Category: food

Wednesday Work Robots and Missing Immaturity (4/25/18)

OUR WORLD:

 

Wednesday is such a day for adults.  The midpoint of the weekday grind is the exact point where you don’t know where or who you really are anymore; you’re just the person who puts on the least wrinkled shirt in your closet and walks your dog before disappearing into a computer screen for 9 hours (9, not 8, because you’re a GOOD WORKER BEE!)  Throughout the day, some people will make hump day jokes because of that talking-camel commercial and you’ll kinda chuckle because the word “hump” is funny.  But, all you really want to do is not talk to ANYONE and just blackout until late Thursday afternoon when Friday’s rays of sunshine begin to poke through your office blinds.

This grind is such a mature mindset.  I remember coming out of college and trying to treat every night like Friday because “I like to have fun!”  The thought of basically transforming myself into a work-robot during the week was too sobering for Jimmy IT’S ALWAYS GOOD TIMES.  And while this maturing is good for the health of my brain and body, I’ll have instances where I daydream about getting to be immature again.  Don’t you?  Like, don’t you just want to take your shirt off in the middle of your office sometimes and run out while screaming “I’M FREE!!!”  You’re not gonna do it, but it’s funny to think about.  Thinking about EXPLOSIONS of immaturity is what gets me through some of life’s most mundane and scary situations/settings; and I think if you’re not partaking in this exercise as of yet, it might help you as well.  So today, I’d like to start a new Wednesday tradition on Jimmyschair and write about “places where you really want to act more immature than is socially acceptable”:

The Dentist Office:

You probably haven’t gone in over 3 years and it’s getting to the point where you’ve convinced yourself that “something real bad is happening.”  I went for the first time in like 5 years a couple months ago (not to brag) and was POSITIVE the dentist was going to take one look at me before calling a Priest to read me my last rights.  (Spoiler alert: I’m still alive and it wasn’t that bad).  But your imagination runs WILD to the point where you start contemplating “what if I just never went to the dentist again?  People in olden times didn’t go and they seem to be doing okay in most of the movies I’ve seen them in.”  That is until you throw a pile of almonds in your stink-trap of a mouth, bite down and feel like an a-bomb went off inside your back molar.  The “oh fuck, something’s really wrong in my mouth” is a top 1 worst feeling in life.

So you finally make an appointment, but you’re really hoping that an alien bomber plane will just blow up the world before you actually have to go.  But that never happens because you have bad luck, so you go to the dentist and have to be MATURE and pretend like you’re not that scared.  Wouldn’t it be great to be immature here?  Like, just walk into the dentist office crying.  Go up to the receptionist wildly shaking your head and weeping “I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna go!”  Then when the dentist emerges with his scary surgical mask, you literally SCREAM BLOODY MURDER “GET AWAY FROM ME! NO! NO! HELP! MOM HELP!!!!”  The dentist would have to try to calm you down by speaking on a sweet voice and assuring you that “everything is gonna be okay.”  But you still wouldn’t totally believe him as you sat down in that murder-chair.

Then they’d turn the lamp on and ask you to open your mouth, but since you’re still in immature-mode you just refuse to.  The dentist’s assistant would kneel down next to you and maybe rub your shoulder a little to calm you down (wouldn’t that be nice as an adult?  Guess what, kids aren’t the only ones scared of the dentist!)  So then finally, after being talked to like a baby, you’d open your mouth a little and they could begin to clean your teeth.  It’s not bad at first, but then they start scraping and you LOSE IT again.  This time, it’s a full-on “get away from me!”-fit to the point that they have to konk you on the head with a mallet to continue the cleaning.  I don’t know about you, but if my dentist appointment included being knocked out cold by a mallet-to-the-dome, I’d consider that a win for the mere fact that I wouldn’t have to hear all the drilling noises.

MY WORLD:

I’m not gonna lie guys, I am supes biz at work (cute way of saying I’ve thought about crying on a semi-regular basis over the past few weeks).  So that’s my world right now: being super busy, feeling bad that my dog is alone for way too long during the day and trying to cool it with the “I worked hard today, so I deserve to binge on candy tonight.”

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Did you think I was kidding when I said I was about to go on a big Death Cab for Cutie kick?

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When “Chicago Fire” is filming two blocks away from your apartment building and, therefore, blocking off 2 streets worth of parking.  So when you get home at night, there is no parking left and you have to park like 9 blocks away on a street known for muggings.  I’ve never watched this show and, if you do, I’d ask that you please stop.  Thank you for your service.

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:

Cool thing happened to me last night, I forgot to bet on Milwaukee until midway through the first half.  Which means that I got them at (+11.5) and they covered!  San Antonio also covered, so I went 2 for 3 last night!  This parlay kid could use one hitting, but at least I’m not on some big smelly losing streak or something.  Got a bunch of games going tonight, and here’s what I’m thinking as of now:  Jazz, Wizards, Rockets, and Bucks all against the spread.  Will my thinking change between now and gametime?  Quite possibly.

(My account currently at $182.80)

K bye.

 

 

Be Happy You Don’t Have These Jobs! (4/23/18)

OUR WORLD:

Welcome to what is quickly becoming everyone’s favorite Monday tradition: the jimmyschair “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job list.

Animal Control Officer:  

You ever read those stories where someone comes home to discover an anaconda coming up through their toilet?  There is a person whose job it is to just “take care of that.”  What if that was your first call on a Monday morning?  Like you, Roberta AnimalControl got after it a little too much on Saturday night and is still trying to shake off the cobwebs 2 days later.  She picked up a fatty Dunkin’ Donuts sandwich in the drive-thru on the way to work because “fuck it, I’ll work out later this week” and she hurried to her desk by 9:01, but it’s okay because their boss was in the bathroom.  Roberta opens up her bacon, egg and chee like it’s a very-depressing Christmas morning and just as she’s about to take the first bite….RING!  “Hey Roberta, there’s a king cobra in a toilet at 934 Winchester Boulevard.  Caller says it’s hissing.”

And that’s just one horrible, but very real possibility for the start of an Animal Control Officer’s day.  Can you imagine the amount of sad stuff they see?  I don’t even want to write about it.  In fact, I won’t–Mondays are depressing enough that I don’t need to wade into the animal cruelty-waters.  Just know that it’s someone’s JOB to look at a dog fighting ring up-close and get the dogs out of there, but you know there are times when they got there too late and….JESUS CHRIST, STOP IT JIMMY!

