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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

-Michael Strahan

-Josh Gad

-Nick Kroll

-Angelina Jolie

-Helena Bonham Carter

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Snow.

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

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

(My account currently at $219.55)

K bye.

Best Drink of the Week and Travel Talk (4/12/18)

OUR WORLD:

My friends and I had a discussion a couple weeks back where we tried to rank the best drinks of the week. Keep in mind, this is not a ranking of the best drinks of your life, like after some crowing achievement or overcoming some adversity, simply the best drinks of a normal boring-ass week. While my friends, nicknamed “Thunder” and “Cash Out”, had differing opinions (that I don’t remember because we were on martini numero tres at this point in the night), I believe that the following list is THE definitive drink of the week ranking….er, list….YOU GET IT!

I’m gonna count down from 5 to 1 because I’m a storyteller who likes to build suspense…

5) Tuesday night, at about 6:41 P.M., the Double IPA you drink as you prepare dinner. Your Monday nightmare is but a distant memory now, and having made it through Tuesday as well means that you’re back in your weekly routine. Tuesday was a long day, but you’re in full-on “weekday work-mode” now, so it’s okay. You got off work, went to the gym and took an extra long run because the Monday workout was more about ridding weekend toxins, than actually improving your health. Tuesday at the gym is about proving to yourself that you’re not the fat piece of shit that your thighs say you are (sitting in a car while wearing jeans that just came out of the drier puts me under the deepest of deep depressions when I look down at my thighs and pray that they don’t burst through my pants. I swear I could hear my thighs screaming for help.) So you ran far enough to sweat through your dirty hat, and you got home in time to make a meal that takes just long enough to enjoy every little sip of the Double IPA that you so rightly earned on the treadmill. It’ll be your only beer of the night because it’s high ABV, but you’ll savor every. single. sip.

4) Sunday morning, at about 10:24 A.M., the Bloody Mary you drink at your favorite comfort-food brunch spot. Sunday mornings can be rough, and this is no exception. You stayed out too late the night before and snuck a cigarette with your friend who smokes when your spouse was busy making fun of you behind your back (or, in my case, you vaped like an absolute fiend because you’ve convinced yourself that vaping is kinda healthy…) Your mouth tastes like desert garbage and all you really want to do is curl up in sweatpants and wait for the Sunday night depression to hit. BUT! You told your kinda-friends two weeks ago that you’d meet for brunch, so you have to shower and wear a shirt that doesn’t have late-night salsa stains on it. Your spouse asks if there’s any Advil left. There is, but there’s only 2 and you’re holding the bottle so you lie and say “no”…then close your bathroom door and pour the last 2 into your hand slow enough that it doesn’t make that bottle-rattle sound and blow your cover. The walk or uber to brunch is all about convincing yourself that you’re “not actually that hungover,” but you are. The Bloody Mary at this place has some fun cheese and meat things that come in it, but you’re kinda scared to order it because alcohol is the devil. You order it, though, because you’re not a NARC and it IS the weekend. You’ll really really enjoy the first half of it as it washes over your hangover and brings you back to the “kinda loopy and feeling not hungover”-phase of being drunk. It’s the last truly enjoyable buzz of the weekend because nighttime is far enough away that you can pretend it’s not coming.

3) Saturday late-afternoon, at about 4:17 P.M., the I.P.A. you have to set the base for the rest of your AGGRESSIVE night. (I’m realizing that there are people reading this who have kids and, I just want to say that I’m sorry that I’m still in the aggressive Saturday night drinking phase of my life. Am I ashamed of it? Slightly. But, by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, I’m so excited about going out that I tuck the shame away in my “I’ll deal with this on Monday”-dresser drawer.) Plan is to meet up with friends at a shitty-in-a-good-way bar a little after 5. You’re ready and your spouse is in the shower, so it’s time to put on some sporting event you don’t really care about and to properly enjoy a good beer before you dive into the “get me whatever you’re getting” bar orders for the rest of the night. Now is the time to use your favorite, most beer-snobby, fancy beer glass. Be sure to pour it slow and make sex noises after your first sip; this is the last time that you’ll be truly enjoying the taste of what you’re drinking for the rest of the night. This beer will also be a quick topic of conversation early on in the night, when you try to prove to your friends that you have taste by talking about a beer they’ve never heard of.

