Lesson #99: When using products taken from a roommate's bathroom, read labels before use.

To fill my days, I have been wandering the city, going to coffee shops, and walking past gyms. I get up around noon-thirty, shower, get dressed, nap, and head out to start my day of exploration! On one of these jam-packed, action-filled days, I was doing a quick mirror check to make sure my weave was still in place before leaving the house when I noticed some dry skin on my near perfect face. The thought of running back upstairs to my room wore me out, so I just grabbed some lotion out of my roommate's bathroom and applied it to my face and hands. Problem solved. I had walked maybe a block when I noticed a twinkle out of the corner of my eye. Was it the sun reflecting off the clanging change in the cup of Homeless Harry? No. Was it the reflection of light off of a dead pigeon's glassy eye (yes, that happened)? No. I looked down and noticed my hands were more sparkly than usual. "That's strange," I thought. "I don't remember dipping my hands in glitter. It's just not practical." I then remembered the somewhat shiny bottle of lotion I grabbed from the roommate's bathroom. At that moment, it also dawned on me that I had used that lotion on my face. Crap. I thought the Asian lady standing outside the dry cleaners had stared at my face a little too intently. I quickly U-turned and power walked my boney butt back to the apartment to scrub. When I finally saw my face in the mirror, it looked like I had passed out face first into one of Rip Taylor's paper bags. Unacceptable. (If the Rip Taylor reference went over your head, you need to google him and re-evaluate your life choices) So, half a bottle of face wash and 2 washcloths later, I was a new, less-sparkly man. Lesson learned.

Lesson #1: Say what you mean and mean what you say.

I grew up in Tennessee, went to school in Mississippi and Kentucky, stayed in Kentucky to teach for 2 years, and recently relocated to Chicago. How in the Baby Jesus did I end up in Chicago? I have determined it was my mouth that got me here. I wanted something different. I wanted to be adventurous! There is just one problem...I am not adventurous. I do not enjoy adventure. I do not enjoy the unknown. I do not enjoy red-headed men (completely unrelated, I know...but just as important. Unfortunate). Whenever there is a new and interesting problem to solve or place to go, I am not the first volunteer. In fact, I would have been that a-hole that pushed the women and children out of the way to get to the lifeboats. Let them experience the new adventure of riding a sinking ship with Leonardo DiCaprio and his butt cut. No, thank you.

So, how did I end up on this crazy ride? Easy...I cornered myself by running my ridiculous mouth. After ending a long relationship in Louisville, people began to ask "what next for the beautiful and talented Drew?" So, like anyone with a personality disorder, I talked about Chicago (a place I had only visited a handful of times) like I already had a plan. Pretty soon, it caught on and everyone at work began saying they would miss me...crap. Before I knew it, I was apartment/job hunting, packing up my furniture and crack pipe, and getting outs the Ville.

So now that I am here, what next? Well, I lucked out and got a fantastic job, great roommates, and even a friend or two. However, my job doesn't start until September, so I'm left to wander the city for a couple months. It has been a culture shock to say the least. First and foremost, when building a huge city, apparently parking is optional. I am not a complete moron, I knew that parking in major cities sucked, but I had no idea that there is never any parking...anywhere...ever. Actually, I shouldn't say that. There is some parking available if you have some serious cash or are willing to put up your first-born as collateral. Soon after moving to the city, your car becomes an expensive paper weight. If you find a nice parking spot near your apartment, you don't move it (except for street cleaning days...I can't even begin to discuss this). Needless to say, I have begun to learn the public transit system. It's not bad. It's definitely less convenient than hopping in your car and running over to Target for a bit, but does offer certain life lessons only available on a bus or train.

Lesson #436: Just because someone is speaking in your general direction, it does not mean that they are speaking to you...and if you respond, they will be quick to correct your mistake. "I ain't talkin' to you, white boy" or some equally friendly, yet racist remark.

Lesson #72: Children are indestructible and therefore need not sit while the train or bus is in motion. Whereas, these superhero babies are indestructible, my knees are not. If my kneecap breaks in half due to it being in the way of one of God's little miracles, it is not their or their parents' problem.

More lessons to follow in future posts, I'm getting bored and distracted. Basically this blog will be filled with the lessons I have learned thanks to the random, ridiculous moments I experience here in Chicago that make life all the more fun, interesting, and kinda scary. Stay tuned, kids!