In Chicago, the city started this program a few years ago where they released wild coyotes into the city to help with the rat problem.  THAT WAS NOT A JOKE.  Well now, even though there have been no reported coyote attacks on humans in the past 30 years (but what about the unreported attacks?  Hard to call 911 after a coyote bites you in the neck…) I’m sure Animal Control Chicago gets inundated with calls about coyotes.  I know I’ve seen a coyote from inside my apartment that was running away and was like 2 blocks down when I asked The VP “should I call Animal Control?”  It’s about safety!  So Animal Control people HAVE to go and check out these coyote calls now on a regular basis, and if you’re an office you’ve got to be thinking “we’re due for a coyote attack; is it going to be me?”  Chicago just isn’t going to go FOREVER without one of these coyotes mauling someone, so who’s most likely to break the streak? An animal control officer responding to a call from some nerd 2 blocks away.  And spare me any talk about “well, they’re trained for this stuff.”  You can’t train to protect yourself from a WILD ANIMAL ATTACK because they are WILD. ANIMALS.

Used Car Salesman:

I just think it would really suck to have to tell people that you’re a “used car salesman” when they ask what you do for a living.  It has such brutal connotations.  I work in sales, and even that isn’t my favorite thing to say, but when I’m trying to explain my job sometimes I’ll say “I mean, it’s not like I’m a used car salesman.”  It’s like if a mouse met another animal and had to be like “yeah, I’m a mouse, but it’s not like I’m a rat.”  And the thing with used car salesmen is they’re not ALL the awful stereotype (“god Jimmy, you’re so brave to speak truth to power”-Used Car Salesman Union Leader)

Whenever someone goes to buy a used car, they also think that they’re going to have to negotiate like it’s a hostage situation (“IF YOU INCLUDE THE HEATED SEATS, NO ONE WILL GET HURT!”)  Which means that every person a used car salesman meets at work is coming in with an edge; pre-disposed to NOT be friendly.  Well isn’t that fun!  I know there are used car salesmen who are kinda’ slimy and need to be pushed back on, but there have to ones who are also just like “yeah, I’m just here to pay my bills and get home.”  Like, there have to be ones that offer the customer their actual lowest price first…right?  Then they just have to sit there and keep telling the customer “I’m not lying, that really is the lowest we can offer you” as the customer gets madder and madder and SO FUCKING MAD, COME ON!!!!

Finally, how about when a used car salesman has to go to his girlfriend’s parents for the first time?  You KNOW the dad immediately HATES that his daughter is dating a used car salesman.  Even if that first dinner goes well, the Dad will probably say something to his wife like, “yeah, he was nice, but what does that even mean? He is a used car salesman.”  They’ll NEVER trust him because of that job title.  I’d imagine that most used car salesman are married to daughters of other used car salesman then.  If there’s a Farmers Only dating app, shouldn’t there be a Used Car Sales Only one too?

Personal Chef for a Celebrity and their Kids:

This is mostly on account of having to cook for rich kids.  I see on the boob tube (cool guy slang for television) that a lot of athletes and celebrities have their own personal chefs.  And while I enjoy cooking, I can’t imagine cooking a gourmet meal for a rich kid who UNDOUBTEDLY will not appreciate it the way they should.  Whenever I cook a meal that’s a little more complicated than “dump packet contents into hot water,” I basically stare daggers through The VP of Ops until she takes a bite.  And if the doesn’t take a bite within the first 14 seconds of me handing her, her plate? I may or may not (but definitely do) yell at her to “take a bite before it gets cold!”  She’ll usually take a bite and tell me it’s great, but sometimes she doesn’t do it in a convincing enough way, so I’ll be all pouty like “oh, sorry you don’t like it.”

Now, if that was a 9 year old who never heard the word “no”, you think they’d overwhelm the chef with gratitude?  A chef, mind you, who probably went through like 7 years of schooling only to then be hired by a violent French Master Chef whose preferred “teaching” method is burning his sous chefs with the creme brulee blowtorch.  After 4 years of dodging Chef Blowtorch and his outbursts, you’d open up your own restaurant in a part of town that was dying to be turned into the next hipster-ville…But, you and your restaurant came about two years too early and you end up closing your dream restaurant 18 months after opening.  To avoid bankruptcy, you call back that investor guy who told you he “had something for you.”  And, that “something” was a job cooking for some Jay Cutler Wannabe (aka an asshole athlete) and his shitty kids.

Next think you know, you’re spending 8 hours making pasta by hand for your most popular burrata lasagna.  The celeb kids are running around and yelling about why it’s taking so long and probably snacking on pop tarts.  When you’re finally finished, they look at it and say it looks “gross” and they’d prefer pizza.  And where are the parents? DOESN’T MATTER CUZ THEY DON’T CARE ANYWAY!  So you try to sneak the uneaten gourmet lasagna out to your car when you leave that night, but the cousin who lives there for free catches you and reminds you that the lasagna is now “property of this house”…so you have to turn around and put it back into the Cutler’s fridge, where it will sit uneaten until you throw it out in 4 days.

MY WORLD:

I can’t believe I haven’t done this yet, but I have to put together a candy list.  I went on a big candy kick this weekend that my pants DID NOT APPRECIATE this morning.  I’m including chocolate and sweet and salty.  Here’s the jimmyschair Top 10 Candy List.  Disagreements are discouraged…SO SAVE ‘EM!

10-Crunch Bar

9-Chocolate Covered Almonds

8-Twix

7-Kit Kat

6-Gummy Fruit Slices

5-Gummy Bears

4-Crispy M&Ms

3-York Peppermint Patties

2-Peanut M&Ms

1-Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups

*I will say the Top 3 rotate depending on mood and right now, Lil Jimmy loves some peanut butter and chocolate.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Make fun all you want, but Death Cab is my fave band and I feel myself gearing up for a BIG Death Cab kick starting with this….NOW!

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Getting your haircut for the first time in 5 months and having the hair washer lady mail in the scalp massage you’d been looking forward 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:

Let’s bang that OKC Moneyline (+175) together because we’re all friends and betting against an angry Russ Westbrook seems MUCHO STUPIDO!

(My account currently at $192.22)

K bye.

In Defense of Me and 90s Kid Stuff

MY WORLD: 

Aside from treating my body like a dumpster, talking to Belle about how she’s the “numba one pretty gurrrlll” and sleeping in my clothes, there’s one final pastime I take part in whenever The VP of Ops leaves town; getting paranoid about what she’s saying about me to other people.  You see, there’s this thing that some people take part in, where when they’re away from their significant other they complain about his/her faults and idiosyncrasies to their friends.  Mind you, this is something that I have only HEARD ABOUT, for my friends and I keep our conversations strictly about sports, chicken wings and who our current man-crush is because IT’S A SAFE SPACE AND WE’RE PROGRESSIVE!  (Chris Hemsworth and Eddie Vedder forever btw).

