Category: Sports

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

My Perfect Political Commercial and Update on CarGate (3/20/18)

OUR WORLD:

Political commercials can kiss my ass.  If I have to see one more fatass Gubernatorial candidate’s (more like GOOBERnatorial amirite?!?) shitty commercial interrupting my Monday night Bravo TV marathon, I’m going to LOSE IT! What are the producers of those commercials thinking?  Let’s show our candidate fake smile, hold a clipboard and nod at strangers?  “I do love a clipboard and a chubbo goin’ for a stroll”-VOTER X.  Why not show the candidate accomplishing things that would actually impact your life in a positive way?  “But Jimmy, I’m confused!  What types of tasks could these commercials show?”  That’s how this blog works!  Were I put in charge of producing a candidates television commercial’s, I would simply film the candidate with my iPhone (to add realism!) doing the following:

*for the sake of this exercise, let’s name this candidate Oprah Winfrey BECAUSE I’M PROGRESSIVE!!!!

Reminding you that “you already have that” before you buy it again at the grocery store.  How many times have you bought Spicy Brown Mustard in the past month?  Every time you’ve gone grocery shopping? SAME-SIES!  If you’re like me (and why wouldn’t you be? I’m NORMAL!) you probably go up and down the condiment and salad dressing aisles convincing yourself that you’re DEFINITELY out of spicy brown mustard and caesar dressing.  But, to be sure, you’ll text your VP of Ops something along the lines of “we got ‘dis?”  Then, because you’re smart, you will put your cell phone in your back pocket, forget you JUST sent that text, and buy your seventh bottle of spicy brown mustard.  (No no, it IS a waste of money.  You’re never gonna use it all.  Seriously, never.)  Now, imagine if when you went to grab that golden Gulden’s bottle, Oprah Winfrey leaned in (not too close, but…close enough) and said “you already have that.”  Would this take a seemingly endless amount of refrigerator-research-and-memorization on Oprah’s part? Yes.  BUT! If a candidate saved me not only the $4.79 at the grocery store, but the borderline-“should the cops be called?”-fury I feel when seeing I bought something I already had once I got home, they’d get my vote.  Oprah “You Already Have That” Winfrey is a winner.

Sweeping up broken beer bottle shards right before someone walking their dog walks into it.  Evidently, even though dumpsters have like 50 foot wide mouths, it’s IMPOSSIBLE for bars to not miss this opening when emptying their garbage cans at night.  Are blind people in charge of all garbage can emptying around this fucking city?  Wait, no they’d have to be blind and deaf to not see or hear the sound of GLASS SHATTERING ON PAVEMENT.  Got it.  Every morning when I take my sweet baby princess Belle for her AM dumparooski, we have to last-second dodge shards of glass lining EVERY GODDAMN ALLEY.  If, just one morning, I saw Oprah Winfrey sweeping up these shards of glass only to dump them in the one window the bar accidentally left open, I would IMMEDIATELY vote for her.  Candidate who saves my sweet baby princesses paw pads? That’s my candidate.

Standing in front of the biggest pothole on your way to work.  This would be slightly dangerous for Oprah, but worth it nonetheless.  Outside of burning alive, is there a worse feeling than the “ka-chunk” feeling of unexpectedly hitting a pothole in your car?  (Fuck, did I pop my tire? Is the right side of my car now lower than the left? Is my axle split? Can an axle split?  THAT SOUNDS LIKE A THING THAT HAPPENS! Just take me now God! TAKE ME NOW!)  What if, however, instead of smashing into that crater of a pothole, you caught Oprah Winfrey out of the corner of your eye (you’re texting…it’s not okay, but we all do it.  Driving’s boring, folks.  Texting is fun.  Fun > Boring.  Not complicated.)  Or maybe you just heard her yell “SWERVE!”  Screeching sound, maybe you almost smash into her, maybe you actually do hit Oprah Winfrey with your car.  But you DON’T hit that pothole.  For her to really secure my vote, she would have to get up after I hit her, dust herself off and start running in place to show me that she was a-okay.  (That way I wouldn’t feel guilty!  Running in place? Don’t have to feel guilty for running her over.  Thanks Oprah!)  Saving me and my car from the “ka-chunk” pothole feeling? That’s my candidate.

Kicking smelly people out of your gym.  As discussed in a previous blog, smelly people in gyms is a societal problem that has gone unaddressed for far too long.  Imagine seeing Oprah Winfrey go up to people at your gym, make those raise their arms and then sniff them.  If they stink, like if that sniff makes Oprah scrunch up her face, she has her massive bodyguard violently escort them out of the gym.  This sounds like the beginning of my love story with Oprah.  Who would be defending the stinko’s right to stay in the gym? Nobody, that’s who.  NOBODY!

Reattaching the top of your plastic garbage can so you can use the foot-pressy-thing.  It’s not complicated, but I’m never going to do it.  Never.  Is there a little foot-press-thingy that would pop the top up if you attached it correctly? Yes there is.  Do you miss using it? Actually, kinda.  That’s where Oprah comes in.  Next time, you just place the top of your plastic garbage can on top of the garbage so you can get back to scrolling through Instagram on your couch, Oprah sneaks in your back entrance.  Quietly, so as not to disturb your Instascrolling, Oprah then unfurls the part of garbage bag covering the part where the top clicks in.  Click! Re-furl, and she’s out.  Next thing you know, the foot-pressy-thing works again…until, you press it too hard and pop the top off again (which will probably be the first time you do it.)  That initial excitement about getting to use the foot-prissy-thing again? That’s worth a vote my man.

These commercials, as I wrote, would be filmed on an iPhone because if they were shot using a fancy camera, it would look as if they were staged.  These instances must look as real as possible, to make VOTER X actually think that “Oprah Winfrey might sneak in the back entrance of my apartment, memorize what’s in my refrigerator, and reattach the top to my shitty plastic garbage can.”  I expect to be hired as a campaign manager any day now.

MY WORLD:

A quick follow-up on the whole situation I had with my car last week.  (I think it was last week?  Two weeks ago? Whatever. Not checking. Doesn’t matter. MOVING ON!)  If you forget what happened, basically I got rear-ended by a guy who started crying when we got out to assess the damage.  He didn’t have a license, was driving his girlfriend’s car without her permission and told me he would’ve gone to jail if I called the cops.  Being the sucker that I am, I let him go but only after he PROMISED he’d pay for my damages (promises only matter to like 6 year olds).  Thankfully, the woman whose car it was, Gail, actually DID follow through with me.  She hooked me up with her insurance company and, after speaking with them a few times now, they’re going to send me a check to cover my damages!  It’s a miracle.

Gail, ever the sweetheart, sent me the following text yesterday though…and this is where things have gotten interesting…is Gail kinda hitting on me?  Am I kinda hitting on Gail?

Gail

 

(No, I still don’t know how to make that smaller.  I’m sorry)  So Gail dumped the dude who kinda-stole her car and smashed into me.  Now keep in mind that I’m married (LOVE YOU VP!) and Gail is, minimum, 34 years older than me.  But…like, maybe we’re meant to be with each other?  She was very nice, has lived up to her promise to take care of my car (everyone knows I love a promise-keeper), and she basically alerts me that she is now single.

I know it’s been a while since I did the whole flirting thing, but this feels like that…right?  Should the VP of Ops be nervous? I don’t know.  Maybe Gail enjoys throwing her q-tips away and paying rent on time.  Maybe The VP of Ops should consider this the next time she leaves the cap of the toothpaste off after brushing her teeth…Cuz it looks to me like little ole’ Jimmy has got himself ANOTHER OPTION!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Jeanne Ives is the worst and this commercial confirms that…

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: 

Guys, I didn’t gamble yesterday.  I’m kinda proud of myself and kinda sad that I missed out on some action (I LOVE ACTION!) The plan for tonight is to get dinner with my mom and not gamble again…but, if this restaurant has TVs…well, I’ll keep you posted.  Thanks for all your support during these trying times.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.P

Sunday TV Binge Shows and Why Angry Wives Are So Funny (3-19-18)

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday was a day of rest for The VP of Ops and I.  Perched in our assigned living room spots, me on my chair (it’s a real thing, this chair, and we’ve developed feelings…real feelings) and The VP on our couch.  (While I love my chair, I will say that not being able to lay sideways on days like yesterday is something I never planned for when claiming my spot as the chair.  This was a slight miscalculation on my part, but I have learned from it and plan to revisit the “assigned seat” negotiating table once we buy our next couch.)  

Aside from the occasional “you okay?”-head tilt towards the other, we were busy dealing with our own Post-St. Patty’s-Day-issues.  Self talk (breathe Jimmy.  Wait…that’s not how breathing works!  HOW DOES BREATHING WORK!?!?!) and awkward positions on your assigned living room seat is what Sundays like this are all about.  How many times did you get kinda excited and think “I’m actually not that bad!” only to get up and have your brain start smashing the eject button from inside your skull.  Zero? Yeah, me too.  Cool cool coolio!

