Has My Wife Taken Me Prisoner? (6/28/18)

MY WORLD:

The VP and I finished watching “The Staircase” the other night (hold your applause! PLEASE! Standing ovation? CONTROL YOURSELVES!!!) During the second to last episode, I started thinking that I just wanted this show to be over. It’s dark and depressing and sad and scary and why was I watching this? When your “escape” revolves around stories about murder and the terrors of our legal system, it should not come as a surprise when your daily stresses don’t melt away. What happened to having a plop on the couch and sharing but a smile? Perhaps a chuckle or two before bedtime? Up until I was seduced by an older lady, now known as The VP of Ops, at the vulnerable age of 27, I was into happy, and, potentially, emotionally uplifting television. “The Office”, “Parks and Rec” and “Friday Night Lights” were more my speed. Laugh at Andy Dwyer, shed a tear for QB 1 and his decimated spinal chord, and root for Jim to finally tell Pam how he feels. (Sidenote: how many awkward “but I only like you as a friend” confrontations did the Jim/Pam story cause around the country? You know friend-zone guys everywhere were like “if it worked for Jim, it’ll work for me!”) But that all came to an end when my Mrs. Robinson came into the picture…

I remember The VP of Ops telling me that she was into murder when we started dating. It wasn’t concerning in the way of like “Hey Jimmy, I’m into murder because I enjoy murdering people and I’m thinking of murdering you.” It was more in the vein of “I like sitting on a couch with a devious smile on my face while good looking detectives battle personal demons and sexual tension with their co-workers throughout missions for justice.” She didn’t exactly spell it out like that, but when a hot chick is on a date with you, there are NO red flags. ZERO, FOLKS! Seriously, she could’ve pulled out a rusty knife and told me she was into amateur surgery and I would’ve been like “cool, totally!”

Anyway, long story short, unable to resist her wily seduction techniques, The VP roped me in to her world of heavy cream dips and depressing television. Somehow, my television viewing habits have gone from sitcoms and serialized dramas to trashy reality television and murder documentaries. Monday through Thursday over the past few months have consisted of: “The Bachelorette”, “Vanderpump Rules”, “Southern Charm”, “Evil Genius”, “The Staircase”, and “The Keepers”. We spend our weeknights either cackling at functioning alcoholics with undiagnosed personality disorders or silently watching strangers try to cope with the most horrific event of their lives. The VP has turned me into your Aunt Paula. Do you realize I’ve written more about “The Bachelorette” than I have about the Bears? I’M A MAN FOR CHRISSAKE! When does the Netflix doc about The VP murdering my masculinity come out? “Did We Record The Bachelor?”: The true story of a once proud Chicago man’s descent into madness.

What is happening to me? I used to think it was a lame joke when I’d hear older guys talk about how their “wives run the show.” My Dad’s friends would say shit like that and I’d toss a courtesy laugh their way while thinking A) I’m sure that’s not actually true, and B) has anybody actually laughed at that joke? Thing is, I’m beginning to think it wasn’t a joke! The VP doesn’t totally run the show (I’M MY OWN MAN!) but…like…maybe she does, actually. Shit.

Let’s take a look at the last 4 days: I have cooked three of the nights and brought home dinner the third. I then hand washed the pots and pans used for those meals, unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher. I have run two loads of laundry, bought her a heating pad, and taken out the trash. We have watched episodes “Southern Charm”, “The Bachelorette”, and “The Staircase”. ESPN has not been on our television for one second. I broke the sunglasses that she got for me last week, but haven’t worn my back-up pair because The VP says they’re “disgusting”. So I’ve just been squinting for the past week. Oh, and I gave her an alarmingly asexual back massage last night. (Realization hits as a look of panic washes over Jimmy’s face…) WHAT HAVE I BECOME?!?!

If my Dad’s friends knew what they were saying wasn’t a joke, why were they chuckling?!?! Why weren’t they grabbing me by the shoulders and telling me to save myself before it was too late?!?! “You don’t understand!!!” should’ve been how all of my Dad’s friends greeted me while I was still dating The VP. Folks, I didn’t plan on writing this blog today. What you are reading is a real-time discovery that I may not be the person I thought I was. Stay calm, Jimmy. Stay calm. EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!! Quickly, what are the things I believe I enjoy now that I wasn’t into before The VP plunged her talons into my testosterone supply:

-Oysters: Never even tried an oyster before The VP came into the picture. Now, I get excited when I’m at a place with good oysters. What are in some oysters? Pearls. Who likes pearls? Girls. Shit.

-English muffins: I have a multi-grain english muffin every morning for breakfast now. I used to eat bagels. Close your eyes and imagine Clint Eastwood walking into a dusty diner. When the waitress asks what he’d with his bacon and eggs, what do you think he orders? Without hesitation, it’s a bagel every single time. ENGLISH MUFFIN PROBABLY ISN’T EVEN AN OPTION IN CLINT’S DINER!

-Rolling up my jeans: The VP says it’s “cute”. My brothers and father make fun of me.

