The VP and I Go To Ireland – Part 1 of ? – (9/13/18)

IRELAND (PART ONE OF MANY):

*Hey friends! I haven’t written in a little bit because I got crushed by work before going to Ireland for 11 days. I’m back and it feels great! I meant to write this as one long piece, but that’s not possible. I don’t know how many “parts” there will be to this Ireland series, but I don’t want to shortchange any of it, so excuse the next few entries on Jimmyschair. It will be Ireland heavy for I don’t know how long. I hope you like it.

When I was 15, I couldn’t go to sleep on Christmas Eve night because I was so excited about the possibility of being a gifted a car on Christmas. My parents had told me over and over and over again that I was ABSOLUTELY NOT getting a car, but I had convinced myself that these assurances were all part of their planned rouse. “He won’t be as excited if he KNOWS he’s getting a car,” they had to be saying to each other as they continued arguing over whether I was more of a Benz or Bentley kid. Turns out, I was more of a HEAVILY used 1988 White Ford Escort hatchback 6 months later kid. But I didn’t know that on Christmas Eve; so I lied in my bed with eyes popping out of my face anytime I heard a car passing by our house. I wouldn’t look out my bedroom window because I love surprises (YOU READING THIS, VP?!?!) and I didn’t want to ruin what my parents must have been planning for months. This is not a story of a petulant 15 year old treating Christmas morning like a funeral for hopes and dreams (I mean, that’s what it became, but…) Instead, it’s the last time I can remember being incoherently excited for something. Drunk without a having had a drink excited. My life was about to change forever excited. That was the last time I felt THAT kind of unmitigated excitement. (Yes, I was excited for my wedding, but that was definitely MITIGATED by the nerves associated with standing in front of a couple hundred people.) Then, 18 years later, the VP and I flew to Ireland on the night of August 30th with a plan to sleep on the 7 hour flight and wake up refreshed for our first Irish morning. I should’ve known. There was no fucking way I was sleeping on that plane.

The VP and I landed in Dublin exhausted, but pretending not to be because what’s lamer than kicking off the trip of a lifetime with yawns? So we trudged through our baggage claim and customs with glassy eyes while assuring each other that “yeah, no, I am so excited!” The taxi driver was the first hint that we were somewhere foreign because he…was professional and not mean. Did you know that taxi drivers who don’t snarl from the front seat while you ask if he can pop the trunk actually exist? Better yet, there are even taxi drivers who GET OUT AND HELP YOU with your luggage. Unbelievable, I know, but I was there. As the older gentleman helped load the VPs Gajillion pound suitcase into the trunk, I kept telling The VP to film what was happening on her phone. “No one will believe us! BUT NO ONE WILL BELIEVE US!!!!”

We got to our hotel before our room was ready, which was totally fine because we were SO NOT TIRED. Matta’ ah Fack, before the front desk lady even checked the status of our room, I was all like “I don’t even care if it’s ready cuz I’m not even tired so like whatever.” Her face changed as she looked back up at me. “Whoa, didn’t know Americans could be so chill and masculine at the same time,” is what she wanted to say, but spotting the ring on my finger, opted to avoid a confrontation with The VP and instead said something like “Your room is not ready because you’re here 6 hours before check-in time.” Her words were meaningless, her face told the story. These Americans were different.

The VP and I left our baggage and went out to explore a Dublin morning. When you’re NOT tired and your phones aren’t allowing you to Google “Uh, what do we do now that we’re actually here?” you just end up wandering and saying things like “I’m pretty sure…wait…no, maybe this way.” It was vacation morning, which meant breakfast, which also meant drinking so…..PUB TIME! And, living up to our reputation as “not your typical Americans,” we picked one where we didn’t see nerdy tourists. We aren’t THOSE people! (It was one kinda’ close to an H+M that The VP told me multiple times that she wanted to just “check out”. Uh, yeah fuckin’ right VP, and ruin the movie being written about us called “Not Your Average Americans”? OVER MY DEAD BODY). Continuing the theme of rebellion, The VP ordered a Bloody Mary at the bar. I ordered a Guinness, but I ordered it in that nonchalant, chill-like “this is just a beer that I love to normally drink and am not drinking just because everyone else here is drinking it and I want to feel included in the very community that my ancestors originated from.” Youda’ thought we were born in this bar.

