Tag: basketball

Jimmy Butler is Giving Jimmy’s a Bad Name and I Won’t Stand For It (10/11/18)

SPORTS WORLD:

*NEW SECION ALERT?!?! Sometimes I feel very passionate about sports and I want to go off on rants, but I haven’t here much because I don’t want to ostracize readers who don’t like sports.  But…sometimes, like today, I have to do it.  I promise, even if you don’t love sports, I’m going to do my best to make it relatable and still enjoyable.  We’ll see how that goes…

Imagine walking into work today and seeing a co-worker, lets call him Hector, who had been bitching non-stop about his salary for the last 4 months.  He would always start his bitch-a-thons with “I’m not going to make a big deal about this, but…” and then he would proceed to make a big deal out of every little action that management did or did not take.  “You see the way our Bubba Bossman just BCC’d me on that e-mail, but then says nothing to me? Yeah, he needs me, but doesn’t want to admit it,” is a thing Hector says a lot.  You hear these ramblings and pretend to seem interested while praying that a time machine is invented so you can go back to when you made your college choice without realizing you were signing up for a lifetime of student loan debt and, in turn, forcing yourself to work a job less inspiring than that horribly bruised banana that you’ve just been too lazy or depressed to throw out for the last 8 days. Will this soul-crushing student loan debt help you wrestle the “Most Depressed Family Member”-title away from your cousin Alex whose parents divorce sent him into a deep depression even though he was 38 when it happened?  You hope not, but if so, at least you get to root for that school’s football team!  IT’S NOT THAT BAD, ALEX, YOUR PARENTS ARE HAPPIER NOW!

So Hector comes in today and begins railing against you, the rest of the office and, without fear of repercussions, against the higher-ups.  He’s firing off e-mails with panache; hitting the button on his mouse hard with his fist and yelling “SENT ANOTHER ONE!” after each reply.  “How many have you sent Jimmy?” he asks loud enough for Bubba Bossman to hear, but you’re still working through why Hector needs a fucking mouse when he uses a laptop…

“Uh, I don’t know, probably like-”

“You don’t know is fuckin’ right!  YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT! YOU DON’T DO SHIT!” Hector snarls at your lackadaisical response to a question that’s not even that relevant because it’s not like you’re judged on how many e-mails you send, but whatever.  Hector is on fire and arguing with him would take the kind of effort reserved for a job you don’t kinda’ hate.  So you let him continue, and he does.  Stalking around the office like he built it; calling out Sara Ann for scrolling through Facebook “I didn’t know we were being paid by how many statuses we ‘liked’ Sara Ann!  You see this Bubba? You see me pull shit like this?”; ripping Larry’s leftover salmon out of his hand before he’s able to put it in the microwave, “Reheating fish, Larry?  EVERY GODDAMN DAY?” as he whips the tupperware container into the fat stomach of Phil, the guy in the office who people like but have no idea what he does and it just seems like he walks around to chat with everyone.

Is everything Hector is doing completely unwarranted?  Probably not, but he’s acting like such a cock you’ve got to be thinking “dude, just let me get through my day so I can get back to numbing my endless waterfall of personal dissatisfaction with alcohol, television and my dog who doesn’t get to play outside enough because I can only afford a 1-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood without a dog park.”

Do you know Jimmy Butler?  Well now you do.  Jimmy Butler was Hector yesterday in Timberwolves practice.  The look-at-me try-hard at work; the co-worker who loves to sigh at their desk and mutter, just loud enough for people to hear, “god, I’m so busy.”  It’s insecure and obnoxious and, we get it, you’re letting people know that you do your job.  The difference, though, between Jimmy Butler and YOUR insecure co-worker, is that Jimmy Butler is currently on a contract set to pay him over $18.4 million dollars this year.  But he’s not happy because he claims that his co-workers don’t try as hard as he does and his bosses, after offering him a 4 year, $110 million dollar contract over the summer, haven’t made him feel important enough.  Don’t believe me?  Here’s what Butler actually said to a reporter following his Hector-like outburst at practice yesterday: “It’s kinda like, I don’t know – a slap in the face? I don’t know how to put it but it made me think like maybe I’m not that important to your organization.”  HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF A CAMERA THAT WAS RECORDING TO BE PLAYED ON A SHOW WATCHED BY MILLIONS OF PEOPLE.

