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

MY WORLD:

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

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

How to hang a picture:

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

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

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

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

mirror

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

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

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

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

How to change a tire:

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

I hate this shit.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

JIMMY GAMBLES:

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

(My account currently sits at $43.18)

K bye.

Car People and Tight Shorts (6/6/18)

MY WORLD:

A few years back, The VP of Ops and I got in a big fight about me being wrong and not admitting it and then getting madder at her for pointing that out and it turned into a real THING. Mind you, our fights usually consist of me being in some sort of mood (Shut up to all the people saying “such a Gemini”-in their head rn) or The VP just absolutely refusing to admit when she may have been wrong. It’s the same routine most times where we’ll get mad, kinda snap without yelling, make exchange some cutting remarks in the guise of “being funny”, give each other the silent treatment for a few hours and then gently start to make gentler jokes about the fight as we wait for the other one to apologize first (spoiler alert: IT’S ALWAYS ME BECAUSE GAH FUHBIH SHE EVER ADMITS THAT SHE WAS WRONG!) Anyway, this particular fight a few years back, was ratcheted up a few notches because it happened later in the evening after we had entered HAMMEREDVILLE, USA. You know those drunk fights where halfway through you catch yourself in a sober flash thinking “wait, why am I mad? Uh oh…I have no idea…DOESN’T MATTER, KEEP GOING!”? It was one of those. This night, however, my power move wasn’t just a silent treatment, but it was to retreat to the only place I can truly be myself: my car. (Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to drive anywhere. The plan was to sleep in my car…then I realized the backseat was supes uncomfy so I waited another 11 minutes before slithering back into our apartment. Uh….yeah, I think she got the point!)

We’re different people in our cars, right? Maybe I’m saying that because I’m in mine a lot and I act like a borderline mental patient in mine, but where else are you alone in a soundproof box with windows? It’s as close as we’ll ever come to being invisible in public (hey inventors, get off your asses and prove me wrong!) and I don’t know about you guys, but I relish this pseudo-invisibility. WHO’S WITH ME? Here are some of my classic “I can do this because I’m alone in a soundproof box”-moves:

-Front-seat Dancing: Singing is obvious and I can be one basic bitch so, yeah, I sing too, but the seated dance moves I’ve developed are nothing short of…well, probably disappointing. BUT! While I’m doing them, my brain is flooded with “remember this move next time you’re being looked at on a dance floor!” (Can someone also have a chair ready for me?) If you’re curious about what these moves are (WE ARE! JIMMY! WE ARE!) close your eyes TIGHT and think rolling shoulders mixed with pointing fingers that SOMETIMES curl back into air drum routines. Mind you, these moves are more likely to come out on Thursdays and Fridays as JGT (Jimmy Good Times!!!) nears his weekend entrance. And the bands/musicians that bring these hotsex seated dance moves out? We’re talking CHVRCHES, Steve Winwood (JGT’S FAVORITE), and maybe some cool-guy “I’m a rapper when I’m alone in my car”-moves for Old Kanye. I will warn you, however, that if you play any of this music while in the car with me, you will not see these moves. They are strictly for Alone-In-The-Car-Jimmy. I have made eye contact with random drivers mid-move, and I immediately stop and look up and away kinda’ like how Michael Cera did during the awkward moments in “Superbad”.

-The “I’m Pissed” Arm Toss: Middle fingers are so 1999, guys. When I get mad, and I’m either in front of or directly behind the car that made me mad, I toss my arm up like I’m flinging a frisbee through my sunroof. Here’s the thing though: there is no frisbee, and I have no sunroof. You just got hit with the Jimmyschair patented “I’m pissed” arm toss. And if you’re not feeling guilty for what you and your FUCKING car just did to me? Then I hope you rot in hell. Now I will say that this move is NOT restricted to Alone-In-The-Car-Jimmy (let’s call Alone-In-The-Car-Jimmy; JimE cuz it’s edgy but still sounds like my name!) The VP was introduced to the “I’m Pissed” Arm Toss early on in our relaish (what hip lingo doesn’t Jimmy know?!?!) after some pisspants cut me off. I don’t remember her exact reaction, but it was along the lines of a dripping-sarcastic “wow, my hero!” I always use my right arm because it’s stronger (thus, more intimidating) and there are no less than 4 tosses per day. JimE’s thinking? Chicago traffic is bad because there are too many guilt-free drivers not realizing the damage they’re causing by SWITCHING LANES WITHOUT A GODDAMN SIGNAL. The “I’m Pissed” Arm Toss slings guilt from my Chevy Equinox the way a Catholic Priest does during his sermon. Should we start calling my right arm Father Arm O’Tossahand?