However, I am aware that The VP of Ops has sheep-like tendencies when surrounded by her poor influences of friends.  While they’re complaining about the ragamuffins they’re with, in an effort to fit in and not be the “yo mans ain’t got it like my mans got it”-girl, she probably folds and joins the complain party.  Knowing this, I would like to put forth some explanations and defenses for what she MAY be saying about me to her friends.

“He’s really moody”—First off, who isn’t?  Right? I mean, I’m sure there are co-workers of yours that you think are super even keel, but they have to be kinda’ bitchy sometimes at home later…right? RIGHT?!?!?  Uh, and you think The VP of Ops ISN’T moody?  THINK AGAIN BUB!  Last time I checked, yelling “I’m going to murder you” at your husband, just because he’s playing the “I’m not touching you”-game, is called a MOOD.  Your honor, I would like to employ the “well, she is too”-defense.

Real talk, this cuts deep because I am POSITIVE that it’s true.  For some reason, being “moody” has worse connotations than being a serial killer in my brain.  (He’s moody?!?! Ugh, I don’t have time to deal with that!  Yeah, my husband killed 4 people, but they were like SOOOOO annoying).  Sometimes, I’ll catch myself mid-“if you don’t stop humming to yourself I’m going to blow my brains out” and immediately toss an apology the VPs way.  The apology, though, normally sounds something like “I’m mad right now and I don’t know why and it’s not your fault so I’m…(through grit teeth)…so I’m sorry or whatever.”  And if she brings up how I was moody the next day or another time when I’m in a GOOD mood? It’ll immediately piss me off and I’ll kinda’ deny it and will try my best to act not-mad…but, I’m fuckin’ mad about it.  CAN’T THIS JUST BE OUR LITTLE SECRET?  Oh, and to the girlfriend who I’m sure will mention something about me being a Gemini, just shove it.  Astrology is for the birds, everyone knows this.

“He ALWAYS watches sports”—Well maybe if you had money riding on whether Mariska Whateverthefuckitay was going to catch the rapist in this episode of “Law & Order SVU”, I would support us watching that together.  Gah fuhbid you join the team and root against Anthony Davis making the Blazers look like ABSOLUTE dog meat when I have the Blazers in my 8-team parlay.  And also, if I watch sports all the time, how am I able to write such eloquent, insightful critiques of “Vanderpump Rules” and “Summer House”?  Answer the question, please.  I’ll wait…

This is the time when The VP of Ops will, most likely, bring up the fact that I have yet too hook up the second cable box in our bedroom.  Did we move in last August? Yes, but there are a lot of wires and, like, I JUST DON’T WANNA!  PLUS! PLUS!  All she wants to watch is “Law & Order SVU” and that’s on netflix, so she can just watch it on our Apple TV in the bedroom.  I would like to point out that I have mostly given up watching weekend pre-game shows (which are like catnip for guys ESPECIALLY during football season) so that we can watch that stupid fake pioneer woman cook some unhealthy bullshit for her “Cowboy Kids” on Food Network.  (We did just find out that Pioneer Woman married into like one of the richest families in the country.  When your family is worth in excess of $500 million-not kidding-it kinda’ puts a damper on the whole “just cookin’ for some farm boys” motif they’re going for. Just my 2 cents!) Are you going to bring that up to the girl crew? Do their guys ask what time Vanderpump Rules is on every Monday? Do their guys pause “Relation-shep” in the middle of the show just to talk to you about charismatic and likable Shep is?  Didn’t think so.

“He’s bossy”—This one is similar to the “he’s moody” one in that it hurts, but the difference here is that I’m not bossy.  I’m really not.  This is not me trying to be funny by denying the truth…I’m just not bossy.  Ask my boss at work if I’m bossy; bet he says I’m not.

Really though, I think I’m good at admitting faults (see, “He’s really moody” section) but this “bossy” label is one hundred percent due to the fact that The VP of Ops is an all-time horrible decision maker.  When I say that, I’m not meaning it in the sense of making bad decisions like “she decides to get a neck tattoo when she’s drunk.”  More like, she just WON’T make a decision.  Every single Saturday that we both have free, I’ll ask her what she wants for lunch.  “Where should we go? We can go wherever you want!”-I ask like the Magic Lunch Fairy.  What this leads to is her telling me that she’s going to find a spot by looking through the Yelp! app on her phone.  Then, about 13 minutes later, I’ll walk past her and see that she’s just scrolling through Instagram.  “Oh yeah, I forgot”-and she’ll get back to the Yelp! app before asking me “well, what do you want?” no less than 39 times.  So me putting an end to this misery and picking a restaurant that she told me she LOVED is, then, an example of me being bossy?  In the words of an Italian television caricature “Getda’ Fug Outta Hee!”

OUR WORLD: 

So Spotify has this thing now, I don’t know if it’s new or not, where they create a playlist for you called “Time Capsule”.  Through the magic of the internet (and the government…) they somehow know what songs I liked when in my formative years.  This morning I have heard some real treats like Matchbox Twenty (Rob Thomas can sing, so back off), “Sabotage” (the only Beastie Boys song I like), and “Rollin'” by Limp Bizkit (NOT the only Limp Bizkit song I like…WHAT?!?! IT’S GREAT WORKOUT MUSIC!)  

This “Time Capsule” got me to thinking about the 90s and so I wanted to put together the beginning of a “Whatever Happened To __________?” list for my fellow kids of the 90s.  Maybe I’ll continue this in future blogs…maybe not…I do what I want.

–Eve 6:  Was “Inside Out” just too perfect of a song?  I’m guessing they made that and were like “well, we can’t top that…so let’s just leave.”

–Drew Barrymore:  She was in every single movie for a stretch there and now, where she at?  Drew? Where you at, Drew?  She is also maybe the best example of a celeb I can’t decide if I’m attracted to or not.

–The guy with tiny sunglasses in “The Professional”:  I’ve actually never seen this movie, but feel like I have because I’ve seen the preview like a hundred times and CONSTANTLY think about watching it on nights I’m having trouble finding something.  He seemed like a pretty solid character actor, though.  Maybe? I don’t know.

–Jesse Camp:  This is the guy who won MTVs first “Wanna Be a VJ” contest.  Man, this dude was off-putting.  Also, pretty provocative name for a TV show, in hindsight.  I don’t want to look up what this dude is up to now because I fully expect it to be very depressing.