The first meal was fine and it didn’t matter; which is something that I came to realize throughout our stay in Ireland. Don’t get me wrong, Jimmy EatFace looooooves a good meal, but when you’re in Ireland you’re so anxious to see more, drink more, talk to others more, and go elsewhere…uh, more, that food becomes an afterthought. It takes time away from seeing other things. It takes up space meant for Guinness. It occupies your mouth from–okay, we get how eating food works. We finished our fist meal, a traditional Irish breakfast that we split because we weren’t that hungry and “no, I do kinda’ like this blood sausage thing. It’s interesting!” Was it more off-putting than interesting? HEY! Haven’t you heard? WE’RE NOT THOSE AMERICANS.

After a couple more pints of Guinness (we were on vacation!) and some aimless wandering (uh, it’s called “exploring”) where we didn’t look at the map because, let’s all say it together, “we’re not those Americans,” we headed back to our hotel. Oh, our room was ready a couple hours early? Cool, whatever, not a big deal, guess we should check it out. The VP and I then crumpled on the bed like those spiders you spray with whatever aerosol can is closest so you don’t have to almost touch kill them with your hand. (I sprayed a spider in my car yesterday using a bottle of dog pee cleaner I found in my trunk). We slept for a few hours, dreaming of things I don’t know about because I can’t remember my dreams and never listen when The VP tells me what she was dreaming of. I just hope the hotel workers didn’t come in our room while we were asleep and uncovered my lie about not being tired. Yeah, we locked the door, but I don’t know how hotel nap time is treated in Ireland.

When we woke up around 6, we made a plan to go to the place Anthony Bourdain loved the most on his show about Dublin, “Kavanagh’s” aka “Gravediggers”. It’s an old pub next to a cemetery about 14 minutes outside the crush of the Dublin bar scene. By the time we got there, it was the perfect kind of busy, like they were waiting for us. And, based on how kind the bartenders were, maybe they were? We ordered pints on pints on pints of Guinness, chatted up the distinguished bartender who made us feel like we had finally gotten to where we always should have been going. It wasn’t this type of “let’s milk these tourists for all they got with cheap smiles and too much conversation” type of welcoming, but more of an easy conversation with someone who almost instantly went from stranger to relative.

I think the thing I had heard most about Ireland was that the people are what you go for. And while I like people, there was a part of me that was worried about being bombarded with strangers inserting themselves in every conversation I would try to have. I’m happy to report back that I was an idiot for thinking that. The people are the highlight not because they cheers every beer you get, but because, somehow, they already know you and you already know them. Those increasingly rare nights at home when all of your friends are able to make it out to the same bar and you can talk or not talk to any of them because you’re all comfortable; THAT is an Irish Pub. I signed the guestbook like an absolute dolt because I saw it and instinctively grabbed it before realizing I didn’t know what to write because I didn’t feel like a guest. Imagine going home for Thanksgiving and your Uncle Rick putting a “guestbook” in front of you.

We ended up getting pleasantly drunk; nowhere near the “my brain is broken now”-blackout that ends most fun nights at home. We took a Taxi back to the hotel and walked to a nearby Subway because we weren’t there for the food.

The next day was for walking once we actually got up and out of our room, which became more difficult than anticipated once The VP discovered a British dating show with cooking called “Dinner Date”. There was no hangover, just reality television. Remember the show “Next” on MTV? It’s like that but the person being wooed comes over to 3 people’s houses for a home cooked meal. I hated that I kinda’ enjoyed the show too because we didn’t come to Ireland to sit in our room and watch daytime dating shows…but…like, it was good. FUCK!