Anyways, we’ve all been here and aside from ordering food that’s not going to taste as good as you think it’s going to, binge watching television shows is the only tonic.  For us, yesterday was “Peaky Blinders” all day, and it got me thinking…what are the best “Sleepy Sunday” binge-worthy tv shows?  *This list is not BEST TV shows, it’s shows that have the ability to soothe your hangover.  Maybe you’ve watched them before, but that’s okay, these shows are like your blankie or dirty old stuffed animal rabbit that you got when you were born and still sleep with (hand up).  

Lets call this our “Top Sleepy Ti Ti Shows” (you know, cuz you’re sleepy and tired…SLEEPY TI TI!):

  1.  The Office:  Number one with a bullet.  Do I even have to say it’s the American version?  I remember when news hit that they were making an American version of “The Office” and I was such a snooty film-school dick about it.  “No way it can recreate the subtle moments the way Ricky Gervais did!”  Pssshaw!  This, my friends, is called a “wrong take”.  Steve Carrell as Michael Scott is the best television character of all time (mean this a billion percent) and getting to watch the prime of this character is the chicken noodle soup of television.  You know what it’s going to be, yet, somehow, you still love every second of it.  (What an analogy!!! Hey! Let’s add that as a section!  YOU’RE DOING IT!).  *FOOD ANALOGY = CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP
  2. The O.C.:  I just wrote and then deleted the following…”I’m not even embarrassed about this pick.”  That means I’m embarrassed about this pick.  I blame The VP of Ops and her powerful influence over my brain for this but let me say this fellas: you watched the first couple seasons of this show when it first came out, and you loved it.  DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!  NOT TODAY! NOT ON JIMMYSCHAIR!  This show holds up better than you think it does.  Seth is still funny.  Rachel Bilson is still a babe (see guys? that’s a cool-dude thing to say.  Babes.)  And Ryan still pulls off the white tank look even though, according to all your research, that is not possible.  Remember that super simple sandwich that was your favorite as a kid?  You haven’t had one since you were 11.  This show is like that sandwich.  Try making one, I bet you’ll remember why you loved it.  *FOOD ANALOGY = SALAMI SANDWICH ON WHITE WONDER BREAD
  3. Parks and Rec:  A close cousin to “The Office” for sure, but why should we hold that against this show?  I feel like every time I bring this show up, there’s kind of a “yeah, but it’s not The Office”-cloud over it.  It’s not “The Office”, but it’s almost as funny.  Fat Chris Pratt > Jurassic World Chris Pratt.  Can someone get Chris Pratt out of the gym because he was well on his way to being a comedy megastar.  He’s fine as an action dude, but I like comedies more than action movies so…DO WHAT I SAY!  Andy Dwyer is new-age Chris Farley and Nick Offerman as Ron Swanson makes you want to grow a mustache and be surly to all your co-workers.  This show is a good chip.  It’s not KING CHIP.  It might be the same brand as KING CHIP, but it’s a different flavor.  *FOOD ANALOGY = BUFFALO BLEU KETTLE CHIP’S
  4. Friday Night Lights:  Binging dramas can be difficult.  This show would be higher on just a list of favorite shows of all-time, but it still places as rewatchable because Coach Taylor is my idol.  I don’t even say that as a joke anymore.  When we first watched it, I’d say “I wanna be Coach Taylor” to the VP with like a smirk.  Like, I was sending that thought out as a trial balloon.  But with distance, comes perspective and I think I actually want to become the fictional coach from “Friday Night Lights”.  I would like to coach High School football in Texas.  Did I play? I mean, not really, but…I like football a WHOLE BUNCH!  Guys, A WHOLE BUNCH!  Also, I think I can pull off the gruff, kinda moody, kinda nice, kinda mean, but..oh wait…he’s tough too-type of persona.  Also, not to brag, but I pull off mid-length socks and khaki shorts like I was born in ’em.  This show is truly aspirational much the way a complicated rice dish is.  Much the way I think I could actually become Coach Taylor, you think you won’t fuck up the rice in that complicated, yet delicious looking rice-based dish.  You will fuck up the rice.  *FOOD ANALOGY = COMPLICATED RICE-BASED DISH
  5. Arrested Development:  The new seasons on Netflix don’t count.  Seriously, do not tell me that “they’re actually pretty good”.  I don’t believe you and I don’t care.  The original first 3 seasons of this show are so damn smart and funny that they’re all that matters here.  Cool thing about binging this show is that you can get through those first 3 seasons in a reasonable amount of time.  It’s not going to take your life over.  The most fun debate to have about this show is to ask your friends who their fave character is.  The easy answer is Gob, but guess what? THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S WRONG!  Jesus H, I’m so tired of trying to sound smarter than I actually am and picking someone other than Gob for fave character.  “You see, the thing with George Michael that everyone overlooks is-“SHUT UP JIMMY!  It’s Gob.  Convo over.  You’re not that smart.  I’m aware you can make the case for Tobias, but uhhhhhhh NO.  And if you even bring Michael into this arena you will be hanged at the behest of the king (me.  I’m the king here.  King Chair).  This show is so damn funny and I’ve seen it so many times, but I still find little moments that I missed.  It’s like ordering trying a new item or condiment from a fast food restaurant you go to all the time…and being impressed with it.  *FOOD ANALOGY = MCDONALD’S BUFFALO SAUCE (my new KING SAUCE for Chicken Nuggy’s.  Game changer, guys.  Game changer.)

That’s the list.

MY WORLD:

I shaved my facial hair into a mustache this weekend because getting under The VP of Ops’ skin is really fun for me.  That was the reason.  I don’t think it looks good.  In fact, I know it does not look good, and I’m not secure enough to try to convince people that I don’t care about that (although, I DEFINITELY did that this weekend.  I got a few “it actually doesn’t look that bad”s from friends and I lied when I responded “dude, I don’t even care.  I just think it’s funny.”  I cared.  I care.)  

stache*not gonna lie, shades and stache are a solid combo

I did this a few weeks back when The VP of Ops was out of town for the weekend and my brother thought it was funny.  That was fun.  When the VP got back in town, she recoiled at the sight of me and my stache.  I ended up shaving it before going into work that Monday because I was nervous about having to act like debuting a mustache wasn’t a big deal to me.  (Oh this thing? God, I totally forgot I even had it.  I don’t know..just felt like it.  How do I think it looks?  I don’t even care.)  I’m so not that guy.  (DAMNIT!  CAN I PLEASE BE THAT GUY SOMEDAY? GOD? PLEASE!  I WANNA BE THE “WHATEVER” GUY!  THEY’RE SO COOL!  NOTHING BOTHERS THEM!  THEY JUST SAY “WHATEVER” AND SMOKE ANOTHER CIGARETTE!)  I am, unfortunately for The VP of Ops, the “This Pisses My Wife Off, So It’s Hilarious”-guy.

It’s why I tie light jackets around my waist in the fall and early spring.  Is it comfortable and convenient? Yes, of course.  But, it also causes The VP to give me the side-eye and whisper something to me like “really? You’re really doing that in public next to me?”  Uh….yeah babe!  I’m doing this to you in public.  (I like to laugh!  So sue me!) It’s why I wear sunglasses that are like a 4 on the looks scale.  Do I want to buy cool-guy shades from a designer that my hipster brother told me about? Yes.  But then The VP wouldn’t be moderately embarrassed to introduce me-wearing my gas station hotboi shades-to a friend of hers I’d yet to meet.  WHERE’S THE FUN IN THAT?!?!

Now, because I am having so much fun thinking of all the times I have done something with the primary goal being to make The VP of Ops uncomfortable/mad/embarassed at me..I will be debuting a new section to my Monday blogs from here on out.  The section will be called “The Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The Vp of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”.  Look forward to a full-on story next Monday and many Monday’s from here on out.  In the meantime, I look forward to brainstorming new ways to accomplish this…cuz there are like a lot of Monday’s in the future of the world AND I GOTTA GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to run through a brick wall right about now.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I just hate this fucking song.  Remember when it was super popular?  What the fuck was that all about?