–Ben Savage from “Boy Meets World”:  Again, not going to look up what he’s actually up to, but for very different reasons than Jesse Camp.  I don’t want to look Ben Savage up because I’m rooting for him to be miserable now.  When I was a grad film student at UCLA (are you impressed by debt? Well get a load of this!) I ran into Ben Savage hanging out in the office of my student housing building.  He was like hanging out with people that worked there or something? Anyway, I recognized him and because it was a Friday night and I was probably 5 beers deep at this point, struck up a conversation with him.  Unfortunately, he quickly turned this light conversation into a passionate monologue about how stupid and delusional he thinks people trying to break into the film/television biz are.  He did not know that I was (am?) one of those people.  He was so condescending and pompous, that I wish I would’ve told him that the GLARING FLAW with “Boy Meets World” was that Topanga was WAY too hot for him.  Everyone agrees on this and if you see this cheesedick on the street, feel free to remind him of it.  I’d appreciate it.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I bet you’re like me and still know all the lyrics to this.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Punchable face times a billion.

Savage

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:

Well, my NBA playoff parlay is basically dead now that the Blazers are down 0-3 to the Pelicans.  Isn’t it great when you look back on a bet and it’s SUPER OBVIOUS that betting against Anthony Davis was a bad idea?  I just love it.  I placed a few bets last night and ended up going 2 for 4, so that’s not horrible at least.  I’m guessing that Philly is becoming the favorite to come out of the East now, and so I think I may want to put some money on Cleveland.  I can’t stand LeBron, but I just can’t see him going down to Ben Simmons and Embiid…not yet.

(My account currently at $207.73)

K bye.

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.

 

 

When Your Wife Goes Out of Town and Gross Foods (4/18/18)

MY WORLD:

The VP of Ops has left me.

She took off on an airplane this morning to go to a little place called Mexico, ever heard of it? (The friend of mine who reminded me of the “ever heard of it?”-joke was disappointed that he/she did not receive proper credit in last week’s blog.  Well, TOO FUCKING BAD!  THIS IS MY WORLD! AND NOW, WHENEVER ANYONE THINKS OF THE “EVER HEARD OF IT?” JOKE, THEY WILL THINK OF JIMMYSCHAIR FIRST! ME! ME! ME!)  This Mexico trip is a 5 day bachelorette-a-thon where they’re staying in a…(uh oh, I know she told me where they were staying multiple times.  And, I definitely was not listening to her when she was telling me)…they’re staying in a place where there’s a beach and stuff.  What that means, is that I’m single for the next five days.  It’s true, guys.  I can do whatever I want because The VP is not here and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have internet access so KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUT!

Jk lol omg guys.  It’s called a joke!  What it really means is that I’ll probably gamble more, eat worse and throw a few pouches in my lip because I’M FREE!!!  (There should be another warning label on tobacco tins that reads “Just because you only do this when your wife is out of town, doesn’t mean it’s not still bad for you.”)  You see, every time The VP of Ops goes out of town, I go through the same stages in the first 24 hours of “Freedom”:

The “Wow, I can’t wait to do whatever I want when I get back tonight”-stage:  This is the most exciting stage of The VP actually leaving.  THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!  This stage usually occurs right after she leaves and I promised her that I would miss her so much.  However, what I’m really thinking when I tell her that I’ll “miss her so much” is “I wonder what I’m gonna have for dinner tonight before getting to watch 5 straight hours of playoff basketball with action on EVERY SINGLE GAME!”  The first night alone, you need to be alone–this is not the night to invite your friends over and make them jealous that their significant other isn’t out of town too…that’s for tomorrow.  Tonight is for tacos or wings or…no, just tacos or wings with moderate-to-heavy drinking and maybe a vape or dip sesh.  Bad boy stuff only.

The “Wait, so I have to take the dog out every time while she’s gone?”-stage:  I don’t know why this reality always surprises me when she’s gone, but usually late in the first day of it, I get salty that she’s not flying back to take Belle outside.  I’ll get back from work, plop my finely toned and overworked bod on my chair and Belle will start crying.  However, now I can’t trick her to “go find mom!” (Such a great dog trick. Stupid dog, Mom’s in the kitchen; Can’t you hear her talking to me?)  And then I’ll think to myself “well this is kinda’ bullshit.”  Don’t get me wrong, Belle is my numba one pretty gurrrrl, but sometimes Relaxin’ Jimmy just needs her to stop staring while running in place and growling at me.  Normally, right about now, is when The VP of Ops will call me to “check in” (I’m not a baby!) and I’ll have to try real super hard not to sound pissy on the phone about having to do EVERYTHING IN THE UNIVERSE!

The “It’s late and I’m really tired, but I need to force a drunk tonight to prove how much fun  this vacation is”-stage:  End of night one ALWAYS feels like this.  I should just go to bed because I’m an adult with a CAREER (ever heard of it?) but that would be admitting defeat to myself.  It’s like I can hear 25 year-old, single Jimmy making fun of me for even thinking about going to bed before 10:30.  I’m not kidding when I tell you that there is probably going to be some audible pump-up self-talk along the lines of “come on Bud, let’s have a time!”  Then I’ll go and pour another little glass of scotch that I don’t need OR really want.  BUT WE’RE HAVING FUN, DAMNIT!  I’ll try convince myself that I care about watching the Oklahoma City game because I have $8 riding on it before falling asleep in my chair and waking up at 2AM in a “where am I?!?”-panic.

I’ll wake up the next morning to a living room that smells like scotch because I left my half-full glass on the coffee table, and my socks are on the ground and there are taco wrappers on the counter.  Guess what, though? Don’t have to clean it up till later.

OUR WORLD:

The Top Ten Foods That Are Gross And Why Does Anyone Eat Them:

  1.  Yogurt:  The consistency, the sound it makes when you stir it and if you lick the lid then we can’t be friends anymore.  I’m serious.
  2. Cauliflower Mashed Potatoes:  Fake mashed potatoes and I am not even close to being tricked.  They taste like sour mush.
  3. Cottage Cheese:  Are people serious with this shit?  Can’t be.  Must be an elaborate prank.
  4. Grape Nuts Cereal:  It’s brown gravel.
  5. Energy Gel/Goo:  Distance runners/people who are V serious about working out eat this stuff during workouts and it’s GNARLY GROSS.
  6. Lox:  I have never tried them and I will not.
  7. Black-Eyed Peas:  All you’re thinking about is how normal peas are way better than these weird things.
  8. Ham Salad: You’re not chicken or tuna salad and you never will be.  Stop trying.
  9. Bologna:  Too smooth and round.  Nope.
  10. Anchovies:  I don’t even want to hear that you’re chopped up finely in my favorite caesar dressing.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Ran across this song yesterday and remembered that I really like it.  Not a huge fan of the video, so just put this on in the background and don’t watch the video.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Gag city.

