I’m Still Married!

OUR WORLD:

How many more times are people going to write the “Exercise is the Best Distraction!” article during quarantine? We get it, working out is good for you. Yet these writers and trainers and celebrities wearing sports bras and cool jogging pants, can’t wait to share this “discovery” with anyone who has a pulse. You might as well write an article entitled “Shooting Yourself in the Head Does Not Increase Life Expectancy”.

I do hope that this HISTORICALLY SIZED ordeal leads to a more empathetic and compassionate society, but…can we not turn into dopes who nod at every BLATANTLY OBVIOUS suggestion thrown our way? If the only people outside of our family that we’re directly interacting with are Peloton trainers named Hannah, I’m worried we’ll all become amateur motivational speakers who confuse ambiguous platitudes with wisdom. Yes, I checked dictionary.com to make sure I was using ‘platitudes’ correctly and that’s exactly the kind of unfiltered honesty we need right now! That’s why you’re here! That’s why I’m here! THAT’S WHY WE’RE IN THIS RIDE TOGETHER NOT ALLOWING OUR INNERSELVES TO TELL US TO STOP RIDI–Wait. Did you…Did I…Jesus Christ you guys, I’m starting to talk like Peloton Hannah.

Yes, exercise is the best distraction right now. I’m not arguing that because I agree with it and because I bought an exercise bike and the Peloton app and I really wanted to tell you that. BUT! How about some real-life, salt of the earth, HONEST other “best” distractions? Remember, the point is to distract your brain for the sake of your mental health. Let’s bend the rules a bit, and prioritize honesty, shall we?

GETTING IN ARGUMENTS ABOUT SOMETHING SMALL AND BRINGING IN PAST DISAGREEMENTS AND OTHER UNRELATED ISSUES TO MAKE IT BIGGER

(Right when I started to write this section, I took WAY too big of a bite of a banana and now I’m thinking that mondo-sized banana bites are a top-tier corona distraction…PUSH PAST THIS, JIMMY! DIG DEEP!)

Allow me to paint a picture: You’re cooking dinner for your sweet, sugar baby on a Tuesday night. Seasoning raw chicken with your bare hands is gross but you do it because you love your cutie pie, sugar baby. Cutting vegetables you aren’t even excited about eating with a purple knife that isn’t sharp enough. Talking yourself out of adding potatoes to round the dish out because you’ve eaten 6.7 pounds of pretzel rods over the last 36 hours. “All I really want is chicken and vegetables,” is ALWAYS a lie, but it’ll make you both feel superior to the rest of the world for one meal, so that’s the plan.

Midway through prep, cleaning while you cook so the love of your entire life doesn’t have to lift a finger even afterwards, you notice an old paper grocery bag has reappeared…next to your newly purchased $100 garbage can. You’ve seen this arrangement before, but she vowed to retire it once you agreed to the $100 stainless steel trash can purchase.

“Sweetheart? What is this?”

“What is what babe?”

(Now with a hint of an edge) “This,” you say as you remain “calm”, but point.

She lets out an audible sigh (aka the couple fight’s starting whistle) and heads over to the kitchen. When she arrives to see her HUNK of a husband standing in place while pointing at a paper bag on the ground, she knows what he’s pointing at, but MUST ask once again.

(With a distinctly annoyed tone) “What?”

This is where the fight begins and GOOD GOD is it a delicious distraction! As you smack your lips in anticipation, remember NOT TO HOLD BACK! NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO SLOW DOWN! (Peloton Hannah would be so proud!) Nope! Bring up the thousands of makeshift “grocery bag garbage cans” you’ve had to clean up in all of the years you’ve been together. Make special mention of how now that you live in the suburbs, you can’t simply throw an open bag into a dumpster, before reminding her of the SOLEMN OATH that she took the day you agreed to put your CC # in the space below the ONE HUNDRED GODDAMN DOLLAR GARBAGE CAN SHE PICKED OUT ON LOWES.COM!

Was it an honest, no-big-deal mistake on her part? A thoughtless, harmless error? Uh, that doesn’t fucking matter, guys. We’re trying to preserve our mental health by engaging in “distractions.” So dig in, embrace your initial testosterone fueled reaction, and say something grand, like, “It’s fine, I’ve just resigned myself to having to pick up random trash bags wherever you feel like setting one up FOR THE REST OF MY GODDAMN LIFE!”

This is when she’ll be sure to point out that you are overreacting. (Thanks Sherlock!) And, like she’s reading the line from a script that never had a chance of being bought, she drops a “calm down” like the sledge-hammer those two words are.

Your move Jack!

