Category: mom

Mom

*I’ve gone back and forth about whether I should post the following or not.  While the purpose of this blog has been to be as entertaining and fun as I can make it, I also did set out to make sure it was always unflinchingly honest.  Whenever I felt myself shying away from any embarrassing truth, I’d stop, recalibrate, and instead lean hard into that truth.  So, I’m going to do that here.

I haven’t written this blog in a long while because I’ve had some really, really good excuses not to.  For a writer, a good excuse is like cocaine.  Ankle surgery and my mother’s sickness allowed me the cover to be as lazy with my fingers as I wanted to.  So I was.  Unfortunately, yesterday I went to physical therapy and jogged for the first time in about 5 months…so the ankle excuse is toast.

My Mother passed away two weeks ago today, and that’s a really sucky thing to write.  I don’t know how to write it without sounding awkward and weird and guilty and sad and relieved.  I don’t know how to write about her…but I did.  My Mom loved reading this blog and has been on me to make sure that I always put writing first.  Whenever I’d stray away from it, snort the hell out of some excuse not to write, she’d remind me that this is what I love to do.  This is what makes me happy.  So Mom, here’s my return to the blog, and to honor this dumb blog’s number one fan, here is a post about her (pssst, that’s you, Mom).  

This is the eulogy I wrote for my Mother and read on Tuesday, July 9, 2019.  (I never know when to capitalize the ‘M’ in Mom or Mother, but I feel like this post necessitates constant capitalization.)  Also, if you don’t want to read this because it’s Friday and you don’t feel like reading something that’s not light and fun, I get it.  Don’t read it.  I’ll be back writing fun, dumb stuff about my maniac dog and the VP of Ops very, very soon.  If you do feel like reading about this blog’s number one fan, though, here it is:

No one in my family every saw my Mom run.  I’m not exaggerating.  Over the past week this has come up a few times, and we’ve all sat around doing our best to close our eyes tight and remember ONE TIME when ONE OF US saw my Mom running.  We can’t do it.

There was a time when I was around 6 or 7 and my Mom made lasagna.  Being the picky eater that I was, for some reason, I decided I didn’t like lasagna as a little kid.  I wish I could go back to not liking lasagna in my 30s, but…anyway, I started pouting about the menu and my Mom told me that I could either eat the lasagna or go up to my room.  So I got up from the table and made my way upstairs.  When I got to about the top of the staircase, I heard that kitchen door fling back open and saw my Mom coming after me.  Evidently, that “choice” she gave me wasn’t really a choice.  Now she was moving quick-ish, but I still wouldn’t describe her movements as “running”…it was more “charging”.

Then there was the time I was playing football with my friend in the front yard, and I went deep.  He threw it, and I sprinted, keeping my eyes on the ball right up until I ran, face first into the metal hammock stand at the end of our yard.  I remember my Mom holding an ice-pack on my right eye while I laid on the couch, but no, I do not remember her running.

Or, there were the times we used to go to the Winnetka Fitness Center together when I was in High School and some in college.  I’d run for a few miles, go downstairs and lift for a bit, come back up and see her, the entire time she was walking on the treadmill.  After the workout, when I asked her how it went or when I’d overhear her talking to some other person about her workout that day, she’d say “good, I ran for a while.”  She didn’t.  She walked for a while.  I’m sorry Mom, but that was walking.

I don’t know, maybe my Mom didn’t even know what running was?  Being in a family where my Dad has run almost every day I’ve known him, my sister would run on treadmills next to me, my brothers played sports and included jogging in their workouts, her aversion to the action is surprising.  I mean, I ran a MARATHON and dedicated it to her, and she STILL didn’t seem to quite grasp what running was.

And I think that’s what made her the bravest person I’ll ever know.  While I’m aware that this whole “not running”-thing initially sounds like a negative, I’m coming to understand that it was anything but.  Why?  Because this whole “not running”-thing also extends to the toughest moments in and around her life.  Whether big or small, soul-crushing or seemingly innocuous, my Mom didn’t run from even the slightest whiff of a tough situation.  Nope.  She stood in there, while others sprinted away, and shared her gifts: the bravery to show up anywhere, and the skill to tell anyone exactly what they needed to hear in their moment of need.

As a teenager, when her Dad got sick, she took care of him.  When a friend needed a babysitter, she became those kids’ second mother.  When her 20-something year old son would call her whining dramatically about how some girl didn’t like him back, she’d listen, and as easy as it would have been, didn’t make fun of me…I mean him.   When her older brother was killed, she consoled her Mother.  When a neighbor’s dog would die, she would send food and flowers.  When a waitress didn’t have plans on Thanksgiving, she had her over.  When a nurse would come in to give her pain meds, she would ask that nurse how SHE was doing.

That is bravery. Look, she fought that stupid disease time and time and time again, and exuded as much in-your-face bravery and strength as I’ve ever seen in real life. The kind of bravery that is played on “Sportscenter”.  The highlight reel of brave acts includes: fighting disease, chasing down the bad guy, running into a fire.  But as I’ve thought about my Mom, what I find even more impressive and inspiring, is that subtle brand of bravery she displayed every single day of her life.  She didn’t run away from anything, big or small, that may have been hard or uncomfortable.  She was so aware of struggle and hardship, that whenever ANYONE, ANYWHERE close to her was having even the most minor of issues, she’d be there. For someone who didn’t run, she sure got to where she was needed fast.

I think back now to how easy it was to roll my eyes or almost be annoyed that she was so giving, because it made me feel guilty for not being as good of a person.  The easy thing, the cowardly thing, is to justify a reason to run away.  I’ve done this.  I bet most people in here have done this.  My Mom?  Remember, nobody has ever seen her run.  She once went across the country to be with a friend she hasn’t spoken to in years, but who was currently going through a divorce, and I remember thinking “come on, Mom!  Gimme a break!”  Would I have been there for that person?  Or, would I have justified a logical excuse for me to take the easy way out?  I would have taken the easy way out, blamed that former friend for losing touch and chalked his or her distress up to “something that doesn’t affect me directly”.  My Mom, on the other hand, was allergic to the easy way out.  She’d take a sip of Pinot Grigio, snarl at the camera and charge right into that fire.

So now it’s my turn to see flames and embrace the heat because that’s the standard that she set.  I plan to honor my mother’s legacy, by being more present for everyone around me.  Her legacy will inspire me to become a better husband, brother, friend, neighbor, co-worker, acquaintance, passerby on the street, you name it.  Her legacy will inspire me to become a truly brave person.

I’ve been going through my Mom’s facebook page lately, and I saw that she posted a quote not too long ago that read: “As a parent, it’s my priority to help get you into Heaven, not Harvard.”  Well Mom, I didn’t get into Harvard, and I’m gonna make sure I get into heaven.  I figure the only way is to follow your lead.  I love you to the Moon and back, Mom.  You earned your place up there by having your priorities in line…better make sure you save me a seat.

IMG_4911

 

 

 

My Christmas List

MY WORLD:

I remember as a kid how excited I would get around Christmas.  As Thanksgiving would pass and all attention would turn to Christmas, my imagination would turn me into one greedy sonofabitch.  It was like all I could see were things possible for me to get at Christmas, and the only thing holding back my expectations were…nothing.  NOTHING HELD BACK MY EXPECTATIONS.  Throw in the two week vacation from school, and all I had was time to dream up what items, my parents surely couldn’t afford, I should receive on Jesus’ bday.  (Jimmy the Kid sounds like a bit off a pee-hole…)  

Then!  THEN!  Whenever I was with my parents and around something that I may have wanted for Christmas, I would pretend that I didn’t want it because EVERYTHING had to be a surprise.  Like, if I was around a pair of Jordans that I desperately wanted, and my Mom asked me “would you like those for Christmas?” I would just shrug because if I told her, it would ruin the surprise and make her work easier.  I didn’t act like this when I was like 6 either, this lasted into my teens.  In fact, when I was like 15, I was sure that my parents were getting me a car for Christmas because every 15 year old deserves to learn how to drive on a brand new car.  In bed that night, I remember thinking anytime I’d hear a car pass by our house that it may be my new car pulling into the driveway.  Mind you, I could see our driveway from my bedroom window, but I refused to look out and ruin the surprise.  (So that’s why Jimmy’s parents got him a 1984 Ford Escort Hatchback and his Mom smashed into it with her suburban the first week he had it.  EVERYTHING IS COMING TOGETHER!)