 

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

I’m not going to lie to you guys, this NCAA tournament has been an unmitigated disaster for my gambling account and…life.  Like, the amount of new deposits I’ve made into this account are nearing the “is this actually impacting my life”-zone.  It’s scary and kind of invigorating all at the same time.  I am saving my remaining balance, however, for this Thursday’s games when the tourney returns.  That’s the plan at least…stay tuned.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

Navigating Sports Fans at Work Today (3/15/2018)

OUR WORLD:

Today is the first day of the NCAA Tournament, the REAL kick-off for March Madness.  This is the 4th of July in the middle of March, celebrated indoors, without fireworks or hot dogs, but…GODDAMNIT, YOU GET WHAT I’M SAYING. (I’m on edge, and I’m not apologizing for it today.  I’m a full pot of coffee deep and my nerves are….FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP BARKING BELLE!!!)  Today is a super big deal for sports fans, and the fact that a candidate hasn’t run on a “I’ll make the first 2 days of March Madness National Holidays”-platform is a real mystery.  (Jimmy Politics IS IN THE BUILDING!!!)  However, I do realize that today is also a prime day for the non-sports fans to poke fun at  and needle people of my ilk.  I am asking, for the sake of sports NUTZ everywhere, that you refrain from doing that today.  (I’m not kidding.  This is not a joke and that is why there is no joke being inserted here.  This is a serious ask from a serious man.  Simply, today is not the day.  NOT. THE. DAY.)  Along those lines, here is a guide for you non-sporties out there at work today looking to steer clear of the  glare/wrath/shout/get-the-fuck-away-from-me-RIGHT-NOW-ANDY:

*Before I begin, from here on out, I will be referring to the Sports Fans as “Jimmy’s” and the Non-Sports Fans “Hitler’s” because I am Jimmy and, I don’t know, “Hitler’s” has a ring to it.

This Morning:  The “Jimmy’s” will be BOUNCING into work.  No coffee crash this morning because they’re going to keep drinking it until lunch.  Can’t crash if you never stop, everyone knows this.  The train to PURE-BLIND-JOY-VILLE has left the station and the Jimmy’s are hanging off the sides waving their newsboy caps in the air like they did in the old-timey movies.  We’re going to paradise!

The-Train

Adrenaline through the roof because ALL of the “Jimmy’s” have convinced themselves that this is they year they win their NCAA pool.  (I am SO in that mindset right now.)  They’re settling in to their desks and smiling and shooting cool head nods at everyone, including the “Hitler’s”.

This is the part of the day where a Hitler may get caught in the middle of a few Jimmy’s talking about what upsets they have today.  Hitler’s, this is the only time you will be able to make the “Sports!” joke without SEVERELY pissing off a Jimmy (saying “Sports!” in the middle of a sports convo is Hitler’s go-to “joke” even though it never actually makes people laugh.  Next time, just say “I feel left out!” Same effect.  It’s what I do when people talk about wrestling or books.) 

The Jimmy’s will be listening to good-times music (think, “Valerie” by Steve Winwood on repeat) because they need positive vibes.  Don’t even think about putting the office speakers on something like Bon Iver or The National because positive vibes and positivity and being optimistic and everything is going to be great! I FEEL GREAT!  THIS IS GOING GREAT!!!! (I literally just said “I feel great!” outloud in my chair while listening to “Valerie”)  Hitler’s, get it out now.  You can’t touch the Jimmy’s at this moment.  Roll your eyes, audibly sigh and say stuff like “Tom, is your powerpoint ready for the meeting?”

As we near tip, the Jimmy’s will be chair dancing, making explosion noises like “BOOOOSH” after every e-mail they fire off, smirking at fellow Jimmy’s around the office and, fuck it!  LET’S DANCE GUYS!  TODAY IS OUR DAY!!!! TODAY IS OUR FUCKING DAY!!!!

Lunchtime:  The Jimmy’s are beginning to split into factions now.  Some are winning, some are beginning to lose and crumble.  The coffee crash is expedited with a lunchtime beer.  Hitler’s, watch out for the Jimmy who orders the second lunchtime beer…they are entering a dark place and you don’t deserve any of the attitude they’re about to throw your way.  “I don’t know, Bill.  I said I’d get to it after lunch!”  These types of minor outbursts are to be expected at the point.  Not too mean, but they’re getting close.  You did nothing wrong, okay? It’s not-HEY!  It’s not your fault!

You will also notice that The Jimmy’s are beginning to turn on each other.  Rivaling factions of Jimmy’s in the same vicinity is a recipe for dis–well, not disaster.  More like, “I get it, your sleeper is up 13 at half”-type tiffs.  No one is super pissy yet, but there are some Jimmy’s who are beginning to question if this really is their year.  (Wait? But…this is my year, isn’t it?  This can’t…this just can’t be.)

Post-lunch self-awareness for Jimmy’s will be at an all-time low.  They will be mediocre, AT BEST, at their job and that is not okay (but like, it kinda is).  I point this out because Hitler’s need to stand back now.  Don’t go up to a Jimmy to see if they “returned that e-mail yet.”  It’s not the time.  Now is the time to for the Jimmy’s to be smashing the refresh button on ESPN.com’s NCAA scoreboard.  Pretend you can’t hear their muted cheers or stifled curse words or audible “his foot was on the line!”‘s.  Jimmy’s are not looking for conversation, they are talking to God.

Early Afternoon:  The Jimmy’s will be rubbing their faces and blinking very hard at this point.  If they’ve taken losses in the first batch of games, they’re giving themselves pep talks.  If they’ve hit on some wins, they’re probably taking deep breaths while mouthing words like “calm down, just the start.  Long way to go.”  They’re a little more approachable at this point, but no sudden movements or brazen attempts at sarcasm.  It’s a fragile time.  If Wright State beats Tennessee, they’re back on track..but…STAYING POSITIVE!  NO BUTS!  WE’RE ONLY THINKING HAPPY THOUGHTS RIGHT NOW!

Hitler’s, if you REALLY need something done for work, now is the last time you can ask.  Be gentle and kind with your requests.  The Jimmy’s are beginning to feel a twinge of guilt for ignoring 3 hours worth of e-mails, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have good hearts.  They’re ready to do some, SOME! work, but don’t get nuts or mad.  A simple, “Hey Jimmy, if you have time, would you mind?”  Done.  Love the ask, and, guess what? Doing it right now!  Sorry if I was a little short earlier.  Then they’ll make an embarrassed smile, shake their heads and roll their eyes a little at how childish they’ve acted.

leo-decaprio-shoulder-shrug

This is when you, Hitler, give the confused, “Don’t even worry about it!”-look with a lazy airwave.  You’ll jump straight to the top of a Jimmy’s “he/she is a good person” list with a move like that.

The second batch of games begins and their concentration will begin to wane back into the ESPN scoreboard.  If they haven’t finished whatever they “need” to finish…it’s gonna have to wait.  Mmmkay?  It’s just gonna have to wait.

End of Day:  The Hitler’s have probably had it by now.  I get it, being surrounded by a group of people who are SUPER interested in something you have no idea about, must SUCK.  I am not friendly in situations like this.  Like, when I go to Farmer’s Markets in the summer and people are freaking out about $7 tomatoes, but all I can think about is how hot I am and how Mariano’s ALWAYS has tomatoes…that are ALWAYS cheaper.  “Not getting it” stinks, and I want you Hitler’s to know, that I know, that it stinks.

You’ve had to put up with en entire day of adults wildly cheering for and against teenagers that they’ve never met.  It’s a dynamic that’s easy to mock, but doing so is a total dick move.  No matter how funny your “You didn’t even go to that school”-reminder may be, no one will laugh.  You’ve had to swallow all of your go-to “sports don’t matter as much as the thing I like”-jokes and quips for an entire work day AND YOU’RE READY TO BLOW.

Therefore, this is the most dangerous time of day.  The Hitler’s have HAD IT with the lack of productivity and barbarism of The Jimmy’s, and The Jimmy’s have lost a few games by now and are beginning to calculate how much money they have spent on failed brackets over the past 5 years.  (Don’t!  Guys!  Guys!  Don’t do that!)  The exit from work must be careful for both parties.  To avoid setting off this powder keg, here’s what I suggest for the walk out: Jimmy’s should identify themselves by tying their coat around their waist.  (I do this on the reg because A) The VP of Ops HATES it and B) It’s makes sense sometimes).  Hitler’s should identify themselves by, no matter the weather, wearing their fingerless gloves (come on, I know you have them.)  Waist-coaters should not get in the same elevator as the fingerless-glovers, and Fingerless-glovers should not ask the Waist-coaters how their day was.  This is the time of day where it’s just better to be safe than sorry.  Avoid each other.

Tomorrow will be similar.  Don’t fight it.

MY WORLD:

Today’s “My World” is short and sweet…CUZ STEVE WINWOOD JAMS!!!  This is my year to win a bracket because I never have and The VP of Ops has and that is bananaland UNFAIR.  I plan on dominating the television whenever I am home over the next 96 hours and not. apologizing. for. it.

VALERIEEEEEE!  CALL ON ME!  CALL ON ME, VALERIE!  COME AND SEE ME!  I’M THE SAME BOY I USED TO BE!

(one of my top 6 favorite things to do in life, is to sneak up behind the VP of Ops and whisper into her ear “I’m the same boy I used to be.”)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

heirloom-tomatoes-on-sale-at-a-farmers-market-isaquah-washington-BNMKEC

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: 

Listen, I’m officially afraid of the JimmysChair gambling curse and today is not the day to test it.  Therefore, I will simply wish you all luck.  The next 4 days are going to be a grind, pack a lunch.

(My account currently at $67)

K bye.

