Single Jimmy at His Worst and NFL Draft Scouting Reports (4/26/18)

MY WORLD:

A couple days ago I wrote about “Single Jimmy” and posted a blurry picture of myself on Instagram. I would like to tell you the origin story of this picture.

I was working as a 21 year-old MANAGER! at an Italian-ish restaurant in a Northern suburb of Chicago. I had been there for about a year and a half; quickly climbing the mom-and-pop-restaurant ladder going from carry out to server to manager in the blink of an eye! To this day, many people still speak of how quick my ascension to MANAGEMENT was (they don’t? Are we sure? Well, how many people have you asked?) REGARDLESS! Throughout these two years, I would work full time and go to college full time by scheduling all of my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On those days, classes would basically go from 9am to 10pm, which would allow me to work the other 5 days of the week at the restaurant.

–QUICK ASIDE, I’m going to call the restaurant “Casa’s House” because that’s an inside joke to the people that have worked there, but NOT the actual name of the restaurant (this Jimmy’s a real huckster, if you ask me.)—

I tell you about this schedule not to brag about my work ethic (even though you MUST be impressed) OR make you feel bad for me, but to illustrate that my ENTIRE social life was also wrapped up in this restaurant. And that was a great thing! It was the first place I felt part of a solid group of friends and it helped me regain some of the confidence that was lost during the “No really, I like eating lunch alone in the library!”-high school years. By the time I became MANAGER! at “Casa’s House” I had even dated a waitress (a relationship that didn’t work out for some reason that I’m sure had nothing to do with my claims that her therapist was “out to get me.”) With confidence now above negative 3 trillion (the High School low water mark), I had developed a crush on another co-worker, lets call her “Larry” so when the VP of Ops asks me about this story, I’ll laugh when she gets jealously scoffs “Who was this LARRY girl?!?!”. LARRY was younger and better looking and more popular than me, BUT I tricked myself into thinking I had a chance with her because I was now a MANAGER! (Did I mention I was a manager?)

As anyone who has worked in restaurants knows, the best time to make a move on a work-crush is at a company get-together because it’s WAY TOO SCARY to just ask them out on a date. So I spent the first few months of Larry’s employment trying to organize group outings after every shift we worked together. “Guys, we are SO OVERDUE for a Tuesday-hang!”-would be something I said around this time. Then, I’d turn to Larry and be like “Oh Larry, I forgot you were even working tonight. Would you like to join us? Not like I care or anything, but like, ya know, whatever.” (You could say, I knew how to play hard to get.) Most of these NOT-OBVIOUS-AT-ALL attempts to hang with Larry ended with me going to a local dive bar with everyone but Larry, but there were a few times she’d come by and we’d flirt. She was about to start college, so I could kinda’ play the cooler older guy role until she spoke to ANYONE who knew me in high school. The idea was to impress her enough during the summer months that we’d become bf/gf and fall in love and everyone would be impressed AND WE’D BE TOGETHER FOREVER!

Unfortunately, Larry began to lose interest in Tuesday night bar hangs as the summer dragged on, before leaving for college in the fall. My plan of impressing her by drinking SoCo and Limes while making restaurant jokes did not work probably because she was a HUMORLESS HEARTLESS WITCH! Either way, I sulked my way through the fall, but I was plotting for ONE LAST DITCH EFFORT to woo Larry…when she returned home for winter break at the restaurant’s Holiday Party.

The owner’s of “Casa’s House” were/are/will-probably-always-be generous enough to throw their weirdo/borderline-alcoholic staff a really nice holiday party. This year, they were taking us to a place called “Whirlyball” in Chicago: think bumper cars meets basketball meets lacrosse. The activity itself is fun and they were also paying for an open bar. That, my friends, is called DOUBLE FUN! Plus, oh and this was my fave part, they invited Larry without me even asking them to.

So we got there and I figured that because I was a MANAGER! and 21 years old, that beginning the night with a Long-Island Iced Tea was a GREAT IDEA! Nothing like carpet-bombing your nerves with 7 different liquors in a tall glass before trying to flirt with your crush (this NEVER backfires). After a few rounds of whirlyball, where you get to drive a bumper car drunk while yelling at your teammates to “hit the net thing!”, Jimmy Good Times (‘member JGT?) was feeling LOOSE! Larry was being flirty with me which was fun, and I was discovering that when the first Long Island goes down smooth, the next two go down EVEN SMOOTHER!