After a few episodes, and a few “hey, can we go now?”s from yours truly, we finally made it out of our hotel. The plan was to walk and walk and walk until we saw Temple Bar and Guinness and nice Irish men in cool little hats telling us stories about places that sound magical. “Excuse me, Ms. Concierge? Where’s do wrinkly faced storytellers hang out?”

Our self-guided walking tour through Dublin worked like the strongest coffee I could ever drink. If I owned a Go-Pro I would’ve strapped it to my rotund head and never pressed “stop” to capture every single thing I was seeing. Look, maybe it’s because I had never been out of the country before, but walking in a city an ocean away from home is battery power for humans. Look, a river! Look, an old building! Look, a guy I don’t know with really tight pants! No wonder little kids always seem to be so happy, it’s amazing seeing anything for the first time.

We set out to make our way to the Guinness storehouse, making sure to hit Temple Bar along the way. Little did we know that we’d stop at some pub here, an immaculate church from 900 years ago there, and countless other “this looks like a postcard” places along the way. We took a tour of Christ Cathedral Church and I got to see a meticulously artistic structure coated with CENTURIES of stories.

I’ll admit, even raised as an Irish Catholic, I always found church impossibly boring. When my Mom used to tell me how impactful a Priest’s sermon was, I’d almost crack my skull with the effort it took me NOT to roll my eyes. But this house of history wasn’t that. I could’ve sat on one of those pews, in silence for hours, and been riveted every second of the way. Your brain does amazing things when you’re enveloped in stained glass and moldings that could not have been made without modern technology. I was thankful there my internet wasn’t working; this was all about the wonderment of pre-technology. A trophy on the human brain’s mantle.

CAN’T WAIT TO TELL YOU MORE NEXT TIME!

K bye.

Car People and Tight Shorts (6/6/18)

MY WORLD:

A few years back, The VP of Ops and I got in a big fight about me being wrong and not admitting it and then getting madder at her for pointing that out and it turned into a real THING. Mind you, our fights usually consist of me being in some sort of mood (Shut up to all the people saying “such a Gemini”-in their head rn) or The VP just absolutely refusing to admit when she may have been wrong. It’s the same routine most times where we’ll get mad, kinda snap without yelling, make exchange some cutting remarks in the guise of “being funny”, give each other the silent treatment for a few hours and then gently start to make gentler jokes about the fight as we wait for the other one to apologize first (spoiler alert: IT’S ALWAYS ME BECAUSE GAH FUHBIH SHE EVER ADMITS THAT SHE WAS WRONG!) Anyway, this particular fight a few years back, was ratcheted up a few notches because it happened later in the evening after we had entered HAMMEREDVILLE, USA. You know those drunk fights where halfway through you catch yourself in a sober flash thinking “wait, why am I mad? Uh oh…I have no idea…DOESN’T MATTER, KEEP GOING!”? It was one of those. This night, however, my power move wasn’t just a silent treatment, but it was to retreat to the only place I can truly be myself: my car. (Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to drive anywhere. The plan was to sleep in my car…then I realized the backseat was supes uncomfy so I waited another 11 minutes before slithering back into our apartment. Uh….yeah, I think she got the point!)

We’re different people in our cars, right? Maybe I’m saying that because I’m in mine a lot and I act like a borderline mental patient in mine, but where else are you alone in a soundproof box with windows? It’s as close as we’ll ever come to being invisible in public (hey inventors, get off your asses and prove me wrong!) and I don’t know about you guys, but I relish this pseudo-invisibility. WHO’S WITH ME? Here are some of my classic “I can do this because I’m alone in a soundproof box”-moves:

-Front-seat Dancing: Singing is obvious and I can be one basic bitch so, yeah, I sing too, but the seated dance moves I’ve developed are nothing short of…well, probably disappointing. BUT! While I’m doing them, my brain is flooded with “remember this move next time you’re being looked at on a dance floor!” (Can someone also have a chair ready for me?) If you’re curious about what these moves are (WE ARE! JIMMY! WE ARE!) close your eyes TIGHT and think rolling shoulders mixed with pointing fingers that SOMETIMES curl back into air drum routines. Mind you, these moves are more likely to come out on Thursdays and Fridays as JGT (Jimmy Good Times!!!) nears his weekend entrance. And the bands/musicians that bring these hotsex seated dance moves out? We’re talking CHVRCHES, Steve Winwood (JGT’S FAVORITE), and maybe some cool-guy “I’m a rapper when I’m alone in my car”-moves for Old Kanye. I will warn you, however, that if you play any of this music while in the car with me, you will not see these moves. They are strictly for Alone-In-The-Car-Jimmy. I have made eye contact with random drivers mid-move, and I immediately stop and look up and away kinda’ like how Michael Cera did during the awkward moments in “Superbad”.

-The “I’m Pissed” Arm Toss: Middle fingers are so 1999, guys. When I get mad, and I’m either in front of or directly behind the car that made me mad, I toss my arm up like I’m flinging a frisbee through my sunroof. Here’s the thing though: there is no frisbee, and I have no sunroof. You just got hit with the Jimmyschair patented “I’m pissed” arm toss. And if you’re not feeling guilty for what you and your FUCKING car just did to me? Then I hope you rot in hell. Now I will say that this move is NOT restricted to Alone-In-The-Car-Jimmy (let’s call Alone-In-The-Car-Jimmy; JimE cuz it’s edgy but still sounds like my name!) The VP was introduced to the “I’m Pissed” Arm Toss early on in our relaish (what hip lingo doesn’t Jimmy know?!?!) after some pisspants cut me off. I don’t remember her exact reaction, but it was along the lines of a dripping-sarcastic “wow, my hero!” I always use my right arm because it’s stronger (thus, more intimidating) and there are no less than 4 tosses per day. JimE’s thinking? Chicago traffic is bad because there are too many guilt-free drivers not realizing the damage they’re causing by SWITCHING LANES WITHOUT A GODDAMN SIGNAL. The “I’m Pissed” Arm Toss slings guilt from my Chevy Equinox the way a Catholic Priest does during his sermon. Should we start calling my right arm Father Arm O’Tossahand?

-Talking to myself: The invention of speakerphone has provided the perfect cover for talking to yourself in the car. Even if you’re caught by a red-light neighbor, you can shoot the “I’m on the phone”-look (there’s a look for that? YEAH DUMMY!) Whether it’s preparing for an upcoming presentation; or running a “mock argument” that I’m anticipating later that day; or pretending that I’m being interviewed by a late-night talk show host, there is no shortage of my voice in my car. What’s weird about talking to yourself is that if you do in front of people, you’re obviously a LOON. BUT! I would also posit (nice word) that if you don’t do it while you’re alone, you are simply a different breed of LOON. Are there actually people who never talk to themselves? Is that the origin story of every socially awkward person? (Jimmy seems to really want to convince us that talking to yourself is not only not crazy, but normal. Hey Jimmy, PLEASE START TAKING PILLS PRESCRIBED BY A LICENSED PSYCHIATRIST!) This morning, for instance, I have about an hour-long commute, during which I plan to hold an interview where my current-self asks my future-self all about why it took so long for me (us?) to break into Hollywood’s writing scene. I can’t wait to give humble answers.

OUR WORLD:

Hopefully, you haven’t been like me lately and eating copious amounts of cheese dips. My summer bod is taking a hiatus that my shorts from last year were NOT prepared for. Therefore, I am entering a “I’m going to try to eat super healthy during the week, so I can pig out on weekends without having to buy all new summer clothes”-diet. If, unfortunately, you are like me and are looking to enter a similar shorts-saving campaign, here is what I have eaten and plan to eat for the rest of this week’s dinner. I give you, some healthy meals that don’t suck:

-Baked Chicken Wings: As long as you don’t coat them in flour or use butter in your buffalo sauce, I think we’re pretty gucci here. On its own, buffalo sauce ain’t that bad for you according to my brain when it looks at the nutritional info on the back of the Frank’s Buffalo Sauce bottle.