-Talking to myself: The invention of speakerphone has provided the perfect cover for talking to yourself in the car. Even if you’re caught by a red-light neighbor, you can shoot the “I’m on the phone”-look (there’s a look for that? YEAH DUMMY!) Whether it’s preparing for an upcoming presentation; or running a “mock argument” that I’m anticipating later that day; or pretending that I’m being interviewed by a late-night talk show host, there is no shortage of my voice in my car. What’s weird about talking to yourself is that if you do in front of people, you’re obviously a LOON. BUT! I would also posit (nice word) that if you don’t do it while you’re alone, you are simply a different breed of LOON. Are there actually people who never talk to themselves? Is that the origin story of every socially awkward person? (Jimmy seems to really want to convince us that talking to yourself is not only not crazy, but normal. Hey Jimmy, PLEASE START TAKING PILLS PRESCRIBED BY A LICENSED PSYCHIATRIST!) This morning, for instance, I have about an hour-long commute, during which I plan to hold an interview where my current-self asks my future-self all about why it took so long for me (us?) to break into Hollywood’s writing scene. I can’t wait to give humble answers.

OUR WORLD:

Hopefully, you haven’t been like me lately and eating copious amounts of cheese dips. My summer bod is taking a hiatus that my shorts from last year were NOT prepared for. Therefore, I am entering a “I’m going to try to eat super healthy during the week, so I can pig out on weekends without having to buy all new summer clothes”-diet. If, unfortunately, you are like me and are looking to enter a similar shorts-saving campaign, here is what I have eaten and plan to eat for the rest of this week’s dinner. I give you, some healthy meals that don’t suck:

-Baked Chicken Wings: As long as you don’t coat them in flour or use butter in your buffalo sauce, I think we’re pretty gucci here. On its own, buffalo sauce ain’t that bad for you according to my brain when it looks at the nutritional info on the back of the Frank’s Buffalo Sauce bottle.

-Turkey Tacos: Lean turkey meat with taco seasoning is FINE, and I’m pretty sure if you use corn tortillas, it’s basically like eating corn…which is a vegetable and, therefore, GOOD FOR YOU. Skip the sour cream, but allow a little cheese. Atkins allows cheese and it’s kinda’ Atkins-y, so the cheese is okay.

-Skirt Steak with Chimichurri and Asparagus: Chimichurri is like limey pesto and errbody knows I love me some pesto. Skirt Steak is protein and protein is good because muscle guys talk about it a lot. The asparagus makes your pee smell weird which is a sign that you’re keeping your body on it’s toes with this new healthy-you. Watch out bod, things are a changing!

-Grilled Chicken and Broccoli: I’m not gonna lie, this is a boring-ass meal. However, you need to throw in one super healthy boring meal a week so you have something to truly brag about to your friends this weekend. Get ready to drop health-bombs on them like “it’s so nice not having to have another chicken and broccoli dish this week!” All your friends will get quiet and think to themselves “shit, what did he mean by another? I didn’t even have ONE chicken and broccoli meal this week!” That’s cuz you’re not as healthy as us, SUCKER!

And then Friday night comes and everything goes to hell. GOOD LUCK TO ME AND US AND EVERYONE WITH LAST YEAR’S SHORTS! (Or in my case, shorts I think I bought at least 6 years ago.)

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your dog starts barking at a sound they hear in your apartment building, but before you can yell at them to be quiet, they run over to “protect” you. There’s part of me that kinda’ hopes that one day someone bursts through the door and calls Belle’s bluff.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Shaving. I’m putting it off because it’s never NOT annoying. I feel bad that girls can’t grow leg beards and, like guys, just be like “it’s a new look I’m trying out.” Of course they can, but like…maybe don’t. Please.

WRITING ABOUT GAMBLING ON THE NBA FINALS IS BORING ME SO I’M GOING TO TAKE A BREAK FROM IT FOR A LITTLE BIT. PLEASE DON’T CRY LIKE “BACHELORETTE” LINCOLN ABOUT THIS.

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, I also hate slow walkers.

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at: $137.16)

K bye.