Feeling like French Toasty, the cool-kid group decided to go out front to smoke a cigarette because that’s what cool young adults do (consequences are for SUCKERS!) While outside looking extra bad boy with cig in mouth, I decided that now was the time to THOROUGHLY IMPRESS Larry with a little something I like to call my brute strength and power. And how else do you do that besides picking people up, throwing them over your shoulder and spinning around in the Whirlyball parking lot? To borrow a phrase from my friend “Cash Out”, I’ve looked at it from all angles, and there was no other way to show off my strength.

The thing was, it was going well! I picked up a couple guys and girls and everyone was laughing but also probably like “Damn, I didn’t know Jimmy was so powerful.” Which was really amazing because I wore tight t-shirts all the time. HOW COULD THEY NOT KNOW?!?! (What an unbelievable douchebag I was). After picking up and spinning with just about everyone, it was the moment of truth: time to pick up Larry. In my hazy memory, I think she was actually kinda excited. Everyone else seemed to enjoy it and, while I was in meathead-mode, it’s not like I was FORCING people to take these rides on my shoulders.

Unfortunately, after throwing Larry over my shoulder and beginning the spin part of the ride, JGT was overwhelmed with the dizzies. Could there have been worse timing? NO TIMES A MILLION TRILLION! So I fell down. Although, when I say fall, you know I mean “crashed into the cement wall of the building while kinda-tossing Larry into a parked car,” right? *Cue the theme song from “Gladiator”–ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!

Aside from a bump on her head, Larry was fine. I, on the other hand, needed to have another co-worker bandage my torn ear up while I laughed and profusely apologized and wanted to crawl into the sewer where people like Jimmy Meathead belong. Larry assured me everything was okay and she was fine, but the image of a powerful, restaurant manager, I was going for had been shattered.

In an attempt to prove to everyone that I WAS FINE! EVERYTHING IS FINE! I went back into the Whirlyball bar and ordered tequila shots for myself, my good server friend and the owner of “Casa’s House”. The owner was a big tequila guy, so what, was I NOT supposed to order shots for him and I? That woulda’ been crazy. So we took back to back tequila shots together because that’s what managers trying to impress owners do. (You’re not a manager? Oh, then you just wouldn’t know.)

Larry was back inside and laughing and I was making fun of myself and everyone was back to having a good time. Then, as one does, I had to take a little break for a tinkle…And the next thing I know, I was eye-to-eye with the base of a toilet bowl:

Whirly

My good dear sweet friend Kyle took this picture and stayed with me as I inspected the base of the toilet with my eyes closed and drool coming out of my mouth (that’s how plumbers do it, guys.) Eventually, I was taken out of Whirlyball by my friends like the dead guy in “Weekend At Bernie’s”. *If you look close, you can see my bandaged up ear. Isn’t that fun!?!?!

2 days later, the next time I saw Larry at work, I gave her a gift card I bought for a super expensive spa in the city and apologized profusely for maybe 48 straight minutes. We never ended up dating. The VP of Ops is so lucky.

OUR WORLD:

The NFL Draft is tonight and it’s one of my favorite days of the year. Here are some quick Jimmy scouting reports on guys the Bears may take:

Roquan Smith: Killer linebacker from Georgia who I know is good because I saw him play in 3 games and he made some big tackles. Also, he was originally committed to go to UCLA, which means he’s basically a Bruin and we were basically classmates and so he’s going to be good.

Final Grade: I want.

Quenton Nelson: Big fat guy who plays a boring position for a school that I HATE. Was he good? Who cares. All guards do is block and if you pay attention to blocking while watching football YOU ARE LYING THAT YOU DO THAT! All the draft people say he’s “can’t miss”, but drafting a big ugly is the quickest way for your team to ruin the excitement of draft night.

Final Grade: I don’t want.

Minkah Fitzpatrick: DB from Alabama so he’s probably good because Nick Saban only recruits studs and then is mean to them so they’re “well coached” by the time they reach the league. I do keep hearing that he doesn’t really have a position, corner or safety, and since I don’t remember him when I watched Alabama last year; THAT’S A PROBLEM! The Bears already have one Alabama safety. That’s enough.

Final Grade: I don’t really want but I don’t totally not want.