Life Predictions and Top Ten Chip List (3/14/2018)

MY WORLD: 

 

Have you been noticing something about this blog?  (This is a great lead in for a sick, deep burn at my expense.  BRING IT ON!)  Jimmy’s Chair is a stone-cold curse maker.  If I write about rules for the gym, the next time I go to the gym there will be a guy shadowboxing on the treadmill next to me (this happened last night.  I glared at him 3 times and then reminded myself that a guy who shadowboxes on a treadmill at Planet Fitness probably also carries a sharp knife in case he “gets stepped to.”  I ain’t steppin!)  If I pick a team to win, they will lose (UCLA lost to a made up school last night even though I used my lucky vape pen ON A SCHOOLNIGHT!)  If I write about the impending arrival of spring, there will be a snowstorm (I had to pull over for 20 minutes yesterday because it was snowing so hard that I couldn’t see 50 feet in front of me.)  With this in mind, I would like to make a few life predictions that I feel confident in and are in no way an attempt at a reverse jinx (everyone act normal.  No sudden movements. Shut up shut up shut up shut up)

My dog Belle will never calm down and be nice to anyone aside from The VP of Ops and I.  Great!  Grand!  Wonderful!  The VP of Ops texted me about Belle’s latest psycho-freak-out while I was at the gym last night (working out, it’s a thing I do.  Running mostly, but that’s because I have kind of a natural muscle tone.  Thanks for asking.)  

*Here’s the actual text exchange…I don’t know how to make the image smaller, back off.

IMG_3426

I’ve come to peace with the fact that Belle will never get better.  Dogs are supposed to be cuddly and nice especially when they look like a stuffed animal, but you know what?  Even Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents loved him and I wuv my wittle cannibal doggy!  I completely accept the fact that bringing her to my parents house is not in the cards.  I look forward to the complications that will arise when The VP and I plan a vacation, only to realize that the ONE COUPLE that Belle actually gets along with, is out of town that week.  Then, when we ask my brother to housesit, as a last resort, I understand and accept that he will make up an excuse because the one time he did watch her, she growl-barked at him into a corner for over 4 hours (this happened.  He called me in Memphis and told me “she’s not calming down”.  I responded “you’re breaking up! I can’t hear you!”)  Guys, guess who is looking forward to the next time we have to bring Belle to a kennel only to have The VP cry the whole car ride after dropping her off?  I AM, GUYS! ME!  And when we have kids with psycho-killer-cannibal-dog?  Let’s just say, SIGN ME UP!  This is going to be great.

The VP of Ops and I will continue to rent one bedroom apartments in Chicago for the next 20 years minimum.  Uhhhhhhh “yes, please!”  Guys, when you get a chance to live on the third floor of a walk-up in a neighborhood known for carjackings and the occasional drive-by shooting, you find the nearest pen cuz that lease ain’t gonna sign itself!  (If my parents or the VP’s parents are reading this, I would like to point out that I once got in a fight in Los Angeles and I didn’t even cry.  So…yeah, you could say I’m pretty tough.)  Maybe I want my money to go to the pockets of a landlord I’ve never met, who thinks fixing the heat in December is “optional”.  Is that so bad?  Last I checked, being different is what sets the great ones apart.  I’m different, okay?  I bet you REGULARS enjoy having bathrooms larger than an “Anorexic” port-a-potty too, huh?  Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Not me!  I’m unique! And beautiful!  Look, I can touch both walls in here! And no, I’m not at all bummed at the prospect of having to park at night on Carjack Boulevard for the rest of my adult life.  EXCUUUUUUSE ME for marching to the beat of a different drummer!

A hiring person at a major online publication will never read this blog and offer me a well-paying writing job in a warm weather city.  Getting up at 6AM to write hundreds of words is something I do because I love the act of writing and, hopefully, making someone having a rough day laugh a little bit.  That’s what it’s all about, guys.  I’m not here to somehow miraculously, against all odds, build a big audience that could gain the attention of someone at a website like The Ringer, who would then reach out to me with an e-mail with the subject line “Your writing has caught our attention and we have a ton of money to spend on new hires!”  I’m not here for that.  I’m here because this is a hobby that makes me feel good AND THAT’S IT!  Money just doesn’t move my needle, if you catch my drift.  Now, I don’t judge you if money is your primary motivation, but that’s just not me.  I’m a “for-the-love-of-the-game”-guy.  I’m the 38 year minor league catcher content with never making “the show” because I’m here for the guys, for the fans, for the love of the game.  If you’re having a rough day at work, boss is really busting your hump, I hope this blog can maybe make you smile…even for just a second.  If I can put one smile, on one strangers face, then I’ve done my job here.

Guys, you smell that?  That’s the smell of STONE. COLD. LEAD. PIPE. LOCKS.  Take these to your bookie and empty all of your accounts with money in them on these predictions.  No way in God’s green, beautiful earth these don’t happen.  (Don’t move…don’t!  Shut up shut up shut up.  Act normal!)

OUR WORLD:  

WARNING: I’m about to delve into some pretty personal and, frankly, heavy issues.  If you’re not okay with possibly crying at your desk, then you may want to re-think reading this section…

It’s National Chip Day.  I know this because I love chips (and also because a friend of mine texted me “It’s National Chip Day”).  In honor, of these salty, crispy, edible shapes, I would like to present you with my TOP TEN CHIP LIST.  Now, I actually compiled a list like this a few weeks back when my friends and I got into a very heated, very prolonged argument about Flamin’ Hot Cheetos (some of these friends are raising kids.  I’m excited about the next generation.)  Unfortunately, my original TOP TEN CHIP LIST is lost in the sea of this group text, so I’m going to do my best to recreate it here.  Oh, and Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-lovers need to get over themselves, you’re not impressing ANYBODY by pretending to like a mediocre/obscure chip.  These are the same people that swear they love the taste of Malort.  Get da fuck outta here!

JIMMYSCHAIR TOP TEN CHIPS

  1. Kettle “Salt and Vinegar”:  The undisputed king chip flavor and Kettle does it best.
  2. Dorito “Nacho Cheese”:  The “I haven’t had these in a while”-chip that ALWAYS blows you away.
  3. Lays “Original Salted”:  Classic and perfect.  You don’t like these? Leave.
  4. Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles:  The VP intro’d me to these and OH MOMMA JOMMA deez iz good.
  5. Frito Scoops:  Yeah, I said it!  Fritos are amazing, and guess what? Frito Scoops are just BIGGER Fritos.  Bigger = better…everyone knows this.
  6. BBQ Pringles:  Pringles always sneak up on you and their BBQ flavor is ON POINT.
  7. Jimmy John’s Jalapeno:  They’re spicy, but not too spicy, and go great inside their sandy’s.  Beach Club with these smashed in.  Goodnight nurse.
  8. Cool Ranch Doritos:  Doritos know what they’re doing mmmmkay?
  9. BBQ Lays:  A close second to regular Lays.  Guess what these go great with? A barbecue.  Nailed it.
  10. Cape Cod Salted:  These will punish the roof of your mouth, but they’re totally worth it because CHIPS!

Feel free to debate me on these rankings, but know that I am positive that this is the definitive list.  If yours is different IN ANY WAY, you obviously don’t know chips.  Happy National Chip Day!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

All Hail King Chip!

      Kettle.jpg

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Worst chip of all time.

Bugles

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: 

UCLA losing to St. Bonaventure last night was completely ridiculous for so many reasons that I can’t believe Bovada is actually accepting that it happened.  UCLA acting like they’ve never seen a zone defense before is something beyond anyone’s control (except our coach, Steve Alford, who should be FIRED IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE I’M MAD!)  That one’s not my fault, plain and simple.  Not my fault.  Tonight?  Listen, I don’t want to lie to you guys, here’s what’s going to happen:  I’m going to wait until the last minute and then probably empty my Bovada account on Syracuse over Arizona State because Syracuse has a coach who people think is a good coach.

(My account currently at $34.11)

K bye.

Spring is Coming and Gym Rules (3-13-2018)

OUR WORLD:

Now that daylight savings time has arrived (or left? What’s the difference?) I have started my official countdown to Spring activities!  ACTIVITIES!  Yes, it’s 31 degrees outside today, but it’s sunny and it’s March 13 and GODDAMNIT I CAN’T TAKE THE WINTER ANYMORE!!!  People who live in cold weather cities turn into fatter, sadder, angrier versions of themselves from November through whenever it’s 55+ degrees for three days in a row.  This past February, I got so fed up with everything that I bit my steering wheel. And when I say “bit”, I mean I kinda screamed and definitely chomped down on it.  You could see teeth marks in my steering wheel for a few hours.  There’s bitter cold, shoveling, salt stains on everything, darkness, you have to put those fuckin booties on your dog every time you go outside, and wear that jacket that makes you look puffy AND I’M BITING MY STEERING WHEEL!!!! That’s what a Chicago winter is like; you bite your steering wheel.