2) Friday lunch, at about 12:21 P.M., the margarita you get with your co-workers at the Mexican restaurant by your office. The morning meetings are over, and you still have to send a few e-mails out, but you’ve effectively made it to the weekend. It’s time for chips and salsa and marg(s) (stick to one marg, guys…once you go for the second in front of co-workers, you’re known as THAT lunch-drunk-guy). Bitching about the job is ALWAYS the topic, and this is the most acceptable time and place for it. Get all the bitching out now because your spouse has heard ENOUGH throughout the week, and if you bring more of that shit into the weekend SHE’S GONNA LOSE IT! (Can we make a cool looking medallion that says “No Work Talk” that we all wear around our necks from Friday night through Sunday night? Feels like a piece of jewelry a hipster would wear and not admit that they got it at Urban Outfitters…”Urban Outfitters? No, I only shop at thrift stores.”) Get ready for a lot of deep exhales and “we made it to Friday”-headshakes. They’re gonna feel good and earned and your co-workers are gonna nod at you overtime you do one because they know…they know…

1) Thursday night, when you’re alone at about 7:02 P.M., the martini that you carefully measure out and make like you’re a bartender whose rent depends on the tip you’ll get from this one drink. This is a special time that was great when you were single and now only happens when your spouse is out of town or out for the night at a work event. Does it mean you don’t love your significant other? I mean, maybe…like, why are you with them? (To the 4 people reading this who are in bad relationships, now is when you look at yourself in the mirror and think about sad stuff…we’ll wait…) You’re not in a relationship crisis, but getting to celebrate heading into Friday by crafting a nice cocktail by yourself is simply exhilarating. There is no need for you to put music on or anything while you do this; the sound of almost-Friday silence is melodic and able to perfectly harmonize with the sounds your shaker makes while chilling your gin martini or old fashioned or some other drink they serve at the restaurant you only go to on your birthday. If you have a dog, they’ll come over and you’ll say something to them like “we did it.” Do you normally take pictures of your meal when you go out to eat? Of course not, those people don’t read this blog. But, maybe you take a picture of this drink you just made. You don’t need to send it out, but there should be a record of it somewhere. Next time you do this, toss a 5 dollar bill on your kitchen counter because you deserve a tip.

*In case insurance people or doctors or my in-laws read this, I would like to state that this is a hypothetical week and does not mean that I imbibe in all of these drinks every week…not, every week…IT’S HYPOTHETICAL! THAT MEANS, LIKE, NOT TOTALLY REAL-LIFE!

MY WORLD:

*Every once in a while, I’m going to need to throw a George Costanza-style rant your way. Today is one of those days. Please indulge the following:

The VP and I had the new “Jersey Shore” show on in the background while she cooked dinner and I looked at my phone like a slob last night. We weren’t really watching, except to comment about JWoww’s newly-mangled face (wrinkles are better than plastic surgery-face) and The Situation being sober and…why is he on the show, then? Anyway, during the show or maybe in a commercial or something (I was busy being an instagram slob, guys!) I heard someone say, “you know, you should really travel more.” What an obnoxious thing to say.

When I heard it, I walked into the kitchen to rant at The VP about how mad it made me. Is there anyone ALIVE who thinks to themselves “I’m glad I don’t travel”? You know what? “I’ve got the next twelve years off and a ton of zeroes in my bank account, but this couch is pretty comfy and I love not knowing anything about life outside this country!” The reason people don’t travel more is because…hmmm….let’s put on our detective hats…oh wait, it’s BECAUSE TRAVELING IS EXPENSIVE! Would you ever tell someone “you know, you should really make more money”? NO, because you’re not trying to set the world record for being-an-asshole. Aside from the ludicrous content of this message, it’s always made worse because the person saying it is thinking they’re some Advice God selflessly gifting wisdom on the uncultured alley rats of society. Get da fuck outta’ here with that shit!

I wish I could say that made me feel better, but I’m still mad that people think saying “you should travel more” is not only acceptable, but needed advice. GOD THAT MAKES ME SO MAD!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Uh oh, is Jimmy suggesting a song that hipsters might like? Giddy up! This is a perfect song to listen to when you’re getting stressed out and wondering if it’s time to cry alone in your car.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

BuzzFeed can go straight to hell.

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:

Good thing I didn’t listen to my advice and bet on Milwaukee over Philly last night. Philly won by seven billion points, if you missed it. It’s time for me to huddle with my crew and figure out NBA playoff futures. At first glance, I don’t hate Cleveland getting +650 to win the title. However, that means I’d have to root for LeBron and that sounds awful to me…The East stinks, though, and once they’re in the ‘ship you never know what kind of injuries Houston or Golden State could be dealing with. Who’s gonna talk me out of this?

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

Thunder-300x210

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

(WAIT)

“I’m so sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

Vanderpump Rules…It Really Does

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

How I feel most Mondays…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

Reed

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $0.00)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

guy fieri

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

Mauro

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

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

(My account currently at $1.02)

K bye.