Denzel Ward: Fast, little corner from Ohio State. I know nothing about him, but fast little corners sound fun! I’ve heard draft experts describe him as “twitchy” like it’s a good thing. Hope he doesn’t have tourettes and get in trouble for saying bad words in front of his coaches!

Final Grade: I kinda want.

Calvin Ridley: Receiver who caught the game-winning touchdown in Alabama’s National Championship game. This guy was talked about throughout the year as the best receiver in the country and I saw him play well in two games so…HE’S A STUD! Also, receivers are fun to root for and we need a new young one to help us get past the sting of Kevin White flaming out (although…I haven’t totally given up on him…)

Final Grade: I want.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Endless highlights with this guy…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your team takes an offensive lineman in the first round and if the Bears do it tonight I’M GONNA BE FURIOUS!

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

I went 3 for 5 last night because I threw in the Bruins on the moneyline too. That’s a net positive, folks. Tonight? Not gambling. Too busy watching the NFL Draft. Wait! Can you gamble on the draft? I’ll report back tomorrow.

(My account currently at $188.20)

K bye.

Best Drink of the Week and Travel Talk (4/12/18)

OUR WORLD:

My friends and I had a discussion a couple weeks back where we tried to rank the best drinks of the week. Keep in mind, this is not a ranking of the best drinks of your life, like after some crowing achievement or overcoming some adversity, simply the best drinks of a normal boring-ass week. While my friends, nicknamed “Thunder” and “Cash Out”, had differing opinions (that I don’t remember because we were on martini numero tres at this point in the night), I believe that the following list is THE definitive drink of the week ranking….er, list….YOU GET IT!

I’m gonna count down from 5 to 1 because I’m a storyteller who likes to build suspense…

5) Tuesday night, at about 6:41 P.M., the Double IPA you drink as you prepare dinner. Your Monday nightmare is but a distant memory now, and having made it through Tuesday as well means that you’re back in your weekly routine. Tuesday was a long day, but you’re in full-on “weekday work-mode” now, so it’s okay. You got off work, went to the gym and took an extra long run because the Monday workout was more about ridding weekend toxins, than actually improving your health. Tuesday at the gym is about proving to yourself that you’re not the fat piece of shit that your thighs say you are (sitting in a car while wearing jeans that just came out of the drier puts me under the deepest of deep depressions when I look down at my thighs and pray that they don’t burst through my pants. I swear I could hear my thighs screaming for help.) So you ran far enough to sweat through your dirty hat, and you got home in time to make a meal that takes just long enough to enjoy every little sip of the Double IPA that you so rightly earned on the treadmill. It’ll be your only beer of the night because it’s high ABV, but you’ll savor every. single. sip.

4) Sunday morning, at about 10:24 A.M., the Bloody Mary you drink at your favorite comfort-food brunch spot. Sunday mornings can be rough, and this is no exception. You stayed out too late the night before and snuck a cigarette with your friend who smokes when your spouse was busy making fun of you behind your back (or, in my case, you vaped like an absolute fiend because you’ve convinced yourself that vaping is kinda healthy…) Your mouth tastes like desert garbage and all you really want to do is curl up in sweatpants and wait for the Sunday night depression to hit. BUT! You told your kinda-friends two weeks ago that you’d meet for brunch, so you have to shower and wear a shirt that doesn’t have late-night salsa stains on it. Your spouse asks if there’s any Advil left. There is, but there’s only 2 and you’re holding the bottle so you lie and say “no”…then close your bathroom door and pour the last 2 into your hand slow enough that it doesn’t make that bottle-rattle sound and blow your cover. The walk or uber to brunch is all about convincing yourself that you’re “not actually that hungover,” but you are. The Bloody Mary at this place has some fun cheese and meat things that come in it, but you’re kinda scared to order it because alcohol is the devil. You order it, though, because you’re not a NARC and it IS the weekend. You’ll really really enjoy the first half of it as it washes over your hangover and brings you back to the “kinda loopy and feeling not hungover”-phase of being drunk. It’s the last truly enjoyable buzz of the weekend because nighttime is far enough away that you can pretend it’s not coming.