When I was a younger person, I would act like an absolute asshole about gifts and what I wanted around Christmas.  Imagine going wine shopping with your snooty Aunt Rebecca, who has been on bike trips to Napa with her book club over 4 times (so, 5 times?)  Whenever you pick up a bottle and ask if it’s good enough to be included in the wine dinner you’re throwing her, she would suck her lips in and mumble “I don’t know, up to you” in that way where it’s not really up to you, but more of a test to prove how stupid you are.  So you just end up picking the second least expensive bottle of a few different styles because…I mean, that’s how you pick wine.  You look at the cheapest and go “well, I’m better than that” so you pick up the second cheapest.  At the dinner, Aunt Rebecca has a permanent snarl on her face and can’t stop from audibly whispering to anyone sitting around her, what a simpleton you are.  That was me.  (Time to go look in the mirror and ask yourself “do you like what you see here?”  You shouldn’t.)

Therefore, in an effort to never be Aunt Rebecca again, here is what I actually want for Christmas (whoa! How big of Jimmy to just tell people what he wants!  THIS IS GROWTH, PEOPLE!!!):

-I would like to not feel the need to have “one more beer” after I get home from being out with friends all night.

Is that beer ever enjoyable?  Have you ever woken up and thought “god, I’m really happy I opened that expensive Double IPA and had 4 sips at 12:43 last night!”  Few things cause more introspection than picking up three-quarters full Double IPAs the morning after a night out.  It’s like finding charred cash just littered around your apartment.

-I would either like The VP of Ops’ birthday to be moved from December 23 to a date in February, or, I would like The VP of Ops to become one of those awesome “I legitimately don’t care about my birthday”-people.  

Seriously, either one will do.  I would be happy with either (how easy is new Jimmy to buy for?!?!)  The stress that comes from being an adult around the holidays is exacerbated when your wife’s bday is 2 days before Christmas and she treats her birthday like the bar exam for how much you love her.  She’s open about it too.  She’ll say things like “my birthday is really important to me” and “Yes, I am seriously angry that you didn’t call me at 12:01 and wish me a happy 31st birthday.”  The reason we have a dog is because I got in trouble for momentarily (MOMENTARILY!) forgetting it was her birthday a few years ago.  The only way back into her good graces was to get her a dog…so now we have Belle.

-I would love my apartment building to install one of those electric chair things that I could sit in, press a button and it would take me up and down from my 3rd floor apartment.

You see the growth here?  I’m not asking for an elevator or an escalator–those would be unreasonable!  But those chairs mostly used for old people and sold through infomercials?  No way my building couldn’t afford one of those.  Now, I will say that I would also like there to be a rule where I’m the only person in the building that’s allowed to use it.  While that may be selfish, that is what I want and asking DIRECTLY for what you want is part of being an adult.  So, maybe that shows how mature I’ve become.  (That’s a classic Jimmy-switcheroo right there).  When we moved into this apartment, I remember thinking and probably saying “we’re young and walking up a few stairs never killed anyone.”  A year-plus into carrying groceries up 3 floors of stairs makes me want to find the Jimmy of 15 months ago just so I could spit in his face.

-I would like to never receive paper mail again.

I cannot remember the last time I got something in the snail-mail (cool, funny term, Jimmy!) that was good.  It’s either a bill, a “what is this? I’m not going to open it because I’m scared what’s inside”-thing, or a bill masquerading as an “invitation” to something that will take me away from my chair.  I check my mail like once a week now because it now takes me a full week of saving up courage to open up and see what’s waiting for me in that checking-account-decimating little metal box.

-I would like someone to take Belle out for walks and bring her back when I’m not looking.  Then, when I start getting ready to take her for a walk, The VP says “oh, she was already taken” and I can be surprised that I don’t have to do it every time.

There aren’t many better feelings than when The VP surprises me and says “I’ll take her out this time.”  She does take her out sometimes, but it is normally me first thing in the morning and last thing at night.  Dog walks in the winter are about as enjoyable as chewing on tinfoil.  So, instead of asking for The VP to take Belle out on all walks, I would just like someone I never meet to sneak in and take Belle out and bring her back without me seeing.  I’d feel guilty and like a sack of shit if The VP was the one taking her out everytime.  BUT! If it was some person I never had to see or pay or thank, then I wouldn’t feel guilty.  AND!  The feeling I’d get from The VP telling me “oh, she was already taken out” would power me through the darkest, coldest winter nights.  Is there a feeling better than grabbing the leash and going to put on your snow boots only to hear that you don’t have to?  I THINK NOT!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I really like this band and I really like this song.  It’s a little slow, but perfect for winter.  Why?  I don’t know, just feels wintery.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you make chili and see that people have frozen it before so you do that and then a week later you look in your freezer and your chili is covered in mold and you’re like “but, food network said…”

JIMMY GAMBLES:

Not good.  Like really guys, not good at all.

(My account is currently at $0.00)

K bye.

The Current State of (like, some) Television (10-3-18)

OUR WORLD:

When all you do for a couple weeks is go to work, hang at home with a recovering VP (remember El Lumperoni?  Yeah, that’s gone now), sleep and eat and okay, there was some other stuff too….(stay focused Jimmy, this is what writing takes!) THE POINT IS WE’VE DONE A LOT OF EATING AND WATCHING TELEVISION LATELY BECAUSE SURGERY IS A PERFECT EXCUSE TO DO JUST THAT AND NOT FEEL TOO GUILTY ABOUT IT!  One of the few cool things about helping your wife recover from a surgery is that you kinda’ get to act like you’re recovering too and that means eating whatever you want and not going out and watching as much television as you want WITHOUT GUILT!!!  I have descended into full-on “it’s okay if we don’t do that”-mode.  So, in an effort to take a break from being completely useless in the name of solidarity (no, my ankle is still not fully whole, but I’m not a look-at-me-guy) I would like to provide some quick reviews for tv shows that you can watch when your mother in law is staying with you as your wife recovers from lumperoni surgery:

“The First” (Netflix)

Hand up, it was going to be nearly impossible for me not to love this show.  It’s about space and Sean Penn is the star?  Even if it turned out to be a rap-musical with Penn doing an Arnold Schwarzenneger voice, I would probably talk myself into loving it because “Sean Penn takes chances!”  Fortunately, SEAN PENN USED HIS NORMAL VOICE AND IT’S NOT A RAP-MUSICAL!  (For a second, I thought about just leaving my review for this show at that.  Can you even imagine?!?! Aren’t I a GOOF?!?!?!)

This show is about Sean Penn trying to be a part of the first mission to Mars while repairing a fractured relationship with a college-aged daughter who likes doing the scary drugs sometimes.  I know what you’re thinking: “Didn’t Sean Penn also play father to a college-aged daughter in ‘Mystic River’?” Uh, you bet your fucking ass he did!  CAN YOU SAY WHEELHOUSE?!?!  If you weren’t convinced yet that Sean Penn isn’t the best “I love my daughter, but I have personal demons”-actor in the game, this show settles that.  Nobody walks the tightrope of love and struggle better than Penn, and that’s on display again in “The First”.  Remember the “is that my daughter?!?!” scene in “Mystic River”?  There are a couple of those scenes throughout the first season of this show, and they are not overacted, or overdramatic.  They give you goosebumps as you shake your head and say “nobody is a better actor than Sean Penn.”

So like, have I driven home the fact that I love Sean Penn enough yet?  K, got it.  Aside from King Sean, this show is deliberate with it’s storylines and relationships.  Nothing feels forced or manipulated or not completely realistic.  For a show about going to mars 20ish years in the future, that’s not a minor accomplishment.  The technological advances they show in society feel attainable and not silly.  There are no flying cars, but there are self-driven cars and…uh…Jimmy likey (dude, 3rd person, really?)  This is the kind of show that comes on five years ago and everyone is blown away by how well-done it is.  TV is so crowded with fantastic shows now that the top tier don’t get the sort of adulation that they used to.  “The First” belongs on that top tier.