Be Happy You Don’t Have These Jobs! (4/23/18)

OUR WORLD:

Welcome to what is quickly becoming everyone’s favorite Monday tradition: the jimmyschair “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job list.

Animal Control Officer:

You ever read those stories where someone comes home to discover an anaconda coming up through their toilet? There is a person whose job it is to just “take care of that.” What if that was your first call on a Monday morning? Like you, Roberta AnimalControl got after it a little too much on Saturday night and is still trying to shake off the cobwebs 2 days later. She picked up a fatty Dunkin’ Donuts sandwich in the drive-thru on the way to work because “fuck it, I’ll work out later this week” and she hurried to her desk by 9:01, but it’s okay because their boss was in the bathroom. Roberta opens up her bacon, egg and chee like it’s a very-depressing Christmas morning and just as she’s about to take the first bite….RING! “Hey Roberta, there’s a king cobra in a toilet at 934 Winchester Boulevard. Caller says it’s hissing.”

And that’s just one horrible, but very real possibility for the start of an Animal Control Officer’s day. Can you imagine the amount of sad stuff they see? I don’t even want to write about it. In fact, I won’t–Mondays are depressing enough that I don’t need to wade into the animal cruelty-waters. Just know that it’s someone’s JOB to look at a dog fighting ring up-close and get the dogs out of there, but you know there are times when they got there too late and….JESUS CHRIST, STOP IT JIMMY!

In Chicago, the city started this program a few years ago where they released wild coyotes into the city to help with the rat problem. THAT WAS NOT A JOKE. Well now, even though there have been no reported coyote attacks on humans in the past 30 years (but what about the unreported attacks? Hard to call 911 after a coyote bites you in the neck…) I’m sure Animal Control Chicago gets inundated with calls about coyotes. I know I’ve seen a coyote from inside my apartment that was running away and was like 2 blocks down when I asked The VP “should I call Animal Control?” It’s about safety! So Animal Control people HAVE to go and check out these coyote calls now on a regular basis, and if you’re an office you’ve got to be thinking “we’re due for a coyote attack; is it going to be me?” Chicago just isn’t going to go FOREVER without one of these coyotes mauling someone, so who’s most likely to break the streak? An animal control officer responding to a call from some nerd 2 blocks away. And spare me any talk about “well, they’re trained for this stuff.” You can’t train to protect yourself from a WILD ANIMAL ATTACK because they are WILD. ANIMALS.

Used Car Salesman:

I just think it would really suck to have to tell people that you’re a “used car salesman” when they ask what you do for a living. It has such brutal connotations. I work in sales, and even that isn’t my favorite thing to say, but when I’m trying to explain my job sometimes I’ll say “I mean, it’s not like I’m a used car salesman.” It’s like if a mouse met another animal and had to be like “yeah, I’m a mouse, but it’s not like I’m a rat.” And the thing with used car salesmen is they’re not ALL the awful stereotype (“god Jimmy, you’re so brave to speak truth to power”-Used Car Salesman Union Leader)

Whenever someone goes to buy a used car, they also think that they’re going to have to negotiate like it’s a hostage situation (“IF YOU INCLUDE THE HEATED SEATS, NO ONE WILL GET HURT!”) Which means that every person a used car salesman meets at work is coming in with an edge; pre-disposed to NOT be friendly. Well isn’t that fun! I know there are used car salesmen who are kinda’ slimy and need to be pushed back on, but there have to ones who are also just like “yeah, I’m just here to pay my bills and get home.” Like, there have to be ones that offer the customer their actual lowest price first…right? Then they just have to sit there and keep telling the customer “I’m not lying, that really is the lowest we can offer you” as the customer gets madder and madder and SO FUCKING MAD, COME ON!!!!

Finally, how about when a used car salesman has to go to his girlfriend’s parents for the first time? You KNOW the dad immediately HATES that his daughter is dating a used car salesman. Even if that first dinner goes well, the Dad will probably say something to his wife like, “yeah, he was nice, but what does that even mean? He is a used car salesman.” They’ll NEVER trust him because of that job title. I’d imagine that most used car salesman are married to daughters of other used car salesman then. If there’s a Farmers Only dating app, shouldn’t there be a Used Car Sales Only one too?