Bar Rescue and My Warning (4/4/2018)

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday, I bestowed a very prestigious honor upon three reality television shows when I inducted “Vanderpump Rules”, “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” and “Bar Rescue” into the jimmyschair reality tv show Hall of Fame. With controversy over the initial selections SWIRLING, I would like to explain why I am right and you are wrong and I am the best and you are the worst. Jk lol guys! It’s called a joke, ever heard of it?!?! Gah!

I would, however, like to give Hall of Fame intros for each of these wonderful shows. Why? Because they deserve it. First up, “Bar Rescue”:

Do you remember where you were the first time you saw Taffer swagger his ass into a dirty bar on his way to save his reconnaissance team from eating undercooked chicken?! It was probably on your couch, on a Sunday morning, wasn’t it? You were hungover, weren’t you? You were probably a real grimy piece of shit that morning, weren’t you? Yeah, you were. I was. We all were. Little did we know that all we needed was a few hours of Taffer berating stupid bar owners. Running a bar isn’t just a business, it’s a science. Put down the advil, “Bar Rescue” was on.

A lot of people often ask how this somewhat out-of-shape, uggo faced nobody with thinning hair slicked back like an 80s movie villain was able to resonate with audiences the way he has. So many people have asked me this, guys. Like, in my head while I’m writing this, so many people.. I believe it’s because he’s EXACTLY the kind of guy that you think a bar owner would look like. When you think “owner of a bar in town that’s kinda’ dirty,” you see Jon Taffer’s face. Boom, authenticity right off the bat but, uh oh! Then Taffer dribbles behind his back and you’re let in on the FACT that he has transformed HUNDREDS of bars WORLDWIDE! That’s right, you judged this book by it’s cover, and you were DEAD wrong. Taffer doesn’t own that “bar in town that’s kinda’ dirty”; he turns money pits into money makers.

Your hangover headache begins to subside because your brain is faced with being wrong about your initial Taffer impressions. Then, as the show kicks in, you see how much he cares for people…people like you. Bet you wish that some hardo with bad hair would’ve yelled at the bar owner who over served you last night. Taffer would have! Your stomach feeling weird from those nachos you had the night before? The Taff-man would’ve spotted that! (Hidden cameras?!?!) YEAH, HE HAS HIDDEN CAMERAS GUYS! Taff-A-Rama would’ve seen that Chef Boyar-poophands didn’t properly sanitize the serving laddle before scooping that nacho cheese onto the tortilla chips. How hard is it to wash a laddle!?!?! But Taffer wouldn’t have just watched this happen to you. No. He would’ve stormed out of his 2007 Chevrolet Tahoe XL, parked inconspicuously across the street so as not to garner any unwanted attention, and gotten to those nasty ‘chos before you turned your hand into a mouth shovel. Taffer is the hero we deserve.

Then, as we descend into the depths of hangover depression alongside the Dorito crumbs that have piled up on our dirty t-shirts, Taffer introduces us to someone who makes WORSE decisions than you: the bar owner. Normally, they’ll be taking shots with customers, or yelling at employees, or throwing loose papers on their desk. Jon walks in and immediately fingers them as “the bad guy”. What does that mean? That means YOU are not the bad guy any longer, you were simply the victim of a poorly run bar. HE is the bad guy.

They’ll normally be real defensive and shitty when Taffer calmly and politely, but also sternly, introduces himself. A “whatever”-eye-roll is a go-to move for the shitty bar owners here. Or, the incredulous “what?!” when Taffer asks WHY THEY HAVE BEEN SERVING ‘CHOS USING A DIRTY FUCKING LADDLE?!?!?! WHY?! (Let’s call this shitty owner, Vic. That’s a shitty owner name.) WHY ARE YOU SERVING NACHO CHEESE USING A RAT-SHIT INFESTED LADDLE, VIC? Vic will probably shake his head, or give Taffer the “pshh” hand gesture. Meanwhile, you’re beginning to realize that it was fucking Vic’s fault as to why your stomach is so messed up. GET HIM JOHN!

Vic will try to walk away because he has a short temper and doesn’t want to be set off, but guess what? Taffer ain’t scared of you, Vic. Taffer’s a tall man who has big huge muscles underneath that layer of authentic chub (non-trainers that have 6-pack abs simply do not work hard at their jobs. Fact.) The Taff-man will continue to search for an answer re:dirty laddle because he is here to root out the problem. Vic will continue to walk away until…”I don’t know, Jon!” But, Jon DOES know. BECAUSE YOU’RE LAZY, VIC!