Final Jimmyschair Verdict:  Watch it and please don’t try to enlighten me about Sean Penn’s potentially sketchy personal life because I don’t care about that.

“The Voice” (NBC)

I used to be very ready to jump to the defense of this show whenever the HATERS would start to get lippy.  “But Blake and Adam have real chemistry!” is definitely a sentence I have said in the past.  Unfortunately, my muscles are tired from not working them out (isn’t that called atrophy? I SAID THEY’RE TIRED!) so I don’t have it in me to defend this show like I used to.  Kelly Clarkson and Jennifer Hudson now sit in between Adam and Blake and everything in this show just feels kinda’ played out and pointless.

Blake and Adam pretend to talk shit to each other, but it’s hard to replicate genuine shit talk when you’re on NBC and can’t say things that real guy friends say to each other, like “oh yeah? How about you go fuck yourself?”  I know these dudes have that in them too because Blake drinks a lot and Adam has been on Howard Stern.  You know they’re dying to tell each other to “suck on deez nuts,” but they can’t because of the government so instead they gently make fun of their manicured wardrobes.  Oh, and that’s another thing, can Adam cool it with the sweatpants?  He’s gotta be almost 40 and is still not in a cool enough rock band to wear whatever he wants without consequences.  He’s wearing sweatpants and Jordans and I, for one, have had enough.

The real weak spot of the show though is that neither myself or The VP or The VP’s mom or your mom or anyone you know can think of one actual star that this show has produced.  Quick, who is the biggest star to ever come from the contestant pool of “The Voice”?  That, my friends, is what we in the biz like to call “a problem.”  If you connect with a contestant and are rooting for them to become the next Kelly Clarkson, then there are stakes and a real pot of gold at the end of their rainbow.  But when you’re rooting for someone to be as famous as that country guy who sang rock songs a few years back and no one has heard from since, it feels less critical.  And speaking of Kelly Clarkson, who knew she was unbelievably annoying?  She thinks everything she says is hilarious, she gets up and walks around on stage way too much and makes everything about her.  Hey Kelly, please stick to singing songs that nobody I know actually likes that much and GET OUT OF MY FACE!

Final Jimmyschair Verdict:  Welcome to Skipville, USA.  This show has run its course and Adam Levine is beginning to realize it’s happening right before his band becomes the most unpopular pick to ever play the Super Bowl Halftime Show.

“Chopped” (Food Network)

This show is perfect background noise while you scroll Twitter and Instagram and Snapchat and your group chat and  GMail and espn.com and WE’RE ALL ADDICTED TO OUR PHONES!  Did background noise shows like this exist before we were all more interested in staring at our phones? Or, did they come about because some twisted Hollywood genius was like “maybe we should create shows that are non-offensive and don’t take much attention so people can Instagram-stalk their co-workers overweight aunt with the weird hair.”  Chicken or the egg, am I right?

Non-offensive background noise is a new category of television show that I believe is VASTLY under appreciated.  Most of the time, when I ask The VP what she wants to watch, I’m hit with a “I don’t care” as she continues to not look at me, transfixed by her phone screen.  I’m not throwing shade at that answer, either, because I know I do the same thing sometimes.  When either of us are in that mode, we can’t put on a new cool show that takes concentration because we’ll get annoyed that one of us is constantly asking “wait, who’s that guy?”  So instead, it’s easier to put on some non-offensive, minimum concentration required type of show that masks our new most glaring addiction.  These types of shows are especially valuable when your mother in law is in town and staying at your place.  (Real talk, I like when my mother in law stays with us.  No snappy zinger coming, I just do like it.)

Oh, so “Chopped”?  You know it.  The show does what it’s supposed to do.  So instead of evaluating specific aspects of a show that you’re watching to avoid needing to monitor specifics, here are some other shows that fall into the “Non-offensive Background Noise” category:  All of Food Network, “The Office” reruns, “Parks and Rec” reruns, “Seinfeld” reruns, “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee”, and regular season baseball games.

Final Jimmyschair Verdict:  Put this on and get back to what you really want to do–watching videos of kids getting hurt on Instagram.  Seriously, check out @kidsgettinghurt on Insta.  It’s gold.

MY WORLD:

So I still need to finish my Ireland recaps, but I was starting to get self-conscious that the 7 readers of this blog were like “we get it, you went to Ireland!”  Hitting the pause button on those for now.  As I alluded to in the above section, the VP had surgery last week to get that lump out of her booby.  It went well and our friends are amazing and I want to write about it but my writing muscles, like the rest of my body, are out of shape right now.  Gimme a couple of days back in the gym (aka on my dining room table chair sitting and writing) and I’ll turn out a decent “my world”.  If this section is reading like an excuse today, that’s because it is.  Honestly only here.

LET’S LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The new album from Metric is AMAZING.  Here’s a live version of my favorite song off of it…

 

LET’S HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

That Cubs game last night.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I have been an absolute fiend gambling on everything since I got back from Ireland.  I got up over $400, so I pulled $300 out (a check I have yet to receive yet btw but I’m not even worried about it…not even one little bit that I haven’t received a check I asked for 11 days ago now).  Feeling especially hot, I bet almost every college football game last weekend and lost every single bet I made.  Not kidding.  Every single bet.  So, I made another deposit for NFL Sunday and, again, lost every single bet I made.  Then I made another deposit last night before the Cubs game because the year they won the World Series I bet on them every game so it was really for luck’s sake.  And the Cubs lost last night.  In short, things have been going less than ideal.

(My account is currently at: $0.00)

K bye.

I Don’t Know How to Do Many Simple Things (8/21/18)

MY WORLD: 

A few days ago, I got out of the shower, grabbed the towel hanging on the towel hangy thing (hook!) and brought it to my nose.  The classic “as long as this towel doesn’t smell like dinosaur B.O., it’s clean”-check.  I know what you’re thinking, “but Jimmy, did you also look at the towel to see if there were any obvious stains?”  Do I look like an animal?  Of course I did.  So that means it’s clean, right?  As long as there are no obvious stains and it doesn’t stink, a towel is clean no matter how many consecutive days you have used said towel.

When I was a kid, I used to marvel at how my parents just knew stuff.  They knew how to get to the mall.  They knew how to check my toothbrush to see if I had actually brushed my teeth.  They knew how to make sandwiches!  THEY KNEW EVERYTHING!  And while they passed on enough survival skills for me to make it 33 years, they did not pass on some skills that seem relatively meaningless, but have become gaping holes in my progress as an adult.  Oh, and when I say “they did not pass on,” I mean “I pretended to listen when they taught me about _______.”  Aside from not knowing how to tell if a towel is dirty or not, here are some other adult-things that I should know, but definitely do not…and probably never will.

How to hang a picture:

It was much easier to hide this deficiency when I was living alone or with roommates.  There’s always one roommate with a fancy toolbox who can’t wait to show off the ruler-thing with the water bubble in the middle.  (Yes, I know it’s called a leveler, but ruler-thing with water bubble in the middle just felt right.)  Whenever we’d move in and got to the point where it was time to hang all our “sweet sports posters” around the apartment, I’d pretend that I was busy doing something else until THAT roommate broke out the power drill and started asking “how’s this look here?”  Whenever I’d hear that question, my body would finally relax, for my secret was safe another day.  “Looks great! I’ll start putting away the silverware!”  Little did they know that the silverware was already jammed into a drawer that I could no longer open.  No matter, Jimmy NoHang was out of the line of fire.

When I lived alone, and there was no one to inspect or judge what I did to the wall, I would only hang stuff with wires in the back.  My process?  Nail in the wall, wire on the nail.  BOOM! JIMMY HANGS IS IN THE BUILDING!  Did I find the stud? Pretty hard to find the stud when you have no idea what that is so…uh…no, I did not find El Stud.  An anchor?  Those are only for boats!  Was the frame level?  Take five steps back, squint and you tell me if it looks “pretty level.”  Better yet, let me save you those five steps, it’s fine.  Was it centered?  Did you not just hear me re: the picture being level?  I TOOK FIVE STEPS BACK, LOOKED AT IT AND SAID “IT’S PRETTY GOOD.”  WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!?