Personal Chef for a Celebrity and their Kids:

This is mostly on account of having to cook for rich kids. I see on the boob tube (cool guy slang for television) that a lot of athletes and celebrities have their own personal chefs. And while I enjoy cooking, I can’t imagine cooking a gourmet meal for a rich kid who UNDOUBTEDLY will not appreciate it the way they should. Whenever I cook a meal that’s a little more complicated than “dump packet contents into hot water,” I basically stare daggers through The VP of Ops until she takes a bite. And if the doesn’t take a bite within the first 14 seconds of me handing her, her plate? I may or may not (but definitely do) yell at her to “take a bite before it gets cold!” She’ll usually take a bite and tell me it’s great, but sometimes she doesn’t do it in a convincing enough way, so I’ll be all pouty like “oh, sorry you don’t like it.”

Now, if that was a 9 year old who never heard the word “no”, you think they’d overwhelm the chef with gratitude? A chef, mind you, who probably went through like 7 years of schooling only to then be hired by a violent French Master Chef whose preferred “teaching” method is burning his sous chefs with the creme brulee blowtorch. After 4 years of dodging Chef Blowtorch and his outbursts, you’d open up your own restaurant in a part of town that was dying to be turned into the next hipster-ville…But, you and your restaurant came about two years too early and you end up closing your dream restaurant 18 months after opening. To avoid bankruptcy, you call back that investor guy who told you he “had something for you.” And, that “something” was a job cooking for some Jay Cutler Wannabe (aka an asshole athlete) and his shitty kids.

Next think you know, you’re spending 8 hours making pasta by hand for your most popular burrata lasagna. The celeb kids are running around and yelling about why it’s taking so long and probably snacking on pop tarts. When you’re finally finished, they look at it and say it looks “gross” and they’d prefer pizza. And where are the parents? DOESN’T MATTER CUZ THEY DON’T CARE ANYWAY! So you try to sneak the uneaten gourmet lasagna out to your car when you leave that night, but the cousin who lives there for free catches you and reminds you that the lasagna is now “property of this house”…so you have to turn around and put it back into the Cutler’s fridge, where it will sit uneaten until you throw it out in 4 days.

MY WORLD:

I can’t believe I haven’t done this yet, but I have to put together a candy list. I went on a big candy kick this weekend that my pants DID NOT APPRECIATE this morning. I’m including chocolate and sweet and salty. Here’s the jimmyschair Top 10 Candy List. Disagreements are discouraged…SO SAVE ‘EM!

10-Crunch Bar

9-Chocolate Covered Almonds

8-Twix

7-Kit Kat

6-Gummy Fruit Slices

5-Gummy Bears

4-Crispy M&Ms

3-York Peppermint Patties

2-Peanut M&Ms

1-Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups

*I will say the Top 3 rotate depending on mood and right now, Lil Jimmy loves some peanut butter and chocolate.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Make fun all you want, but Death Cab is my fave band and I feel myself gearing up for a BIG Death Cab kick starting with this….NOW!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Getting your haircut for the first time in 5 months and having the hair washer lady mail in the scalp massage you’d been looking forward to.

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

Let’s bang that OKC Moneyline (+175) together because we’re all friends and betting against an angry Russ Westbrook seems MUCHO STUPIDO!

(My account currently at $192.22)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

How I feel most Mondays…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

Reed

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

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

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

Gail

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Jeanne Ives is the worst and this commercial confirms that…

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

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

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.P

Car Crash Fall-Out (3/9/2018)

MY WORLD:

While waiting for the estimate for my repairs in the work lounge of the Glenview, Chevy Dealership, I texted Fred, the guy who hit me. Yesterday, I nicknamed this guy “Cryface McFlatBrim”, but I’m going to call him Fred today because A) “Cryface McFlatBrim” is kind of a lame joke that I’m not proud of, and B) His name is Fred. (Wait, he’s going to call someone by their name? No snappy nickname? WELL, WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN READING THIS?!?!)

While I didn’t delve too deep into it yesterday, Fred told me that he was driving his wife, Gail’s car to drop their daughter off at a nearby city college. Gail, unlike fuckin’-ruining-my-morning-Fred, does have a license and car insurance. I took down all of this info but, probably sensing that his wife would give him a harder pankin’ than any future fellow inmate, Fred insisted I contact him with repair costs so he could pay out of pocket and keep this all hidden from his wife. Fred did not seem to understand that Gail may start asking questions once she saw the hood of her car looking like a boy scout tent. According to my calculations, Fred is not a planner.