“Oh, calm like you? Like how you were the first time you met my ex? Okay, yeah, I’ll be calm like you!”

And boom, enjoy the next few hours of not having every thought in your brain begin with, “wait, when was the last time I washed my hands?”

ROAD RAGE

If you haven’t been on the highways during quarantine, you are missing an opportunity to fear for your life from something other than THE INVISIBLE ENEMY. Nope, on these roads the enemy is very visible, in the form of a 2009 Nissan Altima with tinted windows that just swerved in front of you going 97MPH in a driving rain. THIS IS WHAT WE TRAIN FOR!!!!

Normally, the move would be to throw that invisible frisbee through the roof of your car and blurt out a panicked “Jesus!” before calming down by talking to yourself about how there should be an IQ test to get your license. But not now. This ain’t normal times! Now, you should speed up a little. Maybe even a lot, while laying on the horn. Widen your eyes, open your capillaries and allow the rage to coarse through your entire body.

Do you have a gun? Wave it!

Now, because it’s an Altima, you’re not going to want to pull even with it. Let’s be real, Nelson and his Tinted Windowed Nissan ALSO has a gun. But, he’s not going to be able to shoot you if you stay behind him. So that’s all you have to do. Get close enough to where this piece of human waste for driving faster than he should, can see you doing the Macarena with a pistol in his rearview. THAT’LL TEACH HIM!

On the off off off chance that a cop pulls you over, just explain to him that you were looking for a worthy enough distraction to preserve your mental health, and Nelson’s Nissan was the exact tonic you were searching for! If that doesn’t work (which it most certainly will not) well then you’re fucked and will probably be brought into the Police station. But, if you’re charged with whatever people are charged with for waving firearms while driving, at least you’ll have something other than your last meal to talk about on your next Zoom call.

ZOOMING IN ON EVERY PICTURE TEXTED TO YOU TO FIND, AND CALL OUT ANY IMPERFECTIONS

In this one group chat I’m in, any time someone sends a picture, the rest of us zoom in on every other part of the picture that’s not THE FOCUS of what the sender intended. Picture of their kid holding up a book? We’re all frantically zooming around the rest of the frame looking for something…anything…that doesn’t look the way that it should—GOT IT!

“What’s with this?” is sent right below a zoomed in screen shot of a beer can in the upper right corner of said picture. This will be followed by a barrage of hyper-critical texts along the lines of: “Wow, drinking already?” “Does your wife know you’re drinking?” “How many is that?” “When’s the last day you didn’t have 9 beers?” “Mix in a water!”

Before Dad of The Year knows it, his innocent baby picture has turned into a shame fest, devolving from sarcastic jabs, to pleas to change the subject, to finally, a legitimately angry “I’m not drinking!”

It’s never not fun.

MY WORLD:

Three years ago today, I got married to the VP of Ops. To commemorate our 3^rd anniversary on a blog that brings in zero dollars and has caused a few tiffs (wait, you’re seriously mad that I wrote about how you wear the same black shirt like 3 days a week? Oh…yeah, slam the door! REAL MATURE!!!) I’m going to write about what I remember about our first date: on May 3, 2013.

It was a cold, dark night. A baby’s cry in the distance. A beggars cup rattled in between the hurried footsteps of guilt-ridden businessmen playing deaf. “What a world we live in,” I grumbled as I lit up a cigarette under a dim moonlight. Wait. Shit, sorry. Wrong night. That’s right, the night before our first date I was probably about to get smashed on 9 IPAs or something, when my roommate, Mike, asked if I wanted to go to a concert with him, his new girlfriend, and HER roommate.

“She a girl, right?” I slurred. Upon confirmation that “she a girl,” I quickly accepted the offer in my head, but had to do the thing where I acted like I had to think about it for a second. I did this by looking up and saying “uhhh….” (ACTING!) Actually, turns out that I was the 2^nd choice for this date. My other roommate, a whiny little bitch of a human, who I’ve made cry multiple times in fights, called “Daaaaaaaave” , was asked before I was and turned down the offer. (Years later, Dave loves to remind me of this and how I basically owe my marriage to him. In response, I bring this up to the VP and she reminds me how much better looking I am than Dave. So, now that’s in writing.)

