given the 1 finger salute, but, they certainly should be. At the very least, give them a disapproving glare for me.

Au Revoir Lisa, Luben

You ever have one of those things in life that every time you see it, your brain goes to the same place? One of mine is a small sign outside a deli across the street from my office. The plain sign that looks like it was made out of an extra piece of ceiling tile, reads "Seattle's Best Reuben". Every time I see it, which unfortunately for me is almost every day, I exclaim, under my breath, "Au Revoir Lisa, Luben". Which is usually followed by a "Luben, look to me in my eyeball". Occasionally if I'm feeling really saucy, I'll throw in a 3rd line for good measure like, "are you for scuba", or, if I'm in a bad mood, a quick "my name is not Luben!" will do.

Along came Polly... a far cry from a classic, but apparently has a small space in my brain that it has decided to occupy for the foreseeable future.

Weekend wrap

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. All in all, I had a most excellent weekend. Numerically it was: 1 romantic dinner, 5 hours on a boat, 5 hours on a deck, 3 hours of dancing, 5 hours of hang over, 2 instances of puking, 3 losses in pickleball, and capped with 1 dinner at the in-laws, with some scattered sleep mixed in.

The high was a few hours burning up the Indianola dance floor with my wife, the low, below the midnight dance shot with the Indianola stage gnome, is the accompanying story.



Upon waking up on Sunday morning, I new I had one shot to either cure my hang over, or cement it. I walked to the fridge at the beach house, grabbed some of Uncle Char's breakfast casserole, a water, and a diet coke. I got the liquids down as the casserole heated up. I put the casserole down, and sat on the bed to give it a minute... and then I did the ol' slow jog to the bathroom for part 1 of 2.

Part deux came on the ride home, where the non-hungover wife asked if we needed to stop before we got on the highway. I chose to stop, and stepped outside. Bright sunshine blinding me, cars passing by... me dressed like a hobo. I paced in the sand, cut off sweats a saggin, flip flops a draggin, when it came. For the second time before 9am I was yelling at the ground. As I hurled uncontrollably, a fart slipped, it, also uncontrollable, and then another, after the second one, the wife chimed in from the car "careful, dont shit yourself!" Talk about feeling 2 feet tall.

A few hours in bed, a granola bar, and some crystal light had me back on track by 1 in time for some Sunday afternoon pickleball.

El Gato

At a busy intersection in Federal Way today stood a group of concerned citizens, a group of cat lovers, a group of people going above and beyond. Rather than putting up a few posters and sitting on the front porch like a bunch of goons, they got off they're asses and tried to find that fucking dog... or in this case, that cat.

They took to the street in a mashup collab looking like the "shame on Macy's" people, the firemen boot collectors, and a gang of midnight bike riders all mixed together. Dawning neon vests, and armed with semi professional 3x2 neon signs, they were on each corner of the intersection, waving their signs, with a picture of their lost cat.

A few things came to mind... was this a joke, was it serious? If the cat was anywhere near an intersection on pacific highway that serves thousands of cars a day, is there any chance in hell the cat is still alive. Where did these civilians find these matching neon super hero costumes, and how much did 6 custom signs and wicked rad outfits cost, possibly the same amount as ol' whiskers???

I passed them on my way to dinner, and 2 hours later on my way home. Although I salute their valiant effort, I'm gonna chalk this one up, world 1, missing cat group 0, whiskers -0.

The pic below was unfortunately on my way back, when they were all congregated on 1 corner, possibly accepting defeat, or, in my mind, eating power bars, and drinking gatorade, before going hands in for a "1, 2, 3, whiskers!", to prepare for another 2 grueling hours on the corner.

Meow.

Setting the tone

My hope is that this blog will give me a place to store all of the useless things that occupy my mind on a daily basis.

It will feature posts from Matt, and Matt's alter ego Uncle Pete.

Occasionally Matt will give birth to shenanigans normally kept to the realm of UP. Case in point, this hungry butt I just spotted outside my office.

blog test

Time to test this blog, and blog test I shall.

Matt