-Turkey Tacos: Lean turkey meat with taco seasoning is FINE, and I’m pretty sure if you use corn tortillas, it’s basically like eating corn…which is a vegetable and, therefore, GOOD FOR YOU. Skip the sour cream, but allow a little cheese. Atkins allows cheese and it’s kinda’ Atkins-y, so the cheese is okay.

-Skirt Steak with Chimichurri and Asparagus: Chimichurri is like limey pesto and errbody knows I love me some pesto. Skirt Steak is protein and protein is good because muscle guys talk about it a lot. The asparagus makes your pee smell weird which is a sign that you’re keeping your body on it’s toes with this new healthy-you. Watch out bod, things are a changing!

-Grilled Chicken and Broccoli: I’m not gonna lie, this is a boring-ass meal. However, you need to throw in one super healthy boring meal a week so you have something to truly brag about to your friends this weekend. Get ready to drop health-bombs on them like “it’s so nice not having to have another chicken and broccoli dish this week!” All your friends will get quiet and think to themselves “shit, what did he mean by another? I didn’t even have ONE chicken and broccoli meal this week!” That’s cuz you’re not as healthy as us, SUCKER!

And then Friday night comes and everything goes to hell. GOOD LUCK TO ME AND US AND EVERYONE WITH LAST YEAR’S SHORTS! (Or in my case, shorts I think I bought at least 6 years ago.)

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your dog starts barking at a sound they hear in your apartment building, but before you can yell at them to be quiet, they run over to “protect” you. There’s part of me that kinda’ hopes that one day someone bursts through the door and calls Belle’s bluff.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Shaving. I’m putting it off because it’s never NOT annoying. I feel bad that girls can’t grow leg beards and, like guys, just be like “it’s a new look I’m trying out.” Of course they can, but like…maybe don’t. Please.

WRITING ABOUT GAMBLING ON THE NBA FINALS IS BORING ME SO I’M GOING TO TAKE A BREAK FROM IT FOR A LITTLE BIT. PLEASE DON’T CRY LIKE “BACHELORETTE” LINCOLN ABOUT THIS.

K bye.

New Shows and Mother’s Day (5/9/18)

MY WORLD:

There is some super big news in the world of The VP and I. Are you ready for it? (YOU’RE NOT!) We started “Game of Thrones”. That sound? That’s a bomb hitting the earth by your dumpy apartment and exploding RIGHT IN YOUR FACE!

Having not watched this show since it came out, The VP and I have been subjected to far too many “you’ve got to be kidding me”s, “what is wrong with you?”s, and passionate anger about how people “can’t even talk to you.” It’s been hard, but thankfully, we’re tough-minded individuals who had to wait until now to prove to everyone that we wouldn’t simply bend to peer pressure. We’re watching the show now because it’s right for US, and NOT because all of my friends have been making fun of me for years (but like, guys? do you think I’m cool again?)

I’m obviously lying. Remember, if I do that here, I come clean REAL quick (as in, next-paragraph-quick). We’re watching it because I’m jealous of all the fun-sounding convos my friends get to have about this show. Even not watching the show, I remember people getting emotional the day after when talking about dragons and weddings and Jon Snow (John? Jahn? Jan?) Nothing is ruined for me, but I have a very slight whiff of what’s to come. Over the past few years when my friends talk about the show, I’ve felt like a prisoner looking through bars at a field where families enjoy the sunny day on a playground (there’s gotta be one prison that overlooks a playground, right? Maybe not actually. I’M TRYING TO PAINT A PICTURE!)

