Category: Films

Country Clubs Suck and Dog Nicknames (4/19/18)

OUR WORLD:

Ever walk into a place and IMMEDIATELY feel like everything there, from the people to the furniture to the paint on the walls, is eager for you to leave?  If you’re having trouble coming up with the last place that made you feel this way, let me help you out: think of the last time you were in a country club.  Now you get it.  Studies show that readers of jimmyschair are 91% less likely to be a member in a country club than the rest of society (studies, guys, we’re talkin’ serious stuff that people wearing tiny glasses wrote about).  But you have been to one before because everyone is due to experience an old lady with poofy white hair and an expensive pin (it’s called a “Brooche” you animal) giving you the “leave immediately, or I’ll put a murder-spell on your family”-glare.  I got to experience this yesterday on a business (straight cash homie) call, and it reminded me how absolutely obnoxious country clubs are.  Why does this appeal to people?

The appeal of being a part of an exclusive club can be attractive, but when entry into that club is determined not by merit, but by your bank account, how does the guilt not taint the membership at least a little bit?  Obviously, most people who are well off have worked their asses off earning every nickel they have and there should be no guilt about that.  But when those people inhabit the same club as Thomas TrustFund, they…kinda’ become the company they keep.  Imagine a scenario where some shlubby dude, let’s call him Jimmy, wearing an old t-shirt and dirty hat gets lost.  Jimmy is driving around the middle of suburbia for a while when it starts hailing golf balls as a dense fog rolls in.  So pulls in the first driveway he sees and takes it up to a big, old-timey looking house place.  He’ll walk in, not noticing the “Members Only” sign that’s small enough that you’d have to wonder if it’s a test.  Once inside, soaking wet with bruises on his head from the hail, the 4 members wearing blazers with patches on the elbows, will immediately begin to grumble.  The one whose family has been members the longest, Thomas TrustFund, will volunteer to be the enforcer because the mere whiff of danger is intoxicating for this neutered house cat.

“Excuse me sir, are you a member?”-Thomas huffed, knowing full well that members aren’t allowed to wear “Big Dog” t-shirts.

“Oh, shoot I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a club.  It was just a nightmare outside, so I had to get off the roads.”-Jimmy responded.

Thomas asks Jimmy to “kindly leave”, (which is a thing that only true dickheads say; more offensive for it’s condescension than if someone said “you! yeah you, get da’ fuck outta here!)  and will send Jimmy back into the hail tornado.  Then Thomas will return to his midday bourbon circle-jerk to clink glasses celebrating exclusivity and how “tough” he just was.  Now, if you’re the person who worked your ass off for every nickel you have, but you now own the same douchey blazer as Thomas and have clinked glasses with him, you are now Thomas.  Seriously, just change your name.

I can hear my mom reminding me that all people that have money and belong to country clubs aren’t assholes, and that’s probably true.  However, if they get to build a club and golf course and pool all with the sole intent of excluding other people, aren’t those excluded people then allowed to label this society as “the dickhead society”?  It seems fair, no?  You get a pool, we get to unite in calling you dicks.

Is a pool and access to a nice golf course and a private dining room worth being properly labeled as a dick, though? There are super nice public golf courses throughout the country (I know because sometimes I save up and play them and end up wanting to quit about 6 holes in).  A pool?  Well, that’s tougher, but we all have a friend who has a rich uncle who likes to throw parties.  If not, just do what my parents did and get a room at the Glenview Embassy Suites for the night so you can swim in their pool.  We’ve already gone over this; hotel pools are the best.  A nice restaurant? Are you effing serious, bro?  “Newks” is a sandwich chain-restaurant in the south that has better sandwiches than any goofy clubhouse “chef” could slap together.  And steakhouses?!?! Every town in America now has that one nice steakhouse that you save up to go to once every 3 years and leave saying “that was SO worth it.”

So the appeal MUST be the status that’s associated with it, and that’s where I’m lost.  Bragging about your bank account, however passive aggressive it may be, is something that should be pointed out and mocked every single time.  This is why “Caddyshack” was such a great movie (related: I caddied at the club that “Caddyshack” was based on, and it was SPOT. ON.  Seriously, it’s stunning how little in that movie was exaggerated.) This is why no matter how many times my Mom tells me to not sounds so judgmental about the people in these places, I can’t resist.  This is why whenever I go to one of these places, ready to give them the benefit of the doubt and be surprised by their welcoming nature, I  end up leaving disappointed.

Yesterday, while doing BUSINESS, I was asked to take my hat off before entering an empty dining area in a country club where my presence (because of my work) was requested.  Not wanting to cause a scene by starting up an impromptu “Hat People Matter”-campaign, I removed my hat and continued our meeting; looking like an absolute asshole with my hat hair.  And why did I have to take my hat off?  So as not to offend the…oh, wait…NOBODY WAS IN THE DINING ROOM.  No no, this is just “club policy”.  Give me a fuckin’ break, pal.  That’s like a movie usher yelling at someone for using their phone after the movie ended and everyone left and the theater was now empty and dark because that was the last showing of the day.  It was almost like this guy thought “now, he must have noticed that his LEASED car stuck out in our parking lot, but let’s really drive the point home that he’s a slob by forcing him to show off his dirty, helmet-like hair in front of the four well-dressed club executives.”

I’m a middle-class white dude who was raised in a very nice suburb and these places make ME feel like sewer matter; I can’t even imagine how they make people less fortunate feel.  I hope to make a buttload of money someday, go to a country club that’s struggling with membership and buy the land it’s on so I can tear it down and build my dream: a “Newks” in Illinois.  What’s better than a “Newks” sandwich?  A “Newks” sandwich that comes with a free round of golf and pool access.

MY WORLD:

With The VP of Ops out of town, I’ve been talking to my dog, Belle, quite a bit more than usual.  Fellow dog owners? You feel me? Cha feel?  Here are the nicknames that I have bestowed upon Belle:

-Pretty Girl

-Numba One Pretty Gurrrrrrl

-Sundog Millionaire! (said, with an exclamation point, in the villain’s accent from “Slumdog Millionaire”)

-Bubba

-Bubba Shlubba

-Dirty Dog

-Ro Ro

I will keep you all updated on the new ones that my dumb brain comes up with just about every day.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The old couches that are super not comfortable and in every stuffy country club you’ve ever been to.

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:

I can’t lie to you guys.  I wasn’t able to gamble last night and I don’t even know what happened in those games because of work stuff.  I apologize for letting you down.  Gambler Jimmy will return soon…and with a vengeance.

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.

 

 

Do I Still Like Doing These Things? (4/13/18)

MY WORLD:

It’s a mothafuckin’ Friday y’all!!! TIME TO GET WILD!  Seriously, we made it through the week and if you’re not blowing it out in your own way tonight, then get to steppin’, cuz this is a blow-out only crew here at this blog (I really have no idea what I just wrote but it had some rhythm so I just went with it.)  As Friday rolls in like the gramma who used to give you too much candy, I started thinking about what I was going to do tonight and I came to the realization that there are “fun things” that I try to convince myself that I still like to do…when I’ve actually…maybe…grown out of them.  (JIMMY NO!  DON’T ADMIT IT!!! THEY’RE WATCHING!!!!)

I don’t want to be the “I’m so old”-guy because, if you’re under the age of 40, and pulling that shit, you’re obnoxious and have ZERO self-awareness.  Ever in a room with actual middle-aged people, and some trying-too-hard-to-sound-mature 27 year old talks about how “old” they feel now because they cooked dinner one time last week?  Can these people be sent to the smelliest trash dump to live forever?  (Had to get that out because the following may have echoes of this sentiment…)   Since I don’t think these are as universal as some of my other lists, I would like to present the first installment of a new Friday staple…”Things I Try To Convince Myself That I Still Like.”  Does age have something to do with this list?  I’M NOT OLD OKAY!  I’M NOT THAT GUY!  Today’s subject…

Concerts:  Earlier this week, I told The VP of Ops that we were “due to go to a concert.”  It was a cool-husband thing to say on a Tuesday night that I didn’t really think would go any further than that.  Like, I heard a live version of a song we liked on the radio and my mouth just farted that out.  When we got home, I checked out upcoming Chicagoland concerts on the internet because I was bored and had already gone through Instagram like 94 times that day.

There were bands that we both like playing for cheap ticket prices and…I couldn’t pull the trigger.  Why?  Because they were on a weeknight or months away and all I could think about was how tired I would be during the week or how much I was going to have to spend on beer.  (YOU DO NOT SOUND LIKE A FUN PERSON, JIMMY!)  Am I the only one who thinks “yeah, but what if we buy tickets for this Friday night show that’s not for 3 months, and then our favorite couple decides to throw a house party that night and we can’t go cuz we’re too busy spending $14 on Corona Lights”?!?!  Then!  Our favorite couple is gonna be all “you know, we got to know Lonny and Bonny that Friday night you guys weren’t there, and we have reached the conclusion that their value system is more closely aligned to ours, so you and The VP have been replaced as the first couple to invite to double dates.”  Next thing we know, we’re on a friendship app trying to find a good looking couple to double date with, hoping that if we take enough “look how much fun we’re having!”-pics our old fave-couple will get jealous and call us back.  JUST CALL US BACK!

And if there’s a show on a weeknight? FUGGETABOWDIT!  The VP came home a few months back, on a Monday, saying that she got us free tickets to LCD Soundsystem.  I was supposed to be excited, I know.  A cool hipstery band, that I could brag about seeing live to my cooler friends.  But…it was Monday and lil’ JimJim was sleepy ti ti and just wanted to watch “Vanderpump Rules” and not rub arms with a sweaty stranger who LOVES dancing in crowded areas.  (God I sound like a curmudgeon).  We ended up going because we were both like “well, we can’t NOT go,” but neither of us were excited to be there.  We sipped on INSANELY expensive beers, stood in the back and kinda swayed along to a few songs while silently praying that the other one would turn around and say “can we go?”  That game of chicken lasted for about 8 songs.  I broke, and The VP was so happy to nod her head and sprint out of the crowded sauna of a concert venue with me.

Now, obviously, there are still those bands for everyone that can overcome these lame-ass tendencies.  Those bands for me include (off the top of me old head–said in a Irishy accent): Dave Matthews Band, Queens of the Stone Age, Death Cab for Cutie, Pearl Jam, Radiohead and….maybe Garth Brooks cuz that does sound like a real hoot.  You’ll notice that there are no hip-hop crews (crews? acts? artists?) and that’s because the last weeknight concert I got TWISTED at was a Kanye West concert (That’s right, Kanye West.  Ever heard of him?  Someone texted me “ever heard of it?” yesterday and I remembered how AWESOME of a burn that is so I’ve been using it non-stop since.)  Looking back, I believe this experience not only turned me off to hip hop shows, but it scarred me so bad about weeknight concerts that I’ve never been able to enjoy one since…

The VP and I were late in year 1 of our relash (cool shorthand for relationship) and I had bought us Kanye tix months prior.  We both worked 9-5 office jobs, but were cool enough to not even hesitate about a Tuesday night rap concert (any other white people feel very self-conscious when saying the term “rap concert”?  Just me?)  We met for a beer after work like they do in the movies and talked about whether we were wearing cool enough clothes for Kanye.  I was.  She wasn’t.  Classic us.

We got to our seats at the big arena just in time for the opening act, a cool girl singer person who I can’t remember now…wait…I’m thinking…nope, not getting it.  Anyway, she was cool and has become a pretty big star since so, no bigs, we saw her before she blew up.  The VP and I had perfected our beer trips to where we were like a relay race team that didn’t have to look at each other when handing off the baton.  By the time Kanye took the stage, we were SAUCED and HAVING A TIME!

There were some bro-y in-a-perfect-amount guys next to us and they were our new friends.  Mouthing words to each other; me not getting insecure that they might be hitting on The VP; having minor dance-offs in the row; you know, those type of concert friends.  The sound quality wasn’t great, but it didn’t matter cuz that bass was THUMPIN’ and no one had pointed out that I didn’t know what to do with my hands.  (I was basically waiting for all the lights to go down, except one spotlight on my hands and have the PA Announcer start yelling at me to “figure out if they’re staying in your pockets or not!”)  