Now sitting in the work lounge, I texted Fred to see if he’d respond. I didn’t trust my handwriting, so I wanted to confirm all of Gail’s car insurance info with him confirming some of her information. But really, I wanted confirmation that I had just been taken advantage of by a bad driver with a good cry reflex. No one would be mad at me for letting this dude go. In fact, I’d tell the story full-well-knowing that I’d be portrayed as the real victim; a softie who got taken advantage of. (Awwww, Jimmy’s so cute.) Paying for the repairs out of my pocket would only enhance my victim-ness, creating even more sympathy for myself whenever I’d tell this story. My cynical suspicions were confirmed.

Until he texted me back 8 minutes later. (Well, he still won’t live up to his word. Listen Fred, I’ve already written the end of this story in my head.) He confirmed Gail’s car insurance information, but again insisted that I call him once I get the estimate so he can pay out of pocket. He tells me “I work for GM I make a 1000$ a week I will pay u.” (Shit, this guy makes more than me?) I almost texted him back to just stop texting me now so I don’t get my hopes up that he’s going to follow through on his word.

Stevey Eyebrows, the manager of the body shop, comes to get me in the lounge. (Wait, is Jimmy Nicknames back?!?! MOM! JIMMY NICKNAMES IS BACK!) Steve tells me that the oil change went well (do they sometimes not?). He hands over a few sheets of paper and says “you may want to sit down when you go over the estimate” before pretending he was too busy to sit with me. Hey Steve, ever heard of being a shoulder to cry on? (Dear Steve’s Wife, you don’t have to live like this.)

Alone and afraid, I read through the estimate. Yomma momma. $1,100. I took a picture of the estimate and texted it to Fred. He responded “For tour bumber”. Yes Fred, “for tour bumber”. I reminded him that my car is leased and that they need to replace the bottom part of the “tour bumber” (it’s not mean to make fun of spelling because he has an iPhone and, therefore, HAD to have overridden autocorrect because he was POSITIVE that it was “bumber” and not “bumper”). Then the texts went silent for a little bit.

I paid for my oil change and confirmed with Stevey “My Shoulder is not for your Tears” Eyebrows that my car was drivable. It was. I got in my car, eager to call my parents and friends to tell them how hard my life is. (I’d end all the convos with something like “not that big of a deal” so they’d think I was extra tough. Can’t knock this sturdy boy down! Oh, also…please help me.) Then Fred called.

“You mean to tell me that your bumper is gonna cost me $1,100? I’m going to need you to mail me that estimate” is how he started off the convo. In my book, that’s known as “instigating”. Sometimes when I’m put in situations that are about to require confrontation, I’ll channel my father; a 64 year-old hard-ass psycho who I’ll be afraid of forever. So I did that. Top of my lungs, not screaming, angry yelling that Fred is “fucking nuts if you think I’m trying to take you for a ride. What? You think I forged an estimate sheet just to text you a picture of it?!” I reminded him, in a not-so-gentle-way, that the reason I let him go was because he was crying hysterically. His voice raised to say that he “barely hit me” and that “this just doesn’t sound right.” As I took a deep inhale to unleash absolute-fuck-you-Fred-fury, I heard another voice on his end.

“Sir?” It was a tough, older woman. “My name is Gail. I own the car that hit you. Thank you for letting my husband go. We are going to pay for your damages. We just don’t have $1,100 in the bank.” Shit. Did they just pull a fliparooski? Am I a bad guy now cuz I yelled at a poor, older woman? (No Jimmy, all good guys in movies have that scene where they scream at homeless grandmas. Moron.) Maybe because she pulled off an immaculate fliparooski on me or just because she had a calming mom-voice (nothing better), but I liked this woman. I apologized for getting so heated at her husband and explained what had happened earlier. She thanked me for trusting that they’d follow through, and told me to go through her insurance. “That’s what insurance is for” is exactly the kind of thing my mom would say, Gail must’ve known that. I told her that I appreciated her (NOT FRED!) and that I only wanted to deal with her from there on out. She gave me her phone number.

I went back into the body shop and went over how best to file the claim through her insurance. (As an adult male, I’m aware that I should probably know how to do this, but I don’t. I bet I know stuff you don’t know, so like…just chill.) I needed her to file the claim before I did because that’s what Steve said and Steve knows. So I texted my new pal Gail how she should go about doing this. For entertainment purposes in this story (lawyers don’t read blogs, right?), maybe I said Gail was driving the car. MAYBE IS NOT A DEFINITELY! THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT! (“It is?” would be such a sick burn). I sent the text and headed off to work.