3) Saturday late-afternoon, at about 4:17 P.M., the I.P.A. you have to set the base for the rest of your AGGRESSIVE night. (I’m realizing that there are people reading this who have kids and, I just want to say that I’m sorry that I’m still in the aggressive Saturday night drinking phase of my life. Am I ashamed of it? Slightly. But, by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, I’m so excited about going out that I tuck the shame away in my “I’ll deal with this on Monday”-dresser drawer.) Plan is to meet up with friends at a shitty-in-a-good-way bar a little after 5. You’re ready and your spouse is in the shower, so it’s time to put on some sporting event you don’t really care about and to properly enjoy a good beer before you dive into the “get me whatever you’re getting” bar orders for the rest of the night. Now is the time to use your favorite, most beer-snobby, fancy beer glass. Be sure to pour it slow and make sex noises after your first sip; this is the last time that you’ll be truly enjoying the taste of what you’re drinking for the rest of the night. This beer will also be a quick topic of conversation early on in the night, when you try to prove to your friends that you have taste by talking about a beer they’ve never heard of.

2) Friday lunch, at about 12:21 P.M., the margarita you get with your co-workers at the Mexican restaurant by your office. The morning meetings are over, and you still have to send a few e-mails out, but you’ve effectively made it to the weekend. It’s time for chips and salsa and marg(s) (stick to one marg, guys…once you go for the second in front of co-workers, you’re known as THAT lunch-drunk-guy). Bitching about the job is ALWAYS the topic, and this is the most acceptable time and place for it. Get all the bitching out now because your spouse has heard ENOUGH throughout the week, and if you bring more of that shit into the weekend SHE’S GONNA LOSE IT! (Can we make a cool looking medallion that says “No Work Talk” that we all wear around our necks from Friday night through Sunday night? Feels like a piece of jewelry a hipster would wear and not admit that they got it at Urban Outfitters…”Urban Outfitters? No, I only shop at thrift stores.”) Get ready for a lot of deep exhales and “we made it to Friday”-headshakes. They’re gonna feel good and earned and your co-workers are gonna nod at you overtime you do one because they know…they know…

1) Thursday night, when you’re alone at about 7:02 P.M., the martini that you carefully measure out and make like you’re a bartender whose rent depends on the tip you’ll get from this one drink. This is a special time that was great when you were single and now only happens when your spouse is out of town or out for the night at a work event. Does it mean you don’t love your significant other? I mean, maybe…like, why are you with them? (To the 4 people reading this who are in bad relationships, now is when you look at yourself in the mirror and think about sad stuff…we’ll wait…) You’re not in a relationship crisis, but getting to celebrate heading into Friday by crafting a nice cocktail by yourself is simply exhilarating. There is no need for you to put music on or anything while you do this; the sound of almost-Friday silence is melodic and able to perfectly harmonize with the sounds your shaker makes while chilling your gin martini or old fashioned or some other drink they serve at the restaurant you only go to on your birthday. If you have a dog, they’ll come over and you’ll say something to them like “we did it.” Do you normally take pictures of your meal when you go out to eat? Of course not, those people don’t read this blog. But, maybe you take a picture of this drink you just made. You don’t need to send it out, but there should be a record of it somewhere. Next time you do this, toss a 5 dollar bill on your kitchen counter because you deserve a tip.

*In case insurance people or doctors or my in-laws read this, I would like to state that this is a hypothetical week and does not mean that I imbibe in all of these drinks every week…not, every week…IT’S HYPOTHETICAL! THAT MEANS, LIKE, NOT TOTALLY REAL-LIFE!

MY WORLD:

*Every once in a while, I’m going to need to throw a George Costanza-style rant your way. Today is one of those days. Please indulge the following:

The VP and I had the new “Jersey Shore” show on in the background while she cooked dinner and I looked at my phone like a slob last night. We weren’t really watching, except to comment about JWoww’s newly-mangled face (wrinkles are better than plastic surgery-face) and The Situation being sober and…why is he on the show, then? Anyway, during the show or maybe in a commercial or something (I was busy being an instagram slob, guys!) I heard someone say, “you know, you should really travel more.” What an obnoxious thing to say.

When I heard it, I walked into the kitchen to rant at The VP about how mad it made me. Is there anyone ALIVE who thinks to themselves “I’m glad I don’t travel”? You know what? “I’ve got the next twelve years off and a ton of zeroes in my bank account, but this couch is pretty comfy and I love not knowing anything about life outside this country!” The reason people don’t travel more is because…hmmm….let’s put on our detective hats…oh wait, it’s BECAUSE TRAVELING IS EXPENSIVE! Would you ever tell someone “you know, you should really make more money”? NO, because you’re not trying to set the world record for being-an-asshole. Aside from the ludicrous content of this message, it’s always made worse because the person saying it is thinking they’re some Advice God selflessly gifting wisdom on the uncultured alley rats of society. Get da fuck outta’ here with that shit!

