Category: work

In Defense of Me and 90s Kid Stuff

MY WORLD: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Punchable face times a billion.

Savage

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

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

(My account currently at $207.73)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

-Pretty Girl

-Numba One Pretty Gurrrrrrl

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

-Bubba

-Bubba Shlubba

-Dirty Dog

-Ro Ro

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.

 

 

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

MY WORLD:

The VP of Ops has left me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Gag city.

Yogurt

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

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

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

richard karn.jpg

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

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

(My account currently at $219.55)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

-Michael Strahan

-Josh Gad

-Nick Kroll

-Angelina Jolie

-Helena Bonham Carter

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Snow.

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

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

(My account currently at $219.55)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is my fave Kanye song I think…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This was me the morning after the Kanye show.

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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…

Image-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

(WAIT)

“I’m so sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

How I feel most Mondays…

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

Reed

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $0.00)

K bye.