Yogurt

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:

Well, I didn’t gamble on the Blazers and that’s good because I’m starting to feel like I may be jinxing teams again…I did bet on the Cubs and the over last night and the Cardinals won and the over pushed so…WINNER!  Tonight, I’m loving a moneyline parlay of NBA games: Cleveland, Utah and Houston.  Feels so right.

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.

What to Watch When You’re Sick and “Jimbo”

MY WORLD:

Today’s edition of “A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable” is short and swe–nope, it’s actually not sweet at all (tricked you so bad).  The VP of Ops gets very uncomfortable when attention is brought to her while in public and so, once I found this out, I, OBVIOUSLY, had to come up with a way to bring attention to her in public.  So I began testing out some material when we’d walk to lunch or to the coffee shop or pharmacy, and I’d just yell out phrases like “stop farting!” or “that hurts!” or “I SAID NO!”  She could see me take deep inhales as I prepared to yell and would immediately go into wide-eyed, clenched-jaw “don’t you dare”-mode.  Can someone just tell her that if she didn’t react like that, that I’d stop doing stuff like this?  (Actually don’t because I really really love doing these sorts of things.)  

However, yelling out these phrases grew a little tired after a while, so I had to turn the heat up a bit.  My solution was to create an alter-ego named “Jimbo”.  Basically, Jimbo is the guy at your gym in the stringy tank-top who throws down the dumbbells when he’s done with them. (The VP hates Jimbo so much that I’m sure she’s shaking her head right now.)  In case you haven’t met this particular “Jimbo”, he only comes out when The VP and I are in crowded public places.  Normally, I’ll slow my walk a little bit to let The VP get ahead.  She’ll turn around and see the “Jimbo” pose: me holding my arms out like I just BLASTED my biceps at a workout, so much so that I can no longer straighten my arms.  This is when The VP says something like “please don’t”, to which “Jimbo” responds, in his meathead spitting-while-talking way, “Babe! What?”

“Oh Jesus” and The VP will try to speed walk away from what she knows is coming.  “Jimbo” will follow like a muscle-bound villain in a horror movie, walking a little too slowly while swaying wildly from side to side.  Hard to walk straight when you squat 700 pounds and everyone can’t stop talking about how big your quads are, nah’m sayin’?  “Jimbo” loves to yell “Babe! Babe!” and never straighten his huge swollen arms or legs cuz he can’t bro, too sore from the curls and stair master.  He always has a duckface or a snarl because he’s a bad boy and he wants you to know it.  The VP knows it and DOES. NOT. LIKE. IT.  But guess what? That’s the point with “Jimbo”, he doesn’t care what you think…unless you think his arms are small cuz they’re totally not (why else would he be walking like that?)  And, honestly, why does The VP get so mad at a guy who really only says like three things: “Babe!”  “Babe! Why you mad?!” and “Babe! I’m hungry!”  It’s not fair, babe.

“Jimbo” hibernates in the winter because he can’t show off the monster veins in his arms but…the weather will warm.  You hear that VP?  The weather will warm…and “Jimbo” will return…

OUR WORLD:

I made a mistake yesterday when I stayed home sick and watched a bunch of HBO “Real Sports” episodes.  That show takes way too much mental energy to watch and, usually, isn’t the most uplifting or engrossing show.  (Hand up, complaining about how watching television requires too much energy is a pretty disgusting admission.)  If you have never seen “Real Sports”, it’s basically “60 Minutes” with sports stories and Bryant Gumble dressing, like, actually really cool.  He wears cool suits and lowers his glasses to look over notes and then says “so Bernie, how much money can a semi-professional snowboarder realistically expect to make?”  The VP of Ops consistently makes “Bryant Gumble is kewt!” comments whenever she watches with me.  I didn’t think it bothered me, but the fact that I just wrote that must mean something…

ANYWAY! Regretting my television choices in hindsight, got me to thinking about what shows are best to watch when you’re sick.  These are not in order, so just chill out.  CHILL OUT!

Catfish:  It’s going to be on during the day and you’re going to be all alone so you can watch the shows you’d be embarrassed to watch otherwise.  MTV’s “Catfish” is a PERFECT example of this kind of show.  A few months back, The VP of Ops went out while I was painfully hungover (a cousin of Jimmy Sick is Jimmy Hangover.  I actually prefer being sick cuz it wasn’t my fault).  You know the kind of hangovers when you can’t even change the channel?  Like, turning your TV on is all you can handle and then whatever’s on is what you’re gonna watch. The TV was on MTV and “Catfish” came on and I was all “I’m not going to like this show because I am a grown man adult who went to film school and has the taste of a—wait…this guy seems nice.  This guy deserves love!  SHE SOUNDS REAL! IS SHE NOT?!?!”  The host guy, Nev, is SUPER likable and you’re always thinking that the person is going to end up being real and that the “potential catfish victim” is going to get to laugh in all his or her friends’ faces for EVER questioning their online romance.  “Hey Ramona, remember when you said that Trevor sounded like a fake name?!?! WELL WOULD A FAKE NAME BE ABLE TO DO THIS?!?!” And then Trevor would come in doing a cool dance move like “The Dougie” and Ramona would be embarrassed and feel bad that she doubted her friends’ true love.

The Office:  Simply put, this show is going to appear on just about every “best television show to watch when ________”-list that I come out with.  It’s my favorite show of all-time.  If Michael Scott can’t make you smile in between your kinda-sprints to the bathroom, then you should probably just call 911 cuz you’re in BIG trouble.  Now, I will warn you not to watch the “Fun Run” episode if you’re feeling nauseous because seeing Andy’s nipples bleed is unsettling on multiple levels; specifically, the level between your stomach and your butthole.  An episode you should make sure to watch if you’re sick, however, is “Phyllis’ Wedding”.  Getting to watch Michael drag Phyllis’ Dad’s wheelchair down the aisle is chicken noodle soup.

Family Feud:  I’ll always think of Louie (Luis? Louis? Looey?) Anderson as the host of this show, but I have to admit that I don’t hate Steve Harvey as the host now.  This game show is perfect mushy food for your mushy brain.  Nothing is going to be that funny or absurd, but it’s going to be generally enjoyable and will make the time go by fast.  You’ll watch seven episodes in a row like it’s NOTHING and, mark my words, if someone took a spy-cam pic of you midway through episode three, you’d have a weird no-teeth smile on your clammy face.  Another great thing about this show is that, in your head, you always do better than these dumb families.  AND!  You are always the family leader in your own brain.  Like, how do they decide who stands closest to Steve?  If it’s not the eldest sibling or one of the parents, you know this family has deep-rooted issues that should really only be addressed by licensed professionals.  If I wasn’t elected “Family Captain”, I’d pout by raising my eyebrows and shaking my head and making a few “pshhh” noises.  And don’t worry, you know I’d tell everyone “I didn’t even care.”  I did care, though, and Stever Harvey woulda’ loved my zingers BUT NOOOOOOO! DAD HAD TO BE THE FAMILY CAPTAIN!