I wish I could say that made me feel better, but I’m still mad that people think saying “you should travel more” is not only acceptable, but needed advice. GOD THAT MAKES ME SO MAD!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Uh oh, is Jimmy suggesting a song that hipsters might like? Giddy up! This is a perfect song to listen to when you’re getting stressed out and wondering if it’s time to cry alone in your car.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

BuzzFeed can go straight to hell.

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

Good thing I didn’t listen to my advice and bet on Milwaukee over Philly last night. Philly won by seven billion points, if you missed it. It’s time for me to huddle with my crew and figure out NBA playoff futures. At first glance, I don’t hate Cleveland getting +650 to win the title. However, that means I’d have to root for LeBron and that sounds awful to me…The East stinks, though, and once they’re in the ‘ship you never know what kind of injuries Houston or Golden State could be dealing with. Who’s gonna talk me out of this?

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

The Early 30s St. Patrick’s Day

OUR WORLD:

St. Patrick’s Day is tomorrow, Saturday, and Chicagoans in their early 30s have decided, unanimously, that they are okay with watching the world pass them by. Miller Lite sunglasses that you got for free 6 years ago, your only green shirt that’s kinda too tight, a group e-mail chain organizing a trolley and arguing over who is paying who for the 19 handles of Fireball? We’re too old for this shit, guys. Green beer? Kids. Wrigleyville? Bros? UH, NO THANKS! Maybe we’ll go grab a beer, but we’re past the days of car-bomb breakfasts. How about us, huh? We just don’t need it. Sure, we’re old. Hey, now that we’re 32, we have other interests that bring me more joy and no hangover. Hey bros, try a game night while sipping a few well made sessionable pale ales! Hops? No, I’m not talking about “What Lebron’s still got”. Idiots.

Now go to your tiny bathroom, look in the mirror and ask yourself the following question: but, what if? Let it linger. What if you, not just you, what if WE let go of our defense mechanisms, ignored how self conscience and jaded we have become and tried to smile again? Go ahead and smile in the mirror. YOU KNOW I’M SUCH A FOOL FOR YOU. YOU’VE GOT ME WRAPPED AROUND YOUR FINGERRRR A-UH-UH. DO YOU HAVE TO LET IT LINGER? DO YOU HAVE TO? DO YOU HAVE TO? DO YOU HAVE TO LET IT LINGER? Guys, lets grab that kinda-too-small green tee for one last dance.

Send out a text to your friends asking what everyone is doing for St. Patty’s tomorrow. It’s okay, you can cut it with a little joke like “don’t worry, I’ll get the Fireball handle. Lol.” Haha…but you’re kinda hoping they don’t laugh. And maybe, just maybe, they won’t. Maybe they’ll chuckle at first and send something back like “Omg. Can you even imagine?” But that’s the thing, you can imagine. And they can too. That’s when someone, YOU! needs to send the “I mean, why not?”-text. (EXPLOSION SOUNDS)

“Honey, Jimmy, you know that friend of mine who can wear anything because he makes everything look good?”

“Oh, I like him. He’s fun.”

“Yeah, well he just texted ‘why not?”

“About…no! Not about-”

“St. Patrick’s Day. Yeah.”

In our story, you can be Jimmy. You can be the person to send the text that causes couples to look at each other in silence for 8 seconds before the fun one says “I mean, it’s not like we have anything else to do.” And so it begins. You don’t have plans on Sunday, so hangover recovery will take precedence and the weather is supposed to be shitty Sunday anyways, so it’s not like you’re wasting a day. And look, even if the hangover lasts into Monday, I mean, it’s Monday! You’ll be back up to speed by Tuesday at the latest. “Why not?” turns to “what if?” turns to “I’ll make green jello shots.” Guards begin to lower their rifles and friends start tossing out their favorite St. Patrick’s Day “remember when?”-texts. Momentum has built and the only turning back that’s happening now is happening to your clocks. (Did you get that? Like a “turn back the clocks” joke. It sounded good in my head, but I’m not sure it translated. Is explaining it helping?)