So, once March hits, you start thinking about the activities you’re going to get to do that will signify making it through the wars of winter.  It’s a time of hope, that lasts until…god, we’re gonna have another snowstorm I know it…

Drinking a beer outside:  You’re toasting right in the face of winter once you’re able to do this.  “Hey Winter, have fun with the dumb penguins in Antarctica!”  It’ll probably still be a little chilly when you have your first outside beer of the season, but you’ll pretend that you’re not shivering and don’t need a jacket.  (I said I’m done with jackets!)  It will always be my favorite Chicago sight to walk around the blocks of bars in mid-March when it’s 53 degrees and EVERYBODY is sitting outside pretending they’re not cold.  It’s such a meatball/hardo-move, but the entire city takes part in it.  We are all meatballs.

Pretending you’re excited at a Cubs game before mid-May:  Going to Wrigley is straight fantastic, but April/Early-May games are BRUTAL and you’ll never admit that to your friends.  Every year, you’ll get invited to a game where the weather won’t be great, and you’ll have to fake that you’re blown-away-excited about going.  While there, however, all you’re thinking is “Jesus baseball is slow, this beer stinks and I. AM. FREEZING!” Then you’ll smile at your friends and talk about how glad you are that “baseball is back!”

Buying a new pair of shoes that look AWESOME only when wearing shorts:  I bought a pair of light tan leather slipper shoes (don’t know what those are called) that had little pineapple-bombs on them last year.  It was a pretty hipster purchase for me, but I was blinded by my early-March excitement and convinced myself that, with shorts, I’d look like one sexy papa in ’em.  The next 40 days of wearing mostly pants (and not the pineapple-bomb shoes because they look no bueno with pants) definitely cooled my excitement about these shoes, but the act of buying them is a tradition that is not worth abandoning.  This year, I’m thinking, wait for it, about boat shoes.  It’s been a while since I rocked the boat shoes and shorts look, but I’m thinking since my wife is southern and Jimmy Good Times LIVES for the summer months, that boat shoes are a due for a Jimmy comeback.  (I will be nervous about what people at work say about me wearing boat shoes, but I’m a brave boy.  Dad? YOUR SON IS A BRAVE LITTLE BOY!)

I’m aware that full-on warm weather is a ways out, but just shut up and let me dream for once in my miserable life.  This is the time of the year for hope.  I hope that I’m going to gamble myself into millions during March Madness.  I hope that I get to drink a beer outside in the next 2 weeks.  I hope that I don’t have to shovel my car out of a parking spot and then get in my car only to get cut off by a guy wearing a skull cap before 7:45 AM.  I hope I don’t have to bite my steering wheel again.

MY WORLD:

There are people that go to the gym, that have no right to be there and I feel it is my duty to stand up and say “GET OUT!”  While the majority of my time inside the greasy purple walls of Planet Fitness is spent trying to not look at the clock, the remaining time is spent convincing myself not to say anything to the mutant next to me.  It’s rush hour traffic with body odor and no laws, I’m amazed there hasn’t been a real life “The Purge: Planet Fitness”.  (No, I have not seen any of “The Purge” movies because they’re scary and “Unsolved Mysteries” gave me nightmares as a kid.)

Now, I am aware that some people get nervous about going to the gym.  I have friends like this (I call them “Slobs”).  I think I understand the fear of being a gym beginner.  Nervous about not knowing what to do, not knowing how machines work, being judged for getting gassed after 4 minutes.  I get it.  I feel like that when I go to the weights section now, after not lifting for like 5 years.  (Do what I do when you get gassed super quick; grimace and grab your arm.  Try “working it out” by stretching your arm and then shake your head all disappointed like “damn, when will these war injuries heal?!?”  Boom, sympathetic character.)  

I’m not talking to my “Slobbo” friends (it’s making me laugh, but I don’t mean it).  I don’t want to ban beginners.  I simply want to institute some rules for the roads.  This is what I propose:

1)  If you are “the smelly guy/girl” who can’t seem to shake B.O., then you either have to wrap your pits with industrial saran wrap, or wear a MINIMUM of 6 thick sweatshirts to hide the stink.  Look, thankfully I have not been cursed with chronic B.O. and while I’m sympathetic to those who have been, there MUST be more awareness.  When I’m on the treadmill and Shteve (not “Steve,” his name is “Shteve”), the data miner/amateur gamer, gets on the one next to me with his nerd B.O. I have to stop myself EVERY TIME from stopping my treadmill just to glare at him while shaking my head.  (Instead, I’ll normally do cool passive aggressive things like audibly sighing or coughing.)  I don’t know if B.O. is like a medical issue without a cure (probably? right?) but you can’t dare people to offend you by pretending it’s not there.  (Did you say I stink?  YOU’RE A STINKIST!)  Listen, I get some gnarly looking rashes on the backs of my knees sometimes, and you know what I do?  I WRAP THEM UP BECAUSE I AM SELF-CONSCIOUS AND DO NOT WISH TO SUBJECT THE PUBLIC TO THIS HORRIFIC SIGHT!  In short, if you stink, get out.

2)  When getting dressed in the locker room, pants go on as soon as humanely possible.  What childhood trauma happened to these people who put their shirts on first?  If you put your shirt on first when getting dressed, your credit score should be docked 800 points because it’s time you leave this society.  Now, I don’t know about ladies locker rooms (because I don’t go in there, but I do have certain dreams about it and I do not wish to hear about your stories that do not align EXACTLY with my dreams.  Thanks for understanding,) BUT, men’s locker rooms in gyms that have men over the age of 50 are an absolute horror show.  I think something snaps with guys who have been married for 20+ years where the only way they can remind themselves that their balls actually do exist is by parading around their gym’s locker room in a shirt and no pants.  “Look everyone!  My testicles ARE here!  All of these mirrors and your horrified faces are proof!”

Ladies, this is a common thing in Men’s locker rooms.  An older dude will shower, come out of the shower and put the towel around his shoulders as he SLOWLY saunters his fat ass back to his locker.  Once there, he’ll sit down (BARE-ASS!) on the bench in front of the lockers for a not-so-quick breather.  Men like me (sane people) gasp at each other, in a whispered panic, to remind each other that this is not okay.  Old Balls McGee then, FINALLY, begins to get dressed only to disappoint EVERYONE IN THE HISTORY OF SOCIETY when he puts a shirt on and hits pause on the dressing process.  (Wait? You’re done?  NO!!! SIR!!! THE PANTS!!! THE PANTS!!!)  He’ll then take a lap around the locker room to make us all feel bad for his wife before using the hair dryer on the 8 hairs still in his dome…AND THEN HE USES THE SAME HAIR DRYER ON HIS BALLS IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR!

If the FBI hasn’t already begun forming a task force, I have lost faith in my government.

3)  If you are walking on a treadmill next to your companion and carrying on a conversation the entire time, you might as well be at home.  I’m not saying you can’t talk to someone, but the gym is a stop-and-chat-zone ONLY!  When I can’t fully hear my Bill Simmons Podcast because you’re too busy recounting why your boss sucks to your friend for 45 minutes, I should be allowed to chop both your heads off with an axe (I have thought of the appropriate punishment for this offense for years, and there’s no way around it, the loppin’ off the head with an axe move makes the most sense.)  Listen, I’m not a fan of treadmill walkers to begin with, but if you’re able to carry on a full conversation throughout a “workout”…YOU’RE NOT WORKING OUT!  You’re supposed to be panting, or at least focusing on how to breathe normally so you don’t pass out, fall down and get shot back into the wall by the belt of your treadmill.  (One time, I closed my eyes while on a treadmill, took a wrong step and got catapulted into the wall behind me by the treadmill.  Unrelated, I did not get laid in High School.)  

What these walker talkers must understand is that everyone else in the gym is trying to distract themselves from the fact that they are in the gym.  That’s why there are televisions and podcasts and music.  It allows you to zone out, and forget that you’re doing something that’s not that fun.  However, once that zone-out-zone is penetrated by your shrill voice and dull stories, the illusion disappears and we remember that we’re in fucking Planet Fitness and not eating Salt & Vinegar chips while watching Sportscenter.  The way you would never wake a sleepwalker, do not disrupt the workout zone-out.

That’s it, guys.  Those are the 3 main rules:  No stink, no balls, no talk.  There are many other things at the gym that annoy the shit out of me, but I will keep those to myself like a proper Irish-Catholic rage bottler that I am.  If you are a gym newbie and you follow these rules…I don’t know, I’ll probably find something else you there that’ll annoy me because I LIKE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT PEOPLE I WILL PROBABLY NEVER GET TO KNOW!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Almost warm = spring = baseball = fathers and sons making grown men strangers cry with sweet moments like this

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Screen Shot 2018-03-13 at 10.17.16 AM.png

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: 

UCLA’s play-in game is tonight against St. Bonaventure and I’m going to bet on UCLA (-3.5) because I went there and I have never seen St. Bonaventure play basketball.  Do I think UCLA is any good this year? Not really.  BUT! When you’re dumb and don’t know anything about one of the teams playing, but you like to gamble, you put money on the team you want to root for.  Classic Jimmy move here.