Now I’m sure that some of his teammates, like some of your co-workers, don’t try as hard as they can all the time.  I’m sure there are days when Karl Anthony-Towns shows up late and hungover and rolls his eyes whenever Coach Thibs tells him to “PICK UP THE PACE!” Fine.  But if your idea of leading, as it is Jimmy Butler’s, is to embarrass you in front of said-boss while also putting on a “look how hard I try!”-show, welcome to the world of the delusional because you aren’t leading as much as you are making everyone around you hate your fucking guts.  (In other news, I really have to go poop right now and have been waiting for The VP to leave for work to do so and her Uber keeps canceling and I’M ABOUT TO LOSE IT!)  

A while back, it became easy to poke holes and make fun of fan arguments that began with “when you make that much money…”  And maybe that’s because those arguments were coming out of mouths stuffed full of half-eaten bratwurst spewing their thick Chicago accent and scrambled thought progression onto sports radio airwaves.  But, if we’re being totally honest, wouldn’t you react to your co-worker the same way?  Wouldn’t you want to tell Hector to go fuck right off if you were the one he was calling out or you were the boss who had just offered him a hefty raise within a brand-new 4 year contract?  And isn’t it very very understandable that these “go fuck right off”-emotions are amplified by the fact that the person acting like this will make more money this year than your entire 23andMe roster will ever make in all of their lifetimes combined?  Jimmy Butler is very good at basketball, but he’s very bad at making fans want to root for him.  And if Jimmy wants to really examine his whole fall-back of an excuse-mantra of “this is about business,”  you know what he would find?  He would find that an organization trying to attract new fans by signing HIM would be making a BAD business decision.  To hell with Jimmy Butler, he can fuck right off.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I saw my favorite band Death Cab for Cutie over the weekend and they were amazing and I can’t wait to write about it.  Here’s a live version of my favorite song off their new album? I may have posted this before but I don’t care.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s pretty cold outside today.  It’s cold enough to make you remember that winter is around the corner and that means: snow, and slush, and salt stains on your wood floor that you may not be able to ever get out and then you’re gonna have to pay some sort of penalty when your lease is up and FUCK!!!! WINTER IS COMING!!!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

For me, I’ve lost a lot of money recently and if you can’t tell from the rest of today’s blog, it has not put me in a good mood.

K bye.

In Defense of Me and 90s Kid Stuff

MY WORLD: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Punchable face times a billion.

Savage

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

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

(My account currently at $207.73)

K bye.

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.

Bar Rescue and My Warning (4/4/2018)

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

5)  Looking at me…

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Cold.

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

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

(My account currently at $21.09)

K bye.

At Least You Don’t Have That Job and Bad Purchases (4-2-18)

 

OUR WORLD:

Boy am I excited that it’s Monday AND it’s absolutely freezing outside!  This is the best!  LIFE IS MEANT TO BE LIVED!!!!  If you happen to see me before 9AM this morning, do yourself and walk the other way because NOT TODAY!  On days when I catch myself being extra bitchy and pouty (oh, so everyday Jimmy?) I’ll try to come up with people that have it worse than me.  In all honesty, my job is like 87% good stuff and the rest isn’t stuff that is worth bitching about the way the rest of the working world gets to (but I wanna pout too!!!!  Also, maybe I said that so co-workers don’t give me a side-eye, like “so…if working here is so bad maybe you should just quit!”  jk guys lol omg ttyl!)  REGARDLESS!  Some Mondays I find myself running through what jobs have it way worse than I ever had and, hopefully, ever will have.  If you’re having an especially rough Monday, roll through this list and I think you’ll begin to feel thankful.  Let’s call these the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List…(if you happen to work one of the following jobs then may God have mercy on your soul.)  

