MY WORLD:
So Belle, aka “Numbah One Pretty Gurrrr” aka “BOB” aka “BOOF” aka “I Kinda Blame You For Ruining My Ankle The Other Night When I Stepped In A Pothole While Walking You”, has started this NEW thing where she’s scared of a dead fly. This is no exaggeration. Yesterday, when The VP got back from work (I was still out working because of an ethic instilled by my parents at a young age, but that’s neither here nor there) she noticed that Belle was acting a little weirder than normal. After a few minutes, VP realized that there were one/MAYBE TWO flies in our apartment. (Does Jimmy live in a dumpster that he calls an “apartment”? Who has seen this “apartment”?) The VP reported that, quoting from her actual text, “Belle heard a fly and now she legit won’t move. Just standing completely still.” By the time I got home, The VP had yet to kill the fly because her hand eye coordination rivals that of a blind amputee, and Belle was in our bedroom, hiding under our bed. Totally normal behavior for a 56 pound dog to be TERRIFIED of a housefly. WE REALLY LUCKED OUT WITH OUR FIRST DOG GUYS!
After some tense negotiations between myself and Señorita Dog, I got her to come out from under the bed for a proper pet sesh. For whatever reason though, me telling her to “stop being a weirdo baby” did not stop her from being a weirdo baby once she spotted the fly land on The VP’s purse. Belle backed up the way you would if you walked in on Michael Myers sharpening his favorite stabbin’ knife. Going into hero-mode, I grabbed The VP’s “Shape” magazine and ended this insect’s life with the snap of my wrist. To remind Belle what kind of man her Daddy is, I grabbed the dead fly’s rotting corpse, smashed it against my forehead, and smeared it’s blood down my face while growling like a PREHISTORIC BEASTMONSTER!!!!!! This did not calm her down. Instead, she went right back into our bedroom and under our bed and has basically been theres since (as of 6:37AM this morning).
Therefore, since my barbaric display did nothing to soothe her newfound fear of flies, maybe Belle would appreciate hearing some of my irrational fears and how I deal with them. As a dogfather, I must be able to relate to Belle whenever possible. Belle, you are not alone, here are my most irrational fears:
Old Southern Men: Show me an old guy with a southern drawl who mumble-talks and you can find me locked in the nearest bathroom texting my mom to “just come get me now.” I’m not sure if they all have monster hands and a permanent limp too, but THEY DEFINITELY DO and it only adds to my crippling anxiety around them. Why? Because, like, they just seem murdery or mad or I’m not a real man or did he just ask me if I chew wood on a grass boat? WHAT’S A GRASS BOAT?!?!? Dealing with this fear consists of me either giving hearty courtesy laughs anytime they open their mouth, or just going full-on “bear survival mode” and sitting as still as possible while not making a sound. (If LeRoy can’t see me, then he can’t kill me and hide my body in that grass boat thing where he chews wood.) This fear has caused serious mental issues anytime I walk into a living room and an Alabama game is on the television. A flood of “oh jesus, there’s an old southern man nearby”-scaries takes over my brain as I collapse into the fetal position under the nearest coffee table.
“Jimmy, why are you under the coffee tabl-”
“I’m not Jimmy.”
The “Unsolved Mysteries” Theme Music: Do you remember that show about ghosts and scary stuff that was hosted by the dude in the trench coat? My parents would watch it when I was a kid and I’d get so scared by it that eventually I would run out of the room crying whenever I heard the opening theme music. I used to think that they kept doing this because they were SICK PEOPLE who thought a scared kid was funny (crying kids running is hilarious and needs to be an instagram account), but now I think it was a way for them to get me out of the room. Like, maybe my Dad really wanted to watch some sweet new Rated R movie that just came on HBO, but I was busy being all “hey Dad, let’s watch some lame bullshit show TOGETHER!” Quick-thinking Dad brain probably loved having the “Unsolved Mysteries” theme music trick in his back-pocket. He’d put that on and I’d be out of his hair; makes perfect sense. What’s even sadder, though, is that at 33 I still haven’t grown out of this. The VP thinks it’s funny and I know I should think it’s funny, but I don’t. When I told her of this fear she got her friends to send me audio texts and snapchats featuring that theme song. The VP would laugh like an idiot and I would try to chuckle but mostly think about “maybe I’m not falling in love with this evil beast woman.” And no, I won’t post a video with that song in it because I’M NOT IN THE MOOD TO FEEL LIKE A HELPLESS CHILD BEFORE I GO TO WORK!
Shopping Carts Behind Me: Whenever I hear that horrific rattling of old shopping cart wheels closing in on me from behind, I am POSITIVE that a serial achilles-clipper is pushing that cart and my achilles is next on his clip-list. Yes, a huge fear of mine is something happening to my achilles tendon, but has anyone in the history of grocery stores had theirs demolished by the bottom shelf of a shopping cart? If the answer to that is “yes,” I do NOT want to see the YouTube videos. If the answer to that is “no,” it may actually be worse because that means it’s DUE to happen sometime soon. The shopping cart record of not cutting an achilles is the DiMaggio hit-streak of grocery store records; and someday, some especially vicious cart pusher is going to make history. I’m gonna be the victim unless I start wearing my chain-link pants whenever we run out of paper towels.
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
Heard this song at my dentist’s office yesterday (clean teeth club) and I couldn’t wait to tell people about a hipstery sounding song that I liked. SO THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING! Wait…I’m not watching the video and it suc—-IT’S ABOUT THE MUSIC! JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES AND LISTEN!
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
The people who are saying that they’re ready for summer to be over. If you are one of these people who makes the argument that you’d rather have it be 10 degrees than 95 degrees outside, then you should wear a helmet around me because I will hit you in the head with a metal baseball bat for being a DUMB.
AM I ACTUALLY A BAD GAMBLER? OR, IS MY LUCK ABOUT TO TURN AND QUITTING NOW WOULD BE LIKE SELLING APPLE RIGHT BEFORE THEY CAME OUT WITH THE iPOD?
Fresh new deposit into my account and IMMEDIATELY on the following golfers for the PGA Championship: Tiger Woods, Patrick Cantlay, Jon Rahm, Jason Day, Marc Leishman, Daniel Berger, Aaron Wise, Thorbjorn Olesen, Joaquin Niemann. I’ve never heard of Niemann or Wise, but that’s the sign of a good gambler…you trust the odds. Oh also, real quick, my gambling-confidence is at an all-time low and I’m positive I’m going to lose every bet I make for the rest of my life and I still won’t stop. I’M NOT ADDICTED. (My Bovada account is currently at $12.60)
K bye.
Jimmy's Chair 