MY WORLD:

I think I live above a drug dealer.  In fact, it’s a couple, so I could very well be living above TWO drug dealers who are working in concert to avoid detection while maximizing ILLEGAL PROFITS!!! If you can’t tell yet, this goes deep.  While I’m sure many of you are saying to yourselves “Jimmy, just because a guy has neck tattoos, off-putting facial hair and a pit bull, it doesn’t mean he’s a drug dealer.”  (Time to dig my heels in and go into full-on Jimmy Law Mode…) WELL, THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE’S NOT A DRUG DEALER!  (Nailed it.)  

A couple weeks back (months? years? EVERYTHING IS BLURRING TOGETHER IN THIS FRANTIC WHIRLWIND WE CALL LIFE!!!)  ANYWAY!  A time ago, I was coming home late from work, for I am a “man of the night.”  When I parked my car on the street, I noticed the old, white Chevy Impala that is ALWAYS parked in the exact same spot.  I’m convinced this car was built on this corner and has never actually been driven and  the fact that it takes up the best parking spot near my building DRIVES ME BONKERS.  So I’m passing the car I hate the most on this fateful night when I notice a character in another raggedy car idling next to the Impala.  The senses honed while a Boy Scout for the 5 months before I told my Dad that I hated camping and being outdoors kicked in…SOMETHING WAS UP!

So I hurried up inside my building.  We live on the third floor of a six-unit building; two units per floor.  (Six flat? Three flat? IT’S NOT EVEN FLAT THOUGH SO WHAT THE FUCK?!?)  Once inside, I gave The VP of Ops that sweet baby smooch she’d, no doubt, been DAYDREAMING about all day and got my guard dog, Belly Psychopants, to head back outside for her nighttime dumperoo.  Little did Belle know that maintaining her digestive system wasn’t my main purpose for going outside; Detective Jimmy was ’bout to scope out this Impala situation.

Of course, we scurried across the street once outside.  The idling car was still idling right next to that fuggin’ Impala and this was purely a stake-out situation for me.  Time to hide on the side of the street without any lights!  (You think darkness is your ally?  I WAS BORN IN THE DARK!!!)  Shielded by the night sky, Belly Psychopants sniffed every single blade of grass while I squinted at the wasteful driver (idling in your car is no bueno for your engine FYI.  Read that on a little website called Google. EVER HEARD OF IT?!?!)  After about 4 minutes of Belle’s grass sniffing and my sleuthing, someone got out of the idling car.  He wasn’t a small man, but he wasn’t a big man…HE WAS A NORMAL-SIZED MAN!  (So, not really distinguishable from across the street at night.)  

Once outside the car, I noticed something VERY suspicious: he was on his phone.  Yeah! Yeah! AND! He left his car running with the door open.  I almost alerted him that this area is known for carjackings but his aura screamed “I DON’T GIVE A CARE!”  (You felt his aura?  Or were you just scared?  Answer the question, Jimmy.  We’ll wait…) Belle tugged on her leash either because she had to make a doody or because she was a frightened ‘lil beeyotch.  Unfortunately for Belle, Pomerantz’s never succumb to fear (dubious, at best).  While on the phone, NSM (normal-sized man), went up to the white impala’s gas tank.  He popped open the…uh….latch? You know, the little door-thing you open when putting gas in your car? (Car guy alert!) NSM opened the tiny gas-door thingy, looked like he took something out of there, then got back in his car and took off.

When he got back in his car, it’s not like he peeled off, but, in a way, isn’t that MORE suspicious?  He was probably like “just in case there’s a definitely-not-scared 32 year-old man with his labradoodle watching me from behind a tree across the street, I better not peel off and draw MORE attention to myself.”  I SEE THROUGH YOUR GAMES, PAL!!! I looked down at Belle to mutter “that was something” but she didn’t even care.  How interesting can the smells of grass really be?  Seriously?!?! We weren’t done snooping yet, though.  For, right as we were about to go about our dumpin’ ways, I heard the main door to MY apartment building open.  It’s a loud door because our landlord has never heard of WD-40, BUT THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT.  I heard our door, and went back into squint-mode.  Belle went back to sniffing and, like, totally not helping our cause.

Our well-lit entrance revealed a pale man with dark tattoos slither out the front door, down the steps, and over to…that goddamn Impala.  This guy owns the Impala!  While resisting my overwhelming urge to yell “WHY HAVE A CAR IF YOU’RE NEVER GONNA DRIVE IT?!?!” I noticed that slither-man was ALSO interested in the tiny gas-door thingy (hold on, I’m gonna google this…some are calling it a “fuel door”)  Slither-man opened the fuel door, grabbed something, and then went back to his slithering ways back inside our building.  I watched the windows of our building from outside and noticed that a light came on, on the floor below The VP and I right around the same time he entered the building.  What. Just. Happened.

I’ll tell ya’ what just happened!  That fuel door (car guy!) is the secret exchange place for drugs and money.  One guy drops drugs there, the other guy drops money in exchange for said drugs, then the first guy (drug guy!) gets the money.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is a guilty verdict with A FRIGGIN’ BOW ON IT!  I don’t need a silly hat and magnifying glass to solve the great crimes of the 21st Century.  All I need is my fluffy dog and the COVER OF DARKNESS!