Thing was, I didn’t really know Gail. She told me what I wanted to hear, but I was still careening down poop-river without a paddle, and it had been 38 minutes without a response to my text. “Oh, you think mom-voice is gonna get you off the hook? Check this out Gail!” I shot over a kinda’ threat (was definitely a threat) saying “just so you know I have recorded our phone calls and saved our text message exchanges. I will use them if I am forced to report this to the police.” I’M A MAN! I AM STRONG!

My phone rang immediately. Evidently, Gail didn’t want to respond to my initial text because she was driving. She sternly told me not to threaten her. “Don’t do that”-then hung up on me as I started to backtrack. Well shit. Always a bummer when the tough-guy routine backfires (wait, you actually DO want to go outside and fight? Uhhhh…just kidding! LOL!)

A couple hours passed. I did my job, figuring I’d file a claim with her insurance company a little later, that she’d then deny and…I’d just suck it up and pay the damages. I wasn’t happy or mad. I didn’t feel good for basically getting a guy out of jail. It just felt like a reminder that everyone’s life is hard and, sometimes, you have to do selfish things in order to get by. I understood Gail. If I were in a little tougher financial position, would I bail on something like this if it were the other way around? Maybe. I’d feel SUPER guilty, but…maybe.

Gail called me at 3:09 PM. She told me that she had to retire due to a heart condition and that my threat-text had made her a nervous wreck. (Threats are not chill!) I apologized sincerely, and explained to her that I had put a lot of faith in a couple that lives in another state and that I’m not exactly made of money. I told her that Fred was not my friend, and she started laughing. “Oh, he’s keeping his distance from me. He knows I’m pissed at his dumb ass. I called you because I filed a claim with my insurance company saying everything you said happened. I don’t care if he has to work a hundred extra shifts, he’s gonna pay me back for this.” We laughed together cuz Fred really does suck! We talked about how long Fred is going to have to be her personal servant for at least two weeks. “Two weeks? More like two years!” Gail rules, guys. She didn’t know Fred took the car that morning and, supposedly, has told him multiple times to stop driving without a license.

I apologized again because I can’t believe I threatened an innocent older woman with a heart condition (writing that out made me feel worse.) Gail reminded me that “this is what insurance is for” (swoon) and that her daughter, a nurse they were visiting, also leases her car. I kinda but most definitely welled up. After thanking her for dealing with me in an honest way, I told her to call me next time she was visiting the city so I could take her (NOT FRED!) out for a beer. “Oh, honey, I will most definitely do that!” was the absolute perfect response.

I don’t know if I’ll get the money or if the insurance company will pull legal tricks or maybe Fred will convince Gail that getting out of this situation is worth a little short-term guilt. But, I really like Gail. I hope she comes back to Chicago sometime (BUT NOT FRED) and I get to buy her that beer. Fuck cynicism. Take a chance and maybe you’ll get to drink a beer with a new friend. Offer stands forever, Gail.

OUR WORLD:

It’s Friday!

Honestly, it took me a very long time to write the ‘My World” section today and now I need to shower before I go to work (ooooo dirty boy!)

HAPPY FRIYAY!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Yes, there’s an ad at the beginning of this video, but I am a new Khalid fan and feel V COOL about liking a young R&B guy.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The face your dog makes when you leave in the morning.

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 ACTUALLY WON 2 OF THE 3 BETS I PICKED YESTERDAY!!! I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT BECAUSE IT DID NOT GO AS WELL.

Today? Alabama, Kentucky and Xavier against the spread.

(My account currently at $0.00…i said i didn’t want to talk about it)

K bye.

I Just Got Hit By A Car (3/8/2018)

MY LIFE:

I didn’t plan on writing this so soon in the life of JimmysChair, but sometimes life spills cheap marinara sauce down your white button-down shirt. Well, this morning, that drippy spaghetti sauce found my shirt. Here goes…I think I’m definitely a sucker, guys. (Where is this going? What happened? JIMMY! TELL US! THE ANTICIPATION! DEAR GOD, THE ANTICIPATION!)