Why didn’t I get into it until now, then? I was scared. Guys, I was so scared. It’s 7 seasons and I’m not a sci-fi guy and I’d heard that there are like TEN TRILLIONBILLION characters and storylines. Remember, I’m a “Bar Rescue” and “Vanderpump Rules” guy–shows with storylines that most wouldn’t describe as “hard to follow” (Bar Rescue storylines: Dirty Bar + Lazy Owner = Angry Jon Taffer. Vanderpump Rules storylines: Alcohol + Insecure People = Sleeping with an ex in a parking garage.) Also, convincing The VP of Ops to watch a show that doesn’t involve true crime OR an overdramatized cheating scandal requires some serious negotiations on my part. A few days in, and she seems to like it…although, I do have to watch her out of the corner of my eye to make sure she’s not scrolling through Instagram on her phone. (Are we the only ones who yell at each other when one of us catches the other checking their phone while watching one of “our” shows? Hook a mic up outside our apartment door and most nights all you’ll hear is us yelling “PHONE!” every 9 minutes.)

Now that we’re beginning to knock out “Game of Thrones” I’ll plan to write some reactions to the big episodes as we go through them. I figure it’ll allow anyone reading this to re-live these episodes through The VP and I’s experience of them. Don’t worry, I’ll put big bold *SPOILER ALERT* warnings ahead of them for people like we USED to be; too scared to commit.

Real quick, here are some other shows that I/we haven’t watched yet, that I feel similar guilt about. “Game of Thrones” was number 1 in terms of “I feel guilty I haven’t watched ____”, here is the rest of the top 5:

2) “Breaking Bad”: I can already hear you yelling “OH, COME ON!” at your computer screen. Here’s the deal; I watched the first couple seasons when Erin and I were first dating. Then we got serious, and had to watch shows together because of LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! CUDDLES! So we found ourselves in a pickle where I didn’t want to re-watch the first few seasons, and she didn’t want to start in the middle of the series so….now, neither of us watch it and we try not to talk about it in public too much because YOU’RE ALL JERKS!

3) “The Wire”: Wait! WAIT! I did watch the first season of this show and then the same thing that happened with “Breaking Bad” and The VP happened with “The Wire”. Guys, it’s all her fault. We still cool-man-bros? YEAAAAAAHHHH WE AHHHHH! Women, amirite?!?! (Babe, they made me do it. You know I care about you more than those dumb guys. Can’t wait to start “Southern Charm” or “Below Deck” before ever getting back into “The Wire” again!)

4) “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”: PUT ME DOWN! I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON’T PUT ME DOWN, I’M GONNA TELL MY DAD! Okay, listen, I’ve watched a few episodes of this show and I enjoyed it. I’m not going to lie, though, and tell you that it’s on the same comedy level as “Seinfeld”, “The Office” or even “Parks & Rec”. My friends and people I don’t even know on the street will CONSTANTLY throw a “you remember that episode of ‘Always Sunny’ when….”–and, you know what? I normally lie and nod my head and toss a few courtesy laughs their way. It just isn’t worth the whole ordeal of me telling them that I’ve seen less than 10 episodes of the show. Full disclosure: The VP got me into this show more than I was before we were dating, so direct all your anger about this away from her and towards me.

5) “The Walking Dead”: Guess what? I don’t feel guilty about this at all because zombies are overdone and all the promos to this show look like the actors just came out of the “disheveled but still has really cool hair”-machine. PASS!

OUR WORLD:

This is a friendly reminder that Mother’s Day is this Sunday and, therefore, you have 3 days left to procrastinate on getting a gift. (Every guy reading this just texted their sister/wife/girlfriend/friend-who-is-a-girl/that-girl-who-you-work-with looking for gift ideas.) Mom, I love you very very much, but I must confess for all men in their 20s and 30s that these are the steps we take to find your gift:

-Text any girl we are close with “what should I get my mom for mother’s day?”: They’ll probably respond with something that’s too expensive or too general like “just some nice flowers!” that you think would scream “last minute gift”. Therefore, pretty much no matter what they respond, we’re not going to get that thing.