Now, if you’re thinking that I’ve rushed to judgement, don’t worry, I’ve put together more pieces to the puzzle since this dark, scary, yet illuminating night.  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you, my findings:

-The outside of slither-man’s apartment door, the one facing to the hall, has a black feather wreath hanging on it.  I plan to call on a nationally renowned wreath-expert who will reveal that black feather wreaths signify one thing, and one thing only: drugs.

-Slither-man and his female companion have NEVER been seen during daylight.  While the VP and I have seen all of the other tenants of the building soaking up Vitamin D, we have yet to see Slither-man and Jane Doe bag ANY rays.  I know what you’re thinking: “But Jimmy, a lot of people work at night and sleep during the day!  Maybe they’re just bartenders or factory workers.”  That brings me to my next finding…

-Every single night when I take Belly Psychopants outside, there is a cloud of weed smoke billowing out from under Slither-man’s door and into the hallway.  Last I checked, it’s pretty tough to be at a factory and smoking weed inside your apartment AT THE SAME TIME! (This is the part where I shrug my shoulders and say something like “Not that I’m against weed or nuffin'” to get the jury on my side.  Lemme tellya’ though, as a certified weed-fearing person, walking through clouds of pot smoke, terrified of catching a contact-high and, subsequently, having a paranoia panic attack is NOT an enjoyable experience every time you have to take your dog out.  I feel like a scuba diver without an oxygen tank whenever I pass this apartment while it’s dark outside.)

-Slither-man and Jane Doe have a big, scary looking dog that is very calm.  Must be stoned.  No other possible explanation for it.  (Maybe they just paid attention to training it from a young age, unlike some people…) NOPE!

-And, just in case you weren’t paying attention during my opening argument, Slither-man’s white, Chevy Impala has not moved for a MINIMUM of 15 years.  MINIMUM!

For all you mathematicians out there, here’s the arithmetic:

Fuel door shenanigans + White Impala that has never moved + Black feather wreath + Clouds of pot smoke outside their door + Big, scary stoned dog + Night time sightings ONLY 

EQUALS

Drug Dealers

I rest my case.

Going forward, I may touch on potential best and worst-case scenarios involving The VP and I living about these drug kingpins.  For now, Belle and I will continue to sniff out grass smells of all kinds (see what I did there?  GOD, I’M GOOD!) 

OUR WORLD:

There is no formal review of this week’s “The Bachelorette” because I got home late last night and was so frustrated with everything surrounding my day that I just had to be alone to cook in the kitchen while the show aired (there may also have been a mondo Martini involved here).  Here is what I gathered from The VP yelling to me from the living room and getting to catch the last 11 minutes-ish of the show:

-Jordan did something: I don’t really know what.  The VP yelled some muffled thing about Jordan maybe winning something or doing something or…Look, this guy is the only thing keeping this season afloat.  Although, I’m starting to think he’s just too obvious of a producer-plant.  Like, is really dumb enough to say the things he’s saying? The whole “my face is my professionality” thing, etc.  He’s like an evil-Michael Scott who…may be in on the joke?  Is he?

-Cologne-guy got booted:  Uhhhhhhh, called it.  Dudes who are into cologne and “accoutrements” are BOZOS of the highest degree.  I feel ridiculous even writing the word “accoutrements”.  I can’t imagine bragging to a national television audience about how my self-worth is tied to the “accoutrements” and cologne I wear.  YAMMA MOMMA!

-My fave, stunt-guy Leo, got a rose!  This dude has no chance of winning, but I’m glad he’s still around.  He’s legitimately funny and still has the potential to steal the show by performing a death-defying stunt.  Whether it’s a car or building or…motorcycle?  Leo needs to jump out of something right as it explodes.  His awesome long hair will just miss the ball of flames behind him as he tucks into perfectly executed barrel roll.  Then he should get up, spit out the shards of glass that landed in his mouth from said explosion, and grab Becca like he’s never going to let her go.  If she still picks Garret or Colton after that, then she can go straight to hell.

-Weasel-face David has a bloody eye:  That’s all.  His eye looks gross and I still hate his weasel face.  He def would’ve been kicked off if he hadn’t just fallen off his bunkbed.  Bunkbed fall will buy him 1 more episode TOPS.

Those are my takeaways.  I’ll do my best to not require alone-in-the-kitchen-with-a-huge-martini-time next Monday night.

I did watch “The Proposal” afterwards and, oh baby, that show is DELICIOUSLY TRASHY!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

There’s a new Death Cab for Cutie song!  While not their best of all-time, it’s new and they’re my favorite band so…EVERYTHING THEY DO I LIKE!  Also, VP dunked on the universe with her bday gift to me last week–tickets to these guys next time they’re in town.  Boomshakalaka:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s exhausting getting worked up about ALL of these horrifying Trump administration performances, isn’t it?  I legitimately think that the stress created by this ghoulish White House is having an impact on everyone’s mood.  Am I the only one a little more on edge than I should be?

WHAT CUTE OR FUNNY THING DID MY DOG DO THAT YOU PROBABLY HAD TO BE THERE FOR, BUT COULD MAYBE PUT US ALL IN A BETTER MOOD?

She sneezed right in The VPs face last night.  Legit drenched her.  I was proud of Belle.

K bye.