Are you lazy? Possibly. As lazy as Vic, though? No way. Phew, you’re in the clear. So not only is Taffer a bar scientist, but he has also been trained in the art of cutting-to-the-core-issue. Vic is lazy, and until Vic comes to terms with that, his bar will FAIL. Doctors have to run expensive tests before reaching a diagnosis. Taffer’s test is free, and it’s called “the eye test”. “I knew, once Vic turned around and looked me in the eye, that the reason the paddle wasn’t clean is because he is a lazy human being”-Taffer.

As enthralling as the initial confrontation and IMMEDIATE diagnosis was, that’s just the beginning. Now that you’re beginning to come out of your hangover hell (it wasn’t your fault!) you are treated to a behind-the-scenes look at what it takes to run an effective bar. Taffer, knowing that he isn’t an expert in EVERYTHING (humility), has enlisted the help of his friends; and he’s only friends with people who are experts in their fields. There’s gonna be the fat chef wearing the newsboy cap and thumb rings. You like sliders? Well Chef Thumbrings has cooked sliders at hotels in a little town called LAS VEGAS, NEVADA! And those sliders are….uh…well, judging by the fact that he has a chef’s shirt with his name on it, they must be pretty fuggin’ perfect. That’s not the only one Taffer brought, though. You remember that bartender with the menacing smile who shook two metal shakers at the same time? Yep, she’s here too, and guess what? She’s wearing a vest. FYI: Only bartenders that have won Bartending awards you didn’t know existed, can wear vests (surprised you didn’t know that).

As Chef Thumbrings and Bartender Vest whip Vic’s secretly-wanting-to-do-good staff into shape, Jon has bigger fish to fry. Not only is he explaining the science behind the necessary remodeling, but he needs to get to the real issue: Vic’s unwillingness to change his lazy ways. These scenes are gonna be tough, and there will be yelling. Will Vic walk out the backdoor at one point and threaten to just shut the bar down? Of course he will because that’s what weak men do. But Taffer won’t let him quit. Taffer isn’t there to make Vic feel bad about himself. Taffer is there because Vic needs to accept responsibility before he is able to truly change…and change is hard, guys.

Vic will come back the day after threatening to shut the bar down, and Taffer will make a joke. It won’t be that funny, but that’s not the point. It’ll be kinda’ sweet and Vic, for the first time in his entire life, will crack a smile. The walls Vic has spent decades building up are beginning to crumble just in time for Vic’s chef to deliver him some delicious, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA-STYLE sliders.

At this point, you’re getting hungry on your couch because those sliders look so elfin’ good and, you’re all like, “Babe, is there a delivery slider place? No? There should be. Are you sure there’s not? I know I can look it up on GrubHub, but-” BUT, you’re so excited for the final remodel reveal, and grand re-opening that you don’t have time for “Slider Delivery Near Me” internet searches. (DUH!)

When we come back from the final commercial break, and we see Vic’s face light up at the marquee outside his bar, Taffer has done his job. He’ll walk Vic and his staff through the outrageous upgrades littered throughout this once-upon-a-time dump of a bar. New barstools? Check. New background bar lighting? Check. Clean grill hood? Check. And, the kicker? Taffer bought Vic a brand new, state of the art, nacho-cheese-laddle-washer. Taffer will throw his arm around Vic, and Vic will laugh at how stupid he USED to be re:dirty laddles. If your hangover isn’t eviscerated by this act of self-deprecating laddle humor, then just jump out that window cuz it don’t get no betta’ than this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, I would like to formally induct “Bar Rescue” into the Jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame. (Get up and clap, assholes.)

MY WORLD:

It snowed last night and if you’re not in a bad mood today because of that, I don’t know what kind of human being you are. I would simply like to use today’s “My World” section as a warning of sorts. I will not be my best self today. Wind + cold + snow in FUGGIN APRIL! = surly Jimmy. With that in mind, if you find yourself in the unfortunate position of being in my vicinity today, please refrain from the following:

1) Joking about Chicago’s weather. It is simply not a laughing matter.

2) Touching me. Sometimes, I enjoy a gentle back pat, or shoulder graze, but I’m putting myself in a touch-free-zone today. This includes handshakes. I get it, we met; no need to touch palms to signify that.

3) Asking me if I’m going on vacation anytime soon. I’m not and that’s really none of your business anyway.

4) Smiling. Today is about pursed lips and incredulous shaking of heads. Feel free to hit me with a sarcastic smile, but I swear to God, if you punch me with a tooth-party, genuinely happy smile, we’re done. Finished forever. Capish?