Unfortunately, using the caveman method of hanging stuff on walls (nail, slam, hang!) is a secret not meant to see the light of an apartment shared with a significant other.  The friggin’ VP of Ops sniffed out this deficiency of mine the way a dog smells another dog on your jeans.  When we first moved in together she handed me a super heavy mirror to “just hang over the dresser.”  You got it babe!  That mirror rested on top of our dresser for the 2 years we were in that apartment and was the subject of multiple “wait! don’t hit the mirror!”-warnings.  Mirrors that lean against a wall, instead of being hung on a wall, were very in at the time.

Since then, we have moved to a new place where I actually DID hang said mirror on the wall…by putting a wire on the back of it and slamming multiple nails into a wall.  Quick tip on nails and walls: if you hit the nail with a hammer and it doesn’t go any further, just hit the nail harder.  If the nail still doesn’t budge, then take it out and move it a little to the side and try the exact same process.  The mirror now hides about 8 false starts for me and the nails, but it’s up!  And no, I am not worry-free when I sit directly in front of it.  Have you ever played the “I hope this big, heavy mirror doesn’t fall on me!”game?  It’s a rush!

mirror

How to know when it’s time for a new razor:

When I used the Gillette Mach Whatever that had the moisturizer strip on the top, I would know I needed a new razor when that strip went bare.  But then, I grew up and realized that, that dumb fuckin’ strip was probably just a devious ploy by evil Johnny Gillette to sell more razors.  Not so fast!  I can use this razor until…shit…when?

My dad used to use the disposable razors when I was a kid, which made the whole process easy: use it, toss it.  But I saw commercials about the Mach 3 that looked really cool and my friends were using it so, what? I’m supposed to be the lame kid who uses the cheap bic razors?  NOT ON MY WATCH!  And it’s not like I’m Beardy McThickBeard ova’ here, so I can probably get away with using the same Gillette for….shit….I still have no idea.  Worse yet, the Gillette’s are kinda’ expensive AND the razor refills are locked behind glass at most stores.  This is me every time I’m in a store looking at the razors behind the glass, “I’ve gotta go ALL THE WAY up to the front and ask someone to come unlock these?  Meh, I’m sure I’ll be fine for another week.”  I do that for like a hundred weeks in a row.

The breaking point usually comes  that once or twice a year when I pump myself up about finally, truly becoming a cool adult man.  It’s usually the same time of the year where I’ll go to a decent store, buy 8 of the same shirts in different colors and a new pair of pants because “this is what real men do.”  On the way home from the outlet mall (leave that part out!) I’ll pass a Walgreens and be like “you know what? I’m going to buy a nice razor because that’s what real men do.”  Yeah!  I want the best a man can get!  Then, as I wait for Angry Paulette to come and unlock the razor treasure chest on aisle 4, I’ll stare at my phone and start to panic as I type in the password for my Chase Mobile Account.  By the time Angry Paulette arrives with the tiny key, I 100% do not want to spend $17.99 on this razor anymore, but she’s already here and it would be weird if I didn’t after putting her through the enormous trouble of walking from aisle 4 to the register and back.  So, I smile through all her huffing and puffing as I follow her back to the register with my overpriced Gillette while going over how long I can go without paying my cable bill before they shut it off.  It’s cool guys, you’ve got a whole ‘nother month.

How to change a tire:

Tough day for my masculinity on today’s chair, but these are deeply held secrets that must be brought out into the open because I couldn’t think of anything else to write about today!  The fact that I don’t know how to change a tire is something I really really really did not want to write about because I’m positive that it will lead to me blowing out a tire in the very near future.  It’s called jinxing yourself, and if you don’t believe in that stuff then I’m jealous of your rational thought patterns.

This is an instance where my dad definitely taught me how to change a tire multiple times, but I just pretended like I was listening every time and never actually learned how to do it.  The advent of internet phones has soothed my fears of this deficiency since I can just google “how to change my tire,” if it happens, but still.  If The VP and I are driving to Mississippi and I blow out a tire in the middle of “who the fuck lives in a place without cell service”-Arkansas we are officially screwed.

What would probably happen is I would pretend to be calm about the whole situation while leafing through the car manual held in my glove compartment.  When I’d get to the part about putting the car up on the jack though, my insecurities would get the best of me and I would convince The VP that “shit, I’m missing a tool.”  I’d act all mad about not being able to do it myself, but like “whoever put this tool kit together just forgot the…” I’d have to quickly come up with something that sounds like the name of the tool I’m missing.  Okay okay, “whoever put this tool kit together just left out the tire iron.”  THAT’S DEFINITELY A THING THAT SOUNDS NECESSARY!!!  The VP would buy my book of lies and then we’d either have to wait for a not-scary older man to stop and help OR until the town put up a cell tower so I could google “how to find a not-scary older man who can come out here and change my tire for me, but tell my wife that the reason I couldn’t do it was because I was missing a tire iron.”

OUR WORLD:  

The VMAs were on last night and The VP and I had absolutely zero interest in watching it.  Instead, she went through Instagram and showed me pictures of the artists that were winning awards and we played the “oh my god, we’re so old!”-game.  From afar, I hate this game, when people over 30 but under 45 laugh to each other about how old they feel because they can’t play video games all day or know the top-rated show on MTV anymore.  Hey, lets chat about something super mundane that I did and then laugh because I followed it with a “oh my god, I’m so old” punchline! HAHAHAHAHA! Pass the barf bag.

But when you’re alone in your apartment, and feeling older than you’ve ever felt because that’s the truth, you kinda…laugh to yourself about how old you are.  And guess what I am right now?  I’m alone in my apartment.  DAMNIT!  Let’s go through the Top 10 list of things that make people over 30 feel old even though we’re not and it’s actually kinda’ obnoxious when we say stuff like this:

  1. When we suffer a relatively minor injury.
  2. When we are hungover.
  3. When we scroll through Instagram and mention how many pictures of babies are in our feeds.
  4. When we cook at home.
  5. When we choose to stay in on a Friday night and text apologies to our friends because “we’re so lame lol”
  6. When we talk about buying a Costco. membership.
  7. When we go to any college sporting event at any college.
  8. When we tell everyone with ears how busy we are at work.
  9. When we find the one gray hair on our heads and then proudly talk about how you’re not going to pull it out.
  10. When we get up early.

I hate this shit.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

From time to time, I’ll go on kicks where I get super back into 90s bands.  Currently, I’m in a anything-Chris-Cornell sings on phase.  Enjoy the best rock voice of all-time.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you eat leftovers in the morning and then lunchtime hits and you’re like “well, am I allowed to even eat lunch after smashing through that whole plate of leftovers at 9:07 this morning?”  So you just get a small bag of almonds and look forward to dinner.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I bet on preseason football over the weekend and went 1 for 2.  Overall, I lost $7 this weekend but that’s because of baseball.  By the way, FUCK BETTING ON BASEBALL!  I mean, I’m still gonna do it, but I’ve decided I hate it. HATE.

(My account currently sits at $43.18)

K bye.

 

Movie Trailer Reviews (Pt. 1) and I’m Getting Fat (8/15/18)

OUR WORLD:  

Every few months, on a random lazy night, The VP and I will go full-on short-attention span Millennial and choose to watch a bunch of 2 minute movie trailers instead of diving into a new show.  (So watching a show has become too hard for you?  Says a lot.)  For the sake of all of my devoted readers, The VP and I did the thing at the end of each trailer where we look at each other and either raise our eye-brows and purse our lips together, crunch up our nose and furrow our brows, or something in-between.  It’s a complicated grading scale, I know, but here’s the breakdown:

GOOD  = “Even though we’ll eventually talk ourselves out of it, we should DEFINITELY see that movie when it comes out!”

okay = “It’s going to take someone I trust freaking out about how good this movie is, but I’m not shutting the door.”

BAD = “That movie is going to stink worse than a VP taco fart.”