Later in the second half of the Kanye’s RAP CONCERT, our bro-y friends offered us a pill–like a aderrall thing.  The VP actually takes 2 of those bad boys everyday cuz she’s NUTS without them, but I had never partaken.  I politely declined because I was scared, but 7 minutes later The VP took one for herself–cuz of health reasons! and she offered me one again…(HYPOTHETICALLY!)…I took it this time because I was still in the “watch how cool I can be”-phase with The VP.  Guys, it wakes you up like big-time!  And guess what that means when you’re 27?  YOU CAN KEEP DRINKING!  Which I did…until like 6 in the morning.

The party continued from the concert to a nearby bar to VPs shitty apartment to “oh my god, the sun is coming up.”  We fell asleep for about an hour before I woke up in a half-drunken panic (was probably more like three quarters-drunken panic).  I didn’t have time to get back to my apartment and get to work on time, and I was still new enough at the job that I didn’t feel comfortable calling in sick.  No time for a shower either, guys.  It was near Christmas-time and, thankfully, The VPs mom had given my present to The VP a few weeks earlier.  “It’s a shirt, open it.”  Christmas time came early for this drunken mess, so I tore open the “present” and THANK GOD it was a business-ish button down.  Threw it on and I was off.  Suicide was a legitimate option on the crowded train ride downtown.

My plan was to slink into the office like a real slink, and hide at my desk with headphones in for 8 hours of HELL.  I’d probably throw a cough or two in there to plant the “I bet he’s sick, so I should stay away”-seed in my co-workers brains.  Unfortch, about 42 seconds after slinking into my chair like a real slink, my pod-mate came out of the clouds with a COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED QUESTION. “So how was the Kanye show?”  Not remembering to stick to the plan, I spun around in my chair and, before I could answer, she panic-blurted “Oh my god are you okay?!?!?”  Evidently, I did not look well.

The rest of that day was just as you’re imagining.  Shakes, sweats, bosses who just don’t understand and a king-size lunch that couldn’t come close to making me feel better.  The VP told me that she…well, actually The VP still works at this place and so…uh…she didn’t do any of the things I did the night before.  She was all “Jimmy, maybe take it easy?  We have work tomorrow and I value my job because my bosses care about me and I care about them!”  Wow, what a dedicated worker!  VP!

Long story short, that is what a weeknight concert means to me now; having a legitimately concerned co-worker ask if I’m okay the next morning.  Either that, or I’m sleepy and lucky enough to stand next to the sweaty guy with hairy shoulders who decided a tank-top was a MUST-WEAR for this winter concert.

So, like, yeah I don’t really like concerts much now…but I’ll totally still go if you have an extra ticket.

OUR WORLD:

It’s Friday and it’s warm out in Chicago.  Drink a margarita, wear your sunglasses and DO NOT talk about next week’s forecast.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is my fave Kanye song I think…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This was me the morning after the Kanye show.

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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:

I’m not going to lie, I haven’t been gambling and I haven’t felt the urge because I’ve been BUSY LIVING LIFE GUYS!  Jk, I’ve been busy doing shit I don’t really want to do and haven’t had time to do what I LOVE…which is gamble.  I’ll get back into it this weekend.  Also, The VP is out of town at the end of next week which means…a storm is comin’.

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

Stripper Prank and “Isle of Dogs” Review (4/11/18)

MY WORLD:  

Last week, I put this picture up on Instagram of an all-male Australian stripper group (we’re dancers, Jimmy!  We dance!) named “Thunder from Down Under”.

Thunder-300x210

At first blush, this seems like your typical Australian stripper group promo photo (you know, just like all the rest that we all see in our normal everyday lives…guys?…hello?)  However, upon closer examination (I’m not blushing!  Stop! Omg guys! Stop!), one of these no-doubt WILDLY TALENTED ENTERTAINERS, the second one from the right to be exact, bears a striking resemblance to…

Image-1

ME!  THAT DUDE’S FACE LOOKS LIKE ME!  I understand you not picking this up at first glance on account of his rather scrawny arms and the lack of photogenic charisma that I exude in every photo…but, the face DEF kinda’ looks like me.  (Nobody make a joke about how my jawline is nowhere near as chiseled as his…I’M WORKING ON IT!)  

Why am I choosing to talk about this now? I’m glad you asked; these pictures were sent to me early on in my relationship with The VP of Ops and are the focal point of today’s edition of “A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”.  Let’s take a trip back to the fall of 2013.

The VP of Ops and I were about 4 months into THE GREATEST LOVE SHE WILL EVER KNOW!  Actually, she had just recently accepted the fact that we were dating and I was her “boyfriend” after 3.5 months of getting mad at me anytime I referred to our “relationship” (This is real btw…for like 3+ months she refused to admit that we were in a relationship.  Stressful?  THAT’S GONNA BE A YES, DAWG!)  Anyway, it was a Friday night and I was chillin’ wit’ my main bros (cool guy talk) at the apartment we shared.  The VP was at a friend of hers and I was definitely not secretly worried that she was hanging out with work-friend Mike because I was ALWAYS secure in our relationship.  Did I LOVE that work-friend Mike wore a gold chain and talked about all the women he had been with?  Look, I’m not here to talk about the past (fuck work-friend Mike…)  

So there I am, hanging with my good friend Angry Dave (because he gets angry and it’s kinda funny but kinda serious at the same time!) and definitely not stewing about The VP and work-friend Mike.  Probably after our third beer of the early evening (cool guy stuff cont.) I got a text OUT OF THE BLUE from an old friend-girl.  Her name is something like Meghan or CouldNeverGetOverJimmyAndHisInfectiousPersonality, I can’t remember; but she texted me a picture…THE picture.  She was in the Las Vegas airport and noticed a picture of hot guys so, naturally, she gave it a closer look.  Upon said inspection, she noticed that one of the strapping Aussies looked like me and HAD to text me about it.

I showed Angry Dave the texts and after a few laughs and chest bumps and jamo shots (cool. guy. stuff. overload.) Angry Dave came up with a FANTASTIC idea.  “You should send  picture to The VP and just not say anything!”  [EXPLOSION SOUNDS]  However, because hanging out with guy friends means that you always need to one-up the last one’s joke, I decided to go a little further…and try to convince The VP that the picture was part of my dark past that I had yet to have to courage to fully explain to her.  Like giddy little giddy-babies, Angry Dave and I huddled around my cellular telephone device.

God, I wish I saved the following texts, but the first one I sent to The VP that night, was along the lines of “Hey…Can we talk?  Something has been eating away at me…”  It took her like 4 minutes to respond, probably because she LOVED playing text games, but she finally shot back:

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, there’s just something I’ve been embarrassed about telling you for a while.”

[after her customary 4 minute wait] “What is it?”

“It’s really not THAT bad, but please don’t laugh…”  And then I sent the picture.  First, of the whole group, and then of the close-up of AussieJimmy.

“No way.”

“It was when I was in L.A. and I only did it for a little while, but…yeah.  I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I was embarrassed and I didn’t know how to bring it up.  Just had to get it out.”

(WAIT)

“I’m so sorry.”

“Really…I’m so sorry.  I really care about you and don’t want this to get in the way.”

And with that, I effectively ruined The VP’s Friday night.  At this point, Angry Dave and I were howling laughing; like, the kind of laughing where we were running in place while re-reading the text exchange over and over and over again.  The VP had gone dark.  She was at her girlfriend’s place and, years later, she told me that her girlfriend was telling her that she had to break up with me.  Evidently, dating a fake-Australian stripper was something that The VP’s reputation couldn’t withstand.  The VP says she wasn’t crying, but was kinda’ close and very confused.  She’ll tell you now that she thought it was “probably a joke,” but you don’t go dark on texts the way she did that night if you think it’s a prank.

I imagine she got the texts, started laughing and then showed her girlfriend. Once her girlfriend saw, and my subsequent “I’m so sorry” texts came through, she probably tried to force more laughter, but her friend noticed The VP’s eyes were welling up with tears.  Her friend probably said something like “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay.”  The VP then shook her head and wiped away her tears while saying “it’s so stupid, I don’t even know why I’m crying!  I’m sure he’s joking.  I’m sure he’s joking.”  Then, she got the next couple “I’m so sorry texts” and probably started discussing realistic next steps with her friend.  I’m POSITIVE she said “You’re right.  I have to break up with him” during her text-blackout.

Now, I’m not going to lie (because I’m honest to my good good friends) there were times during this 45-minute text-blackout that I almost sent a “jk lol omg” text.  We were an established relationship at this point, but she did possess about 97% of the power in this relationship, so this was a risky move.  Angry Dave was a calming influence; telling me to “stay the course” every time he saw me get quiet and slowly raise my phone into proper text-message position.  “Not yet!”-he would say.  I adhered because it WAS funny and…he was bigger than me and I didn’t want him to get Angry  (quick sidenote: Angry Dave now dates Mean Allie.  It’s the most perfectly terrifying combination in the history of couples…and Mean Allie is gonna be SO MAD about her nickname that guess what kind of text I’ll get from her later today? A mean one.)

At about minute 46 of this standoff, I called The VP.  She let it ring like 7 times because that’s what the moment called for, and then answered with a scared “Hey…”  I told her that I was joking.  Angry Dave was kinda’ annoyed that I didn’t let it last until the morning, but not full-on Angry, so I was safe.  The VP laughed it off like she was never worried, but she was…oh, she most definitely was.  Then she hung up and went back to hanging out with her girlfriend.  And I went back to hanging out with Angry Dave, but only thinking about how work-friend Mike may be meeting up with The VP later WITH HIS STUPID FUCKING GOLD CHAIN AND GELLED-UP HAIR.

OUR WORLD:

Last night, The VP and I saw “Isle of Dogs”.  We had wanted to see “A Quiet Place”, but it was sold out.  Was I secretly relieved that “A Quiet Place” was sold-out because it looks scary and I don’t like scary movies? You better believe it buddy!  Plus, “Isle of Dogs” had an awesome trailer and I liked the last Wes Anderson movie about the hipsters in the hotel.  (Googling the actual name of the Hipster Hotel movie…) “The Grand Budapest Hotel”.

“Isle of Dogs” was the definition of cute, but nothing more.  The animation visuals were interesting, but movies are all about story (film-school grad talk) and this story did not have enough surprises to hold my interest.  The easiest test for whether you actually enjoy a movie is to go see one on a Tuesday night at 8PM.  If you find yourself getting excited about going home to get to bed at any point during the movie, it’s not a great flick.  About 40 minutes in to “Isle of Dogs” I was marinating in extended yawns and trying to remember where I left my sleep sweatpants.

It wasn’t bad, but you spend half the movie in your head trying to figure out what celeb is the voice of what dog.  The laughs in the movie were never full-blown guttural laughs, but more soft chuckles.  And, the twists were pretty expected and underwhelming.  I know it was animated, but I figured that Wes Anderson wouldn’t make me feel like I was watching a kids movie (I’M A MAN!)  Unfortunately, I kinda’ felt like I was watching a kids movie with a bunch of adults who settled on this movie only after finding out that “A Quiet Place” was sold out.

Best part of the experience? The trailer for this summer’s Mr. Roger’s documentary “Won’t You Be My Neighbor”.  Loved this show as a kid and thought about how much better of a person I should be when watching this trailer.  Can’t wait!

Worst part of the experience? The overwhelming fake butter smell coming from The VP’s DRENCHED bag of popcorn.

Best part of the movie? Ed Norton voicing a nerdy dog.  How has he not been in a live-action fantastic movie lately?  GET ON IT, HOLLYWOOD!

Worst part of the movie? A second act that dragged on about 12 minutes too long.  Yawn-o-rama.

My official review? I’m going to give it 6.5 out of 10 Chairs.  (If somebody knows how to insert chair graphics and wants to do it for me, let me know!)

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I may have posted this before, but I don’t care.  I can’t remember the last time I was more excited for a documentary.  GIVE ME JUNE NOW!

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Sarah Huckabee Sanders and her “I’m never not annoyed with everything and everyone”-face.  Ugh.

 

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:

I’m still basking in the glow of my big Masters win.  I’m guessing I’ll get back into the gambling ring tomorrow night when I have a work event at a bar in front of TVs.  Starting to think NBA playoffs and…am I the only one who things Milwaukee could upset the Sixers in round one?  The Sixers are becoming the classic overhyped underdog team that will lose early.