5) Looking at me…

Okay, this is getting out of hand. Whenever I fully engage in Surly Jimmy mood, a snowballing situation occurs. Let’s just keep our distance…mmkay?!?! I SAID BACK UP!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Cold.

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:

Today is the last day I can build up my balance a lil bit more before The Masters, so you best believe I’m finding some action. Also! The VP of Ops has a girls trivia night or some shit, so I can actually watch sports at home without feeling guilty! Oooooo doggy! Celtics are getting 7.5 points on the road in Toronto. Both teams coming off road losses last night…so they’re both gonna be mad…that’s a lot of points. I’m expecting a close game. Gimme them Boston Bad Boys! TAKE CELTICS (+7.5) STRAIGHT TO DA BANK!

(My account currently at $21.09)

K bye.

Making The VP Mad and Reality Show Hall of Fame

MY WORLD:

Yesterday, I made a huge mistake that The VP of Ops was thrilled to call me out on, when I didn’t write about her. It seems that I said the “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”-section would be a Monday staple and now it’s Tuesday. I BLEW IT! Sorry fam (that’s a word cool people say even when they’re not talking to family only). Let’s make this section a Tuesday staple now, because the jobs one is too juicy not to write about on Mondays. Deal? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, VP?!?! DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?!?!?!

For today’s “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable” I would like to bring us back to a little beer fest last summer. The company I work for throws a pretty radical beer fest that I get to go to for free (no big deal). Aside from getting schwasty wastey, this fest had fun stuff like ax throwing, freaking video games, guys, VIDEO GAMES! And! there was a tattoo station! For like $20, I could pick a simple, little design from a pre-determined set. The designs were along the lines of little anchors, sailboats, sailor hats, things that had nothing to do with the sea but I can’t remember, ya’ know that kinda’ stuff.

The VP probably sensed that I was gonna go for a tattoo when I said to her “I’m going to get a tattoo later, FYI.” (It’s like she can read my mind!) Her initial response was dismissive because I was 4 strong beers deep and she probably figured that if she didn’t make a big deal out of it, that I’d forget about the tattoo. Here’s the thing about me though, guys: whenever I feel even the slightest sense of VP unease, I do NOT forget. I saw the “Jesus, please don’t”-look in her eyes when I first brought it up and oooo la la did that get my juices flowin. We were with a couple of friends too, so I knew that I was going to get her mad in front of them…which is bonus points in my devious, devious game.

You’re probably thinking, “but Jimmy, tattoos hurt! Weren’t you scared about the pain?” That’s the thing, I wasn’t even scared about the pain. When given the opportunity to get The VP of Ops mad in PUBLIC and in front of friends, pain isn’t part of the equation. I do what is necessary for the cause, and worry about repercussions later. That’s just the kinda man I am. I’m also a man who was, at this point now, probably 6 strong beers deep and I’ve gotten two tattoos before and didn’t even cry that much so, like, whatever.

A couple beers later, I started telling my friend Dave that I was going to get a tattoo. The VP couldn’t hear what I was saying, but between the whispering and pointing at the tattoo stand that I was doing, she began to catch on. Her eyes widened, and her teeth clenched as she began the process of going from “kinda joking” to “don’t you dare”-mode. (Houston, this is Jimmy, requesting permission for takeoff.) As The VP walked towards my friend and I, she tried to force a smile. “You’re not getting a tattoo, okay?” Uh, okay? Seems The VP of Ops forgot that NOBODY is the boss of me.

Thus, my response, “well, you’re not the boss of me.” As our cute lil tiff vacillated between jokey and kinda-serious, our friends didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away and let us hash it out. Obviously, the harder I pushed, the funnier it was going to become, so I started pushing. What baby pants VP didn’t understand is that this tattoo wasn’t about the design, it was about creating a memory of a time I…was drunk at a beer fest with friends. (These are the types of memories that don’t grow on trees nah’m sayin?) If I told her the other reasons I wanted it were to prove to her that I’m the boss of me (I’m a strong man!) and that making her mad ALWAYS makes me laugh, well that would’ve ruined the effect.

She couldn’t wrap her tiny brain around me getting a permanent design put on my arm that had no meaning to me. Uh, cuz it’s funny? If you’re dating or married to a person that thinks they’re funny, you should be prepared for this response anytime he/she is about to do something seemingly inexplicable. I say “uh, I don’t know? Because it’s funny!” at least 9 times a week. The bickering between The VP and I had reached the part where our friends were genuinely beginning to feel awkward, so I turned up the heat, left the conversation and got in the tattoo line. The VP shot a silent, flared-nostrils glare at me. Too bad I hit her back with a cool-guy shoulder shrug once I settled in line. “Don’t even care.”