-Puppies: Not to say that I used to not like puppies, but I remember a time when I wouldn’t stop EVERYTHING I was doing whenever a puppy came into my field of vision. Now, it’s like a fire drill where I alert everyone around me that there’s a puppy and pray that I’m able to get to it in time to ask for a casual pet. That’s weird.

-Thinking about crying when I’m alone: I’m aware this sounds supremely depressing, but this blog is, if nothing else, honest. Whether it’s job stress or money stress or thinking about murder documentaries or wondering what Belle does all day while I’m gone, I have begun to think about crying when I’m alone. The strangest thing? I kinda’ like it! I never actually cry, but I’ll think to myself “should I pull over and have a quick weep sesh in that Office Depot parking lot?”

These trends are concerning and worth revisiting. (Now Jimmy, anticipate the call you will receive from The VP once she reads this. You’re playing checkers while she’s playing chess!) I’m not a prisoner, guys. Ha. Ha. (Blink twice). To the people who have not seen me in a while, and believe that I am being held captive by my wife, I have a message for you: The VP of Ops is not holding me captive as her prisoner. (Blink twice). She is a sweet and pretty lady that I love very much who deserves the entire whole wide world. (Blink twice). And yes, I am listening to “Keeping Score”, the new Dan + Shay single featuring Kelly Clarkson. It’s a lovely little tune!

(Help).

OUR WORLD:

The reason that city driving is so much more difficult is because everyone who lives in the city, and therefore drive in the city, is so stressed out by EVERYTHING that the slightest ANYTHING can set you off. I feel like a Velociraptor (that’s one word! Who knew?!?) while driving around my neighborhood–ready to plunge through the driver’s side window of my Chevy Equinox and go fangs-first into the next car that leaks into my lane of traffic. Combine the sounds of a constipated toddler with the aggression of a blackout-drunk Crossfit trainer who was just put in the friend zone by his Tinder date; that’s me driving in the city. That’s all of us driving in the city because Chicago, and I imagine all other large cities, is a garbage can overflowing with annoyances. What are some of the other PRIME City annoyances? Let’s take a look:

-The “was that a gunshot?”-sounds: Whenever I’m near the VP of Ops when one of these sounds happens, I immediately say “fireworks.” I play it cool and nonchalant so that she doesn’t worry, but (close your eyes VP) it’s probably gunshots sometimes, right? Who is setting off fireworks on a random Tuesday night in June? Also, you have to go to Wisconsin or Indiana to get fireworks, so what the hell are these sounds? That’s part of living in the city that I’ll never get used to. When I’m walking Belle at night, I say “what was that?” to a not-too-distant sound a minimum of 6 times. When these walks are immediately following a murder documentary, you better believe I contemplate breaking into a full sprint back towards my apartment.

-Walking up to street-parked car in the morning and seeing shards of glass in the distance: If you park on the street in the city your car, sooner or later, will be broken into. There is ZERO chance that it won’t. Trust me, I’ve run the numbers. On the day it is, you’ll be walking down the block your car is on when you’ll notice a pile of shattered turquoise pebbles. Those aren’t exotic city pebbles, though, those are what remains of your passenger-side window. I’ve had this happen twice which means that now, whenever I’m heading down the block my car is on, I have a near heart attack whenever I see a pile of turquoise in the distance. That color, btw, STINKS.

-City dogs and the dog-walkers: Don’t get me wrong, I luh me some doggies (see my puppy love in today’s “My World”). BUT! City dogs, including my own, are much more likely to be hairy psychopaths with crippling anxiety disorders. I don’t blame them, this is what comes with living in the city. However, when you’re having to zig zag across streets to make sure your dog doesn’t get within 500 feet of another hairy LUNATIC, your nerves begin to fray. This morning I took Belle on a 4 block walk and crossed the street no less than 18,000 times to avoid other dogs. Oh, and if you see a “professional” dog walker heading your way, be aware that they think of themselves as the top of the sidewalk food chain and will NEVER cross the street first. Am I just being constantly alpha’d by other dog owners in the game of “who’s going to cross the street first?” Do I call their bluff and play a game of chicken? If you knew Belle, you wouldn’t either.

-The smell of weed EVERYWHERE: I know this makes me sound like a total narc, but it really does smell like weed everywhere in the city. Like, every. single. place. When you’re afraid of weed like I am, this smell immediately triggers a response of panicked breath holding. Remember when you were a kid and your go-to tantrum move was holding your breath until you passed out? That’s me here.

-People: There are so many. Literally, millions and most of them do not abide by my personal code of conduct. It’s infuriating.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I’m just going to lean into this one…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Cabbies who drive Uber. I get that they have to adapt, but I feel tricked whenever I get in an Uber and am immediately hit with that “professional cabbie”-smell.

I HAVEN’T GAMBLED YET THIS WEEK. MANY PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT HOW INSPIRING MY SELF-CONTROL IS.

K bye.

Making The VP Mad and Reality Show Hall of Fame

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

Vanderpump Rules
Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives
Bar Rescue

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Easily the most hated character on “Vanderpump Rules”

Kristen D.png

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

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

(My account currently at $21.09)

K bye.