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

Vanderpump Rules…It Really Does

OUR WORLD: 

I want you to know that I’m writing this section knowing full-well that my Dad will read it and shake his head through the first 3 sentences before leaving his computer in disgust.  Revealing your love of Bravo reality television to a father who has arthritis in his hand from all the fights he has been in, isn’t exactly a “welcomed confession.”  Nevertheless, I am a brave boy (I am Dad! DAD! I AM!)  and I will carry on with my stated mission of GIVING JAX TAYLOR THE CREDIT HE DESERVES!!!!

I don’t remember what season I got into “Vanderpump Rules”, but it was one of the first “I’m gonna be honest here”-moments I had with The VP of Ops.  You know when you’re still in the early stages of dating and you’re scared to tell your girlfriend ANYTHING that may cause her to be like “oh wait, this isn’t gonna happen anymore”?  The VP and I were nearing the end of that phase when I “let” her watch an ep of “Vanderpump Rules” at my apartment.  I pretended like I didn’t care and wasn’t paying attention but then something happened…Jax Taylor walked on screen.  Early-Vanderpump Jax was who most stupid bartenders wanted to be in real life…and I was a stupid bartender at this point in my life.   He was dude-funny and likable on a show run by guys who just care too much about their hair (Sandoval) and girls who were about as likable as a porcupine pillow.  What episode was it?  I could lie, but I have no idea.  It probably included Stassi yelling “It’s my birthday!”, Sandoval crying and Jax threatening to “take it outside.”  About 7 minutes in to the episode, I looked over to the VP and dropped the “I’m gonna be honest here, I’m into this.”

This show works because there is no shortage of HATABLE characters, but there are enough likable and lovable ones to not feel too gross watching an episode.  I’m sorry, but whenever I’ve seen a “Real Housewives” show, I can’t get into it because they all seem A BILLION percent awful.  A BILLION.  Give me degrees!  Vanderpump has hatable, kinda’ hatable, kinda’ likable, likable and ONE lovable character for everyone.  Let’s go through the categories.

HATABLE:  Kristen and Scheana.  Case closed.  Both of these characters have ZERO redeeming qualities.  Kristen’s worst offense?  Thinking that she’s really funny because she took like ONE improv class.  Not much is worse than a not-funny person inviting you to their improv show, and Kristen didn’t just do that…SHE FOLLOWED UP HER IMPROV SHOW WITH A STAND-UP SET!!!  Cringeworthy on level 5 trillion.  Aside from making her friends fake-laugh at her lame observations, Kristen is always plotting something kinda’ mean.  You know she pitches “storylines” to the producers ALL THE TIME off camera.  The only reason she’s still on the show is because she’s good for one solid drink-toss a season.  The VP and I say “Oh, fuck off Kristen” at least 6 times an episode.

I would say “don’t even get me started on Scheana!” but I’M FINNA GET STARTED Y’ALL!!!   (I literally just pushed myself away from my laptop and took a deep breath.  If there was a camera in my apartment, now is when I’d look directly into it and say something like “watch this.”)  Again we have a case of an absolute no-talent FORCING “friends” to watch them perform.  Remember when Scheana was trying to be a singer?  She forced her then-boyfriend, Shay, to produce her album and every time you heard her sing or watched her dance she, somehow, became less attractive in your eyes.

That’s been the story of Scheana.  If you didn’t know her at all and saw a picture, you’d be like “yeah, she’s hot.”  But every episode you watch of her, she becomes less and less and less attractive.  By last night’s episode, I legit thought to myself “Scheana is hideous.”  Let’s run through her track record: she forced her producer boyfriend to record her AWFUL “album” that was so bad it drove him to a pill addiction.  Then!  When he admitted his addiction to her, she was like “yeah, but you can still come out and party with us, just don’t do shots!”  Hey idiot, he’s addicted to pills!  So she drives that relationship to divorce even though she kept telling everyone “we’re doing so great!”  (So she lied to us, which hurts.)  Then, she IMMEDIATELY goes into some pseudo-relationship with a condescending DOOF named “Rob” (nice name loser).  Rob openly admits to everyone that he doesn’t really like her, but whenever someone mentions this to Scheana  “they’re just making up rumors!”  If they don’t have a scene in this year’s reunion episode where they show Scheana, Rob talking about how he didn’t love her, spliced in between all the times she talked about how much in love they are, I’m GONNA LOSE IT!  If I have to hear one more time about how Rob hung a TV in 7 minutes, I’m gonna go to Los Angeles with a flat screen and time him myself CUZ THERE’S NO FUGGIN’ WAY HE DID THAT! (I’ve never hung a flat screen cuz I’m scared I’ll tear the wall down and break my TV and…is Rob better than me?  Hey Rob, you think you’re better than me?!?!)

KINDA HATABLE:  Ariana, Lala and Lisa (girls are gonna HATE that I included Lisa in this category).  Ariana is like Kristen-lite in that she also thinks she’s a legit comedian, even though she has never made anyone genuinely laugh in the history of her life.  She also seems to string Sandoval along in this “I never wanna get married cuz my parents got divorced”-bullshit.  Sometimes you mess up cooking dinner.  Does that mean you never try cooking again?  Sometimes marriages don’t work.  I’ll say this, if you’re over the age of 30 and still publicly lamenting your parents divorce, maybe keep it to yourself?  You’re an adult now, they tried their best…or not, whatever.  Get over it.

Lala infuriates me and The VP loves her which kinda infuriates me more.  How can you be Mrs. Female Empowerment when you’re a part-time hostess who leeches off a boyfriend you never name on the show who is, most likely, married?  Women who refer to their spouse ONLY as “My Man” need to be put under a microscope cuz something is off on a DEEP level.  Oh, and the bottle thing before she goes to sleep?  GET DA FUCK OUTTA HERE WITH THAT SHIT!  If The VP of Ops got into bed one night sucking on a bottle, I’d drive to my parents house and probably fall asleep in my mother’s arms after sobbing about how “I just didn’t know she was like that.”

And Lisa…I can feel all the women readers getting pissed right now…She’s condescending, ladies.  Maybe it’s because I grew up in the restaurant biz, but I kinda think she doesn’t have all that much to do with the success of her restaurants (YEAH, I SAID IT!)  She was a child actor turned music video girl turned “restaurant designer”.  That’s not a real job.  “Restaurant designer”?  PUH-LEASE!  Have you ever seen her ACTUALLY working in one of the restaurants?  No!  All she does is go in, walk around pointing out how some minimum-wage worker missed a spot polishing a knife, and ask Jax for a glass of wine then deride him for filling it up too much.  WHAT A BOSS!  So when she CONSTANTLY reminds everyone around her about her “business prowess” it comes off as insecure.  Also, these young adults that she can’t wait to lecture, are the same ones who have MADE the show.  So her disappointment or anger with them is probably bullshit, and her “zings” are rarely ACTUALLY funny.  The only reason she’s not in the hatable category is because she does a lot of good for dogs.

KINDA’ LIKABLE:  Tom Sandoval, Stassi and James Kennedy.  Sandoval cries too much and dresses like a WEIRDO, but he seems like a genuinely good dude (if you didn’t tear up when he took care of Schwartz’s brothers, then you’re a robot!) His hair straightener thing is kinda weird, but he’s just trying really hard and that’s not always awful.

Stassi is tough for me because she was pretty rough to watch in the early seasons.  She was Queen Mean Girl and had to go through a sort of personality-rehab after she got too big for her britches.  Thing is, she’s kinda’ funny sometimes…A few times an episode now, she’ll make The VP laugh REALLY hard and I’ll pretend not to laugh cuz I don’t wanna give The VP the satisfaction, but it was funny.  Also, the fact that Stassi is The VP of Ops’ favorite character, makes me want to needle her a little, so I can’t TOTALLY love her.  Anytime Stassi is on screen, I can feel The VP’s smile pinging off our walls…a thing I have never been able to produce myself (IF YOU LIKE HER SO MUCH, WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCKING MARRY HER?!?!)

James Kennedy has been quite the reclamation project this season.  Getting rid of Kristen was huge, but his biggest accomplishment in my eyes?  Befriending Jax.  I simply was not allowed to like him when he was Jax’s sworn enemy (gotta support your brothers.)  Now that he’s gotten the Jax seal of approval, Kennedy is okay in my book.  He’s good for some belligerent outbursts, but he’s also pretty funny whenever he points out what a total WHACKJOB Kristen is.  Did they hook up on that Mexico episode? Yes, and I can’t wait for that to also come out at the Reunion show.  Also, the story about him being violently bullied when he was a kid  makes the whole “White Kanye”-thing feel endearing.  Like, “aw, he’s fake confident now!”  Also, James Kennedy is the star of the funniest scene in the show’s history…when he RIPPED from a Fireball handle to the point where everyone got legitimately scared and he responded to their genuine concern with a “Whaaaaaa?!?!”  (The Bravo website is being weird about me getting the link to that scene show up in my blog, so here’s the link)

http://www.bravotv.com/video/share/2930050

LIKABLE:  Tom Schwartz.  He may cheat on Katie, but it’s just cuz he’s drunk and not because he’s mean so….basically doesn’t count.  His love of Coors Light is awesome because L.A. is all about vodka sodas; and his fear of actually working a job is funny because he never denies that he’s bad at being an adult.  How can you not like a dude who has basically said “yeah, I’m not responsible and I should be because I’m over 30, but I’m not so let’s just have some fun”?  Also, he’s way better looking AND nicer than Tequila Katie so…like, he should be allowed to cheat every now and then, right?  If I was married to Grace from Peaky Blinders I would strike a deal saying it was okay if she cheated on me every 10 weeks.  Fair is fair, guys.

LOVABLE:  Jax Taylor.  He was the cocky cool guy early on, but he was funny enough to overcome what that means.  He was also pretty open with his flaws.  Yes, he cheats on EVERYONE, but tell me you’re not rooting for him in his next relationship and I will call your parents to tell them that you lie.  Cheating on Stassi wasn’t that bad cuz she was supes mean, and…she totally cheated on him at some point too.  Doing it with her friend, Kristen, wasn’t the coolest move ever, BUT Kristen is an evil plotting witch-person so it’s not really his fault.  (Would you be surprised if Kristen could cast spells? I would not.)  He’s the only guy who would actually fight on this show, and he likes sports and he drinks too much.  Aside from the incessant cheating, he sounds like most of my friends.

This season, he has become a cautionary tale with a storyline bordering on legitimately sad.  Nearing 40 without a stable career or relationship is nightmare-type stuff, and watching Jax face these realities this season has been ROUGH.  If you’re watching that and feeling anything aside from some sort of sympathy or empathy, you also probably still burn ants with a magnifying glass.  The cheating on Brittany thing really stunk for this Jax boy.  It was like watching Tiger Woods come back for the 4th time, thinking he’s past all his bullshit and then grabbing for his back again on the 18th hole at The Masters. It’s a “No! Not again!”-situation, but it’s amazing how you find yourself STILL rooting for him after all the shit he has pulled.  If that’s not charisma, I don’t know what is.

And that’s all the words I have for “Vanderpump Rules” today.  Please welcome Jax and Co. to the Jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame.  (My fingers broke a sweat writing that.)  

MY WORLD:

I’m gonna be completely honest with ya’ guys, I wrote so much for that “Vanderpump” induction, that I’m TOAST.  Today is supposed to be the next edition of a “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable,” and that section deserves more energy than I currently have.  (SOMEBODY GET ME A FUCKING GATORADE!)  But guess what that means? You can look forward to that tomorrow.  Giddy up!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

JAX WILL NOT STAND FOR MEN WHO DISRESPECT WOMEN!  Little thing about me, I LOVE pre-barfight threats.  They’re just delicious!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This was when Lala and James were BOTH hatable…Lala is still there…and will stay there forever if I have anything to say about it!  HEY LALA, GUESS WHAT?!?! I’M NOT FEELIN’ YOU EVER! (BURNNNNNNNNN ALERT!!!!)

 

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:

Yesterday was victory lap day.  I plan to get back soon, but diving into gambling on baseball is SCARY!