The line was about 50 feet away from The VP and our two friends. They watched as I stood, now arms-crossed, just a waitin’ my turn! Dave was laughing. The VP and her friend were not. Well, The VP was DEFINITELY not…the other girl kinda’ was. I mouthed “I don’t care” about 6 times to really drive home the point about who the real boss of me is. (Honestly, at this point, it was a 50/50 split between the comedy of making her mad and actually proving that she couldn’t tell me what to do.) Then, one of the tattoo artists made her way to me in line and told me that they were cutting off tattoo services.

Surprisingly, my “but I want one” line of arguing did not work with Tattoo Tammy. The thing was, though, that The VP couldn’t hear that I got in line too late. The joke could continue! After speaking with Tattoo Tammy, I just kept lingering around the tattoo station, smiled and gave The VP a “good to go!”-thumbs up. I probably threw in a little celebratory shoulder-shimmy too. The VP rolled her eyes and shook her head in that VERY disappointed way that only women can do, and walked away. If I could’ve given myself a high-five without looking like a lunatic, I would have. In fact, I just may have anyway.

Now, I could wait like 4 minutes and then head over to The VP of Ops with a whole “I decided that I love you and didn’t want to disappoint you”-routine. God, I’m good. Remember the ole fliparooski? Yeah, that move was about to be back in a BIG WAY. Not only was I going to have gotten laughs for making her mad, but I was ALSO going to get her to feel silly for overreacting. GOD, I’M GOOD!

Unfortunately, 4 minutes later, when I sauntered over ready to begin my rehearsed routine, The VP was laughing. Uh…she was supposed to be kinda mad and giving me the silent treatment. Remember? Then I was gonna be all like “I didn’t even get it. I was joking the whole time.” And SHE was gonna be all like “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I get so worked up over very funny jokes that you should be applauded for.” Well, kinda throws a wrench into those plans when she is already laughing when I arrive.

Nevertheless, I began the “I decided that I love you and didn’t want to disappoint you”-routine anyway. She cut it off with an absolutely diabolical “Oh, I didn’t even care about that, check this out,” as she showed me something funnier than me! WHAT?!?!? Wait, this was supposed to be my finale, my coo de grah (I know I spelled that wrong, but fuck off). Nope, she cucked me with the move that will forever be the bane of my existence. What move? The “oh, I forgot about your very funny joke because this is way funnier”-move. Well played, VP…BUT I KNOW YOU WERE REALLY FUCKING MAD!

OUR WORLD:

I am aware that The National Championship game was played last night (because I lost a bunch of money on it), but “Vanderpump Rules” was also on and…well, that wins. When a reality show trumps a title game for some sport, that means it’s a HALL OF FAMER, so I would like to induct the first four shows of Jimmyschair’s Reality Show Hall of Fame:

Vanderpump Rules
Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives
Bar Rescue

Want a tease? The rest of the week’s “Our World” section will focus on breaking down each of these shows. Get excited. I am! ARE YOU?!! GUYS?!?! ARE YOU EXCITED?!?!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Posting a video likes this takes a lot of bravery on my part. A country music performance on “The Ellen Show”? Jimmy! That’s career suicide! Maybe, but history rewards the bold, folks…and this song jams.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Easily the most hated character on “Vanderpump Rules”

Kristen D.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:

I took a bath last night, but I did it for a friend. Now, I don’t want to say that makes me some sort of gambling warrior, but I also don’t want to NOT say that. Lets just say that I could not be happier that the NCAA Tournament is over because sweet baby Jesus did that kick my butthole. There are times after longs stretches of losing that I think about maybe not gambling for a little while…but The Masters are this weekend and GOTTA SPEND MONEY TO MAKE MONEY! I may hit up a baseball game before Thursday just to get the juices flowin again…

(My account currently at $21.09)

K bye.

Road Trips Are The Best

MY WORLD:

Yesterday, I went to Rockford, Illinois on a work trip and got super excited about getting to stay in a hotel. The Rockford Holiday Inn may not do it for you, but something about not having to clean up after myself and watching cable that I don’t have to pay for, turns me into little-kid excited. (When I walked into my room I joked to myself that I should jump on the bed. I didn’t because I was worried I’d break it and then feel fat and sad.) This little trip paired with seeing a bunch social media pics of people I know on their spring break trips has gotten me (REALLY GODDAMN JEALOUS) thinking about what makes a road trip is AWESOME. Holiday Inn + Vacay Pics = Me thinking about road trips.