–Anything having to do with outdoor construction:  Aside from the 6 days of the year that are in the perfect temperature range, construction workers have to either be freezing or hotter than hell.  Aside from that, they have to wear the big heavy boots FOR SAFETY!  They have to wear hardhats that would def mess with your hairline, and the bending and lifting and digging and hammering and what if you slip?  If you’re a full-time construction person, you definitely have a story about slipping and “that’s why my hand doesn’t really work anymore.”  Aside from the actual work itself, keep in mind that the general public is FUCKING annoyed with construction sites because they’re loud, hold up traffic and “like, is it EVER gonna be done?!”  How many angry drivers do you think these people have to deal with per day?  If you’re working road construction, there have to be at least 8 times a day where some douche in a foreign car lays on his horn because construction has created a traffic jam.  Does the horn help ease the jam?  Of course not, but Mr. Audi Douche would like everyone to know that he HAS A FUCKING MEETING!

The combo of backbreaking work and a generally ungrateful audience is a ROUGH work environment.  The only upside is getting to eat whatever you want because you just worked so hard.  Like, if I’m jackhammering a sidewalk for five hours (that’s a thing they do, right) you better believe I’m not gonna worry about how many carbs are in the BIG sandwich from Potbelly.  You’re getting that big cuz you earned the ever loving shit out of that big.  So that’s nice…but then it’s back to the heat and hard manual labor and, you know what guys? I quit.  I just can’t.

-Starbucks Barista:  You are immediately SLAMMED busy earlier than the entire world on Monday morning dealing with Monday people who have yet to have their coffee.  Seriously, how have their not been more Monday morning Starbucks shootings?  Having worked in a restaurant that had a cappuccino machine (whatever, yeah…it’s, not even a big deal) I know first hand that making those foofy coffee drinks is a BITCH.  Thankfully, I only had to make like one per 6 hour shift.  These Starbucks people have to make like a bajillion all the while an angry pre-coffee mob is waiting off to the side wondering why the fuck their mocha gabba jabba is taking more than one second to make!  You think your job has pressure?!?! GET REAL BROTHA!

Also, how many times have you been behind that person at Starbucks who seems to be trying to invent their own personal drink?  Like, there’s no way Starbucks has a “virgin, half caf, pseudo-mocha, almond butter infused cafe ole easy foam heavy bubbles”…AND THEN THEY DO HAVE THAT THING!  But, the person who ordered it isn’t even impressed!  Instead, they just go back to their fucking bluetooth phone convo and you just wanna be like “aren’t you AMAZED with that barista?!?!”  But they’re not.  Nope, the barista will carry on like the Van Gogh of coffee drink makers and Barry Bluetooth won’t even think about dropping a buck in the tip jar.  If I were the barista?  I’d just make everyone a black coffee and then shrug my shoulders and say NOTHING when they’d complain.

-Meter Maids:  I always always always think about what a meter maid says to his/her spouse when they get back home and are asked how their day was.  Is there ever a good day to be a meter maid?  Hand up, I am SUPER mean to these people and I don’t even feel that bad about it cuz I’ve become a master of justifying it (I have effectively convinced myself that the only people that could work this job are people that legitimately enjoy ruining people’s days.)  When I have a little distance from it though, they are definitely working that job because it pays the bills and they’re just doing their best.  Talk about a thankless job.  A Meter Maid has never heard someone say “good job!”  I bet even their bosses are just pissed they didn’t assign more tickets.

I would love to be at a table next to a bunch of meter maids at a happy hour.  Can you imagine the “this is why my job sucks”-stories that they get to share with each other?  All day, everyday they are dealing with people who just missed moving their car by 4 minutes.  Oh! And, they have to be outside all day in a uniform which mucho stinks.  Please, don’t tell me about how it would be “nice to be outside” in the summer.  Why do you think air conditioning was invented?  Because being outside is nice for a minute and then “it’s actually kinda’ hot.”  PASS!