Anyway, upon accepting, I asked for a scouting report on the roommate from Mike, he said “she’s super fun, really cute, but I won’t lie, she’s kinda boy crazy.” I’ve told The VP this and she gets mad every time. She assures me that she wasn’t “boy crazy” (is “boy crazy” the delicate way of saying “slutty”? We’ll never know!) Instead, she reams Mike out and talks about how she would “like go on dates, but I wasn’t boy CRAZY.” Who do I believe? What do I believe? I don’t know, who cares? Honestly, the “boy crazy” thing didn’t really faze me. I was too busy looking through her pictures on Facebook and trying not to say things like “she’s too hot for me”-out loud. Because, that was the thing, my confidence was still a minor issue back then (back then? Jimmy, you asked Erin how you looked yesterday after meeting a middle-aged neighbor for the first time. It still ain’t great!) but seeing a bunch of hot girl pictures from her college sorority days definitely rattled my nerves. I wanted to ask Mike if he thought I was pretty enough for her, but Mike and I were in the beginning stages of our friendship so…I COULDN’T LET HIM KNOW THAT I WAS AN INSECURE BABY YET EITHER!!!

The 24 hours leading up to the date consisted of me going for a long run because I used to be able to do that without stopping after 13 minutes to use my “bad ankle” as an excuse. (“No, it’s not the fact that I drink too much and enjoy dessert every night, it’s this damn ankle!”) After the run, I did what back then was about the bravest thing I could do…I decided to wear the J.Crew hoodie that was a little too small on me. I’ve always SUCKED at buying clothes, which means that I normally only have one “hey, is he a cool guy?”-outfit available. This J.Crew hoodie (that my mom probably bought for me years prior) hadn’t gotten much wear because it was the “is this guy in good enough shape to wear something this fitting?”-size. But this hot-girl-date-night called for me to at least pretend like I could pull off this snug hoodie. Looking back, I pulled that hoodie OFF! (Allow me a few seconds to be sad about how much worse looking I’ve gotten in the years since…Hey! Looks aren’t everyth—goddamnit, yes they are. They are. They’re everything, and I have none of them and…I have nothing. I am empty.)

The plan was for Mike and I to go to the girls’ apartment in Lakeview, have enough drinks for me to feel not paralyzed by “Excuse me girl, am I hot enough?”-thoughts and then go to a concert at The Metro (cool person music venue by Wrigley Field that I had never been to before, but I definitely didn’t admit that, that night. I’m sure I said something along the lines of “Metro? Love the Metro!”) As we walked into their garden-level unit, I did that acting thing again where I pretended like I didn’t need to guzzle rubbing alcohol to feel comfortable. The VP was still getting ready, so I had time to settle on what pose I should be in when she entered the living room. The VP’s roommate, Amanda, put on some music and gave Mike and I NOT NEARLY ENOUGH BOOZE! Mike and I waited in the living room with Amanda, which meant that Mike and his new girlfriend, Amanda, made eyes at each other while paying enough fake attention to me to temper the bubbling awkwardness.

Finally, after what must have been more than 4 MINUTES, The VP entered the living room with a spin. I’m not joking, she walked in, waved and before introducing herself, she just spun around. It was so fucking cool. As I scrambled to say something interesting after introducing my DUMB self, the song “Mirrors” by Justin Timberlake came on. Mike and Amanda were being all gooey with each other across the room, leaving all the pressure in the world on me to say something at least MILDLY entertaining. (Has anyone mentioned your tiny sweatshirt yet?)

“You know, I don’t care what anyone thinks, this song fucking rules.” That was the first sentence I said to my now-wife. And she FRIGGIN’ LOVED IT! Honestly, I could tell in real-time that she thought, “whoa, this guy is secure enough to say that he loves a Justin Timberlake song on a first date.” Two things on that: 1) I wasn’t, but 2) You have to remember that back in 2013, Justin Timberlake wasn’t super cool yet. He was still “that boy band guy,” so it wasn’t the coolest thing for a guy to freely admit that he was into “that boy band guy.” My gamble paid off. Now, she thought I was secure enough to be with her “I know I’m fine as hell”-ass, AND she thought I was funny because who says that out of nowhere? THIS GUY DOES!

From there, the drinks were a flowin’! JIMMY IN HIS EL-E-MENT BABAYYYYY! (So, your element is drinking? Cool, I bet her Mom is so happy she found you!) By the time we walked over to the Metro, I couldn’t have cared less about who we were going to see. I was going to talk to The VP through the whole show and not give A CARE what was going on on-stage. Seriously, Jon Lenon could’ve been resurrected for a one-night only Beatles reunion show that night, and I wouldn’t have taken an iPhone pic. Now, it didn’t help that the band we were seeing was called “Purity Ring”—a band that neither The VP nor myself had ever heard of. What did that mean? You guessed it, WE ‘GON BE TALKIN’ THROUGH THE ENTIRE SHOW!!!! Yeah, legit fans of “Purity Ring” were about to HATE us…and they did.