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

At Least You Don’t Have These Jobs and Tommy Boy Lines (4/9/18)

OUR WORLD:

It seems that I’m running into a bit of a traffic jam on jimmyschair.  It being Monday, I’m ready to continue the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List–that I started last week.    However, I also had delayed the “Vanderpump Rules” induction into the jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame.  PLANNING JIMMY, TRY IT SOMETIME!!! (Readers must be getting restless.  Are they beginning to think about NOT reading this blog?! ARE THEY GONNA GO BACK TO SCROLLING THROUGH FACEBOOK WHILE ON THE TOILET?!?!?)  Fear not–people who probably were not fearing cuz they don’t really care!  I have decided that today’s “Our World” will be the second edition of the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List.  Tomorrow, after what’s sure to be an electric episode tonight, “Vanderpump Rules” heads to the hall of fame.

With snow falling, and me dealing with having had a martini probably a little too late last night, I need this list more than ever (Sunday ‘tini time is fun because you’re playing with fire after 8PM.  Sunday “‘Tini Time” Jimmy is undefeated versus Monday “Get Ready for Work” Jimmy.  Monday Jimmy is weak and fragile like an old lightbulb.)  Last week, meter maids, construction workers and Starbucks barista’s were the jobs that made me feel better about starting the week off.    This week, I’ve got some real gems:

–Entry-Level Personal Trainers:  There have got to be no less than fifteen thousand trillion people who like working out and watching “American Ninja Warrior” in college and think “I should be a trainer!”  I understand thinking that getting paid to work out is a decent gig, and being named to star in the “Rambo” remake probably isn’t in the cards, so becoming a trainer sounds logical.  I believe these college kids, like most college kids, are forgetting about what the lower rungs of this profession entail.  (How is there not a college course called “entry level jobs are ACTUALLY like this…”?)  

Now I don’t know this because I don’t want to look it up or ask someone, but I imagine getting into the personal training game includes passing out resumes at local gyms.  Do they include what they lift on their resume?  Or, is it all looks based?  I’m sure there are certifications that they need, but what differentiates Joey Triceps from Danny Deltoids when they both have the same certifications?  I’m thinking it has to be A) Looks B) Looks C) Looks.  Anyway, the gyms that these newbies are getting into have to be like the Planet Fitness’s of the world (IF YOU JUDGE, YOU’RE OUT!)  

So they get hired either by Planet Fitness or like a suburban community center and they get paid BUPKISS to motivate creepy older people and high school kids to work out harder.  The older people are definitely just looking for someone to talk to and look at for the hour of the day they’re outside of their house, and the high school kids are probably being made to go by their shithead parents.  Next thing Danny Deltoids knows, he’s spending half his day apologizing to Esther about the treadmill buttons not having larger print.  Or, he’s trying to get High School Ryan to stop checking his snapchat but he can’t get too mad about it because Ryan was bullied at school last week.  “Hey Ryan, bud?  Maybe put the phone down and hop on the elliptical?  No, my tone wasn’t aggressive.  Actually, is that a new filter? Oh cool bud!  You’re doing great!”  Then Ryan’s Dad comes in and is all like “why is my son still fat?” and Danny has to lie and not say “cuz he’s a lazy piece of shit.”  Ryan’s Dad doesn’t buy any more sessions with you because he doesn’t believe in the “excuse business” and then it’s back to Esther’s bad eyes and wandering hands.  If there’s a sequel to “Get Out”, I propose Danny Deltoids play the lead.

-Beer Delivery Drivers:  Remember the last huge party you had when you lived with roommates?  You guys bought a keg and then realized that you live on the third floor of a walk up…so….SHIT.  It probably took you like an hour and a half, using 3 guys to move the keg up one stair at a time.  By the time you got it into your dirty, ice-filled bathtub you couldn’t wait to tell your girlfriend how much your hands hurt.  Now, imagine adding snow, a pissed off bar owner and rickety stairs to that equation…OH! AND IT’S ALL YOU DO ALL DAY EVERY DAY!

I’ve worked with these dudes and they’re basically superheroes in my eyes.  Ever think about how a keg gets to the basement of your favorite dive bar?  That staircase that you’d like a harness to just walk down?  Yeah, beer delivery drivers finnagel a dolly like friggin’ wizards as they trek down a basically-verticle group of splintering stairs.  I worked at a place like this and always had a new, genuine, tears-in-my-eyes apology ready for the driver when he was done delivering the kegs.  Would he have just preferred me slipping him a five dollar bill?  Doubtful.  These apologies were guttural, the type you see at the end of rehab shows when their family comes to visit.  “I just want you to know that I’m sorry and I value everything you do for me.”

-Movers:  Hear this warning first; once you hire movers, you can never NOT hire movers again.  So if you’re still in the post-college “pizza and beers?” phase of moving, then stay there.  But, if you’re nearing 30, moving in with a spouse and your friends are no longer impressed by shitty pizza and cheap beer, hiring movers is a GAMECHANGER.  The first time I hired movers, I literally filmed them on my phone like a DOUCHE because I was so amazed by what they could do.  They had a dude who was like 130lbs, put our couch–OUR FUGGIIN’ COUCH GUYS!–on his back and trucked up the three flights of stairs like it was nothing.  UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.

Then, there was the second time I hired movers and they showed up to our apartment, looked around at all of The VP of Ops’ bullshit, and said “oh wow…all of this?”  I so badly wanted to be the cool guy and say “nah, I’m lighting all her stuff on fire later cuz boys rule and girls drool, right?!?!”  We’d all laugh and high-five and they’d be relieved and I’d probably save money but…ya know…The VP needs her hideous silver spray-painted side tables!  Ha ha ha.  (Veering off for a second, I dream of throwing like half of our furniture out when the VP is out of town and then convincing her that we got robbed and I was so so scared.)  

But the movers don’t get to say they’re not carrying that.  AND!  They don’t get to show up to a place, realize that first floor is a STEEP first floor, that may as well be a 5th floor, and just turn around to leave.  As a mover, aside from the sheer physical exhaustion associated with lugging shit up and down stairs, you have to be terrified every time you get to a place about what “surprises” you’re about to encounter.  They’re never going to be happy surprises.  More along the lines of “I swear that’s a wine stain on the mattress”-type surprises…and then they have to laugh a little and be like “yeah, wine is that bright red color, and I’m positive it’s not blood!”  THEN! At the end of moving the murderers out of their walk-up, they’re given a lukewarm blue Gatorade that the murderers bought and then forgot to put in the refrigerator.  “Oh thanks guys, I prefer my gatorade room temperature when it’s 97 degrees outside!”

Who’s feeling better about what they do?  MONDAY’S GONNA BE GREAT!

MY WORLD:

Out of the blue, my sister texted our family chain asking for everyone’s favorite line from “Tommy Boy”.  If you don’t really know me (like really really know me…and my deepest darkest secrets…) then you may not know that “Tommy Boy” is my all-time favorite movie.  Hands down, not-a-joke, it’s number one.  So now my day is gonna be kinda ruined because all I’m going to think about are my favorite lines from that movie.  From the top of my head, here’s what I’ve got so far (DON’T HOLD ME TO THESE PLEASE!  DEAR GOD, PLEASE!  I’M TRYING MY BEST!):

  1. “Hm, surprised you didn’t know that.”-Chris Farley to David Spade in the car about the “thin candy shell”.
  2. “These shoes are Italian, they cost more than your life!”-Rob Lowe to Chris Farley after the cow-tipping escapades.
  3. “I can put six packs of be–soda in here!”-Chris Farley freaking out to his dad about the mini-fridge in his office.
  4. “Richard? Who’s your favorite little rascal?  Mine’s SPANKY!”-Chris Farley after walking in on David Spade during that special time.
  5. “I’ll just have a sugar packet or two.”-Chris Farley’s restaurant order after they refuse to make wings for him.

I’m going to need to work on this harder.  I promise to report back in good time.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

How I feel most Mondays…

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I was happy Patrick Reed won yesterday, but his shirt was all kinds of AWFUL…

Reed

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:

So you saw the 5 guys who I picked in the blog last Thursday for the Masters…what you didn’t see is that I had $4.29 left in my account and my friend told me to bet on Jason Dufner and Patrick Reed.  Thing is…I ONLY BET ON PATRICK REED!  BOOM BABY! $4.29 last second bet on Reed scored me like $250.  I am so stinking rich right now, guys.  Does he have a punchable face? Yes.  But, I wanted to kiss that face like a romance guy when he made that putt on 18.  Remember when you all thought I was definitely not back?  UHHHHH…..WRONGO, LOSERS!  I. AM. BACK.

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

Inside My Dog’s Head and Miserable Live Sports Experiences (4/6/18)

MY WORLD:

Yesterday morning, after I did a little thang called WRITE THIS FUGGIN’ BLOG, I took Belle out for her morning dumperoo (she’s sah kewt).  Unfortunately, even though I did my best to avoid all possible human/dog/natural interaction for her, people ended up crossing our path and Belle went psychokiller nuts.  Nothing like feeling like a failure of a dog owner at 7 in the morning!

Basically, she after she pooped, I zoned out as I picked it up with my bag-hand (if you were a dog, wouldn’t watching your human clean up your shit be the highlight of your day?  Like, “yeah, pick up my shit. That’s what you get for giving me the same bland-ass kibble EVERY FUCKING DAY!”)  While zoned out on poop-bag island, a girl on her way to school and a woman walking her dog, walked behind us.  In the Pomerantz household, this is known as a “WAIT, NO!”-situation.  Belle lunged at the girl, who legit screamed and started running!  (If I saw her again I would apologize, but it was over-the-top and kinda’ hilarious.)  Then Belle saw the woman and a stranger doggo and IT. WAS. ON.  I had to grab Belle by the chest and squeeze her between my legs to keep her from doing Buffalo Bill things to that little stranger dog.  The woman walking the other doggo didn’t say anything, but she was judgey with her eyes, I could tell.

As I held my sweet lil baby psychokiller princess between my legs, though, she started to kinda’ pant/cry and it made me feel super sad.  It wasn’t a “ouch, your fantastically toned and powerful quads are hurting me, Jimmy”-cry, but more of a “god, life is stressful!”-pant.  She was out of breath and, like, just ground down by the stress of it all.  I get it!  Belle!  Dad gets it!  And it got me thinking about how her brain must work, and what she must think as we go outside of her safe space (the one-bedroom apartment that she doesn’t have to pay to live in) for a walk in the morning.  To help myself understand where Belle is coming from, I would like to ask you to indulge me in a little exercise where I will write as if I am Belle about to go out on a morning walk.  Did that sentence make sense? Below this line, Belle is narrating her morning routine (Belle writes in red):

How long do I have to pretend I’m sleeping in this dumpy “bed”?  DAD?!?  Fuck, thought he moved.  Nope, just another mattress-shaking fart from Mom; why Dad is with this sloppy bitch is beyond me.  They act like they’re doing me a favor by locking me with them in their bedroom for the night, but now I’m even more stressed because who’s patrolling the kitchen?  I bet that asshole dog from downstairs is having a garbage party right now!  DAD!?!?!

DAD!  Dad you’re up!  Hey! Hi! Howdy! Hola! Woo! Dad! Dad! Dad! Oh yeah, gimme dat booty scratch!  Oooooooo that’s the spot!  Dad! Dad! Dad!  What’s the plan today?  Breakfast time?!?!  Wait!  Let me check the kitchen real quick to make sure you’re safe (I sprint to kitchen right when the bedroom door is opened every morning because I care about my Dad and his safety!)  COAST IS CLEAR DAD! Oh, you wanna hang in the bathroom?  Oh…closing the door in my face.  Got it.  Makes sense, you need your privacy.  Hey, don’t worry about anyone coming in–I’m gonna lay right here to make sure that doesn’t happen.  You hear that Mom?!?! Don’t even think about barging in on Dad during his private time!  (Mom normally won’t get out of bed for another few hours and that is A-OKAY with me!  Maybe she should think about just moving out?  I don’t know, just a thought.) 

DAD! YOU’RE BACK! How was private time? Bet it was good!  You deserve it big guy!  Alright, let’s talk turkey–when we going on that walk?  It’s not that I have to go that bad, but stuff is happening out there and if I don’t get to bark at it, I’m gonna have a nervous friggin’ breakdown.  Dad!  RARK! RARK! (yeah, that’s how my “barks” sound; more like “rark!”.  I’ve found it’s a more menacing sound than your typical “B-ark” sound.)  Did you hear that?  Dad! A door opened in our building! RARK RARK RARK! There’s another one!  No, I’m not gonna “shush”!  Dad, if I “shush” then no one will be afraid to barge in here and steal you away from me.  I’d basically be inviting the Dadnappers in here!