-Google “Mother’s Day Gifts”: More flowers and candy? BE MORE ORIGINAL GOOGLE!

-Tell ourselves that we’ll “figure it out”: This is also known as “forgetting about it for 4 days until freaking out the day of.” Normally, about 4 days before Mother’s Day-when we still haven’t gotten anything-a girl in our lives will ask what we’re getting and we’ll snarl a “I’ll figure it out” back at them. Here’s the rub, though: we probably won’t.

-Call our siblings and decide to contribute money to a group gift: The tough thing with this is that ONE SIBLING needs to take the lead here. They need to present a compelling argument for what gift we should all get and have it be a reasonable price. If there’s conflict in this discussion (hint: there ALWAYS is) then negotiations may fall apart immediately. If there is agreement, then that ONE SIBLING has to go get the gift him or herself and be totally okay with sharing credit with the others when they present the gift to Mom. Normally, the sibling who took the lead AND got the gift will throw in some passive aggressive mention of how they did EVERYTHING (and, therefore, should be loved more than the rest).

-If all else fails, flowers: Seriously, if you’re just giving your Mom flowers you might as well include an “I suck at planning ahead” card with them. I don’t care what Mom’s say, they’re pissed when they get flowers from their children. I get it; I would be too. (But Mom, remember that time I got your FAVORITE flowers? That was totally different.)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is a dumb, young person song that I like. It makes me happy and feel cool.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Walking your dog in the rain and then them shaking off dry in your apartment before you can get a towel on them.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Took a couple of LAME backdoor covers right on the chin last night. Tonight? The Celtics aren’t losing a close out game at home. NOT HAPPENING!

(My account currently at $118.68)

K bye.

Easter and Being Inappropriate in Church

MY WORLD:

Happy Good Friday my sweet lil babies!!! Who is excited for Easter this weekend? For my siblings and I, Easter means going to church for one of the two times we go a year. (I legitimately thought about not writing this because I think there’s a chance we’re not going to church this year, and I don’t want to make my Mom feel bad about that…I may actually block my Mom from reading this post.) We’re an Irish Catholic bunch, but our Dad is JEW (saying that word aggressively is funny and not offensive because it’s my Dad) so he used to taunt us as we’d trudge our way out to church on Sunday mornings. I specifically remember him sitting on the couch watching NFL Countdown when I was a kid. He was the happiest he was ALL week and would wave excitedly at me saying “have fun at church!” as I contemplated suicide on my way to Sunday School and missing the first half of the Bears game. If you’re a HUGE football fan, marrying someone of another religion, one that requires them being away for most of Sunday morning, is an absolutely genius move. Well done, Dad.

As miserable as going to church and Sunday School was as a kid, going now with adult siblings is actually pretty fun because we get to make our Mom made and she can’t really do anything to us! Making people mad is so much fun, guys. As a kid, church was sitting in the pews and kneeling and being quiet and praying and standing for HOURS as the Priest drags on and on about how scary hell is and JESUS H CHRIST THIS IS BORING! Now, though, as adults we get there purposefully late because my brothers and I get real quiet in the house as my Mom gets ready….like, “don’t say anything and maybe she won’t notice we’re gonna be late to church”-every time we go. Thankfully, our Mom runs late. She’ll normally burst out of her room saying good Catholic things like “SHIT!” as she rushes us all into the car. My bros and sister and I share a “we did it!” glance on our way outside.

On the drive to church, my two brothers and I are probably making fun of our sister because she’s tougher than us but…ya know, a GIRL. We pull up to the church and our Mom speed walks to the backdoor while we saunter behind cuz we bad y’all! Who ‘dem bad boys?!?! WE ‘DEM BAD BOYS Y’ALL!!! Our Mom will then look back and say something like “come on damnit” and we’ll get kinda scared for a second and hurry in.