Before I get into the trailers we watched, I would like to point out that the pictures of me above were taken this morning at roughly 6:45 AM.  Why did I use those?  Well, you know in the swimsuit issue when they have pictures of “curvier” women to show that there are women of all different shapes and sizes?  And then those women are hailed for being brave?  Well, I used these pictures to show that there are men out there with bad morning hair and large foreheads that shouldn’t be afraid to SHOW IT OFF!  WE’RE JUST AS VALUABLE AS HOT GUYS!  If this inspires even just one guy with bad morning hair and a big forehead to head out into public without running a comb through his hair, then I’ve done my job.  We can’t all be Johnny Hotbod AND THAT’S OKAY!  IT’S NOT OUR FAULT!

ONTO GRADING THE TRAILERS!

“A Star is Born”

Bradley Cooper could not look cooler and is definitely making me think about trying to grow my hair out AGAIN because “maybe this is the time it looks like movie star hair!”  I know this is a remake because my dad told me (Dads!) but let’s be real, none of us are going to watch the original because nobody my age cares about Barbara Streisand or Kris Kristofferson.  You know who we do care about? Dave Chappelle playing a gravely-voiced wisdom-doling friend to Bradley HotHair.  We should all try to find a friend who smokes, wears an old tank and tells us when our “social” drinking has become an issue.

Best line in this trailer is HANDS DOWN when Cooper drops this heater on Lady GaGa as she walks away from him:

Bradley: “Hey”

Lady: “What?” (as she turns around)

Bradley: “I just want to take another look at ya.”

MELT-ALERT! If you’re single, I would HIGHLY suggest using this line on some unsuspecting philly who may have self-esteem issues (I used it on my dog Belle this morning and it didn’t land.  She just kept walking…Fuckin’ bitch.)  

As far as Lady GaGa goes, here’s the deal: VP loves her and I’m iffy.  She does seem like a bit of a try-hard who too easily vacillates between “elegant, sparkly dress singer lady with Tony Bennett” and “dirty shirt, dive bar every-woman”.  It usually bugs me, but I’m buying her in this preview.  Matta a’ Fack, this feels like PERFECT casting.  When she starts singing towards the end of the trailer, The VP started crying and my body was RAVAGED by goosebumps.  If you’re not tingling at the 2:06 mark, check yourself into the nearest morgue because you, my friend, are a dead person.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

GOOD

“The Old Man & The Gun”

I want to be more excited about this than I am.  When we first watched it, I def gave the “gotta see this”-face because I was trying to convince myself.  Robert Redford is my Mom’s all-time crush and makes a wrinkly face look cool.  He’s also a forever-star and this feels like the last time he’s going to be in a movie that allows him to be the star (felt bad writing that).  Then they drop the “it’s a true story” bomb right on our big, dumb heads and we’re thinking “oh triple-fuck-yeah!”

But how interesting can a movie about an old, polite bank robber be?  I love bank robbin’ movies as much as any other genre, but the best parts of those movies are the guns, chase scenes, and fiery “we’re going down in a blaze of glory!” speeches that the leader ALWAYS gives to the rest of the crew towards the end.  Redford giving soft smiles and cute shoulder shrugs takes away from the “he could die!”-tension.  Casey Affleck playing the cop who’s hunting Redford is a solid choice because Casey knocked that role out of the park in “Gone Baby Gone,” but even he seems charmed by Redford’s cute antics.  Give me Jon Hamm getting pissed about the “not fuckin’ around crew” in “The Town” ALL DAY over Casey blushing about the note Redford left on a stolen dollar bill for him.

Redford does deliver a patented cool-guy line when he talking to Sissy Spacek about life metaphors, and says:  “You know what I do when the door closes? I jump out the window.”  Can anyone pull a line like that off in real life?  There has to be a documentary somewhere about a real-life bank robber who tries to talk like that, but it just comes off as cringeworthy, right?

Oh, real quick, Tom Waits is in the movie and when I hear his voice all I can think about is how Heath Ledger based his “Joker”-voice off of Tom Waits.  Sorry Tom, but you’re the Joker forever now.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

“Life Itself”

This movie CAN’T WAIT to make you pretend not to be crying while sitting next to your weeping wife.  One hundred percent chance that you’ll look down at your feet at some point in this movie while telling yourself to “fucking get it together, you’re an adult in public.”

First off, is the “Hola”-guy fat Channing Tatum with a mustache?  Once that guy hit the screen, all I could think about was “what the hell happened, Channing?”  Anyway, I’m torn on this trailer because I think I’m falling madly, deeply in love with Olivia Wilde, but I can’t remember anything she has been in that’s actually good.  She’s stunningly gorgeous, and ALWAYS comes off as “down to earth” because she has weird haircuts and wears college-girlfriend clothes, but is she a good actress?  If she was, I’d be able to think of ONE role where I thought she was good, right?  (Hey Olivia, welcome to Jimmy’s attempt to play hard-to-get.  I assure you, however, that he is not hard to get at all.)  

Meanwhile, Oscar Isaac has officially wrestled the “that guy who’s in everything I hear is good but don’t see”-trophy from Viggo Mortensen.  He’s a good actor because he looks actory and I say “Oh, I like this guy” when I’m around other people, but I’m not positive I’ve actually seen anything he has been in.  This casting is feeling like some sort of magic trick.  Like, at the end of the trailer, I’m half-expecting David Blaine to just show up dangling a pocket watch in front of me while whispering “you DO want to see this movie.”  I do? I DO! Wait…do I?

The voiceover dialogue is heavy handed but well-written.  The song playing in the background makes me feel…emotions…and makes me want to…probably wait to watch this on demand.  The dead parents joke towards the end is solid, but then immediately feels off-putting when we see beardy Oscar Isaac having a MOMENT with a Starbucks in his hand.  This is the movie that your parents see and your Dad stays completely silent while your Mom assures you that it’s “INCREDIBLE!”

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

MY WORLD:  

Should I just get fat?  I have a fantastic excuse of my badly sprained ankle to put some weight on AND get sympathy at the same time.  In fact, I think if I put weight on it’ll only draw attention to my horrible, horrible, “he’s tougher than me for walking on it”-ankle injury.  How would that happen?  Thanks for asking; people would see me, immediately think to themselves that “wow, he has let himself go,” only to be smacked right in their dumb, judgmental face with me lifting my right pant leg to reveal A FREAKING ANKLE BRACE!  I’d plunge the dagger deeper with a line like, “killing me not being able to workout.”  And you better believe the only shirt I’ll be wearing is my 2013 Chicago Marathon shirt that has gotten VERY TIGHT.  Get ready to feel bad about your inner thoughts re: my weight.

Real talk, I have felt a little bit bigger since this horrific, horrific injury and I am getting self-conscious about it.  You ever put a pair of pants on that feel tighter than they usually do, but then quickly tell yourself “I mean, they did just come out of the dryer”?  Because that was me yesterday–blaming the dryer and not the fact that I’ve eaten maybe 37 mini-York peppermint patties over the past…uh…one day.  Why was it hard to get to the third notch of the belt?  I mean, I probably just tried to fasten the belt lower on my hips than normal.  Hips are wider than waist.  Obviously.  I definitely pulled my pants up a few times yesterday and sucked in to be like “yeah, they’re still loose!”  They weren’t loose though, guys.  I repeat, not loose.

Shouldn’t my body realize that I’m not able to workout and compensate accordingly?  Hey body, I’m not lying on my back while eating an entire bag of Goldfish because my ankle DOESN’T hurt!  How ’bout a little help, metabolism?  Maybe Mr. Metabolism could pick up some slack one fucking time.

Since Mr. Metabolism and my dumb body are too lazy to help me out and keep my waistline in check, I’m thinking I just lean into this to prove what assholes my body and my metabolism are.  “Wait, so they clearly know your injured, and they’re not doing anything to help you out?  And yeah, you deserve to eat chip products on your back with an ankle like that!”  THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This song came on this morning and I stopped what I was doing to just smile and bop my head around to the beat.  Try it.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The street we live on is closed through the weekend for a children’s carnival.  Great.  I can’t wait to see how calm Belle is about getting walked next to screaming kids who think they’re allowed to pet anything that comes near them.  Hey kids, if you like your fingers, I suggest keeping them away from my anxiety-ridden doggo.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I got a “bonus” from Bovada yesterday because THEY LOVE ME! and definitely not because I’ve been losing at an alarming pace and Bovada has nicknamed me “The ATM”.  I’m not kidding, I can’t remember the last win I had.  I am in full-on, betting only parlays mode because I need a big win to make up for recent losses.  This strategy, thus far, has proved fruitless.  Its gotten so bad that I have begged for picks from a guy I work while referring to him as “Baseball Guy” because he talks about baseball sometimes.  Talk about baseball once in my presence?  Guy MUST know how to pick games.  I lost the first parlay he gave me.