Hug time?  Yes!  (Guys, every morning, Dad sits on the couch next to me and gives me hugs.  He doesn’t love when I kiss his pretty face, but I do it anyway.)  Yawn? Me too!  Dad, watch me yawn!  Look! YAWWWWWWN!  We have so much in common!  You ever think about that Dad?  Like…what if you were more than my Dad?  Like…what if Mom wasn’t even here?  Never mind, I’m silly.  Sometimes I say crazy things!

Up again?!  Oh, I know that look!  IT’S WALKIN’ TIME!!! Okay okay okay, watch this! Dad! Watch this!  Spin, spin, spin, spin.  Four spins Dad!  Not even dizzy!  (Yeah, I do use a lot of exclamation points.  EXCUSE ME for being excited! NOT! Classic Belle Burn right there)  Oh, you’re gonna put that big scary metal collar on me?  Okay.  Not my fave, but you’re the boss, Dad.  Hey, look!  You like my smile?  Yeah you do!  Putting your coat on? Smart.  Classic Dad, being smart!

Now Dad, you gotta let me go first down the stairs okay?  We don’t know what’s ahead…(am I kinda’ choking my way down the stairs? Yes, but I sacrifice for my Dad.)  Did you hear that?  DAD!  HURRY!  COME ON!  WE GOTTA RUN DOWN THE STAIRS AND GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!  I HEARD A SOUND THING THAT I DON’T KNOW!  COME ON!  HURRRRRYYYYYYY!!!!!!! 

That was a close one, right?  Phew.  Hey, it feels great outside!  I’m gonna pee now (Dad is always super respectful here, he turns away while I make a tee tee.  Dad, the consummate gentleman!)  Was that a squirrel?  What’s that smell?  Who was here?  Dad, you smell that?!?! Dad! Dogs were here!  Let me investigate…no, I don’t want to keep walking…but, Dad if I don’t smell every one of those blades of grass then….DAD!  Ugh, fine.  I’m walking. I’m walking.

Pretty quiet out here this morning, just the way I like it.  Hold up, I’m gonna do a little pee here so they know this is OUR turf.  Dad!  Wait!  I swear, you don’t understand so many things about turf wars.  If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be in a gutter somewhere.  Just kidding Dad.  Obviously, no one could push around my big strong Dad.  

Hey! This is where we cross the street, right? Yep, knew it!  Dad!  I knew it!  Yeah, I’m gonna poop.  Dad, I really don’t need you telling me to “go poop” every morning.  I get it, you want me to poop.  It’s coming, okay?  You know what happens when you force a poop, Dad?  Bad stuff! Real bad stuff!  Speak of the devil, here it comes!

Come on Dad, I gotta be as close to the parked cars as possible.  Come on!  Okay, here I go.  (per usual, Gentleman Dad not looking at me.)  All done!  Hey Dad, I pooped!  Just let me kick up this grass so everyone knows what I did and we’ll be all set.  Oh, you’re picking it up?  Yeah, that’s nice I guess.  Maybe we leave it though?  It’s just, I feel bad that you have to-WAIT!  DAD!  DON’T WORRY I GOT THIS!!!! 

RARK RARK RARK RARK GRRRRRRR SHRARK!!!! STAY AWAY FROM MY DAD YOU BACKPACK BITCH!!!!  THIS IS OUR FUCKING TURF!  OHHHHHH, WHAT?!!?! ANOTHER DOG?!!?  SEE WHAT HAPPENS IF HE LETS ME OFF THIS LEASH!!! OH I FUCKING DARE YOU!!!! MAKE A MOVE!

DAD!  LET ME GET THEM!  DAD, YOU DON’T KNOW THE STREETS LIKE I KNOW THE STREETS!  RARK RARK RARK RARK!  (He always holds me back, but if he could see me fight…I don’t know, maybe he’d look at me differently?  Like, as more than a dog?  I don’t know.  Oh, silly me!)  

Then I walk Belle back through our alley because there is less of a chance of running into  any living things.  She’s panting the entire way back, like she just finished a marathon.  I feel bad and kinda mad and kinda sad that her brain seems to be an absolute stress-bomb of matter.  By the time we get back up to our door, though, she seems to be smiling again, having forgotten the stressful nightmare that just occurred.  At least that’s what I tell myself…

Hey Dad, I bet Mom isn’t even out of bed yet!  You sure she’s “the one”?  Asking for a friend…

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday was the White Sox home opener, and if you voluntarily went to that game you should be start lining your walls with pillows cuz you, my friend, are NUTS.  Sitting out in the cold for April baseball is a billion percent miserable experience, and it got me thinking…what are some of the most miserable live sports experiences:

–Early-season (so the game is essentially meaningless), freezing baseball game.

–The Kentucky Derby.  I have no idea why this appeals to people.  Watching horses run for a minute while you’re dressed like an asshole sounds about as fun as going to a little kid’s birthday party.  HARD PASS.

–Any regular season college basketball game.  Seriously, if it’s not March and you’re not a current student, who cares?

–Any little kids baseball game ever.  Even when I was a kid I felt bad for my parents having to watch that dreck sitting on shitty bleachers.  Parents should be encouraged to stay home.

–Early season NBA game sitting in the 300 level.  You can’t see anything, so you end up watching the jumbotron the whole game.  All you’re thinking about is how the seat you’re in is less comfortable than your recliner at home, and the drinks you’re drinking are WEAK and super expensive.  What a great time!

–Late season NFL game when your team’s season is already over.  When the Bears are 3-9 and people sit outside in a blizzard to watch them play the 4-8 New York Jets, I’m all like “but why?”

That’s all I’ve got for now.  It’s still super cold outside, but at least it’s Friday.  GO FRIDAY!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I know I’m a little late with this posting, but Sean Penn is cool.  I don’t care if he’s messed up on Ambien.  He’s still cool.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you shake your bottle of hair conditioner for like five minutes in the shower only to have the last .2 ounces spill out onto your shower wall.  NOW MY HAIR’S NOT GONNA BE CONDITIONED!!!

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:

Nobody I bet on for the Masters had an absolute blow up day yesterday, so I’m still feeling good.  Honestly, I am so due to win something big, so I’m pretty sure one of my guys is gonna win.  Like, almost positive.  PRAY FOR ME!

(My account currently at $0.00)

K bye.

Restaurant Rules Pt. 2

OUR WORLD:

Hungover, poor and outrageously jealous of my friends with credit card points was me as a restaurant worker.  Squeezing that hostility into t-shirts that were 1.5 sizes too small (had to show off the guns) and you had what those in the biz like to call a “problem”.  Looking back at my time as a restaurant worker, it’s amazing there was never a choking incident involving me either as the aggressor or victim.  You know what my favorite thing to do was?  Tell customers “no”.  I’m not even kidding.  Like, if someone asked “do you have a tomato vodka pasta sauce?” I would just say “no,” and just let the waiting-for-an-alternative-suggestion-silence devour their whole world.  I could feel them squirm waiting for me to break the silence, but THAT. WAS. NOT. COMING.  It was a Buffalo Bill type tendency that makes me worry about what else I’m capable of…madness…yes, madness….WHAT A FUCKING DICK I WAS! (You still are Jimmy and everyone will find out and stop being friends with you and you’ll go crawling back to that restaurant begging to sweep the floors.  From, The Woman you abandoned in awkward silence until her brain melted from the stress of it all, just because it felt good to respond “no” when she asked if you “had any gluten free homemade noodles?”)  

These confessions will sound even more insane after I tell you that…I GOT PROMOTED MULTIPLE TIMES IN MULTIPLE RESTAURANTS!!!  That’s right, the lunatic in the tiny tee who got off on disappointing customers without explanation MOVED. UP. THE LADDER.  (This is the part where my head tells me that I should remind the readers that I’m a Sensei in the art of exaggeration but…I’m not really exaggerati-SHIT!)  You want to know the real reason I’m telling you my deepest darkest restaurant secrets, though?  A) Because I don’t work there anymore and like…{valley-girl voice} whatever! B) Because I wanted to establish a common ground with restaurant workers before I give my…—

“WHAT NOT TO DO” FOR RESTAURANT WORKERS

-When you see a customer trying to get your attention out of the corner of your eye, don’t pretend you didn’t see them and then act busier than you are.

Again, a go-to move for Tiny Tee Jimmy (The VP’s friend made fun of my small restaurant shirts when we started dating and I can never shake it now).  This move is absolutely infuriating because WE KNOW YOU CAN SEE US!  How many times have you sat at a cleared table waiting to get the check only to have your server walk past you a billion times pretending not to see your “excuse me, sir”-face?  Or, how about the times you realize you don’t have a salt shaker on your table only after your food is dropped?  Sure, the dish may not need salt, but you gotta dump some on it just for ritual’s sake and THE SERVER KEEPS IGNORING MY FINGER GUN/PINKY UP/AHEM-MISS? MOVE!!!! GODDAMNIT!  I think servers do this because they’re procrastinators hoping that work will just disappear.

-Don’t shrug your shoulders when people ask you which dish is better.

Look, even if you don’t have a strong opinion either way, just lie to me and tell me that the pesto is WAY better than the alfredo (cuz it always is…lay off fatsos, alfredo is cream with salt.)  I’ll never understand why some servers get awkwardly shy when asked to help a customer decide between two dishes.  Some act like there are chickens and cows with guns waiting for them in the kitchen; “I heard you say the chicken picatta was better than the strip steak.  So now I get to watch my wife get ripped from my arms and thrown onto a searing-hot pan,” said Chicken Charlie, as he turned his glock from Server Sally back unto himself, “I’m on my way sweetie….”

Unless you’re faced with cleaning widower chicken brains off your kitchen’s walls, maybe just give the customer a teeny tiny bit more confidence in their dinner order.  Also, if you give no answer to a customer looking for an opinion, all you’re doing is creating an awkward silence at the table and, therefore, causing you to spend more time dealing with people you don’t really want to be dealing with in the first place.  When I was a server, I would sometimes tell people I didn’t like items just to make them think I was trustworthy.  They’d ask, “how’s the shrimp?” and I would tell them “it’s not my favorite” even though it sometimes was.  Why? Because when you give someone an unexpectedly honest seeming answer, they IMMEDIATELY think they can trust you…(and now I feel like a sociopath for admitting I think that…)

-Don’t get defensive when your table asks why their food is taking longer than it should.

This is simple if you get ahead of the issue.  You know if food is taking too long to come out.  What is so hard about going up to a table and saying “hey guys, I’m sorry your food has been taking a while, but our kitchen is backed up and now I’m gonna tell you a lie about our computer system fucking things up because we all kinda’ hate technology.”?  You immediately get in front of the awkward interaction that begins with a table asking “what is taking so long?”  Even if it is your fault, blame it on some asshole in the kitchen that the table is never gonna meet.  Odds are that the table will appreciate how forthright you just were and will feel bad that you have to deal with Donnie’s kitchen bullshit.

Or, you can get defensive when a guy asks you why the turkey sandwich and egg dish that he and his wife ordered is taking over 40 minutes (weird…the exact thing happened to The VP of Ops and I this past Sunday…) Then you’ll get a–dammit, you’ll still get a 15% tip because I felt guilty but you totally didn’t deserve even 15% and I want you (yeah you, the professional eye-roller) to know that I’m normally a 25% tipper.  So, enjoy being 10% poorer than you should be (that’s how math works, jerk.)

-Don’t pour my drink into a glass right in front of me like I don’t know how to do it.

Does anyone enjoy watching a server approach your table, set down a glass, open your beer for you and then slowly, awkwardly, incorrectly pour it into said glass all while you just sit there like a fat, useless tub of lard?  You probably look at your phone to cut the awkwardness, don’t you? I’ve taken to just telling them that I can do it to avoid the ensuing awkwardness.  Let me say this; if you enjoy having a beer opened and poured for you while you do nothing, then your parents probably resent the person you have become.

Bring the beer and open it.  Leave the pouring to me.  I’M AN ADULT WHO HATES FEELING USELESS EVEN THOUGH I KINDA’ AM SOMETIMES BUT NOT WHEN IT COMES TO POURING DRINKS IN GLASSES!