It’s too late to get a trolley and, honestly, that’s for the best (wait, you know about a last-minute deal?) Trolley’s are too risky on St. Pat’s because it may be cold and you don’t wanna have to cover up that hot tee with a puffy coat all day (GET OFF ME PUFF!) What we, you?…no, we, what we should do is meet at a the friend’s place who has the nicest outdoor area. If it is warm, you’re gonna wanna bag those early spring rays. So you meet at Davey Big Deck’s place around 11am. Not too early, but day drinking is fun and this may be your last dance so…MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

Start off with some smiles and “it’s really happening!”-embraces. The excitement of this unexpected gathering will intoxicate most guests immediately upon arrival. Pour yourself a bloody in a red plastic cup, and you know what? I’ll have one too! Someone probably brought candied bacon for the bloody’s (perks of being over 30 is that people put effort into things like bacon!) Tunes are playing on Davey Big Deck’s nice speakers and, wait! What’s that sound?!?! THAT’S NELLY Y’ALL! HOT SHIT!!! YOU CAN FIND ME IN ST. LOUIS ROLLIN’ ON DUBS!

Mean mugs and shoulder shrugs are aplenty as we move from Bloody’s to Lite’s to Guinness to…MARK BROUGHT FIREBALL! NCAA tourney games play on Davey Big Deck’s dope ass big tv that’s way better than yours but today isn’t a day for jealousy but FUCK I’M JEALOUS. I ADMIT IT, I’M JEALOUS! You’ll get together with a few buds and determine that the only way to win a 6 team moneyline parlay is to place the bet four solo-cup drinks deep and pick the teams on “gut feelings”-only. Making money is easy, guys.

I won’t lie, there will be some adversity. A couple will have a not-as-muted-as-they-think fight in a corner. Bill will appoint himself DJ a few hours in to play his favorite Doo-Wop songs and everyone will wonder who has the stones to tell him Doo-Wop STINKS AND IS KILLING THE FUCKING MOOD! You’ll probably need to order the food yourself and, jeez, that’s always scary trying to Venmo-collect from everyone afterwards, but today is a day of risk taking so let ‘er rip!

When you get the pizza from the delivery driver, you should announce to the room “DID SOMEBODY SAY PIZZA?!?!” They didn’t, but they’ll cheer and you’ll get slapped on the back. It’s nicer than expected outside, guys! I don’t have to wear my coat! (you’ll get cold pretty quick, but this is the time you pretend it’s not that cold).

I will leave you there because this is not just my story…this is our story and we can all write our own endings to that simple question you’re gonna ask yourself in tomorrow’s morning mirror: “What if?”

MY WORLD:

I’m in a really good mood right now because I listened to “Linger” by The Cranberries and “Country Grammar” by Nellie on repeat for the past couple hours. LET’S HAVE A FUCKING FRIDAY PEOPLE!!!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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:

Yesterday was a dark, dark day where I went 1-10 on games I put money on. I’m not here to talk about the past. However, I am staying dark due to me thinking that this blog is cursing my gambling….AW SCREW IT, LET’S HAMMER PROVIDENCE!

(My account currently at $55.17)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

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

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Oscars Predictions and an Ideal Friday (3/2/2018)

MY WORLD:

Happy Friday y’all! (I can say y’all cuz the VP of Ops is from the South and I’m married to her so I get to do what she gets to do because marriage is fair and that’s fair and shut up). The excitement I feel when I wake up Friday morning is the closest I now get to the excitement of childhood Christmas morning. Instead of running down the stairs to see presents, I’m running down the clock to get to drink many many alcohols. As a functional (FUNCTIONAL!) alcoholic, weekends are when I get to introduce the public to JIMMY GOOD TIMES aka JGT. I rid myself of the crippling fear of hangovers-which has ruined weeknight drinking for me forever-and am an overall much nicer, funnier, relaxed, better looking person (the better looking part of JGT abruptly ends when I wake up Sunday morning and morph into JIMMY SWEATPANTS; an overwhelmed, disheveled manager of hangovers and Sunday scaries who ONLY wears the pair of black Jordan Brand sweatpants that he bought in high school using his parents money.)