(My account currently at $59.11)

K bye.

March Madness and Sunday Groceries

OUR WORLD:

The NCAA Tournament starts Thursday.  Actually, it starts like Tuesday with these ridiculous “Play-In” games that nobody cares about except…ME!  OMG GUYS, I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT THEM THIS YEAR!  Ucla plays St. Bonaventure on Tuesday and I’m terrified because I kinda remember hearing someone talk about “The Bonnies!” like 8 years ago during March Madness, and that makes me think they’re gonna pound UCLA.  And that, my friendos, is why this time of year is just lovely.  EVERYBODY IS ABOUT TO JOIN ME IN THE GAMBLING POOL AND SHARE THEIR RIDICULOUS REASONS FOR PICKING CERTAIN “SLEEPERS”!  (Except, they’re not ridiculous if you have a system and my system is SO due to work that anyone in a gambling pool with me this year should just Venmo me their money now.  Guys, I’m coming for fucking blood this year.)

As we all know, I do place wagers from time to time because I’m a gentleman and need a release from the endless, overwhelming stresses of adulthood that cause some people to do crack cocaine under a bridge.  I’m not doing crack cocaine under a bridge, okay? So, how ’bout ya fuckin cool it with the personalized “gambling is bad for Jimmy” PSA’s?  I REPEAT, I AM NOT DOING CRACK COCAINE UNDER A BRIDGE!  (Real talk, I don’t know what “doing crack cocaine” really means…Smoking I think? But, you snort cocaine so…you snort smoke? Yep, got it.  Thanks guys.)  Now that we’ve established that gambling IS part of a healthy lifestyle, I would like to share with you how I pick the games in the NCAA tourney.

First, I would like to point out that I went 6 for 7 on NCAA bball picks this past weekend.  I am aware that you may be skeptical, but there is proof in my bovada account.  Therefore, it is official that I. AM. BACK.  The best teams put it together when it counts, and that’s exactly what I have done.  Credit to me for sticking with it and ignoring the haters.  As Rocky Balboa said, in the feature film Rocky Balboa: “It ain’t about how hard ya hit.  It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”  (I sent a GIF with this quote on Saturday morning because it was truly inspiring).  

Second, this time of year is a dangerous time of year because gambling RUBES think it’s their turn to share all their “secrets” because they won a work pool six years ago.  The VP of Ops is one of these people, and I have had it!  She placed 2nd or maybe 3rd in a work pool a couple years back or, as she puts it, she “Won”.  (Uhhhh, no ya didn’t.)  Therefore, she has felt it necessary to remind me that she picked Villanova when nobody else did (even though they were a favorite and many many people definitely picked them), so I should now listen to her gambling methods.  Seriously, within the past 36 hours, The VP of Ops has reminded me that she “won” (aka didn’t win) her work pool at least 19 billion thousand times.  I GET IT!  She’ll then recall her thought process when she picked Villanova as “ya’ know, I just heard someone say their name and I liked the way it sounded.”  Oh, you did?  Did you hear Jay Bilas say “Villanova is a one seed and, thus, a favorite to win the whole thing?” and then pick them?!?! IT WASN’T THAT GREAT OF A PICK!  JESUS H, SOMEBODY SAVE ME FROM THIS HELLSCAPE!!!!

Now that we’ve established that I’m back and The VP of Ops should pipe down with her “tips”, here is how I go about picking teams in the NCAA Tourney:

1)  Do they have a player that I have heard is going to be a high NBA draft pick?  If yes, they’re going to win at least 2 rounds.  If they don’t, then it falls into a whole other category of research.  This year, the teams that fall into this category include: Oklahoma (Trae Young), Arizona (Deandre Ayton), Duke (Marvin Bagley), Missouri (Michael Porter Jr.), Alabama (Colin Sexton).  I know there are other top prospects, but these are the ones I’ve heard of the most sooooo…..LOCK IT IN!

2)  Did I watch them play and win at least one game within the past 2 weeks?  If  yes, I’m probably going to pick them “because they look good”.  That team for me this year is MOS DEF Kentucky.  I watched them beat Tennessee yesterday (and win me some stinky, sweaty money) and folks, lemme tell ya’, they’re gonna make some noise.  Why?  Happy, you asked…because they looked good.  (They may end up playing Arizona in the second round and my brain hurts trying to think of what I’ll do in that sitch.)

3)  Identify the team that BONES you every year, and attempt to pick their games the opposite of what you think will actually happen.  Michigan State is this team for me EVERY. GODDAMN. YEAR.  When I pick them to go deep, they get bounced in the first round.  When they’re my upset special, they make it to the Final Four and I get to watch endless stories about how close Tom Izzo is with his “guys”.  Guess what?  This year, if I think they’re gonna win, picking them to lose.  That’s called fighting fire with fire, kids.

4)  Don’t pick the favorite to win it all.  Pick like the 3rd or 4th most likely team.  You’ve got to plan ahead and assume that some stuff hasn’t gone your way in the early goings of the tourney.  How do you make this up?  By picking a team that not everyone has picked to win it all.  This year, everyone and their dumb mom is gonna pick Duke.  Don’t pick Duke.  (I kinda wanna pick Duke).  

5)  Find a traditional football school that you’re surprised is a high seed and BET THE HOUSE against them.  This one’s the best, guys.  Works almost every time.  This year, you can pick from: Texas Tech, Auburn, and Tennessee.  One, but probably all, are going down early because, like, get fuckin’ real guys.

And that’s it.  I would say I wish you all tremendous amounts of luck as you venture into the gambling paradise that is March Madness, but I don’t wish that.  I hope you lose.  I hope I win.

P.S. If you see The VP of Ops over the next 3 days, ask her about the time she picked Villanova.  She’ll light up and immediately start telling you every single detail about why she picked them.  As she starts to do this, put your hand in her face and say something cool like “long hair, don’t care,” then walk away.  Do this for me.  Thank you.

MY WORLD:

My underrated favorite part of the weekend is doing my weekly grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon.  It’s a grownup thing that I’ve really only started doing in the past year-ish, but it has become my preferred method of getting over the last remnants of a hangover/avoiding the Sunday Scaries for another hour.  My grocery shopping routine, however, includes an endless inner-dialogue where I’m constantly talking myself out of buying the unhealthier (but way tastier) options.

For instance, the grocery store that I go to the most has the produce section right when I walk in.  I’ll grab bananas (NANAS!), brussels sprouts, broccoli, potatoes, some sort of lettuce, and maybe a big fruit that requires carving for The VP of Ops (this fruit will 100% get old and rot before The VP ever cuts into it.  I will remind her of this CERTAINTY before we buy it, but she is forceful that “won’t happen this time”.  It will.  It always does.)  By the time, we get through the end of the produce section, we are feeling great about our healthy cart.  Someone will pass me with a cart full of carbs and I’ll shoot them a “check this shit out”-look.  The proud parade of a healthy cart, however, begins to slow as we hit the bakery section.

This is so mean when grocery stores put the bakery at the end of the produce section.  They lull you into thinking you’re healthy and then BAM, donut smells.  I normally make some sort of borderline-sexual purring sound, to which The VP responds: “don’t look don’t look don’t look.”  I want smash my fat face into the donuts and cookies and cakes and breads and I WANNA DIE IN THERE! I WANT TO DIE IN THE MARIANO’S BAKERY!  Somehow, miraculously, I don’t buy anything.  It’s a triumph.  I’ll look at The VP and we’ll share a smile as if to say “We made it.”  It’s sweet.

But then the fucking cheese section hits.  This a black hole for The VP.  I’ll normally lose her in the soft cheese section.  She’ll grab a hunk (term? no idea) of way-too-expensive soft cheese and just look at me.  She’s hoping I say yes, but scared that I will at the same time.  During the period of Chubby Jimmy, I said yes to soft cheeses too much.  Reminder: soft cheese is a gateway drug to the cracker aisle, a seemingly-innocuous aisle that kills many-a-skinny people.  I say no to these cheeses now.  The VP kinda pouts, but deep down is happy I’m such a magnificent influence (ME!).  

Once clear of the bakery and cheese section, we’re safe for a while.  Chicken, pork and steaks dive into the cart because they don’t have carbs and healthy people talk a lot about protein so…they’re all good for us.  MEAT!  Sometimes, The VP will try to talk us into buying salmon, but salmon at home stinks.  Real talk, I love salmon at a restaurant every now and then, but cooking it at home is A) gross, cuz fishy’s feel slimy, and B) the worst because your place smells like fish for the next 43 hours minimum.  No fishy.

Dairy section includes milk for coffee, butter for muffy and the occasional egg purchase if I’m feeling extra ambitious about cooking breakfast for myself that week (these eggs normally meet the same fate as VPs big fruit.  Straight trash homie.)  The VP may toss some yogurt in our cart, triggering my gag reflex HARD.  Yogurt makes a nasty sound when you swirl it and has the consistency of my nightmares.  I would rather be in a small room with angry ex-cons than be next to ANYBODY eating yogurt.  Seriously, eat yogurt alone in a closet.  It’s disgusting.