(Account currently at $11.42)

K bye.

Something We’ve Been Wanting To Get Off Our Chest…(5/30/18)

WHERE HAS THE CHAIR BEEN?!?!

A relatively young man, boy perhaps, scared of an actual battlefield, was presented with an opportunity to prove that courage was not among one of his seemingly countless allergies.  The roach scaled the wall the way a veteran climber would during a storm; deliberately.  Each step was carefully placed, making sure footing was stable before pushing off onto the next.  The older couple’s ignorance remained intact while squint-scanning a pasta menu.  Little did they know that their favorite restaurant was just like every other establishment they turned their noses up at; food, servers, and roaches.  There wasn’t time to react.  There was only time for courage in the form of a bare hand.  Without hesitation, the server opened his closed fist, as if he was high-fiving the wall in slow-motion, and nonchalantly pressed his splayed palm into the bug; smashing it between the wall and his naked hand.  He held the pose for 11 seconds, tricking the couple into thinking that he just needed a casual lean at the end of a long shift.  After answering the final menu questions they had for him, he pushed himself off the wall, making sure to scrape all the roach gut remnants from the wall with his murderous hand.  There could be no evidence of this.  The couple went back to bickering about what they should order. The server calmly walked to the kitchen sink in back, roach entrails lining the inside of his now-closed hand.  As he washed the evidence from his hands, he caught himself in the mirror.  Things were different now.

Once, when I was a server, I smashed a roach with my bare hand.  (Would’ve been nice if you saved us all the hassle of reading the above paragraph…) It was probably the bravest thing I’ve ever done.  That’s not much of an exaggeration, either (no one was doubting that, Jimmy, but thx!) Squealing like the scared baby that I am was not an option in a crowded restaurant, so killing this roach without hesitation was the only way to avoid making a real scene.  I still can’t believe I actually did it when what I really wanted to do was make a cry-face, say something like “oh my god EW!” and run over to a bigger, stronger ANYBODY while screaming “HELP!!!!!”   Nobody knew it happened!  If it sounds like I’m SUPER proud about this moment, it’s because I am…GLAD THAT’S COMING THROUGH!

I’m sorry I didn’t write last week, but I was busy being taught what actual bravery looks like.

About three years ago, I found a lump in The VPs boobie.  Boobs are supposed to be fun and that WAS NOT FUN!  We went and got it looked at and the docs told her to just come back every 6 months so they could keep an eye on it.  Didn’t seem like they were overly concerned, so that was nice.  The VP would go back every 6 months a few times and they’d basically tell her the same thing.  But then life got like supes distracting, y’all!  We got married, she got promoted, I got really incredibly good-looking after I rededicated myself to the gym and…The VP and I kinda’ forgot that she had a lump in her BOOBIE (my hope is that by capitalizing the word “Boobie” it makes this subject matter a little lighter…IS IT WORKING GUYS?!?!) 

Then, one day, I thought my tooth exploded while eating a burrito.  Thinking I was due for a root canal and major scary teeth stuff, I forced myself to go to the dentist…for the first time in like 5 years.  Is that gross?  Yeah, probably, but dentists are terrifying and everyone knows you don’t have to go until something hurts.  RIGHT?!?!  I’M A BABY, REMEMBER?!?! Something hurt, so I went.  And, guess what? It wasn’t THAT scary.  One cavity filling later, bravery street cred at an all-time high, I reminded The VP to get that lumperooski checked out again.

Hospitals are stupid scary and it’s not the smell or the art or the tile floors.  If all hospitals had your favorite band playing live, for free while giving away beers and backrubs, you’d still hate going to the hospital.  That’s why we should all be allowed to hit the person who says “I just hate hospitals.”  NO SHIT!  EVERYONE HATES HOSPITALS!  And, spoiler alert, there are some parts within these hospitals that are scarier than others.  The VP’s appointment was in one of these scarier areas.  But, I got a cavity filled so I could talk to her about being brave.  (Ever look back at something you did and are so embarrassed that you think about legally changing your name so you can just start from scratch?  That’s me looking back at this.)

In early May, The VP and I went to the Breast Cancer Screening wing at the hospital to get her lump checked out again.  The car ride there was the kind of quiet you get when trying to act casual in a stressful situation.  Funny thing about not acknowledging stress is that it doesn’t go away.  And when I say “funny thing,” you know I mean “a thing that’s not funny at all and just weighs you down,” right?  Good, glad we’re on the same page.  The VP was so cool, guys.  She made a few jokes about my stupid sunglasses and kept asking if it was okay that I was missing a couple hours of work that morning to go with her.  She talked about where we should get breakfast when it was done and what shows we should start watching that night.  I believe The VPs itinerary that day read: wake up, have a coffee, get boob lump checked at the scary wing in the downtown hospital, take a pee, join the military, stop a carjacking in process, dance on the ledge of a tall building, have some eggs.  At least something along those lines.  She was fine: a fucking badass with a southern accent and a ponytail.  They called her name and she was off into the back.

I got to watch an episode of “The Price is Right” in the waiting room.  The jumping and screaming of strangers on the television didn’t settle my nerves.  So I scanned Twitter and tried to watch funny Instagram videos without the volume because I didn’t have my headphones and you’re a psycho if you have the volume up on your phone in public.  (I’M NOT A PSYCHO!) 

It didn’t really work, though.  The other horrible thing about hospitals is that your mind goes to the darkest places way too easily.  And when you have the internet at your fingertips, those darkest places seem inevitable after a simple Google search.  My mom has been through cancer twice, really rough both times, and I learned the lesson of not going to the internet…and, yet, I still went to the internet.  If you don’t think internet addiction is a real thing, then do me a favor and get the hell away from me because YOU DENY THE WORLD!  So with The VP in the back, my brain and heart volleyed between forceful optimism and paralyzing fear of the unknown. Drew Carey’s annoying voice and stupid fucking glasses played the soundtrack.

The VP walked out of the exam shrugging her shoulders and walking kinda’ fast.  When I asked how it went, she gave me a “it’s fine.  It’s fine.”  When I pressed for details, however, she told me that we had to wait to talk until we were outside.  This is also known as the “oh, fuck”-moment.  She was repressed manic at this point.  I hope I’m not saying that to normalize how I was feeling, but I think it’s accurate.  As we got away from other people waiting on other results, she told me that the doctors wanted her to come back for a biopsy: the lump had shown “substantial growth” and may be breast cancer.

The next available appointment for a biopsy was 22 days later.

Which meant that the next three weeks were for worrying, pretending everything is fine while at work and in front of friends, and then distracting ourselves with television and alcohol.  I would do check-ins and ask how she was feeling about stuff every few days and she would almost always respond that she was “okay.”  There was not a truly enjoyable day in those 22.  It was about managing fears and staying positive in the face of the unknown and the goddamn, unrelenting internet.

My job, which consists of a lot of alone time behind the wheel (wait, is Jimmy a tire fixer?!?!), wasn’t great for these few weeks.  For me, alone time means imagination time and, normally, that equates to daydreams centered around “what if I had REALLY dedicated myself to golf when I was younger?  Could I have been pro by now?”  Imagination time, alone in the car, is when I get to picture my life being WAY better than it is now: cooler car, better hair, bigger bank account…maybe less insecurities?  But for these weeks, “imagination time” morphed into me thinking about how lucky I am to have the life I do with The VP of Ops and how scary and SUCKY any other life would be for me.