Being a responsible car-leaser (mos def does not sound as cool as “car owner”, but we don’t lie on these pages) I was due to bring my 2015 Chevrolet Equinox in for an oil change at 7AM this morning. I made the appointment ahead of time because PLANNING! I figured that leaving the city so early would help me avoid the stress of traffic, and maybe I would even have enough time to have my morning nana and coffee at a restaurant like Starbucks. Oh boyyyyyy!

Unfortunately, while heading down Division St. in bumper to bumper traffic at 6:23AM (life!) I was rear-the-fuck-ended. Hard, guys. I immediately, angrily yelped a guttural “NOOOO!!!!” In the land of Progressive Insurance and a leased SUV, the crunch-sound of a minor accident sounds EXACTLY like the sound my phone makes when Chase texts me a low-balance notification. I pulled over and hoped an apologetic, millionaire was driving this Pontiac Grand Prix to prove how humble millionaires can be.

Surprisingly, the driver was not an apologetic millionaire (this Jimmy fella’ is a real GOOF!). Instead, he was a mid 50s guy wearing a flat-brim hat (not good) who pulled over, immediately opened his door and began bawling crying “I don’t have a license!!!” Don’t worry though, it gets better. As I debated calling the cops on a grown man crying, I told him I was going to take pictures of our cars. Then my phone died cuz I dare it to every night, hoping that it’ll overcome the adversity of 6% battery and build phone-character.

My phone is a weak weak phone and I am a weak weak man. Like father, like phone. I told “Cryface McFlatBrim” that I wasn’t going to call the cops on him. Honestly, it was awful seeing this. I know what it’s like to be in some difficult times, but I’ve never cried in front of a grown man stranger. That’s the type of “fuck-I’m-in-BIG-trouble”-stuff that nightmares are made of. I’m guessing jail was on his horizon if I called the cops. I can’t do that to someone who hasn’t made me bleed.

Being the sweetheart of a sucker that I am, I told him that I needed to take down ALL of his information. I took down his license plate #, insurance card of his wife, VIN, a urine sample, his iPhone passcode, his deepest darkest secret, and recorded his opinion on whether the “Making A Murderer” proved, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Steven Avery is not guilty. Why did I trust him? (Is that my Dad screaming “you idiot!”? He may not say it, but he’s proud of me.) I trusted him because he told me he worked at General Motors and he said “I’m a trustworthy guy.” That’s kind of exactly what you want to hear if you’re wondering if a guy is trustworthy, right? YUP!

Now, I’m writing this in the “work lounge” of my car dealership while eating a hollowed out bagel (stress cancels out cals and carbs).

work lounge bagel

This story is about to continue with the estimate for the body damage that I’m waiting on. The Body Shop manager is big time car-dealery guy named Steve, and I feel like I’m in the waiting room of a dentist office with a broken tooth. The news he’s about to deliver can’t be good…and Cryface McFlatBrim is probably buying another hat that he’s too old to pull off with the money he should be sending my bumper’s way. I’m gonna shoot him a text while I wait (I did get his phone number, Dad.)

I’ll wrap up this story on tomorrow’s blog. (This is a supes profesh thingy called a “tease”).

OUR LIFE:

I want to write about why early-March is the worst time of year, but my brain is currently locked up in a self-loathing death spiral because I trusted that crying guy who hit my car. Whenever I’m able to momentarily block that out, I’m hit with a digestional/morning-coffee issue that is not meant to be resolved in a Chevrolet dealership. (I HANDLE ADVERSITY WITH APLOMB!)

So…uh…March stinks cuz it’s a total tease and I’m tired of wearing jackets that make me look puffy. (No joke, my stomach just made an old-timey, British police siren sound. Right now, my inner-self is making an ugly cry face while saying “I just can’t” over and over again).

I just can’t, guys.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I very much wish this was the guy driving behind me this morning.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Guys over 50 who wear flat-brim hats can go straight to hell.

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

Oh yay, now I get to relive another kick to my nuts. I bet on South Carolina (-2.5) last night against Ole Miss. SC was up 4…until Ole Miss hit a meaningless 3 at the buzzer for a backdoor cover. Cool God, fun joke. I have yet to pick a winner on this blog which is amazing. Seriously, it’s amazing. If I was TRYING to lose 8 picks in a row, I couldn’t do it. Therefore, I have decided that naming this section “MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN” is a jinx. Thus, I am renaming this section to “MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENIUNELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE”

Today, I’m on Virginia, SMU and Boston College against the spread.

(My account currently at $34.28)

K bye.