As I’ve written this, my big huge beautiful brain has been flooded with other jobs that would be mucho stinko so….guess what guys?!?! I’m gonna make this a jimmyschair Monday staple.  From here on out, FOR THE REST OF TIME! The Monday edition of jimmyschair will include a list of “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-jobs.  I’m excited.

MY WORLD:

I spent too much money at the bar on Saturday night.  I opened up a tab, turned into JimmyGoodTimes and, quickly, morphed into JimmyIGotThis for the proceeding 4 hours. Closing my tab included the “it’ll be okay” self-talk followed by hating myself all day yesterday, with a few “it’s just money, Jimmy” mixed in to try to calm myself.  It wasn’t THAT bad (I’m a pouty baby, remember?) but, like, DAMNIT JIMMY!  Much the way I do with other jobs on Monday mornings, I tried to remember back to a worse purchase that I have made, in an effort to make myself feel better.  That’s when I remembered…I bought a recliner from Costco when I was in high school.

I worked at a golf course in the summers during high school, and since I was too scared to make any actual friends, I turned my bedroom in an ultimate hang-zone (you talkin’ ’bout a Hangzone 5000?  Yeah guys, I am.)  I bought a mini-fridge, a big tv, XBox and…all I needed was a big comfy chair.  My bedroom was small and my parents definitely had caught on to my blossoming loner-den, but I lied to them about all the friends I had so, I SAID I’M FINE MOM!

Anyway, Costco had a put-it-together-yourself massaging recliner for like $400.  I told my dad that I was going to get it and he rolled his eyes so hard he def saw his brain.  Look, I was a stressed out lil baby and NEED MASSAGES DAD!  GAH!  My bedroom was 1,000,000,000,000% too small for this chair, but I was determined to be comfy at all times instead those four walls.  So I saved up for weeks and bought the friggin chair.  It took me FOREVER to put together and would slam into my dresser every time I leaned back.  The “massaging” felt and sounded more like loose pebbles being thrown at my back a little too hard, and the plug sparked whenever I put it in the wall outlet.  Did someone order a fire hazard?

Whenever my dad would walk past my room, I would sit in the chair and make purring noises because I was very weird and thought that would make him jealous that he didn’t have such a chair.  He was never jealous.  Disappointed? Absolutely.  Jealous? That’s gonna be a “no”.  After a few weeks of pretending to be comfortable in a not-comfortable-at-all-massaging-recliner, I dug the box out of the garage, dismantled the chair, and returned it to Costco.  They gave me all my money back and….WAIT!

That didn’t work at all.  Now I don’t feel better about my weekend bar spend because I can’t throw the 19 Tecates I had in a box and return them to the bar.   Great.  Well, I hope you enjoyed my exercise in not-making-myself-feel-better.  GODDAMNIT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This scene came up at our Easter dinner and we all laughed like maniacs.  Enjoy:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you open up your refrigerator on Monday morning and see all the Easter candy you stole from your parents house is sitting right in front of your dumb, fat face but you can’t have any cuz it’s Monday morning and you were gonna get back to eating healthy this week.  Thissss isssss jusssssssst GREAT!

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 gonna lie to you guys.  I know that I bet on Kansas and Michigan this weekend.  I also know that JimmyGoodTimes made quick friends with JimmyGambles and, next thing I know, I had like a billion little bets going on the two final four games this weekend.  What were they? I absolutely do not remember and, no, I will not check my betting history to see what they were.  All’s I know is that I only lost like $9 which is less than $10, so I’m basically even.  I’LL TAKE IT!  Tonight? I’m probably gonna bet on Michigan because my friend went there, but my brain thinks Villanova is gonna chop Michigan’s head off.

(My account currently at $64.82)

K bye.