“Game of Thrones” helped.  Remember when I wrote about how we had gotten into that show?  THIS IS WHY!  I knew we needed a HIGHLY engrossing show to distract the both of us from the upcoming biopsy, so it was time to dive into the world of dragons and war and….like, a lot of nudity.  (Quick aside: anyone else get a little uncomfortable watching all the sex scenes in “Game of Thrones” with your significant other?  We’re not prudes, but I feel like I’m back in high school watching these scenes next to The VP.  Sometimes, during the middle of one of these RACY scenes, I’ll catch her looking at me out of the corner of my eye and I’ll just blurt out “NOTHING! I JUST CARRY THIS TEXTBOOK WITH ME BECAUSE I LIKE READING IT SOMETIMES! NOTHING!”)  Between Khalisi and Drago and Ned Stark and Joffrey (WHAT A DICK!) and allowing ourselves that extra glass of wine or scotch; we were somewhat able to distract ourselves.

When the day of the biopsy finally arrived, we had settled into a new normalcy of drinking a little too much and staying up a little too late watching “GOT”.  Not knowing what was going on with The VPs lumperoni was normal, and somehow after 3 weeks, the not knowing had become somewhat comforting.  If you don’t know something bad is going on, then maybe nothing bad is going on?  I went into coach-mode throughout, giving her pep talks that I believed 1000%…and then I would call my Mom for a similar pep talk directed at me.  The power of positive thinking was always something I sneered at as a sarcastic college kid.  Then my mom got sick and all she asked was that we surround her with positivity.  It fucking works, guys.

On the way to the hospital on biopsy day, The VP was nervous.  There were tears the night before.  She blamed the tears on a fear of needles.  Belle and I did our best to give her hugs and calm her down.  It wasn’t panic on her part; it was more of a plea to any higher power that may be listening her desire to go back to living a normal, underpaid but well-loved life.  I take it back, not knowing was never normal; it was awful.  How the hell was The VP having to stare cancer in the face when she has never had a cigarette or chewing tobacco or…worked in a coal mine?  It should be me: the guy who smoked through college, but justified it by “only doing it when I drink”…only to move on to chewing tobacco, but justifying by “only doing it when I golf…or am with friends…or am away from The VP.”  ‘God Damn It’ is a term I thought of a lot in these few weeks and then immediately apologized for because we needed all the help we could get.  Religion and believing in things that are bigger than you are easy targets for humor, I get it; I’ve done it.  But when the chips are down, you’re fuckin’ right I’m talking to someone that I pray has more say than I do.  I talked to God and my dead Grandma every single one of those 22 days; never more than I did while in the waiting room later that morning.

They came to take The VP into the back right when we got there.  Let’s rip this band-aid off.  I told her that she wouldn’t feel a thing and reminded her that all of the awful things she had been through up until now prove that she is tougher than she gives herself credit for.  There was the time she broke her leg and the time she got mugged and the time she split her ankle open and the time she moved to a completely new city without a job and made an entire life for herself.  She could handle a big, dumb needle to the boob.  Then she went in back and I started talking to people in my head.

I made deals in my head about things I would never do again and other things I would stop putting off.  If these were true negotiations; I wouldn’t have said no to anything if it meant this biopsy didn’t hurt the way The VP feared it might.  (Thankfully, God didn’t ask for my flat screen television…)  “The Price is Right” wasn’t on this time; instead, I was treated to “The Today Show” on the waiting room TV.  Granted, I wasn’t in the best of mindspace at this point, but that Hoda lady is insufferable.  Can’t we just put videos of animals doing cute things on waiting room televisions?  I went back to the scary world wide web in hopes of finding stories where biopsies felt good and always came back showing no signs of cancer.  (Thanks for nothing, internet.)

The VP of Ops bopped out from the back about 45 minutes later with big eyes and a bigger smile.  The biopsy didn’t hurt!  They didn’t have immediate results, though.  We’d have to wait another “1 to 2 days” for them to call her with the results.  More waiting was okay because you celebrate small steps when dealing with health issues.  She had gotten through a big, hollow needle in the boob with a smile on her face.  Time to go celebrate with pancakes (she actually got quinoa cakes for breakfast, but “celebrating with pancakes” sounded better than “celebrating with quinoa cakes.”)

She chilled at home for the rest of the day and I went back to work.  Neither of us had told anyone what was going on this entire month aside from our parents.  I definitely wanted to, but “I’m scared my wife may have breast cancer” is a tough conversation starter. We had another 1 to 2 days of keeping this secret before it would either go away or become another scarier thing entirely.  We stayed up REAL late that night watching “GOT”.

We both went to work the next day not knowing when “the call” would come.  I was in charge of training a new employee and The VP was to manage an admin staff and book flights for bosses because booking your own flight is too fucking stressful for some people apparently.  I imagined her listening to higher-ups complain about how stressful their travel schedules had been that day and got angry at my desk just thinking about it.  I may have planned exactly what I’d say to these people the next time I got to see them.  You could say I was handling this stress AGGRESSIVELY.

At exactly 1:25 PM, The VP called to say that her doctor had just given her “good news.”  No cancer.

So we got to go back to breathing again.  I let out the most heartfelt “FUCK YEAH!” I’ve ever said and my eyes welled up.  She giggled a little because I guess you can’t yell “Fuck Yeah” when you work in a tall office building.  I told her how proud of her I was, and am, and we talked about the power of positive thinking and the AMAZING PEOPLE THAT WORK IN HOSPITALS.  Holy crap, those people are a higher breed than human.  The VP will have surgery to get the lumperooski removed and that won’t be the most fun time ever, but she’ll be fine.  And we’re thrilled to go back to living our normal, boring, well-loved lives.

I’m sorry I didn’t write last week; this was why.  And I meant to post this yesterday, but it ran long and I wanted to make sure I wrote it the way I wanted to.

I wanted to write this because when we were in the midst of waiting and being scared and getting trapped in the panic room of “imagination time,” I would search the internet looking for an uplifting story.  Maybe this can be that for some people.  The whole thing sucked because stress stinks and hospitals are scary.  But, I got to see my wife act like a brave, grown woman in the face of an adversity that would bring me to secret tears in public bathrooms.  She bit her lip, nodded and carried on.  I got to see this with my Mom during her two bouts with cancer, and it’s the absolute most inspiring thing you can ever see.  As much as it sucks to be going through, getting to see understated, everyday courage in those closest to you is amazing.  It deepened my love and appreciation for my Mom and it has done the same now for my wife.

Someday, this big scary world wide web will allow our kids to read about how their Dad wanted to cry when he saw a roach and how their Mom laughed after a biopsy.  And I couldn’t look more forward to being outed as the wimp in our boring, too-small, but well-loved home.

I love you Erin.

 

Don’t Do These Things and Redeemable Celebs (5/11/18)

MY WORLD:

It’s Friday (ever heard of it?) and we’re all supposed to be in great moods this morning.  Even though it’s raining, we’re about to get a 2-day respite from our SOUL SUCKING places of employment (jk boss! I love my job every second!)  Who else is looking forward to acting like Jersey Shore Ron for the next 48 hours before curling up on your couch and having the Sunday scaries wash over you?!?!  And now you should hate me because I just talked about Sunday Scaries on a Friday morning.  I would like to introduce my “Things That People Do That Piss Me Off More Than They Should”:

-Talking About Sunday Scaries or Hangovers on Friday or Saturday:  This is a classic Debbie Downer move and, tell me, who does it benefit?  The “ugh, I’m already thinking about tomorrow’s hangover”-person is the same breed as the “it’s almost Sunday”-person who appears around 7PM on Saturday night.  If you are this person, let’s walk through why you’re saying these things out loud in front of people.  Is it because you get nervous when in groups?  Maybe things got a little too quiet amongst a few friends/coworkers and you went into full “shit, things are getting awkward and people are thinking it’s because I don’t know how to converse”-mode?  So you blurted out something kinda floating in the middle of your brain, not quite the back and not exactly the front, but the middle fears that you have mistaken for “this will be a positive addition to the conversation!”  It’s not a positive addition to the conversation.  (Activating Michelle from “Full House”-voice)“Capiche?!”

Listen, once you get to the age of 27, everyone has a time at the bar where they go to pee, catch their reflection in the mirror and think, “oh shit, I’m fucked up and tomorrow is gonna HURT.”  Talking about it doesn’t make it better.  Burying it, does.  So when I head back to the bar to distract myself watching the teams I gambled on slowly lose while burying my nose in a pint glass, can you not ruin the moment with your insecurities?  I get insecure too (mostly when I’m around people who have cool tattoos and tight pants) but I don’t remind everyone that climate change is accelerating at a rate that could GREATLY IMPACT QUALITY OF LIFE WITHIN THE NEXT 20 YEARS!!!!