Midway through the song about being pure or wearing rings or whatever, I got “shushed” by a (do I say what I really thought? Even though it’ll make me sound like a meathe–) dude who looked even wimpier than me in my tiny J.Crew hoodie. So you bet your ass your ass I responded to his “shush” with a hearty “go fuck yourself!” Yeah, I did! Listen, if you’re not drooling at the opportunity to show a girl who’s WAY hotter than you that you’re tough, as early as possible, I don’t know what to tell ya! Trust me, I did the whole sensitive guy thing throughout high school and you know how many dates that got me? ZERO! ZERO DATES!

From there, I reveled in being public enemy number one at this show. Now, if this were a Metallica show, would I have been so excited to be hated by everyone around me? Absolutely not. In fact, I would have been quite scared…maybe even cried. But this wasn’t a Metallica show. This was a “Purity Ring” show, a band that’s following primarily worked as freelance graphic designers who can’t wait to talk about their “disgust with consumerism” at every family gathering. It was the perfect setting for a fake tough guy (Me) to act tough. And while The VP will say that she hated it and hates tough guys and likes sensitive guys and blah blah blah. She loved it. I could tell, she loved that I told that guy to “go fuck himself.” She was impressed in that way you get when you’re uncomfortable but thrilled that you’re not next to the “shusher.”

When the show ended, The VP and I realized that we hadn’t listened to one song throughout the entire set (like I said, we were the worst people in that concert. Hand up, we were “those people.”) We met up with Mike and Amanda, and decided to all take a picture together. This is my favorite picture ever. I remember looking at it the next day and thinking “I actually pulled off the tiny hoodie! And…I think I really, really like this girl.”

VP, I love you enough to act tough when I’m really not; to dress cool when I really can’t; and to…care for a psychopath dog that I bought for you to get out of momentarily “forgetting” your birthday ONE TIME! (I didn’t REALLY forget it and that’s final and I will go to the Supreme Court to prove my innocence!)

Honestly, I’m looking forward to my first suburban tiff with a guy I think I can take, because no feeling is better than the one I get impressing you.

Happy Anniversary. I love you.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This song still kicks LIKE A MULE!

K, bye.

The Clubs I Would Like Entry Into

MY WORLD:

Mike Jones is a Houston rapper who rapped something about saying “Mike Jones? Who?” years ago and there are people my age joking about people who don’t know who Mike Jones is. Confused? If so, you better be careful, or you’ll end up like I did–sitting in a car laughing nervously about this “joke” while praying that the other people in the car didn’t turnaround and go “please explain this Mike Jones joke to the class, Jimmy!!!” I have no idea who Mike Jones is, still, but the people who do know who he is sounded very cool and current and alternative and COOL! So like, can I become one of those people? Can I become a “I know about cool rap stuff”-guy?

There are little groups bonded around things I don’t know about, that I’m jealous of. If you think that jealousy ends when you graduate from High School, try spending a weekend around people who know about things like Mike Jones and it’ll take you right back (tell them the story about how you used to hide in the library and eat your lunch! That’s a fun one!) While sitting in the back of a car resisting the urge to say “this Mike Jones character sure sounds spunky!” I started thinking about things, activities, and topics that I, as a 34 year old MAN, think I would like to get into at some point (unless I’m like not allowed to because that group is already full and they just can’t fit one more person into it. I mean, it’s fine, I don’t even really care. I was actually not even really interested to begin with, so it’s like, whatever. Okay…I’m gonna go back to the library now!)

Here is the Jimmyschair list of “Things I Think I’d Like to Get Into Maybe? If it’s cool? If it’s not cool, though, that’s fine. I’m just like, chill, whatever. That hat is really cool by the way. So we’ll talk later? Or not. Whatever.”:

HIKING:

Did hiking exist before Instagram? One of nature’s great unknowns, huh? It feels like a large group of the people I follow on THE GRAM (make sure you keep saying cool slang like that so people know you’re not a cop!) got together one morning and were like “alright, does everyone have their big backpack, short shorts, and sporty brown hiking boots? Nobody tell Jimmy about this! DANIEL? YOU DIDN’T TELL JIMMY ABOUT THE BIG COOL BACKPACK STORE DID YOU?!?!?! DANIEL!?!?!” Then Daniel was all “I haven’t talked to Jimmy since the Mike Jones incident,” so the group started up the hill, taking beautiful pictures meant to clog my instagram feed and make me feel VERY EXCLUDED (maybe if your thighs weren’t so big, you’d be invited to the cool, tiny shorts store!)