Finger Guns and Sports! (3/26/18)

MY WORLD (A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The Vp of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable):

Per last Monday’s post, I would like to welcome you to the first inaugural writing for the “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”-section.  Last week, (Thursday or Friday? I don’t know, you look it up) I put up a picture of The VP and I where I was throwing up the double guns.  This picture was taken in Memphis last September.  The VP of Ops is smiling in the picture, and that’s either because she was touching my shoulder and was probably pleasantly reminded that I have surprisingly muscular shoulders-OR-because it was the beginning of a night she did not realize would include me throwing up double guns for the following four and a half hours.

Mempis 1

The VP’s brother, let’s call him “Archduke Brotherman”, lives in Memphis and my favorite college football team, UCLA, was playing against Memphis that weekend.  The VP was also overdue to visit her Mom, SO resident-genius Jimmy (ME!) hatched a plan to viciously slaughter numerous birds with but a single pebble.   It’s a complicated plan, so strap it down: we’d stay with Archduke Brotherman in Memphis and her mom would drive up from Mississippi to stay with us and so I’d get to see UCLA and The VP would get to see her Mom.  You don’t get it, do you?  (Should the President put me in charge of war planning?)  Oh, also because I’m FUN! I decided to invite MY brother, let’s call him “Matthew”, for this excursion.

Archduke Brotherman has a big awesome apartment that makes me feel poor because he’s younger than me, so I constantly remind myself that Memphis is cheaper to live in than Chicago (facts only!)  The Archduke is also a member of the Good Times Brotherhood (G.T.B.)  So pairing him, myself, and Matthew (a founding member of the G.T.B.) together for a weekend away from home was basically a molotov cocktail of ENJOYMENT!  But, Jimmy, you ask, wouldn’t The VP of Ops’ Mom curtail your carefree Good Times Ways?  Nope! Why? Because The VPs Mom thinks I’m kinda funny AND I was gonna be drunk so…LONG HAIR DON’T CARE!!!

The first night we got there is when the picture above was taken.  We walked from Archduke Brotherman’s big awesome apartment to the street in Memphis that’s kinda’ like Broadway in Nashville but…uh…grimier.  On the walk, The VP asked me to take a picture of her and her mom.  I did because I’m really good at pressing to picher budden (picture button) and everybody knows this.  VPs Mom then said she would like to take a picture of The VP and I.  (Quick Jimmy, what pose will be funny enough to make my bros laugh so I’m not embarrassed to take a picture in front of them?!?! FASTER DAMNIT!)  Double guns was the obvious choice.  Throwing up the double guns is a tried-and-true-go-to of the G.T.B.  The VP thought it would just be for one picture though…she would be wrong.

Throwing up the double guns landed with the G.T.B. the way Bon Jovi lands with Moms who smoke cigarettes…THEY LOVED IT!  We had our joke for the night, and The VP knew it was about to be a problem.  The rest of the walk to the restaurant was filled with every member of the G.T.B. doing their best “I’m-a-spy-about-to-enter-an-enemies-territory” routine.  Basically, we’d take turns whipping around building corners with double guns drawn so that we could assure the rest of the group “coast is clear.”  Archduke Brotherman was a fan of the move where he’d throw his back up against walls, hold his finger guns tight to his chest and ask us to “cover me.”  The VP was beginning to get annoyed, aka JACKPOT!

Excuse me if being 32 years old and playing “tinker tailor finger gun soldier spy” with younger bros in public isn’t your cup of tea, but it IS my cup of tea.  As a matter of fact, I may go for seconds of that tea!  Aside from a few, subtle room-checks on the way to the bathroom, The G.T.B. took a bit of a reprieve from finger guns during dinner.  The bar afterwards, though? OH YOU BETTER BELIEVE WE WERE PACKIN’!