When you arrive late to our church you have to stand in the WAY back, and my brothers and I love this because it means we can lean against a wall! Walls! Leaning! This also means that we can whisper inappropriate jokes to each other the ENTIRE time. These church services are easily our finest comedic hours. It’s really like we save all our best material for these hours because A) Church is forever boring, sorry God but it’s true, and B) nothing is funnier than making your religious Mom laugh OR get mad at you for inappropriate jokes during church. As Mass begins, our Mom and sister will move about 8 feet ahead of Brothers Pomerantz Limited (BPL) to prove that real Catholics don’t need walls to lean on. Meanwhile, BPL will immediately begin getting inappropriate…normally, at the expense of some little kid dressed like a baby back bitch.

Some of the other targets of our deep, sick burns include:

-Teenage boys who tried WAY too hard trying too look like preppy stockbrokers. I want to try to replicate the deep burns we’d nail these doofuses with, but you had to be there. Trust me, they were deep and they were sick burns.

-Little kids doing dumb stuff is always an easy target. We normally stand near the door to the bathroom door, so we get a real kick out of kids not understanding why a door is locked and then proceeding to BANG on it until it opens. It’s also intensely funny whenever a kid budges a line of adults waiting for the bathroom, but none of the adults feel comfortable enough to say anything so they just let it happen.

-Hungover college kids with bed head and super wrinkled khakis. Sometimes you can smell the fireball-sweats from across the room, but normally we’ll throw some “hang in there buddy” head nods his/her way.

-Girls who are dressed WILDLY inappropriate for church. Like, the ones that wear their Friday-night-going-to-the-club-to-make-my-ex-jealous-dress. You can feel all the adult women judging THE SHIT out of them, and the Dads are all like “what girl?” (use the side-eye dude). Normally, one of my brothers will throw in a “yeah, but what if…” in the middle of our jokes because they’re contemplating hitting on a stranger in front of the Lord. (Hitting on people in church is something that BPL has spoken about at length, and we just don’t think it’s really possible. Does that mean we’ll stop talking about it? Of course not. But, it’s just not in our cards.)

-Angry dads; the ones with undiagnosed, but OBVIOUS anger issues. Normally, their kids are really well-dressed and seemingly well behaved. Then, one of the kids will do something awful like accidentally burp, and Daddy RageFit will burst into a clenched-teeth “KNOCK IT OFF DAMNIT!” full-on outburst with his eyes bulging and his wife moving another 6 inches away. For comedy’s sake, BPL always fantasizes about trying to prod Daddy RageFit into an actual church-fight, but then we get ahold of ourselves and realize that getting our asses kicked in church would only be funny for like 2 seconds.

Of course, there are wild card targets that appear throughout the duration of the mass (people wearing jeans, smelly old ladies, the handshake guy who nobody knows) but these are the go-tos that we can expect at every mass. This year, I’m hoping we don’t have to go cuz….ughhh, just like COME ON MOMMMMM! But if we do, mark my words that BPL will make it VERY uncomfortable for anyone actually trying to impress the big man upstairs.

OUR WORLD:

It’s Good Friday and I have written many many words this week so my brain is fried….DON’T EAT MEAT TONIGHT GUYS! (Yes, The VP and I have resos at a fancy steak place tonight, but we made these resos like 4 months ago and so our meat consumption doesn’t count. ALSO! We’re using a wedding gift card that’s about to expire, so doesn’t count times 2. Suck it nerds.)

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Salute to all the Church Daddy’s in jorts.

Jorts

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Huge fan of Easter candy but NOT the bunny circus peanut thingys. Major Yucko Alert!

brachs_easter_marshmallow_chicks_and_rabbits_ff_130708.jpg

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Saved my many many dollars last night because this weekend is when Jimmy Gambles COMES FOR FUCKING BLOOD!!!

(My account currently at $73.12)

K bye.