Supermarket Sweep/Guy’s Grocery Games: Gameshows that are set in grocery stores are in my wheelhouse and the reason I’m including both of these is because I’m not sure if “Supermarket Sweep” is still on-air.  (Well, and cuz they’re both awesome and I normally see a box of saltines on the show and think to myself “hey, I’m allowed to eat all the crackers I want today cuz I’m sick!”)  Do you remember that show? There was a host with a side part (I think?) and then people would get to run around a grocery store trying to grab items that would cost the most.  Yeah…those are all the details I remember about that show so you know it had to be great.  I legitimately do remember really enjoying the mindless joy associated with watching people run through an empty grocery store.  Full disclosure, I love grocery shopping.  I go through every aisle even if I KNOW FOR A FACT that I’m not getting anything in said aisle.  (Except the shampoo aisle.  Why is that here?  Everyone knows you only get shampoo at Walgreens after telling yourself “I need to get shampoo” for like 4 days).  Therefore, my bar for restaurant gameshows is super low.  They could probably just have a show where they follow a couple as they walk and bicker down each aisle, and I would watch it.  “Guys Grocery Games” is basically “Supermarket Sweep” meets “Chopped” and it has Guy as host so…GET YA DVRs READY Y’ALL!!!

The Dan Patrick Show:  Watching a sportsradio show on television is sad UNLESS you’re sick so you can do what you want because people feel bad for you! This is another example of a slow-moving, mildly enjoyable few hours of television that requires minimal brain power.  For some reason, since I’ve been a little kid, I have enjoyed watching radio shows on television when I’m sick.  It’s almost like you get to see something that you’re not supposed to see–seeing what a radio show LOOKS like?  You can’t do that!  So what does that make you? That makes you a spy and you’ve always kinda’ wanted to be a spy but were too scared cuz of the guns and, you know, bad guys.  But watching a radio show on TV seems like a pretty safe thing to do so LET’S LIVE OUT OUR FANTASIES GUYS!!!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Oh my god, guys…there are full episodes of “Supermarket Sweep” on YouTube.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Why was this DOOF ever the host of “Family Feud”?

richard karn.jpg

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

I did not gamble last night on any games in particular.  That will probably change tonight, however, because there is NO WAY the Blazers are going down 0-2 at home.  Steal your parents car, sell it, and put all the money you got from it on Portland.

(My account currently at $219.55)

K bye.

Jobs Worse Than Yours and Hateable Celebs (4/16/18)

OUR WORLD:

It’s Monday and, guys, it’s only gonna get better.  Keep that in mind as you trudge your weekend-fat ass through the snow (yeah, it is snowing in Chicago) to work today because it can’t get worse than a bad weather Monday AND you have food poisoning (just me? I’m not really sure what food poisoning is, but anytime I have real bad stomach issues I think “must be poison.”  Could it be that I ate like a pig for the past 72 hours? Nah. Poison.)  By now, you should be making your own “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List to help you get through Mondays like this.  If you haven’t, I’ll let you use mine:

-Mid to Low Level Drug Dealer:  This is NOT a chill job.  Can you imagine if selling drugs was what you had to do to pay your rent?  You would have to say things to yourself like “I didn’t sell a lot of drugs yesterday, so I probably shouldn’t buy this J.Crew shirt.”  And, unlike most sales-based  jobs, the days of super low sales probably wouldn’t even crack the Top 100 list of “Worst Days as a Drug Dealer”.  There would be at least 37 “time I got a gun pulled on me”-days, some “got a knock at my door at 3AM”-days, and, DEFINITELY, a few “the drug kingpin accused me of wearing a wire”-days.  Talk about NEVER being able to just coast though a workday.

And what are the good days like?  I know in the movies there’s like a big drop of drugs in the dark and like a fancy briefcase filled with cash, but that can’t happen for the mid to low-level drug dealer.  The lower level dealers don’t get the mansions and lambos and cool sunglasses; they get knock-off Oakleys and a Dodge Neon with an AC that doesn’t even work.  I guess a good day would be if they got promoted to deal drugs to rich people, but then the chances of going to jail for a long time go up too.  Promotions in the drug dealing world just mean that now, you have to do MORE serious crimes.  And you definitely can’t tell the Druglord Boss-guy that you don’t want the promotion.  You think Scarface is gonna be cool when you explain that the whole “transporting cocaine on boats in the night”-thing just isn’t what you had in mind when you started with the company?

If you do a bad job, the worst thing that can happen to you is getting fired or, maybe, scolded by your boss in a way so personal that you cry alone in your car later that night.  If a drug dealer does a bad job? Something WORSE THAN DEATH could happen…JAIL!  (Jail is worse than death times a billion.  I’ve talked about this in the past, but jail is my number one fear in life.)  With the constant fear of death/jail, is a drug dealer ever in a true state of relaxation?  Are there any days where they just watch Netflix for 11 hours and not freak out about a sound they just heard?  And don’t forget that there’s no getting out of this life.  Once you’re a drug dealer, there will always be people that are planning to do something bad to you and cops that remember not being able to catch you in the act.

-Prison Guard:  I got in an Uber last summer with a guy who told me that he just moved to Chicago to become a prison guard.  He voluntarily moved from Nevada to Chicago because he looked at a prison guard opening as a GOOD OPPORTUNITY.  Thank sweet baby Jesus that there are people like this guy, cuz I can’t believe the government doesn’t have to draft people into these types of positions.  Yes, socioeconomic factors greatly impact who views what as a “good opportunity”, I’m aware of this, but I’m also aware that discussion is heavy and serious and not appropriate for the FUN BLOG!  Carrying on…

To be a prison guard, you not only have to be big and scary, but also smart enough to anticipate problems arising from places you didn’t expect.  If you’re big and scary and smart then shouldn’t you be the head of like a steel-workers union?  I’m pretty sure those are the qualifications to head a blue collar union: big, scary, smart.  But no, you’d pass up the opportunity to shake calloused, meaty hands to break up fights over why the head of the Aryan Brotherhood got an extra milk?  (The Uber-driver/prision guard told me that most of the fights he dealt with in his Nevada prison were over milk and juice.)