Lets call this a two-day road trip, where I’d have to drive like 10ish hours and stay at a hotel (Holiday Inn?!?!) before finishing the drive the next day. Here’s how that day progresses for me and why I think I’ve discovered that I kinda love road trips…

-Waking up super early to get going on something fun, and not work, feels great.

I’m kind of a pain in the ass the morning we leave. I will have packed the night before, and The VP will still be finishing her seemingly endless packing the morning of. I’ll get out of bed super early, brew coffee, walk the dog, and then act like an excited puppy myself–wagging my tail while waiting for The VP of Ops to join me outside! She is normally not as thrilled and, for some reason, doesn’t enjoy the 14 times I ask her “can we go already?” We need to get on the road so we can get fast food because THAT is when vacation mode really begins…

-Going through the McDonald’s drive-thru for breakfast.

I genuinely think I enjoy the road-trip kickoff sausage biscuit with egg and hash brown from McDonald’s, eaten while driving and cussing at idiot drivers who don’t realize I’M TRYING TO ENJOY MY FUCKING BREAKFAST, more than I enjoy a fancy steak dinner at a fancy steak restaurant. I’m not exaggerating. Aside from how perfect McDonald’s biscuits and hash brows taste (it’s a culinary masterpiece), I don’t have to sweat the beating it put on my bank account AND I get to eat it on my way to MORE. FUN. STUFF. Fancy steak dinners always include me looking at the prices, telling the VP of Ops to not worry about the prices, and then me silently panicking in my head about how many serving shifts I’m going to have to pick up to pay for this fucking steak. Now, I will say that The VP of Ops has talked me into Burger King breakfast before and it was pretty pretty go—nope, don’t want to hear it? Yeah, I’ll leave that alone. McDonald’s breakfast for life. Should we start a hashtag? #McDsBFast4Lyfe (that has legs).

-Listening to Howard Stern interview a celebrity for a couple hours.

Normally, when I have Howard on in my car (satellite radio, yeah I have it, calm down) I’m kinda’ listening to him and kinda’ trying not to freak out about how behind I feel at work. But on road trips? I am full-on focused listening and, breaking news, Howard Stern is hilarious. There are times I get so into his interviews that I’ll look around after like 45 minutes of driving and have the “Oh my god, how did we get here?” momentary-freak-out. I’m thankful there isn’t a law against driving while zoned out (DWZO) because I’m sure traffic cops can see the blank look on my dumb face when I’m listening to Howard.

-Talking about what fast food place we’re going to get lunch at for at least 37 minutes.

You’re gonna need lunch on the early side because you need strength to drive (“strength” to sit and gently push a pedal ONE foot? Uh…yeah!) The VP of Ops is an absolute connoisseur of fast-food restaurants, and gets excited anytime we’re around one we can’t get in Chicago. On our first few road trips together, I’d buy into her excitement and go along with her plan of getting ketchup from “Whattaburger” and mozza sticks from “Sonic” and chicken from “Zaxby’s” and…by our third road trip I realized that The VP’s ADHD is triggered by those big fast-food signs you see on the highway. Now, we discuss our available options the way I imagine CEOs discuss the merits of different healthcare plans for their employees. These reasoned discussions will come to an abrupt end when I get frustrated that The VP is not a natural-born decision-maker, and MY DRIVING STRENGTH IS DEPLETING!!! So we’ll probably get in a kinda-real quick fight as I jerk the car off the exit towards Chic-Fil-A or “whatever, I’m staving now, Erin.”

-Eating IN the fast food restaurant for lunch.

Eating inside a fast food restaurant kinda feels like a treat because you’re used to eating in your car. Actually getting to not fear for your life (LOOK AT THE ROAD!) while enjoying these high-caloric treats adds another dimension to them. The VP and I will try to chuckle off the mini-fight we just had, but we’ll both still be kinda annoyed with the other until one of us comes upon a V funny Instagram video to cut the tension. Boom! Back to enjoying junk food and thinking about how much fun this trip is gonna be. Go through your Chic-Fil-A chicken nugget sauce too fast? Don’t even worry, we’re HERE! YOU CAN JUST GO TO THE COUNTER AND GET MORE SAUCE!

-The After-Lunch Drive

This can be a real slog. Kinda’ shleepy cuz you got up super early and have proceeded to MASH carbs all day, so now you’re crashing. You also don’t have another fun meal in your immediate future, so food-excitement-adrenaline ain’t coming to your rescue now. This is the perfect time for good-times music. I actually prefer to listen to Top 40 stations around this time because the music is usually upbeat, and I wanna know what young people are listening to so I can talk to them and sound cool. (That SZA lady has some really jazzy tunes, am I right broskis?!?!) The VP will probably try to put on The Beatles or some other very respected music that I know I’m supposed to love, but like…I just wanna listen to the rap guy who’s kinda scary (21 Savage).