–Don’t have Law & Order SVU on the TVs without the sound when the city you’re in has a team in the playoffs playing RIGHT NOW!

If you’re a Law & Order SVU-themed bar, then fine (I can hear The VP of Ops making borderline-sexual grunting noises at the thought of this).  But, the only people watching TVs in bars are sports fans, so why tease them?  I do think that hipster servers probably love watching sportos squirm as they pretend not to know how a television remote works and ask “wait, what channel did you say?” for the ninth time.  Part of me respects such deviousness, but most of me is a sporto who JUST GIVE ME THE GODDAMN REMOTE!

MY WORLD:

My worst restaurant experience as a customer happened when I lived in Los Angeles (golden tan, killer bod, hot babes and blow wherever I went.  You know? That Los Angeles). I was on a date with A REAL LIFE LADY (Pre-VP of Ops.  This girl was more “VP of Not Being Able To Contribute To The Conversation”)  My plan for the date was a little out there, dinner and a movie, but I’m a risk taker, guys.  We got to dinner, ordered and began having very forced, stilted conversations that were not made better with my penchant for drinking super fast when I get nervous.  I was nervous and…needed to get drunk so fast please be drunk now so I don’t have to deal with my feelings faster faster faster!!!!

Next thing I know, it’s like 45 minutes after we ordered our entrees and the food still isn’t there.  Am I eight drinks deep?  Yes, but there was no drink limit printed on the menu so looks like I’m not breaking any rules and you should shut up.  Besides, Miss No-Conversation-Skills wasn’t interesting when I was sober, so what was I really missing?

Not wanting to waste our tickets for Russell Crowe and his “Am-I-Officially-Too-Fat-To-Be-A-Star”face in “Robin Hood”, I asked our server if our food was getting close.  “I don’t know man,” was not the response I was hoping for, but it was the response I got.  Even my drunk brain was like “whoa, that was rough.”  The restaurant was DEAD so I knew the kitchen wasn’t backed up, but I didn’t wanna introduce Miss ZERO-PERSONALITY to Angry Jimmy on our first date.  So I sat quiet, kinda bit the inside of my lip and prayed that, that dickhead server just gave me a reason…JUST GIMME A REASON!

Another 20 minutes and nothing.  I hadn’t seen our server for a while so I went up to the host stand to ask for a manager.  YEAH, I DID THAT.  When the manager arrived I told him that we had waited for over an hour and blah blah blah we needed to go now.  So he asked me to pay for our drinks…Lame move, Mr. Manager.  Waiting over an hour to get no food and you want me to–okay, okay, we’re not getting angry.  I repeat!  We (as in me) are going to prove to Miss I-Already-Can’t-Wait-Till-This-Is-Over that WE are in control of our emotions even in the most adverse of conditions.  Did I tell the manager that I didn’t appreciate the service that night? I did.  Did he shake his head like a condescending bitch and apologize “if you feel that way”? He did.  We are still in control of our emotions.

Then we left the restaurant to walk to the movie theater when I saw our server, back in the restaurant, making purposeful eye-contact with me and proceeding to wave at me as I left.  It was one of those “go fuck yourself” waves and that’s when I politely told The VP of You’re About To Be Embarrassed By Me that I would be right back.

I re-entered the restaurant making a BEE-LINE for the kitchen where I saw the server giving me the “go fuck yourself” wave.  Manager Douche Canoe and the bartender got in my way but not before I got to yell “come outside and say goodbye to me!” to my new server friend.  It was a solid line and I am forever proud I got it out.  The fact that such a cool line was lost in me cussing out the manager and bartender is something I wish not to rehash.

I used to legitimately wonder why that server was such a dick to me that night.  Did he used to date the girl I was out with?  Seemed unlikely that any other human would be duped into going out with such a DUD, so I’m gonna cross that off the list.  Did I go to High School with him and he was offended I didn’t recognize him? Probably not because I was a total loner back then, but a real sweetheart who most people secretly felt bad for (right?) Maybe he was jealous that I was pulling off the two-earring look that he always dreamed of going for but never had the nerve to commit to?  Probably.  Or, it was just because he was a server who hated being reminded of the fact that he had to work when most people were on off-time.  And now I totally understand and feel bad for trying to intimidate him.  (I am also thankful that he did not come and say goodbye to me outside because that would have been scary!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Fat Russell Crowe in the middle of a walking work-out is a personal fave.

RUSSELL CROWE OUT IN LA

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you’re in the middle of watching an awesome YouTube video on your iPhone and, all of a sudden, the video stops because your phone has to warn you that you only have 20% battery life remaining.  THANKS FOR RUINING THE MOOD, APPLE!

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:

Another day, another dollar not won.  Starting to feel like I’m giving money away by NOT gambling.  I will be alone in a Rockford, Illinois hotel tonight and that means one thing…gambling on random NBA games RIGHT before they start.  No point in looking at the lines now.

(My account currently at $102.61)

K bye.

My Last Weed Experience and Movie Reviews (3/21/18)

MY WORLD:

I’ve fallen into this routine when I write these blog posts (aka yet-to-be-truly-discovered-voice-of-a-generation-masterpieces) where I listen to the same three songs as I start to write.  From Dave Matthews Band’s Live Trax Vol. 6: Fenway Park, I listen to “The Idea of You”, “Grey Street” and “Bartender”.  From there, I’ll usually drift into some cool underground artist that you probably haven’t even heard of so, like, don’t even try (Oh…you HAVE heard of Sia?)  Between these songs and the lingering pot smoke I detected on my morning walk with Belle (of course I immediately called the Police), I was reminded of the day I realized that I couldn’t smoke pot anymore; the last time I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert.

I’m going to say it was the Summer of 2013 because 2011-2015 is basically the same to me now, and I don’t remember exactly and I don’t want to look it up so…SUMMER OF 2013!  My brother Matthew, my roommate Dave and myself bought tickets to see DMB at Alpine Valley, a little Wisconsin farm town a couple hours outside of Chicago.  Yes, I did realize I was seeing Dave Matthews Band with guys named Dave and Matthew and, yes, I did bring this up at least 19 times throughout the day.

My brother met Dave and I at our apartment for the pre-concert pump-up session that is needed before any big show.  This PCPU (pre-concert pump-up…come on, keep up) consisted of playing Dave Matthews Band songs LOUD while drinking beers and going through what songs we NEEDED to hear at the concert later.  (I love how during every PCPU, you’ll say something about how disappointed you’ll be if they don’t play a certain song and then you feel the need to KEEP BRINGING IT UP to the people around you during the show.  Nobody cares.  Let’s not do that anymore.)  After a few beers and shots (oh my god guys, shots?) it was time for us to make our way to the meet-up where shuttle buses were taking people from Chicago to Alpine Valley.

I know people paint the picture of typical DMB fans wearing cargo shorts, and pookah shell necklaces, and, I don’t know, other sweet-ass shit, but I never notice that.  And I didn’t this time as we waited with the cargo-shorts wearing masses to get on the buses.  Whenever I’ve gone to a Dave show I just notice that everyone around me is pretty nice and excited.  (Suck it hipsters.)  So while I would love to recount some “you wouldn’t believe how bro-ey these bros were”-stories, I just remember people being nice and excited.  (Make something up Jimmy!  This is boring!) As we got on the bus, however, I do remember IMMEDIATELY panicking that there was no way I was getting out of smoking weed today.

Right after college, I got pretty good with weed.  I could wake and bake and do fun stuff like go swing on the swings at a park where I was the only person above the age of 7 (ya know, fun-not-creepy-at-all stuff like that!)  I worked in a restaurant, had a good relationship with a dealer and really enjoyed getting stoned to watch movies.  But I lived alone, and that meant getting stoned alone far too often…which leads to solo freak outs in the dark.  (Tonight’s plan? Get home. Smoke. Eat an entire bag of Tostitos with queso. Freak out about my future in bed.  CAN’T WAIT!)  After one too many of those “I’m an absolute failure in life forever”-freakouts, I swore off the sneaky smokey treat.

But then I’m sitting on a bus surrounded by nice, excited people, no! Friends!  WE WERE ALL FRIENDS ON THAT BUS!  Sitting in thin clouds of pot smoke, I was thinking “I mean, all my friends on this bus seem to be handling marijuana quite well.  Frankly, they seem to be enjoying themselves QUITE a bit!  Therefore, I have decided that I am cured of my weed-freakouts and will, again, partake in that sneaky smokey treat.”  Actually, it was much more out of a fear of being labeled as a lame-o that I told Dave and Matthew that I’d smoke with them when we got off the bus.

Dave and Matthew acted excited about me agreeing to smoke with them.  That is because they had never had a front-row seat to my weed freakouts.  Ignorance is bliss, friends.  We arrived at Alpine, got off the bus and snuck behind…well, we didn’t really have to hide because everybody in that world was smoking weed.  So Dave pulled out his bowl and I took a hit.  It wasn’t a massive coughing-fit hit, but I held it in like a pro and gave a pretty dope head nod to my brother Matthew as if to say “Y’all know me, still the same old G.”  I was cool weed guy for, approximately, the next 8 seconds.  Then I made Dave give me his sunglasses and got REAL quiet.  (Oh no…Jimmy Freakout has entered the building!) 

As we made our way to the lawn area, I made my way into my brain to begin the weed freakout in public routine.  Paranoid about my heart racing, I decided a beer would help slow it down.  WRONGO!  It was dusk and I was keeping these stolen sunglasses over my eyes like my life depended on it.  Seriously, if Dave took those sunglasses back, my body would have eyes would have melted and my body would have exploded and my Mom would have been all “I can’t believe my son exploded from weed!”  Dave and Matthew seemed to be doing okay, but we were all quiet.

Dave ran into people he knew and introduced me in my sunglasses-in-the-dark self to them.  I was thankful to Dave for this because when you’re stoned to the point of almost crying, meeting a complete stranger is EXACTLY what you want to do.  (Hello, my name is Name.  Good to name you.  Name!)  The show began and my symptoms only grew.  Why was it so fucking loud?!?!  I was positive that everyone around me was talking about why I was wearing sunglasses in the pitch black.  (Because I’m scared! Okay? I’m so scared!)  I tried to get into the music, threw a few fake “I’m having fun”-smiles at Dave and Matthew and attempted to kinda dance.  I’m sure it looked more like an adult with cryface who was having a mild seizure.  I absolutely needed a really firm hug from someone telling me “it’s going to be okay”…and I really had to pee.

Like, I really really really had to go pee, but it was dark and super crowded.  I thought if I tried to make my way to the bathroom, that I’d never be able to find Dave and Matthew again when I came back.  My brain evaluating the future = I’d search frantically for my sweet brother and brave roommate only to realize that they had already gotten on the bus back to Chicago…and I didn’t know anyone else there…and I would die alone in the lawn pavilion amidst concert debris at Alpine Valley.  Hold it or die was my choice.  I saw a guy near me pee into a bottle and I was very jealous of his pee-courage.  I looked down at a water bottle near me, but it was too crowded and people were definitely looking at me like “don’t even think about pissing in that bottle near me.”  Like, at one point I leaned down to maybe grab the empty bottle and I’m pretty sure a guy pointed a machine-gun at me and said “not another move.”

Whether he just sensed me nearing a heart attack or actually heard me mutter “help!”, Dave came to the rescue.  He had to go to the bathroom, did I want to go?  I LOVE YOU DAVE!  Thing is, Dave is a very fast, aggressive walker and he took off like he was in a race.  I did the half-jog-half-I-cant-walk-this-fast-naturally thing to keep up.  He stormed through the crowd in a way that I can only describe as magnificent.  Keeping up with this magnificent storm was difficult and so I did what any self-respecting adult male would do.  I jogged to get real close to him and grabbed his hand when he swung it back.  Like a little brother holding on for dear life was me clutching onto Dave’s paw.  (I’m not dying in Alpine tonight!)  

Post-pee (oh yeah, I kept an eye on where Dave was the entire time we were in the bathroom) we met outside the bathroom.  Now, I don’t know if this next part is completely true, but it’s how I remember it…Dave looked at me and I looked at Dave the way a dog looks at it’s owner walking out of the door with a suitcase.  (Don’t leave me).  And Dave extended his hand.  I will never be more excited to hold hands with anyone ever again.  He led me back to our lawn area like a true gentleman.  When I got back, my brother Matthew said “Jesus, this weed is freaking me out.”  THANK GOD!  I’M NOT ALONE!!!  WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER!!!