I’m sure there are days without fights where maybe you’d connect on a personal level with one of the inmates.  Maybe you could help Larry deal with the misery of being behind bars and watch as he evolved into the person his parents always told him he wouldn’t be.  You’d talk about meeting up “outside of these damn bars” one day, and complain to your wife about how corrupt the judicial system is.  And then that one day would happen, and you’d go meet to meet Larry at the Outback in the nice mall.  Larry would smile when he saw you waiting for him at the table, and walk over slowly while shaking his head in disbelief that he was able to survive incarceration.  Before you ordered, though, your wife would send you a text saying that she “can’t keep worrying about your safety all day, everyday”.  Larry thinks your wife’s worries are a sign of a sweet relationship, but you didn’t tell Larry about the following text where your wife admitted that she had “met someone.”  So now you’re having dinner with an ex-con who required the attention that it would have taken to save your marriage…and your steak is overcooked because you’re at a fucking Outback inside of a mall.

-Hair washer at a salon:  As a resident fancy-boy, I get my hair cut at salons as opposed to a barbershop.  Everyone knows that the best part of getting your hair cut at a salon is when they wash your hair and give you a head massage.  If you don’t make purring sounds while they’re doing this, you’re probably offending the hair washer.  You’ll try to remember the head massage tactics they used so you can attempt to recreate it on yourself during your next shower, but it won’t be the same.  When the hair washer is done, though, think about how you’re probably the least gross person they’re going to have to deal with that day.  (Real talk, if you’re reading this blog, you’re not gross.  Welcome to the not-gross club.)

People have weird heads and nasty hair and gnarly things on their scalp.  These hair washers can’t refuse to wash the head of some dude who hasn’t showered in a week and has a BAD case of scalp acne.  I think they can wear surgical gloves, but what about the days when they didn’t realize they were low on those gloves and now they’re all out?  I also think that LEGIT hair washers look down on the ones who wear gloves; like, they’re not dedicated enough and probably aren’t spoken to at the Hair Washer Happy Hours.

You ever go to get your haircut after wearing a hat all day?  How bad do you feel?  Like, MUCHO BAD, right?  Well, that’s because you’re a normal human being.  Unfortunately, there’s another kind of human being out there that thinks subjecting a hair washer to that is “not my problem.”  AND! The hair washer doesn’t get tipped.  What the hell is that all about?  I’m guessing they get tipped out by the stylist (term for hair cutter person at hot salons), but it probably isn’t NEARLY enough.  I contend that it’s way harder to give a good head massage than give a good haircut.  Listen, you can learn how to cut bangs.  You can’t learn how to have magic hands.  Now that I think about it, next time I go to get my haircut, I’m going to tip the hair washer person more than my stylist AND I’m gonna make sure the stylist sees it.  I’m sure the stylist will be annoyed, but then remember that she doesn’t have to accidentally pop strangers’ head pimples for the rest of the day and go back to being thankful that she’s not a hair washer.

MY WORLD:

Do you love or hate some celebrities for no discernible reason?  ME TOO!  It usually comes down to their face, which is scary to think about because I’m sure strangers have walked past me and hated me just because of my face (my mom VEHEMENTLY disagrees with this btw).  So what celebrities do I hate for no discernible reason (but maybe it’s just their face)?  Here’s what I’ve got:

-Michael Strahan

-Josh Gad

-Nick Kroll

-Angelina Jolie

-Helena Bonham Carter

I started writing some more fleshed out reasoning behind hating these celebs, but…I really think it’s just their face.  So let’s leave it at that.  This is such an internet-y thing to do, but everyone has these thoughts…right?  RIGHT?!?!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I went to High School with Beck Bennett (SNL star, no big deal, he probably has no idea who I am but whatevs) and this was from his college comedy group.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Snow.

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:

This was a surprisingly even weekend…which is a win in gambling terms.  “Even” = “Lost a little” = “Didn’t lose a lot” = “Win”.  Get it?  Anyway, I put some sweet cash on an NBA playoff parlay where I picked all the favorites to win their first round series (Rockets, Warriors, Thunder, Blazers, Cavs, Raptors, Celtics, and Sixers).  If that parlay hits, which I really can’t see why it wouldn’t, it pays out at over +660 so…I’m about to be super rich again.  ALSO!  We’ve discovered that one of my friends is a savant at NHL Playoff gambling.  He went like 6 for 7 this weekend and has earned the nickname ‘Chel Jim.  Love ‘Chel Jim.  Aside from rooting for NBA favorites tonight, I’ll be patiently waiting for ‘Chel Jim to text me his NHL picks.

(My account currently at $219.55)

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.

Guy Fieri Fandom and Tales of Laziness (4/5/2018)

OUR WORLD:

I want to be friends with Guy Fieri.  He’s Queen meets Limp Bizkit meets the best cheeseburger you had when you were 13.  His bleached blonde spikes and thin goatee WORK, and if you don’t smirk while nodding your head whenever he talks about a dish being “out of bounds”, then maybe you’re the reason you and your father haven’t spoken in years.  I would like to formally welcome you to jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame Introduction for Guy Fieri’s “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives”.

It’s really fun to fall in love with someone who is easily made fun of, but has enough self-confidence to turn the joke around; like putting the sun in front of a mirror.  How can a guy wearing pant-shorts, sunglasses with flames on the sides and gaudy bracelets make an old lady in a Nebraska diner blush?  My favorite grandmother (we all have one, right?) would have been play-dough in Guy’s hand.  I can almost hear her denying that she thought he was cute…when she TOTALLY did.  What hipster can do that?  I’ll wait…(I’m seriously trying to think of a counterpoint, and all I’ve got is Jeff Goldblum? Maybe? Nah.)  No hipster can do that because Guy is the good-times party boy we all secretly want to be friends with.

Not everything is as ironic as we’d like to make it out to be in hindsight.  Sometimes, a greasy cheeseburger at a place with torn booths just tastes fucking good.  Much the way that sometimes a bowling shirt featuring bedazzled skulls is just fucking badass. Ignoring the cool-kid crowd and talking about the unimpressive things we love is what this show is about, and Guy is the embodiment of an unimpressive thing we love.  What’s revolutionary about some dude in a muscle car throwing up the “rock on” sign?  NOTHING! But you like it because how do you hate a guy who just wants to show you a ROCKIN’ good time?

How much do you love trying to decipher Guy’s facial expressions?  Like, he’s never going to come out and said to a chef “Bro, that sandwich sucked!”  But, when he doesn’t shoot the camera one of those “you cannot be serious with how good this is”-stares, you know he kinda’ doesn’t like it that much.  He’s too nice of a dude to spit something out, so he’ll normally kinda nod his head while darting his eyes in a panic of trying to invent something nice to say about the shitty bite in his mouth.  Normally, he’ll bail and go with the all-too-obvious “that’s very interesting” copout.  (In Guy-talk, “that’s very interesting” means that you should shut your dump down because that bite was GARB!)  