The VP and I went to one end of the bar to get a drink, but the other end must have been in peril because I looked up to see Archduke Brotherman and Matthew securing the perimeter.  Cue the “Oh-my-god-not-in-a-crowded-bar” face for the VP.  Sorry Babe, gotta have my guys back.  Finger guns came out because they had to, and yes, I was aiming them at strangers.  How else am I supposed to instill fear in tourists AND make the G.T.B. think I’m funny at the same time?!

The VP and her Mom went from kinda amused to annoyed to pissed to “FUCKING STOP JIMMY!” as the night progressed.  Lets just say the finger guns did not get much rest that night.  Whenever there was a lull in a conversation, finger guns.  Waiting for the bartender to make a drink? Finger guns.  Catch the eye of a fellow member of the G.T.B.? Finger guns.  I would like to proudly point out, however, that not ONE fake bullet was shot that night.  And that’s how you can distinguish a finger-gun special agent from an imposter.  Me and the rest of the G.T.B. were there to secure perimeters and laugh at how pissed off The VP was getting.  Did The VPs displeasure lead to a real-life couple fight? Almost…very very almost….and maybe kinda yes actually.  Security requires sacrifice.

*Please enjoy the following finger-gun photo shoot we held in the bar:

OUR WORLD:

Loyola-Chicago is in the Final Four and THAT’S WILD!  The thing that is most surprising to me, however, is that bars around the city have been getting JAMMED for these games.  If you don’t live in Chicago, let me try to explain what Loyola means to this city; nobody cares about Loyola in Chicago.  I used to drive by that school every day on my way to work and if you would’ve said “hey, that’s home to a major college basketball program” I would have grabbed you by the collar, pulled you close and rolled my eyes RIGHT IN YOUR DUMB-THING-SAYING FACE!

Yet, last week I was doing a bar event in some no-name suburb an hour outside the city and the place was slamming busy!  People who definitely didn’t go there for college were yelling at the screen during the game.  This is proof positive that Chicago (basically, Illinois, but it sounds better if I say Chicago) is a sports town.  What are the list of things you can use to identify whether a city is a good sports town? Here’s a quick guide to reference when wondering:

1)  Do people yell at the TVs during the game?

2)  Do stores immediately become stocked with t-shirts of the successful team?

3)  Has your Mom told you how excited she is about said team?

4)  Do bars put the sound for the game on and nobody complains?

5)  After a few months, do you notice that dogs have names corresponding to the team?

6)  Is your sister pretending that she has been a fan of the team for years and you’re like “no you weren’t”?

7)  Has your Dad mentioned that he is getting annoyed with the fake fans?

8)  It’s acceptable to get drunk on a weeknight if the team is playing.

I know I’m supposed to have 10 because that’s what most lists have, but this is my blog and I can do what I want so ENJOY THE EIGHT AND BACK OFF!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

If you don’t like Sister Jean, get away from me right this second.

sister jean

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your wife’s 100,000 phone alarms goes off in the morning and she KEEPS HITTING SNOOZE SO YOU CAN’T GO BACK TO SLEEP BUT IT SEEMS LIKE SHE’S JUST HAPPY AS A CLAM!  (Just me?) 

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 went 6 for 8 this weekend because you can’t keep me down for long and I definitely got the hang of this whole gambling-on-the-tourney thing.  It’s pretty easy, actually.  The plan is to hold off this week unless a random game is looking extra tasty (EXTRA. TASTY!) and save my big money bets for The Final Four.  I look forward to bragging about my winnings.

(My account currently at $102.61…oh yeah, back in the triple digits nbd.)

 

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

MY WORLD: 

 

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

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

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

IMG_3426

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:  

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

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

JIMMYSCHAIR TOP TEN CHIPS

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

All Hail King Chip!

      Kettle.jpg

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Worst chip of all time.

Bugles

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

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

(My account currently at $34.11)

K bye.

March Madness and Sunday Groceries

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Top 10 Villain Face

Devos

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

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

(My account currently at $59.11)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

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

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

“The Bachelor” Recap and Excuses to Avoid The Gym

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People who wear cologne or perfume to the gym.

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

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

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

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.