The rest of the concert consisted of all of us talking over the music about how bad we were handling the weed.  It was comforting, but still scary because we were all still kinda stoned.  We chugged water and gatorade and didn’t listen to the show because all that mattered was getting back to sober.  Ever have that feeling? Like, you would DO ANYTHING to just get back to zero on the effed-up scale?  I would’ve taken a punch from Godzilla if that would have sobered me up.

That was the last time I smoked weed (basically). And here we are 5ish years later and guess who is going to the June 30 Dave Matthews Band concert? Me, Dave and Matthew.  I hear CBD is pretty chill.

OUR WORLD:

With our sports teams dying on the vine and weather that is still shitty enough to justify staying inside FOREVER, I figured I’d help you out by reviewing the movies currently playing at the theater near my apartment.  (Movie date? Movie date!) Now, I have not seen all these movies, but I will review them anyway and not tell you whether I saw it or not.  Think of it as a fun guessing game.

The Shape of Water:  Not as good as you want it to be.  Get ready to look at your date a few times to make sure if they’re okay with fish sex.  Michael Shannon is cool.  Jimmy Rating = “Good, ya’ know, not great. Good though.” 

7 Days in Entebbe:  More like 7 Days in NOTHANKYOUtebbe (sick burn Jimbo!)  Do you like seeing movies with actors you’ve never heard of about a thing you never knew happened?  Well actually, sometimes I do because then I can talk about it like “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of the 1976 Air France hijacking!”  This movie is no bueno, but it allows you to sound smarter than your friends.  Jimmy Rating = “Even though it wasn’t very good, I know more than you because I saw this movie.”

A Wrinkle in Time:  Oprah, magic and people whispering “this isn’t as good as the book.”  I didn’t read this book and I don’t appreciate everyone making me feel like a dummy for that.  Jimmy Rating = “Nah, I’m good.”

The Death of Stalin:  I supported Stalin dying, so I support this movie.  Jimmy Rating = “You don’t?”

Thoroughbreds:  A couple girls try to kill a mean dad and then a skinny guy who kinda looks like Elijah Wood (but isn’t Elijah Wood) shows up to thwart their plan.  Don’t hate the plot, but it is hard to get over the “I’m just not sure that isn’t Elijah Wood” whisper-fight you’ll get into with your date during this movie.  Jimmy Rating = “IT’S NOT ELIJAH WOOD!”

Red Sparrow: Jennifer Lawrence as a sexy, ass-kicking spy with a bad haircut.  Sounds like a winner until you realize that no one has talked about his movie since it came out like 3 weeks ago.  That can’t be a good sign.  Jimmy Rating = “Maybe in 18 months when the VP of Ops is out of town and I’m drunk and there’s nothing else on demand.”

Annihilation:  Weird, artsy sci-fi where Natalie Portman looks to the sky a lot and the people around her tell her to “get back!” It’s good, but you won’t get it because you don’t like art, so just skip it and watch another episode of Spongebob.  Jimmy Rating = “You just don’t get it.”

 

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The time you realized you’re not good at drugs.  (Sigh…)

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: 

I didn’t gamble last night and I really wanted to.  I even sent out a trial balloon text to my gambling crew about putting some money on the Blazers (+4.5).  No response = no bet…and then the Blazers lost by 4 AND WE WOULD’VE WON!  DAMNIT!  Back to gambling tonight because I am done with zero action nights.  Put the mortgage on Cavs (-1.5) over the Raptors.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

Mondays and Oscar Recap

MY WORLD:

I think companies should have “Monday rooms” in their offices.  They should with big bean bag chairs and mirrors so you could go in, dramatically drop to your knees, curl up and watch yourself gently cry as old Carole King songs played softly over the speakers.  Mondays really are for the birds and, guys, I am no bird.  I’m a man!  A HUMAN MAN! (If my brothers are who I think they are, they better text me a socially unacceptable joke about me being a man.  Clock’s ticking, fellas.  Also, if they don’t text me, I will convince myself that they don’t read my blog, hold it against them and probably tell my mom that it bums me out that they can’t find the time in their day to support a brother-me-WHO HAS BEEN NOTHING IF NOT SUPPORTIVE OF THEM SINCE THEY WERE BUT A TWINKLE IN MY PARENT’S EYES!!!)

At least I’m not starting a new job today, though.  Aside from a Hangover-Monday, Starting-A-New-Job-Monday is mos def the worst version of this wretched wretched day.  I don’t have an absolute nightmare story of a Starting-A-New-Job-Monday (thought about making one up but I respect the 18 readers of this more than that) but I’m going to do my best to remember as much as I can about the first Mon-Fri job that I had.  I’m hoping that remembering this day will put today’s Monday in perspective so that I won’t be a pouty baby at my desk and say things like “I said I’m fine!” later.

I was 28 years old when I started my first 9-5, Monday through Friday job.  (See?  You’re better than me!) Now, chill out.  I’d had jobs since I was like 13, but they were all restaurant jobs that didn’t make a day of the week feel like a 9-5 Monday.  Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of I-hate-my-life moments when working in restaurants, but there isn’t a whole day where the entire staff returns after getting 3,2,1 BLASTOFF DRUNK for the past 60 hours.

So I was 28 years old.  Restaurant jobs, grad school (cue the crippling debt tremors) and a general fear of well dressed people in tall buildings kept me away from the 9-5 path up until then.  I had been dating the VP of Ops (known then simply as “Hot Fire Sexy Baby”)  for about 4 months and was beginning to feel…feelings…oh boy oh boy oh boy!  (Hey Erin,  that was cute, right? Pay rent today. K, Thx)   The sting of having dissimilar hours as HFSB along with the paralyzing insecurities associated with being a grown man whose work uniform consisted of a t-shirt reading “Fresh Pasta & Seafood” had pushed me TOO FAR!  It was mostly the insecurities.

I thought I should work in advertising because I live in Chicago, had a lot of good friends who worked in advertising, and I had seen commercials before.  That, my friends, is what you call a Natural Fit!  My good girl friend, nicknamed “Trone”, had become kind of a big-wig at one of these agencies, and posted something on Facebook about how her agency was looking for people for some entry-level position.  In my basically empty head, working at an ad agency probably consisted of me getting to write commercials for major companies who were too busy doing those secret hand-signal things on Wall Street.  Business stuff.  So I e-mailed Trone and probably made her cry with my well-worded, deeply personal plea for help.

She set me up with an interview, and I went shopping.  I had to buy cool, business pants because the loose, pleated khaki look that I had been NAILING on Easter Sundays for years just felt a bit pedantic (callback joke.  Comedy term.  Comedy mind.)  So I went to The Gap.  I think that’s supposed to be embarrassing, but once a Gap kid, always a Gap kid.  So shut up.  I nailed that fucking interview in those cool pants and proved, once and for all, that lying about being excited to work for a company you’d never heard of before getting an interview with them, WORKS!

I was hired to be a “Search Analyst” for an advertising company that I’ll call “Buttlicker Digital”.  (Good luck getting that burn to heal properly!)  I started in 3 weeks…on a Monday.  Would have been cool if I started on a Friday at 3:45PM, but GAH FUHBID A COMPANY DOES SOMETHING THAT CREATIVE!

The 3 weeks leading up to this career change were V scary for me.  I quit my restaurant job in a professional way because I was about to be professional and that’s what professionals do.  I went to the J.Crew outlet mall with my parents so my mom could help me pick out cool clothes like any mother would with their 6 year old.  I paid for these clothes by opening a J.Crew credit card because that I figured I’d have to be in J.Crew a lot going forward to keep up on hot trends.  (Instead, I paid off that initial $350 spend like 3 years later after making minimum payments until I got a bonus big enough to cover the remaining like $307.  I make money, guys).  Clothes bought, restaurant job quit, hair cut.  All that was left was this fuggin’ Starting-A-New-Job-Monday.

I drank more than I had planned in the weekend leading up to this SANJM because I was supes nervy and drinking’s fun!  Thankfully, my constant state of worry, kept me up most of the night, so getting up was not an issue.  I was thinner than I am now (we’re all doing our best here) so I looked pretty sah-weeeet in my new clothes.  Before I left, The VP wished me luck and was encouraging and comforting and…DEAR GOD, JUST GO FOR ME ERIN!!! YOU DO IT!!!

I took an Uber because I was paranoid if I took the train I would immediately black out and somehow end up at a Cracker Barrel in Southern Arkansas.  (I’m also the guy who has to get to the airport like 9 hours early just to be sure we have enough time to get through security.  This is not the VP of Ops’ favorite quality of mine.)  I got to Buttlicker Digital plenty early and took the elevator up to my floor.  Real talk, I went to the building the day before and mapped out where I was going to go so I wasn’t having a panic attack searching for an elevator on THE Monday.

I was starting with like 8 other people that day, so we gathered in the lobby together and said stuff like “I’m excited” and “I hear good things about this place”.  We met our new boss, an absolute self-centered douche who enjoyed flirting with me and wearing suit jackets that were 2 sizes too small.  But, I didn’t know that yet as he led us to our “pod”.

I was put in basically a large cubicle with 3 other nubes.  I had my own desk, nameplate, laptop and…wait for it…CHAIR!  I was given a schedule of “webinars” to take for the next 3 hours, until we would meet for lunch.  I remember ABSOLUTELY ZERO of the skills these webinars were supposed to have taught me.  I put my headphones in, went to the websites and thought about whether there was a military job looking for a scared 28 year old who DID NOT want to see combat, but did want to tell people, years later, that he was a “military man”.  Webinars are cool though.

After kinda doing what I was supposed to for 2 hours and 38 minutes (subtracting 22 minutes for at least 4 trips to the bathroom where I’d sit in a stall, take deep breaths, go through Twitter, and text the VP so she could remind me how brave I am.  I’m so brave.) AND THEN IT WAS LUNCH TIME.  Douchey flirty boss was taking us to PF Changs because midday diarrhea is even more fun when it’s the first day at a new job!  Bossman ordered like 19 apps for the table to show us that he was important enough at the company to waste their money.  V chill move.  I ate practically nothing.  I think I had a lettuce wrap with some chicken because brave boys like myself do need protein for their brave boy big muscles.

After we finished, Bossman let out a lot of deep sighs and eye-rolls as he typed on his phone.  This, kiddos, is a passive aggressive way for insecure people to remind you that they work hard and are constantly insulted because they are smarter than everyone who has ever sent them an e-mail.  I don’t like people like this (even though I’m sure I’ve pulled a move like this to impress people younger than me but…ME! ME, DAMNIT! ME!)

The day continued with my 36 other bosses calling us in to big empty conference rooms for meetings that didn’t really have to happen.  They’d talk about goals and synergy and Excel and, surprisingly, not why the Bears couldn’t find a franchise quarterback in the 30 years since their only Super Bowl.  I went to the bathroom so many times that I’m sure my co-workers thought I had IBS or a coke problem (IBS.  Come on, Jimmy, you’re not cool enough to pull off the “coke problem?”-look).  

5 O’Clock came and we all had to play the game where everyone knows it’s 5, but doesn’t want to be the first to leave so you pretend to type e-mails while praying to the Lord Our Savior that you hear someone drop a “see you guys tomorrow!”  Months later, I had learned to leave my jacket and bag in an empty conference room so that I could walk away from my desk at 5 (ON THE DOT!) and my co-workers wouldn’t know I was leaving for the day.  By the time I got to leave on the first day, I knew I was going to get many promotions during my sure-to-be-long-and-impactful stay at Buttlicker Digital.  Jk lol guys, I hung on by my fingernails and ended up quitting in a very cowardly way.

Really, in hindsight, it was a completely normal, not-that-bad day.  (Whoops).  BUT!  It was a worse Monday than I am going to experience today, and I ate a bunch of bread and pimento cheese yesterday so there. will. be. stomach. issues.  Which reminds me that a close third to Starting-A-New-Job and Hangover-Monday’s is the, all too familiar, I-Ate-Like-Absolute-Shit-All-Weekend-Monday.  Tell the people my story.

 

OUR WORLD:

The VP of Ops and I were driving back from Nashville all day yesterday, so we only got to see the final hour of the Oscars.  “The Shape of Water” winning for Best Picture is something I want to get angrier about, but we’re in the honesty business on this blog and, honestly, I’m not mad, just disappointed.