The final hurdles for me are the soda and chip aisles.  Technically, we don’t HAVE to go down either aisle, but I’m a man of intrigue…and these aisles intrigue me.  Since watching some way-too-real Katie Couric food documentary, we can’t drink soda anymore.  Evidently, it’s like poison.  (Thanks for ruining my life Katie!)  We’ll make our way to La Croix and try convince ourselves that all the flavors don’t basically taste the same (god, they’re disappointing).  The whole time, though, I’m remembering the guilt-free good old days where I’d drink Coke Zero and Diet Mountain Dew to my heart’s desire.  A faint smile will cross my face and I’ll look up to the stars cuz that’s what you do when you remember happy times.  Then The VP will dump a case of peach-pear La Croix bullshit into our cart and I’ll come crashing back down to reality.  Katie Couric can go STRAIGHT to hell.

Final aisle on the way to the register is the chip aisle and….ohhhhhh momma! Doritos, Salt & Vins, Ruffles! Guys, Lays!  They have all of them!  Again, another aisle I don’t need to go down, but I will convince myself that I really need the butter-free popcorn at the end of the aisle just so I can walk and fantasize.  Can some scientist somewhere just take a break from space stuff and focus on creating a pill that makes chips good for you?  Honestly, it’s ridiculous that this hasn’t been invented yet.  Ridiculous!

The register is the finish line.  Chubby Jimmy used to grab a York peppermint patty for the ride home, but no longer!  Now, I just plan the Sunday Night drinks menu in my head as The VP and I discuss whether it’s a “Documentary” or “Peaky Blinders” kinda-night.  Sunday Scaries creep in…and now it’s Monday and we’re all sad.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Inspiration in it’s purest form: (with spanish subtitles because I don’t know why)

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Top 10 Villain Face

Devos

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

I’m hot guys.  We all knew I’d get there, and I’m there.  Sitting out tonight to save my strength and gambling intellect for the rest of this week.  It’s gonna be a long one, guys.  Get your 8 hours.

(My account currently at $59.11)

K bye.

32 Year Old Drinking Habits and Who Should Be The Next “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette”

MY WORLD:

When your best friend has their first kid, is it appropriate to hold a funeral for the days of getting drunk together?  After my experience this past weekend, the answer is a resounding NO.  In fact, after visiting our best friends and their newborn this past weekend, it is clear that our drinking get-togethers are simply taking a turn away from crowded bars and into living rooms with GAMES!

The VP of Ops and I started dating when my roommate at the time, Mike aka “Mush”, started dating her roommate at the time, Amanda aka “Meanmomda” (cuz she’s mean to me and a mom.  Wit like this can’t be street legal.)  They had extra tickets to a concert one night, invited us, and let’s just say The VP couldn’t keep her grubby little hands off my carved-from-stone bod.  (Actually, we talked through the entire concert, pissing off EVERYONE around us.  However, we’re not the bad guys in this story because I had never heard of that band and care more about me than strangers so…like, whatever.)  HAPPILY EVER AFTER MY GUYS OMG SAHHHH KEWTTTT!!!

Fast forward a few years and this friend group has an addition in the form of a baby who is, no offense, like bald and kind of a slob (you know, with the peeing and pooing and barfing and boob grabbing).   Since Mush and Meanmomda live 7 hours away now, this past weekend was our first since the arrival of Baby Slobivia, I mean Baby Olivia.  (I immediately feel bad for making that “Slobivia” joke and vow to refer to her as Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia from here on out.)  The plan was for us to hang in one night, and then go out the next when Meanmomda’s Mom would watch Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia.

As I get further away from my 20s, my disdain for deep hangs at crowded bars grows, but there is part of me that denies this like it’ll make me younger.  (Excuse me, Bartender? Yes, I’m 32 but feel that if I admit to myself or anyone around me that I’d prefer to be on my recliner, eating pizza and watching “Parks and Rec” for the 19th time, that I will immediately become my father  Oh, so I’ll just have a vodka soda because I hate the taste, but it’s low in carbs and I’m feeling chubby.  I’m having fun!)  Thankfully, this Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia took the heat off my aging insecurities, and kept us in the first night and, folks, lemmetellya’ it was just terrific.

Mush and I enjoyed cool craft beers at a reasonable pace (NERRRRDDDSSSSS!!!!!).  VP and Meanmomda drank red wine at a faster pace because Meanmomda was just sober for 9 months and MUST. CATCH. UP.  We played “What Do You Meme?” which is a game like “Cards Against Humanity” but better because The VP and I say so.  DID I STUTTER?  While playing the game, we had a stand-up special from Tom Segura playing on the TV that Mush and I would rewind to show each other our favorite parts.  AND! We ate sandwiches from a place called Newks that I love so much I’d be willing to risk my marriage for it (like, if The VP said she’d divorce me if I didn’t stop going to Newks, I would agree to stop going there to her face.  Then, I’d get in my car, drive directly to Newks and keep going there behind her back cuz I am one bad boy who loves dem saucy sammies!!!)  

Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia cried a little bit, but mostly just drank her bottle and did a few lines of cocaine…I mean, pooped.  Meanmomda and The VP tried to cheat at the game multiple times because they both have undiagnosed personality disorders (not me though cuz I’m PERFECT! I’M THE BEST! ME!)  And we barely left the couch for the entire night and Jesus H Christopher I had a ball!

I think getting older is maybe just about having the confidence to say and do the things you ACTUALLY want to do and, the older you get, the more confidence you have.  When I was 17, I didn’t have enough confidence to fill a thimble (lamest Monopoly game piece of all time).  So if cool guy told me, when I was 17, that he’d be my friend if I put on a fancy top hat and marched around the grocery store yelling “I have to fart!” I probably would’ve started-a-marchin’ cuz my confidence was lowwwwww (do you feel bad for me? You should probably give me something then.)  

15 years later, my answer would be different thanks to my SKY-FUCKIN-HIGH level of confidence (due to my hard bod, shoutout Planet Fitness and genetic stuff but mostly my work ethic and…I have a double chin in most pictures…FUCK) Now, if I was asked by a cool guy if I’d like to ditch these parents and their new baby to go to some place sweet like “Tilted Kilt” to watch the Bulls try to lose, I would say: “Thank you for the offer Rex, but I prefer wearing sweatpants and watching Meanmomda chug red wine while cheering on Olivia’s farts.”  (The thing Mush was most excited to show me about having a baby is that they audibly fart and it’s awesome.)  

OUR WORLD:

Now that “The Bachelor” is over and Becca has been named as the next “Bachelorette” (meh) I started thinking about some celebs who should actually be the next “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette” (not gonna lie, feeling like I have to use these thingys “” every time I write “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette” IS VERY FUCKING ANNOYING!  YES I KNOW THEY’RE CALLED QUOTATION MARKS IDIOT!!! IT’S FUNNIER TO SAY “THESE THINGYS”!!!)

Jim Carrey:  He has reached peak level of “Is he a genius or just a super weird dude?”-status.  Watching him interact with 24 year old women named “Diamond” would be such a delicious cocktail of awkward, I’m sweating just thinking about it.  Imagine, a one-on-one date with Jim Carrey where he would talk about how splatter-painting is his way to mark his place in this never-ending evolution of time and space.  The girl, Diamond, would nod, start to cry a little and then ask the producers if Arie was still single.

Bill O’Reilly:  I don’t know if he’s single or not, but I would really love seeing how creepy he actually is when trying to get a woman into bed.  I also V much enjoy watching the women on this show pretend that they are INSTANTLY in love with whoever “The Bachelor” is.  No way you walk up to Arie thinking “MAN OF MY DREAMS!”  Bill O’Reilly would be that feeling times a billion.  “Oh, the saggy face guy who was on TV before it was revealed that he paid like $34 million to keep his sexts under wraps? LOVE!”  They should really put a heart rate monitor on these women and have a graphic on the screen showing us how their heart rate changes the second they step out of the limo to see the man they MUST instantly love.

Oprah:  The smart guys on the show (hello? anybody?) would be immediately excited that they hit the sugar momma lottery.  If you think guys fighting over a hot babe get competitive, just wait until they’re fighting over A BILLION DOLLAR WOMAN!  Weaponry would be allowed and the house would be deemed a lawless territory by the US Department of Justice.  Last man standing wins Oprah and her booming voice.

The Girl from “Peaky Blinders”:  I just think I really love her and would divorce the VP and try to be on the show if she was on it.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I’m not posting this in a “let’s laugh at this loon!”-type of way.  I legit love the way Jim Carrey thinks.  It’s out there, but FASCINATING.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People who wave at you after you flick them off in traffic.

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

The Nuggets lost by 17 to Dallas last night.  This is getting embarassing.  But…the night is always darkest before the dawn.  I didn’t make the bet because I was busy shaking hands and kissing babies at a work event, but I WILL BE BETTING TONIGHT!  What should I do?  God? Are you there?