On the other hand, when he REALLY likes a bite, he is so expressive that you feel like you’re getting to enjoy it through your TV.   This face, the “you cannot be serious how good this is”-stare, is what makes the show:

guy fieri

Full disclosure, I have absolutely stolen this face in my life.  Whenever I take a bite of something awesome, I make this face now.  Restaurant owners should keep an eye on their customers, and if they’re not seeing any of these faces being made, then maybe it’s time to find a new chef.

How excited do you get when you see him take a bite and drop this face, though?  MOM!  HE REALLY LIKES THIS PLACE THAT WE’VE NEVER BEEN TO AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL GO TO BUT IF WE DO WE’RE PROBABLY GONNA LIKE IT CUZ HE MADE THE FACE! If you run a restaurant that Guy has been to and made this face in, you need to immediately change the name of your place to “Guy Made This Face Here” with that picture next to it.  Tell me you’re driving past that restaurant without stopping and I’ll tell you that you’re a goddamn stupid idiot who makes poor decisions in every aspect of your goddamn stupid idiot life!  DAMNIT!

I bet he does cocaine too and, earmuffs kids, but that makes me think he’s even cooler.  Like, you know those episodes when he’s really vibing with the chef?  They’re fist-bumping, and throwing food puns back and forth, and Guy keeps slapping him on the back and saying how everything is “out of bounds”?  You know that when the film crew takes five, Guy is nudging that chef to look down at his open palm featuring a tiny bag of white.  Guy’s producers know what’s about to happen, but they pretend like they don’t see Guy direct his new best friend to the bathroom.  Cut to 3 minutes later and all EVERYONE in the entire restaurant can hear is Guy and the chef alternating between giggling, snorting and high-fiving.  The best part has to be when they emerge from the bathroom, a little too close to one another, sniffling and asking everyone around them “What?!”

After he parties with the chef in back, comes the part of the show where Guy turns into a journalist and interviews actual customers.  ALL of the customers say pretty much the same thing “it’s just so fresh!” but it’s okay because it allows you to focus on your fantasy about what a Guy Fieri cologne would smell like.  There’s always some foodie trying too hard to sound like an impressed critic, and you can feel Guy having to restrain himself from stuffing him in a locker.  Then there’s the fat dude at the bar that Guy is super excited to watch eat and exchange face-stuffing tips with.  Hey!  He loves all shapes except skinny and that makes me feel great about myself!  Take notice: they never show a super hot customer in these restaurants.  It’s only the Betty-Ann’s and Larry’s of the world.  Guts and bad haircuts.

By the time “Triple D” is over you have no idea what you just watched, but you’re super hungry and contemplating whether you could pull off flame sunglasses (not as a joke!)  “Triple D” is a half-hour of Guy getting to be himself; takin’ big boy bites, throwin’ bones with his bros, not being snarky, and doing cocaine with new friends in rooms without cameras.  There are no bad-guys in Guy’s world, just people he hasn’t met yet.

Loyal readers, please welcome the second show to the jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame: “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives”.

MY WORLD:

I caught myself doing something extraordinarily lazy last night, and it got me thinking about the little lazy “cheat-codes” that I employ on a regular basis.  Here’s what I’ve got:

-Leaving the fork I just used for my dinner on top of the leftovers I put in the fridge.  This is the move I did last night.  It’s an effort to put off washing said fork, but how ridiculous is that move when you have a dishwasher in your place?!?!  I have a dishwasher in my place!  Not only that, but we also have like a gajillion forks between all the silverware we got for wedding gifts (how about just a lifetime supply of plasticware next time?)  But I still persist in trying to save myself the 3.6 seconds it would take for me to open the dishwasher, and put the dirty fork in the silverware compartment.

-Not throwing out socks or underwear with holes in them.  No joke, over 30% of the underwear and socks I own, have a hole in them.  I remember Jerry Seinfeld talking about how men don’t throw out underwear until they completely disintegrate and HE WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!  Why?  Because if I throw them out, then that means I’ll have to DO SOMETHING…as in, I’ll have to go shopping for underwear and socks.  Could you think of anything more boring than that?  I actually did go underwear shopping at Target (the place you can’t not spend $100) a few weeks back.  But I went alone, and just stared at the 97 different brands of underwear hoping that The VP would magically show up to tell me what to buy.  It’s a minor miracle I didn’t just end up buying a hammer and calling it a day.

-Wearing the same pants for months at a time.  I legitimately don’t know how often, if ever, I’m supposed to wash my jeans.  I used to do it like once every two weeks when I’d do laundry, but then a friend told me that you’re not supposed to wash your jeans.  (Ever get so happy over a seemingly-innocuous comment that you get kinda flush?  That was me when I heard this.  I needed a tissue.)  Top 5 adult revelations definitely includes the time my friend told me you’re not supposed to wash your jeans.  That means, I’m not being lazy, I’m just preserving the integrity of my denim.  SCORE!  Right?

-Turning my driver’s side car-door storage compartment into a garbage can that only gets emptied when I open my door on a windy day.  Do I need to explain that?  If you smash wrappers on top of wrappers, you can fit at least 10 thousand in that compartment.

-Leaving junk mail in my mailbox instead of taking it upstairs and throwing it in the garbage.  I repeat this routine until that day I open my mailbox and the letters are so smashed that they’re getting stuck in the neighboring box.  I’ll get annoyed in my head with the mailman, like “hey dude, take a hint, I’m not taking the loan-consolidation letters upstairs.”  Don’t tell me that you’ve never opened your mailbox, looked through a bunch of lame credit card offers and bills you have on autopay, and then just closed your mailbox hoping those would…just go away on their own.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Even the spoof-version of Guy is a dude I wanna be friends with.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is Jeff “The Sandwich King” Mauro.  Another Food Network star who doesn’t belong on the same planet as Guy Fieri.  This dude makes me angry with how big of a DOOF he is.  Go away forever and never come back.

Mauro

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:

Well, the Celtics got pounded so I’m going to need to make another fucking deposit.  Here’s the thing: I was feeling really sorry for myself watching that Celtics debacle.  BUT! If I had won that, then I definitely wouldn’t have won any of my Masters bets because the gambling gods would’ve been like “well, you just won.”  Now, since I’ve been a massive LOSER since football season ended, the gambling gods have got to be thinking about rewarding my patience.  Hey, Gambling Gods, time to throw me a frickin’ bone here.  My Masters picks (for now):  Tiger Woods, Justin Rose, Alex Noren, Thomas Pieters, Charl Schwartzel.

(My account currently at $1.02)

K bye.