If you haven’t seen it yet, don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin it for you.  “The Shape of Water” had Michael Shannon and his big chin doing big chin things and a secretly V sexual mute woman who develops feelings for a fish that, no lie, was a pretty hot fish.  I’m guessing hot fish guy goes to an underwater gym for at least an hour 6 days a week.  You’re not just born with pecs like that.

This movie wasn’t one where I was excited to text my dad abut after, or one that I brag about seeing to people who doesn’t see movies as often as I do.  That’s the “Best Picture” test.  Are you excited to text your dad about it?  Are you telling your co-workers that they’re basically uncultured neanderthals for not having seen it yet?  (The only reason I’ll ever go to a museum is just to then have the ability to tell people that I went to a museum.  That’s a fun thing to say, but you have to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.  Like, “yeah, I went to The Art Institute because it was a Saturday and that’s a thing we do on Saturdays.”)  

In the final hour of the show, the Frances McDormand speech is what stands out to me cuz she had a hairdo that I had never seen before and said a thing I had never heard before “inclusion rider”.  I’ve come to learn (shoutout google.com) that an “inclusion rider” basically says moviemakers can’t be racist/sexist dickheads when staffing their movies.  This sounds reasonable.  Her hairdo, along with Christopher Walken’s high-waisted pants were off-putting though, right?  I can say that, right?  (Why are my female co-workers glaring at me?  Is that a knife?  Seriously Keli, why do you have a knife?)

Real talk, my favorite part of the final hour was that you could feel how uncomfortable white, American males in the audience were.  That’s fair.  The rest of the audience has had to have that feeling on movie sets, in conference rooms, at award shows, and everywhere else for the past very long time because those white dudes and their dads were too busy being cocky to realize that the rest of the room felt lesser than.  Fuck having to feel like that.  I’m a white dude, but I’m poor so I don’t get lumped in with the bad ones, right? (Being not-rich but not-actually-poor is the best!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Omarosa

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

I made a $50 deposit on Saturday night while secretly vaping in a bathroom stall.  I then IMMEDIATELY bet on 3 NBA games that included a parlay.  I won 2 of the 3 games and lost the other and the parlay.  Overall, that means I lost $5.72, but it’s basically even which is basically a win so….I AM SO FUCKING BACK IT HURTS.  GET ON MY BACK PRETTY BABIES CUZ WE ‘BOUT TO GET DAT PAPER!!!!!

Tonight’s sure fire lock of the century is Milwaukee (+2.5) over Indiana.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Oscars Predictions and an Ideal Friday (3/2/2018)

MY WORLD:

Happy Friday y’all!  (I can say y’all cuz the VP of Ops is from the South and I’m  married to her so I get to do what she gets to do because marriage is fair and that’s fair and shut up).  The excitement I feel when I wake up Friday morning is the closest I now get to the excitement of childhood Christmas morning.  Instead of running down the stairs to see presents, I’m running down the clock to get to drink many many alcohols.  As a functional (FUNCTIONAL!) alcoholic, weekends are when I get to introduce the public to JIMMY GOOD TIMES aka JGT.  I rid myself of the crippling fear of hangovers-which has ruined weeknight drinking for me forever-and am an overall much nicer, funnier, relaxed, better looking person (the better looking part of JGT abruptly ends when I wake up Sunday morning and morph into JIMMY SWEATPANTS; an overwhelmed, disheveled manager of hangovers and Sunday scaries who ONLY wears the pair of black Jordan Brand sweatpants that he bought in high school using his parents money.)

Every Friday seems to get away from me before it even starts, though.  Like, I’ll get so excited that I’ll have a beer or two at lunch (BREAKING NEWS: Jimmy Good Times is at the gas station filling up that tank!)  After an afternoon of e-mails, Steve Winwood tunes and some V suave, yet subtle seated dance moves, I basically run out to my car, forget any plans that I had for the night and lose myself in a “whatever, as long as I have a beer”-mindset.  Think of how your dog acts when you ask if he wants a treat, then multiply that by FIFTY HUNDRED MILLION THOUSAND!

In an effort to plan ahead like uhhhhhh an adult, I would like to set forth my ideal Friday.  Now look guys, while this is ideal, I also want it to be at least potentially realistic, so it won’t include deep-tissue massages from the girl in “Peaky Blinders” or Eddie Vedder introducing me to Wrigleyville bartenders as his “inspiration”.  Let’s get real, here’s my IDEAL Friday.

EARLY MORNING:  I get up at 6:30 feeling like a crisp bill of fucking money.  The VP of Ops takes Belle out for her morning walk (already beginning to feel unrealistic…)  I put on my cool-guy gym outfit, go to my Planet Fitness (can’t hear your snide remarks in this purple judgment-free zone).  Bang out a killer sweat sesh to alleviate any guilt that may try to slow down JGT later in the night.  Take a shower, and go to work with hair day that deserves its own series on AMC.

MID MORNING:  Get to work and am greeted with coworkers feeling awkward around me because they were just talking about how much they enjoy my social media presence (don’t feel awkward guys, I’m a regular human being person just like you).  The song on the office stereo changes to “Valerie” by Steve Winwood.  I barely notice how great of a job I’m doing at my desk because I’m lost in chair dancing.  People pretend not to notice, but they can’t help but secretly envy my effortless rhythm in the seated position.

LUNCH:  We go to Big Star for margs and tacos and sit outside cuz it’s a sunny 76 degrees and my skin tans to the perfect shade of “did you go on vacation?”  I’ll eat 3 tacos cuz 4 makes my stum hurt and I don’t want to get too full to enjoy their supes refreshing margy’s.  Oh, and they better salt the ever-loving shit outta’ that glass, cuz JGT is a Salt Boi 4 Lyfe!  Tablemates ask why I haven’t eaten many chips, I lie to them and say “I didn’t even notice them on the table” when it’s really because I have tremendous self-control and am planning to overdose on chips tomorrow.  2 margs, 3 tacos and a solid base tan later and I’m ready to polish off the last 4 hours of this workweek (UPDATE:  Jimmy Good Times has crossed state lines into Illinois! “I’m comin’ home, I’m comin’ home, tell the world cuz I’m comin’ home”-JGT)

AFTERNOON:  Well worded e-mails come pouring out of my fingers with Queens of the Stone Age’s “Rated R” album playing in the background.  The office is beginning to empty, but I’ll wait because I’m a hard worker…and I brought a mid-afternoon beer back to my desk to sip on.  What beer you ask? Let’s go with a hoppy MONSTER that you’ve never heard of but has V cool artwork on the can (I will pour it in a glass though cuz I like to show off how I’m not chugging yet).   I finish that first beer right as 4:20 strikes and I make a funny, but like cool-funny weed joke to a co-worker who wears marijuana leaf socks.  After he recovers from his laughing fit, we decide that since we’re in the last 20% of people left in the office, it’s time to leave and get a beer downstairs (I work at a V hot and sexy brewery and my office is above the taproom. BRAGGY BOY!) 

DUSK:  Polish off a beer in the taproom and go outside just as the VP of Ops pulls up to drive us back (responsible).  VPOps parallel parks perfectly and takes Belle out for her dinner-time walk, while I crack an easy drinker and place my bets for the night.  I feel great about all the teams I picked, and my Bovada account shows that I’ve been hot for a while now.  The VP returns, Belle leaps into my arms and we twirl like we’re the last two beings on ear—(I just love her so much).  Time to meet only our most fun friendos at my fave bar, Sheffields, and Belle understands.  As we leave she sits, nods and smiles at us as if to say “you two deserve this.”  Thanks Belle.

NIGHT:  Sheffields is playing a mix of 90s alternative (JGT’S WHEELHOUSE!) along with the occasional pop BANGER that drunk 32 year-olds aren’t embarrassed to sing along to (anything by Sia or Rihanna and I. Am. In!)  We’re drinking beers and laughing.  My teams are up by enough that I just glance at the TV when I feel like smiling extra big.  My friends talk about how good I am at gambling.  VP of Ops is paying for everything because she is “so lucky”.  The bartender points to the ring on my finger so all the other girls around know I’m taken (I didn’t even notice those girls).  My main cool-guy bros and I hide from our spouses so we can take lemon drop shots without being judged.  JIMMY GOOD TIMES BARREL ROLLS THROUGH THE WALL!!! WHAT AN ENTRANCE!!!

It’s simple, really, but I’m a simple man with simple pleasures and a simple brain (wait…)  The rest of the night would mos def include late night food at Fatso’s (real place with the best late-night burger in the game) and that final at-home drink that I don’t need, but still enjoyed.  For the sake of certain readers, I will leave the rest of my ideal Friday up to your imagination…but…let’s…just…say….R. KELLY IS A BLASTIN’!

OUR WORLD:

Okay, real talk, I want to make Oscars predictions but aside from like five categories, they’re pretty boring and I haven’t seen all the movies yet.  Here’s what I got:

-“3 Billboards” for Best Picture because fuck this newfound backlash, this movie is bright, shiny gold.

-Frances McDormand for Best Actress is such a slam dunk that if I were her, I’d wear an “I Won” t-shirt on the red carpet.

-Gary Oldman for Best Actor because everyone says that’s going to happen and I won’t ever watch that movie cuz it looks boring and I ain’t into dat’ shiz.

-Sam Rockwell for Best Supporting Actor because he played a character that you can’t decide whether you hate or not and when you admit that to people you get nervous because you don’t know how they’re going to react to that.

-Chris Nolan for Best Director over Guillermo Del Toro because “Dunkirk” was an absolute two hour long heart-attack and “Shape of Water” made the VP of Ops and I feel weird about lonely people and their alone time.

-Jimmy Kimmel straddles lines like an expert line straddle and nails his job.  Crushes the NRA; reminds everyone that Woody Allen is King of Creep Castle and the #MeToo crew should tell their snipers “shoot to kill; pats Donny T. on his bald head, but stops before Alec Baldwin carries him off on his shoulders; and makes everyone feel moderately uncomfortable when he reminds the audience that “Moonlight” won best picture last year even though more than half of the crowd will never see it.

-Jennifer Lawrence looks great, but gets even closer to the “okay, you’re not that funny so just chill”-line.  I fully expect to look at the VP of Ops at some point to and say “do we not really like her anymore?”

-Quentin Tarantino shows up and I defend him because I love his movies, but deep down definitely think he does weird stuff.  DAMNIT!

-VP of Ops and I agree that JoolyAnna RanSICK was born in the “Men In Black” world and, thus, is an alien.

-John Legend and Chrissy Teigen kill the red carpet, but the VP of Ops kinda’ ruins it when she refuses to stop showing me Chrissy Teigen Instagram posts that I don’t think are as funny as she does.  Look, she’s funny, but the VP of Ops treats her Instagram like it never misses the mark.  Meh.  It’s fine.  (VPOps will 100% send me an angry text about this).

-Whoever wins Best Actress will slowly walk up to the stage and then, out of nowhere, deliver their speech totally out of breath.  This happens every time and it drives me nuts.  Why are you out of breath when we JUST saw you WALK up to the stage?

-Incubus, unfortunately, will not be invited to perform “Pardon Me” as the rest of the “Best Song” nominees get to perform theirs even though “Pardon Me” should probably always be nominated for “Best Song” at every award show.

-Colin Firth will be shown in the audience and I will remind VP of Ops that I will never see a movie he’s in.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Screen Shot 2018-03-02 at 12.37.59 PM

BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

I did not plan to bottom out as quickly as I did in front of an audience, but that’s exactly what has happened.  Cleveland lost last night, but Lebron smiled throughout the entire game and gave high-fives to EVERY PHILADELPHIA SEVENTY-SIXER WHO HAS EVER PLAYED FOR THE TEAM AND IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY BECAUSE IT’S LIKE HE DIDN’T EVEN CARE THAT I NOW HAVE TO MAKE A DEPOSIT TO GAMBLE AGAIN!  Seriously, this losing streak has gotten more than a little re-goddamn-diculous.  I will make a deposit probably after beer number 4 tonight when I’m itchin’ for a little action.  Tonight? Yeah, no friggin duh.  I am ready to be so fucking back with Golden State (-13) over Atlanta.

(My account is currently at $0.00)

K bye.