South Carolina (-2.5) over Mississippi.  Please god please I’m losing faith in my gambling abilities.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

“The Bachelor” Recap and Excuses to Avoid The Gym

OUR WORLD:

I want to be more original than the rest of the internet today and write about something other than “The Bachelor”, but sadly, I am but a sheep unable to stray from my shepherd, Chris Harrison.  Last night became an exercise in distracting myself from how YUCKO I felt watching grown women get dumped on national television with cheap jokes in text message chains.  The VP of Ops told me she felt bad watching at one point early on in the show, and I snapped back that I didn’t feel bad because, as you all have hopefully learned by now, I am one tough hombre with big muscles who eats protein and NEVER APOLOGIZES!!! ARGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Like 20 minutes later, I hit the VP with a dose of original sensitivity and said that I felt bad watching this (the VP immediately reminded me that she had JUST said that and that I had shot her down.  Well guess what ladypants?!?!? My feelings matter more than yours because mine are more unexpected since I’m such a big, tough, masculine protein powerhouse who only cries when 7-11 is out of chocolate Muscle Milk Pro Series 50).  As painfully dull as Lauren B. is, she did seem to genuinely trick herself into falling in love with this professional DOOF.  So when she walked like 18 miles down that hill, dodging Alpacas in heels along the way, only to get dunked on by Arie, guilt…creeped in.  I wish I could have maniacally laughed in her face, but unless they’re true villain material (Krystal!) then I do feel bad watching a girl cry.

Okay, so we’ve established that I’m not a monster, right? Cool cool.  Dude, Arie is a SAVAGE!  My favorite part of this epic, “If I say I have to follow my heart, I’m a good guy, right?”-meltdown, aside from Chris Harrison’s sad face taking us to commercial breaks, was that Arie never came close to crying when he broke up with Becca.  If this were me, first off, I’d probably cry because I actually am a sensitive baby (just kidding Dad, this is how I reel in all the hot babes), or if I had some sort of ocular issue blocking my tears, I would at least fake it!  During the whole Becca break up scene (still going btw…Arie ain’t goin’ nowhere!) I kept thinking “Dude! At least give her a sniffle, a wipe of the eye, a bite of a quivering lip!  Something! Anything! YOU LOOK LIKE A SOCIOPATH!!!

Now even though I don’t know exactly what a sociopath is (no, I will not look it up on Dictionary.com) Arie is def a sociopath.  It means like “attention-whore” right? Whatever, going with it, feels right.  Can you imagine breaking up with someone and then refusing to leave when they ask you to?!  I’ve broken up with someone once (time to look at the empty sky and wonder “what if…”) and I literally would’ve paid her over 40 dollars for her to tell me to leave as quickly as Becca told Arie.  “I broke up with you and you don’t want to talk about it and make me feel like an even bigger asshole than I already feel like? HELL TO THE FUCK YEAH!!!! k thx byeeeee”-Me.  Meanwhile, Arie “Can we just talk” Lyin’Dick (that last name joke has probably been made already but I’m proud of it) awkwardly continued to stay after she asked him to leave like 90 gabillion times because….ohhhhhh, cuz he likes camera time.  Yep.

That’s why he didn’t cry.  I’m convinced that the only time we’ll see Arie actually cry is if he puts a GoPro on his dumb face for the moment when Chris Harrison thanks us for watching this season of “The Bachelor”.  He is so obsessed with camera-time that he maneuvered a way to get an extra episode of the show.  I almost respect how conniving he is.  You know what kind of planning had to go into this?  I imagine after the show ended, Becca would go to bed alone, probably thankful that Arie and his weird hands weren’t groping her face, and Arie would retreat to his fort in the basement with ALL of his crayons and toy race cars (They’re not toys! They’re models damnit!) so he could draw out all the ways in which he could stay on TV longer to prove to his father that he’s not a massive failure let-down (How many times do you think Arie has scream-cried “I don’t want your life!” to his race-car-legend father?)  

When Arie decided that the only reason people care about Bachelor guys after their season is if they’re massive villains, that was his only route to staying relevant.  (I’m legitimately gaining respect for this move the more and more I write it.  Is Arie a genius?)  Yes, he will be booed in the head of most women he encounters for the rest of his life, BUT, 1) there will also be the women who, just to be contrarian, will claim that they like how he “followed his heart” and 2) he will be the male version of Omarosa on reality TV for YEARS: whenever a reality show casting director needs a male villain, Arie will be the first name to pop into their head.

Meanwhile, Becca will be fine guys.  Can you spare me this whole “she’s so brave!”-chant?  Why is she brave? Because she got dooped by rich kid who can’t commit to a job, much less a woman for the rest of his life?  Puhhhhhh-lease.  Now she gets as many supportive Chris Harrison shoulder pats as she could ever want, and will probably be the next “Bachelorette”.  Hey Becca, can you say hot guy parade?!?!  Arie let her off the hook!  What would have been worse is if she had to pretend not to be creeped out by Arie’s face-grabbing-tendencies for another 3 months until she snapped and decided that being lost at sea would be a preferable existence so she rented a boat and…just…left.

What we need is for Arie to be “The Bachelor” AGAIN.  I’m not kidding.  ABC should keep quiet who the next one is, only to start next season with a quick update on where Arie and Lauren are at.  They’ll go to shoot at the home they just bought (with a sandbox in back cuz Lauren loves sandcastles!) and right as the update is about to end, Arie dabs right in Lauren’s face and sprints into a waiting helicopter.  “Luyendyk out!”  He puts on “The Bachelor” tux while in the helicopter and is dropped off right back where we started…the front door of the house as all the new girls pull up in their limos.  I can already hear the new girls trying to convince their Dads that “he’s changed.”

MY WORLD:

I didn’t go to the gym yesterday because my stomach was weird and, I gotta tell ya’, there may be no feeling better than coming up with a great excuse not to go to the gym.  The earlier you can discover it, the better, so you can enjoy a not-so-healthy lunch only to be followed by a, GUESS!  That’s right, A-NOT-SO-HEALTHY dinner!!! “Listen, I would be working out if my stomach wasn’t so weird, but I can’t so I might as well follow Potbelly with Lou Malnati’s with some peanut M&Ms as a snack in between cuz I needed a happy boost on this gray gray day!”-Me to me all day yesterday.

Now, because I’m here not just for me, but for US, I wanted to provide some excuses to get out of going to the gym that don’t make you feel as Arie should have felt but doesn’t cuz, remember, he is now “Arie-rosa” (Arie/Omarosa mash-up.  Try to keep up, this blog’s jokes wait for no one.) 

1)  “I worked out over 4 times last week, so my body needs to recover and if I take time off, the shock of the return will actually burn more calories than if I had gone everyday.”  This is a real gem (god, I love complimenting myself on my blog.  ME!)  If you’re fatter, you burn more cals so…getting a lil chub chub actually makes your next workout that much more impactful.  Listen guys, who burns more calories when walking up a flight of stairs, Michael Phelps or your fat Uncle Terry?

2)  “My spouse has to work late so I have to pretend to be mad that I can no longer go to the gym because I have to be the one to take our dog out.”  Classic Jimmy-move here.  The VP of Ops will call me later in the day, right before I’m about to head to that purple, judgement-free hell-hole of a gym (Planet Fitness? More like Planet ItsaMess…k, not my best).  She’ll tell me that she’s not going to be able to get home until later so I need to let our Princess Belle out before she makes a tee tee poo poo on the priceless rug I kinda’ stole from my parents garage.  I’ll probably exhale on the phone and go quiet cuz I’m a graduate of The University of Pout, but really, I’m kinda excited that I get to put off sweating next to a stranger who thinks wearing cologne in Planet Fitness is a good way to make friends.

3)  “Weather.”  Raining? Roads are slippery.  Snowing? Roads are slippery.  Fog? Can’t see the roads (which are probably slippery).  Wind? Car might blow over.  Sun? Sun burns guys and I don’t wear sun block because I’m not a high schooler with no friends (been there, done that). Cold? Car might freeze OR my leg muscles won’t be able to fire properly and I can’t afford to risk injury when I need my body to go to work and earn an income to pay for The VP of Ops’ insatiable appetite for rare jewels and craft mayonnaise.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People who wear cologne or perfume to the gym.

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

There’s good news and bad news.  The bad news?  Yesterday’s Milwaukee pick lost by 3 when the line was (+2.5).  The good news?  I didn’t realize the game was at 6 Eastern Time SO I COULDN’T MAKE THE BET IN TIME!  THAT’S BASICALLY A WIN GUYS!  MY FORTUNE’S HAVE OFFICIALLY TURNED!  Seriously, if that’s not a sign that I’m back, I don’t know what is.

Tonight’s moneymaker is Denver (-5) over those stanky Mavericks.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Mondays and Oscar Recap

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Omarosa

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

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

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

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.