Every Friday seems to get away from me before it even starts, though. Like, I’ll get so excited that I’ll have a beer or two at lunch (BREAKING NEWS: Jimmy Good Times is at the gas station filling up that tank!) After an afternoon of e-mails, Steve Winwood tunes and some V suave, yet subtle seated dance moves, I basically run out to my car, forget any plans that I had for the night and lose myself in a “whatever, as long as I have a beer”-mindset. Think of how your dog acts when you ask if he wants a treat, then multiply that by FIFTY HUNDRED MILLION THOUSAND!

In an effort to plan ahead like uhhhhhh an adult, I would like to set forth my ideal Friday. Now look guys, while this is ideal, I also want it to be at least potentially realistic, so it won’t include deep-tissue massages from the girl in “Peaky Blinders” or Eddie Vedder introducing me to Wrigleyville bartenders as his “inspiration”. Let’s get real, here’s my IDEAL Friday.

EARLY MORNING: I get up at 6:30 feeling like a crisp bill of fucking money. The VP of Ops takes Belle out for her morning walk (already beginning to feel unrealistic…) I put on my cool-guy gym outfit, go to my Planet Fitness (can’t hear your snide remarks in this purple judgment-free zone). Bang out a killer sweat sesh to alleviate any guilt that may try to slow down JGT later in the night. Take a shower, and go to work with hair day that deserves its own series on AMC.

MID MORNING: Get to work and am greeted with coworkers feeling awkward around me because they were just talking about how much they enjoy my social media presence (don’t feel awkward guys, I’m a regular human being person just like you). The song on the office stereo changes to “Valerie” by Steve Winwood. I barely notice how great of a job I’m doing at my desk because I’m lost in chair dancing. People pretend not to notice, but they can’t help but secretly envy my effortless rhythm in the seated position.

LUNCH: We go to Big Star for margs and tacos and sit outside cuz it’s a sunny 76 degrees and my skin tans to the perfect shade of “did you go on vacation?” I’ll eat 3 tacos cuz 4 makes my stum hurt and I don’t want to get too full to enjoy their supes refreshing margy’s. Oh, and they better salt the ever-loving shit outta’ that glass, cuz JGT is a Salt Boi 4 Lyfe! Tablemates ask why I haven’t eaten many chips, I lie to them and say “I didn’t even notice them on the table” when it’s really because I have tremendous self-control and am planning to overdose on chips tomorrow. 2 margs, 3 tacos and a solid base tan later and I’m ready to polish off the last 4 hours of this workweek (UPDATE: Jimmy Good Times has crossed state lines into Illinois! “I’m comin’ home, I’m comin’ home, tell the world cuz I’m comin’ home”-JGT)

AFTERNOON: Well worded e-mails come pouring out of my fingers with Queens of the Stone Age’s “Rated R” album playing in the background. The office is beginning to empty, but I’ll wait because I’m a hard worker…and I brought a mid-afternoon beer back to my desk to sip on. What beer you ask? Let’s go with a hoppy MONSTER that you’ve never heard of but has V cool artwork on the can (I will pour it in a glass though cuz I like to show off how I’m not chugging yet). I finish that first beer right as 4:20 strikes and I make a funny, but like cool-funny weed joke to a co-worker who wears marijuana leaf socks. After he recovers from his laughing fit, we decide that since we’re in the last 20% of people left in the office, it’s time to leave and get a beer downstairs (I work at a V hot and sexy brewery and my office is above the taproom. BRAGGY BOY!)

DUSK: Polish off a beer in the taproom and go outside just as the VP of Ops pulls up to drive us back (responsible). VPOps parallel parks perfectly and takes Belle out for her dinner-time walk, while I crack an easy drinker and place my bets for the night. I feel great about all the teams I picked, and my Bovada account shows that I’ve been hot for a while now. The VP returns, Belle leaps into my arms and we twirl like we’re the last two beings on ear—(I just love her so much). Time to meet only our most fun friendos at my fave bar, Sheffields, and Belle understands. As we leave she sits, nods and smiles at us as if to say “you two deserve this.” Thanks Belle.