As we transition into the later afternoon, it’s podcast time. This is when we’re going to listen to something that will make us feel smart, and we’ll probably text some friends IMMEDIATELY to let them know that we like to listen to culture-y stuff. (Is texting and driving dangerous? Yes. But, it’s also dangerous not to remind your friends that you’re smart.) As we near dusk, it’s time to stop at a gas station for snacks. SNACKS! GUYS! SNACKS!

-Snack and Gas Stop

You probably don’t really need gas, and you’re not that hungry, but that gas station candy isn’t gonna eat itself. Wanna know my trick? I’ll buy a water cuz hydration is healthy and I’m saving my tummy room for peanut M&Ms and Pringles. Driving strength, guys. Why Pringles? Because A) once you pop you can’t stop, and B) the pop can is perfect for between your legs while driving–like, the Pringles can engineers had to be thinking of drivers when coming up with that design. The peanut M&Ms are a treat because it’s vacation and vacation is about TREATS!

The VP goes full-on trash mode at this point. She’ll tell me she’s “not really that hungry” because she knows that I’ll tell her just to “get something in case”….like, in case we’re stranded in a ditch later and nearing starvation (it could happen!) The VP knew she wanted a Slim Jim all along, but she just needed me to give her that little “what if we never see food again?”-nudge. I got you babe. She’ll probably get a tastier drink than me, like a blue Gatorade, that I’ll drink more of it than her because water is lame-o and the Gatorade cals don’t count for me cuz I didn’t buy it!

-Darkness falls and my eyes stink.

Once, after driving all day into night, The VP asked if I was okay when she saw me squinting and leaning forward over the steering wheel. “I’m not kidding, but it looks like there is a dinosaur chomping down on the road up ahead.” Evidently, I am NOT a good nighttime driver. In an effort to avoid the common bridge/tyrannosaurus rex mix-up, we plan ahead now. Once it turns dark out, I’ve got like an hour left TOPS before we’re pulling into that Holiday Inn. Why doesn’t The VP take over driving at this point? Because I’m insecure in my masculinity sometimes and don’t want to be shown up by my wittle wife who is definitely a better road trip driver than me but…NO! IT’S HOTEL TIME!

-Hotel and Dinner Time

We pull into a random Holiday Inn and they’re serving nighttime cookies! We like to drop our bags and take a quick breather from all the…uh, sitting…that we’ve done all day. I’ll probably look at some hotel brochure and get excited about the continental breakfast tomorrow morning. OR! If they have a pool, I’ll tell Erin that we should go swimming even though we definitely won’t. We’ll probably sit in silence to text and go through our phones for about 24 minutes. The room fills with the occasional chuckle, “what?”, “ah nothing,” as we properly decompress. Then we’ll explore our surroundings in search of classier dinner fare. (Chili’s? Yeah, Chili’s.) The VP will ask me if she should change before we go out, and I’ll give her the “Uh, we’re going to Chili’s and will never see anyone we see tonight ever again”-look. She’ll give a sly, yet thankful, smile (she knew that answer was coming) and we’re off.

This road trip is off to a great start.

OUR WORLD:

The Top Ten Best Things About a Hotel:

The pool. (Even if you don’t swim in it, having to option to swim is invigorating.)
Not having to clean up after yourself.
The mini-fridge.
Hotel-workers treating you like royalty.
The free continental breakfast (it’s not that good, but I appreciate the effort and I convince myself EVERY TIME that it’ll be good.)
The little coffee machine in your room. (It looks new!)
Free soap.
Getting excited about watching cable shows that you haven’t watched in a while because they don’t have Netflix. (Catching the random “Friends” episode on TBS is a RUSH!)
The business center. (I’m not going to use it, but I like knowing that I could take care of some business like a real adult if I wanted to.)
Leaving and not telling anyone. (I don’t check out. I just leave and feel like I’m on the lamb.)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Indoor hotel pools are the best.

hotel pool.jpg

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Uh, Red Roof Inn? Get the fuck outta here.

red roof

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 guys, when you’re alone at a Holiday Inn in Rockford, you NEED to gamble on the Celtics-Jazz game. Am I happy that I bet on the first half over of a regular season NBA game? Not especially, but I’m in this for the long haul. Took about $30 in losses and it would’ve been worse if I didn’t BANG that second half over bet, so kinda’ feels like a win? Yep, feels like a win.

(My account currently at $73.12)

K bye.