And to the “it’s almost Sunday”-people, again, we’re all thinking this.  I was the kid in middle school who would have a countdown in my head during winter and summer break about every day was one day closer to having to go back to school; and I would get progressively sadder the closer that return got.  Seriously, by the time August hit, I was a fuggin’ basket case, trembling in the fetal position on my bedroom floor while muttering “I haven’t even STARTED the summer reading!”  You think my Mom coming in and saying “hey kiddo, school’s getting close!” would have HELPED that situation?  It probably would have sent me into an anxiety tailspin where I would’ve written a goodbye note about how my heart was broken by the tall girl in 3rd grade before trying to OD on my Flintstones vitamins.  (Real talk, my sister once had to get her stomach pumped for eating too many of them.)  

In short: keep your fears to yourself on the weekends.

-When people get way too close walking behind me:  You ever walking down a city sidewalk at a reasonable pace, when you can feel someone trying to figure-eight you from behind?  You can almost hear their overly dramatic audible sighs as they’re about to stomp on your heels?  When this happens to me, I’ll normally shoot The VP of Ops a look that says “I’m ‘FINNA LOSE MY SHIT ON THIS FOOL!”  She’ll grab my hand a little tighter and clench her jaw to brace for the impending embarrassment as….I abruptly stop, step to the side and extend my arm to the DOUCHE from behind as if to say “go ahead!”  Seriously, sometimes I’ll even toss a dripping sarcastic “please, go ahead” in a volume low enough for them to hear, but also low enough for me to deny if it turned into an actual confrontation.  If you don’t live to be passive aggressive to strangers, is life really worth living?!?!

Now is the part where I say that me acting like this is grossly immature so you don’t think I’m a total nutspants.  It’s borderline insane for me to think that people walking behind me are to flat-tire my new cool Levi loafers (fashion); and, if someone ever just stopped when I pulled something like this and said something like “what’s your fucking problem?” I’d probably pee my pants while trying to look tough in front of my wife, who undoubtedly is going to look for a divorce lawyer once she gets some wifi access for her phone.  But here’s the rub: I don’t think it’s insane.  In the moment, I think it’s ONE BILLION PERCENT justified to act like this.  If you get within 3 feet of the person in front of you on the sidewalk, they should be allowed to turn around and konk you on the head with a metal baseball bat.

Oh, I also hate slow walkers.

-People on bikes when I’m driving and people in cars when I’m biking:  Fellow car people, is there anything worse than the cool bicycle person blowing through stop signs and screaming at you after they cut you off?  The bike lanes throughout the city have made narrow driving lanes even tighter, yet the bikers seem to use them as a mere suggestion, weaving in and out of the bike lanes as they please.  If you come within 10 feet of them, they scream at you to “watch out!” and, worse, if you open your car door within 5 blocks of any of them, they’re going to confront you about “being aware of your surroundings!”  Roads were built for cars, so if you’re gonna be on one on your bike, you should follow the same rules as cars, right? Why are bikes allowed to blow through red lights and stop signs? IT’S NOT FAIR!  If I have to sit in traffic on a Monday night, why doesn’t Trevor Tinyhat?!?  It’s hard enough sharing the roads with the extras from “Fast and the Furious” and grandparents reluctant to give up licenses.  Adding cyclists who basically dare you to hit them is the exact recipe for Jimmy’s Molotov Cocktail of Anger.  I’M THROWING THIS BOTTLE AT SOMETHING!

Now, just to add some inexplicable contradiction to this; I also hate car people when I’m biking through the city.  I can’t be alone in this dichotomy.  If you can’t tell already, I’m not the cool bicycle person who has the tiny hat and big messenger bag.  Me on a bike is Dad-city; thick tires, not going too fast, constantly making sure you’re keeping up and yelling “taking a right up here” about 6 times before we actually take the right.  (“Taking a left?” “NO DAMNIT! RIGHT!”)  When I do bike, it’s rare, and it usually consists of The VP and I renting city bikes so we can tell people we did an “outdoor activity!”  The VP is normally pretty scared about riding bikes on busy streets and I have to pretend like I’m not and say things like “we have the right of way!”  But when a car gets a little too close, or guns it past us you better believe I’m tossing a “fuckin’ relax” their way!  We don’t wear helmets because we don’t own them (and they’re dorky AND my hair turns to hat-hair REAL quick so I try to avoid that.)  

Maybe cars and bicycles just weren’t meant to share the same roads?  They hate each other and if someone makes an animated “Cars vs. Bikes” movie in the next 5 years, I demand a percentage of the box office.  It’s a classic David vs. Goliath tale in which the bikes mount an offensive against the road-controlling cars; only to realize that the cars are just like they are.  Both sides learn to see the world from the other’s point of view and they come to an understanding that they’re “really not that different after all”.  Hey Pixar? You’re welcome.

OUR WORLD:

I love Kanye’s music, but the way he has been the past few weeks has kinda’ ruined it.  So I started thinking about other celebs/people that did bad things who I’m hoping are able to mount a comeback.  Some of these people have done super terrible things, BUT think about like “what if they solved the homeless situation?”  Here are some people I wish would solve the homeless situation (as in, give all homeless people the houses of rich assholes.  Donald Trump’s house goes to the “Free Smiles” sign guy.)

–Louis C.K.:  I know, what he did was wrong and weird and bad and creepy.  But, he is quite possibly the best stand-up of all-time and made me laugh and forget about my problems anytime I watched his stuff.

–Lance Armstrong:  Okay, you know what? I don’t think he even has to solve homelessness.  I never cared about cycling before him and I don’t after him and, honestly, I really didn’t care about cycling when he was dominating.  What I do care about is ALL OF THE GOOD he did for people with cancer.  That Livestrong campaign was inspiring for so many millions of people going through hard times, that I don’t really care that he was an asshole to reporters and ruined the reputations of some people.  Sue the shit out him, fine.  But, the good outweighs the bad here.  YEAH, I SAID IT!

–Lindsay Lohan:  You notice that the first 3 people on this list all have names that start with ‘L’?  THAT’S SUPER FUCKIN’ WEIRD, GUYS!!! Anyway, I miss “Mean Girls” and “Parent Trap” Lindsay Lohan.  She was funny and good at acting and super pretty.  Then she got way too into drugs and real weird stories about her being a total beeyotch came out.  That stinks.  In her prime, isn’t she a better version of Emma Stone?  She must hate her.

–Michael Jackson:  Him solving homelessness when he’s dead would be a real accomplishment.  Still, he has somehow reached the “yeah, he definitely touched kids, but it’s kinda’ okay because Thriller is the best album of all-time and he’s a great dancer!”-level.  When you’re alone, though, and singing all the words to “Billie Jean” do you ever catch yourself with a “remember that story about him giving ‘Jesus Juice’ to kids?”  Yeah, that stinks.

–Harvey Weinstein:  Just kidding, guys.  He should die in a fire.  Although, let me just throw this out there…what if he was next season’s “Bachelor”?  Think of how conflicted the women on that show would be.  It would ALMOST be evil-delicious…right?  RIGHT?!?! I KNOW!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The VP of Ops will hate me for this, but I do not understand the appeal of this kid AT ALL.  In fact, I cannot stand him.  Not because he’s a kid, but because he’s a kid who got famous for doing a super annoying thing in Wal-Mart?  GETDAFUGOUTTAHERE!

 

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

My favorite actor of all time.  I love everything he ever did.  EVERYTHING.  If someone can make you laugh just by saying “So I says to him…” over and over again, that’s called being ALL-TIME ELECTRIC.

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:

NHL Conference finals start tonight and since I don’t watch hockey really at all throughout the regular season, I am feeling VERY confident about picking the Capitals in tonight’s game.  Uh…Alex Ovechkin is a guy I’ve heard of so SOUNDS LIKE A LOCK TO ME!  (Jesus H. Christ do I need football back in my life…)

(My account currently at: $137.16)

K bye.

New Shows and Mother’s Day (5/9/18)

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $118.68)

K bye.