NIGHT: Sheffields is playing a mix of 90s alternative (JGT’S WHEELHOUSE!) along with the occasional pop BANGER that drunk 32 year-olds aren’t embarrassed to sing along to (anything by Sia or Rihanna and I. Am. In!) We’re drinking beers and laughing. My teams are up by enough that I just glance at the TV when I feel like smiling extra big. My friends talk about how good I am at gambling. VP of Ops is paying for everything because she is “so lucky”. The bartender points to the ring on my finger so all the other girls around know I’m taken (I didn’t even notice those girls). My main cool-guy bros and I hide from our spouses so we can take lemon drop shots without being judged. JIMMY GOOD TIMES BARREL ROLLS THROUGH THE WALL!!! WHAT AN ENTRANCE!!!

It’s simple, really, but I’m a simple man with simple pleasures and a simple brain (wait…) The rest of the night would mos def include late night food at Fatso’s (real place with the best late-night burger in the game) and that final at-home drink that I don’t need, but still enjoyed. For the sake of certain readers, I will leave the rest of my ideal Friday up to your imagination…but…let’s…just…say….R. KELLY IS A BLASTIN’!

OUR WORLD:

Okay, real talk, I want to make Oscars predictions but aside from like five categories, they’re pretty boring and I haven’t seen all the movies yet. Here’s what I got:

-“3 Billboards” for Best Picture because fuck this newfound backlash, this movie is bright, shiny gold.

-Frances McDormand for Best Actress is such a slam dunk that if I were her, I’d wear an “I Won” t-shirt on the red carpet.

-Gary Oldman for Best Actor because everyone says that’s going to happen and I won’t ever watch that movie cuz it looks boring and I ain’t into dat’ shiz.

-Sam Rockwell for Best Supporting Actor because he played a character that you can’t decide whether you hate or not and when you admit that to people you get nervous because you don’t know how they’re going to react to that.

-Chris Nolan for Best Director over Guillermo Del Toro because “Dunkirk” was an absolute two hour long heart-attack and “Shape of Water” made the VP of Ops and I feel weird about lonely people and their alone time.

-Jimmy Kimmel straddles lines like an expert line straddle and nails his job. Crushes the NRA; reminds everyone that Woody Allen is King of Creep Castle and the #MeToo crew should tell their snipers “shoot to kill; pats Donny T. on his bald head, but stops before Alec Baldwin carries him off on his shoulders; and makes everyone feel moderately uncomfortable when he reminds the audience that “Moonlight” won best picture last year even though more than half of the crowd will never see it.

-Jennifer Lawrence looks great, but gets even closer to the “okay, you’re not that funny so just chill”-line. I fully expect to look at the VP of Ops at some point to and say “do we not really like her anymore?”

-Quentin Tarantino shows up and I defend him because I love his movies, but deep down definitely think he does weird stuff. DAMNIT!

-VP of Ops and I agree that JoolyAnna RanSICK was born in the “Men In Black” world and, thus, is an alien.

-John Legend and Chrissy Teigen kill the red carpet, but the VP of Ops kinda’ ruins it when she refuses to stop showing me Chrissy Teigen Instagram posts that I don’t think are as funny as she does. Look, she’s funny, but the VP of Ops treats her Instagram like it never misses the mark. Meh. It’s fine. (VPOps will 100% send me an angry text about this).

-Whoever wins Best Actress will slowly walk up to the stage and then, out of nowhere, deliver their speech totally out of breath. This happens every time and it drives me nuts. Why are you out of breath when we JUST saw you WALK up to the stage?

-Incubus, unfortunately, will not be invited to perform “Pardon Me” as the rest of the “Best Song” nominees get to perform theirs even though “Pardon Me” should probably always be nominated for “Best Song” at every award show.

-Colin Firth will be shown in the audience and I will remind VP of Ops that I will never see a movie he’s in.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

I did not plan to bottom out as quickly as I did in front of an audience, but that’s exactly what has happened. Cleveland lost last night, but Lebron smiled throughout the entire game and gave high-fives to EVERY PHILADELPHIA SEVENTY-SIXER WHO HAS EVER PLAYED FOR THE TEAM AND IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY BECAUSE IT’S LIKE HE DIDN’T EVEN CARE THAT I NOW HAVE TO MAKE A DEPOSIT TO GAMBLE AGAIN! Seriously, this losing streak has gotten more than a little re-goddamn-diculous. I will make a deposit probably after beer number 4 tonight when I’m itchin’ for a little action. Tonight? Yeah, no friggin duh. I am ready to be so fucking back with Golden State (-13) over Atlanta.

(My account is currently at $0.00)

K bye.