I don’t even know what hiking really is. Like, if I eat a Cliff Bar and then walk up a big hill in my old Brooks running shoes, did I just go hiking? I’m pretty sure rocks have to be involved on some level, so what if part of that hill walk includes me going over a gravel driveway? And the tiny tan shorts with a lot of pockets? Those are necessary for a hike, right? Like, if I wear my big white Indiana University mesh shorts while doing this uphill walk, it doesn’t count does it? DAMNIT!

At some point over the past few years, I think a professional Hiking Judge saw me buy a Cliff Bar at a 7-11 and ruled that I was guilty of “buying a Cliff bar as a treat, and not for sustenance during an Instagram-worthy trek uphill,” before sentencing me to “not a legit hiker”-jail for life. It was a tough sentence, but looking back, I understand. Why was I buying a nearly 300 calorie bar when all I was just going to be sitting in traffic for the next hour on my way home? Stern, but fair.

But is there any opportunity for parole? I’d love to find my way out of “not a legit hiker”-jail, so I, too, could be in a picture while wearing a big backpack at the top of a beautiful hill. What a feeling that must be! (And the Instagram likes! MY GOD, THE LIKES!!!) I imagine once you’re accepted into this group, you get some really cool perks like getting to eat a Cliff Bar and not having the 300 calories count because your body knows that you’re a hiker and need that stuff to push through all the rocks you’re gonna have to awkwardly step on.

Dear REI Store Worker,

Next time I walk in, I promise to pretend to know what kind of boot I’m buying and to not ask “which one do you think looks cool, though?” It’s all about utility, I get it. Looks? Don’t even care.

SNEAKERS:

A good amount of my friends talk about online sneaker releases, secondary markets for sneakers they bought a few months ago, and the basketball shoes that some non-mega-star has coming out that are “amazing!” I have no idea what they’re ever talking about, so I’ll throw in cheap jokes meant to throw them off my insecure scent. “You guys see the new ‘Gary Levinson’s’? No? They’re the new Brooks running shoes for suburban dads who can’t really run anymore because of their knees.”

BUT! They sound pretty cool talking about the “New Kawhi’s” and the new “Paul George” shoes and…I don’t even know if I’m supposed to fucking call them shoes or sneakers. I feel like a gym teacher from the 80s calling them sneakers, but then I swear I’ve heard a DJ on Hip Hop Radio Station use the word “sneakers” and sound cool so…What is it?!?! SHOES OR SNEAKERS?!?! GIVE ME A SIGN, GOD! GIVE ME A SIGN!

These guys are also able to pull off the new basketball sneaker/shoe with skinny jeans look, and that’s kinda unfair when I’m having a hard enough time pulling off the running shoe with relaxed jeans look (you’ve got the “suburban surrender”-look down pat!) Whenever I’m around someone NAILING this look, all I can think about is “aren’t you scared of getting those dirty? And how have they not gotten ONE SPEC OF DIRT ON THEM?!?! DO YOU HAVE SOMEONE FOLLOWING YOU AROUND WIPING YOUR SHOES WITH DISINFECTANT WIPES!?!?!” Also, do you play basketball in those shoes too? Or is that like a lame thing to do? I’m pretty sure there is one set of basketball shoes meant for skinny jeans, and then another set of basketball shoes meant for…actually playing basketball, and if you mix the two up, you’re kicked out of the sneaker guy club forever.

Last time I played basketball, I wore Brooks.

SCARY MOVIES:

I’m just tired of feeling the compulsion to blurt out “they give me nightmares” anytime the topic of scary movies comes up around me. It’s not a cool look. I’m also pretty sure that the people around me are annoyed that they can’t talk about some make-believe monsters because the 34 year old dude next to them, wearing Brooks and a small backpack, will get scared when he goes seepy at night if they do. (Here’s an idea: quit being a fucking baby, Jimmy!)

So can I just decide to stop being a baby? Is there a pill I can take that will cause me to enjoy scenes where teenagers get stabbed by a guy wearing a mask at a cabin in the woods? The people that seem to really enjoy scary movies, REALLY FUCKING ENJOY SCARY MOVIES AND LOVE TALKING ABOUT THEM! Hey guys, I love talking about stuff! Being able to talk about brutal murders while smiling also connotes a brand of “bad-assery” that I wouldn’t mind being a part of. It’s a high-wire act between bad-assery and “hey, do you think Eric liked that torture scene a little too much?” Once you master it, you’ll be as cool as Nick Wallenda walking in between skyscrapers (minus the weird family stuff going on there…)

There has to be an age you reach, where you’re just like “I pay bills and talk about politics with relatives, I can watch ‘Scream’ without softly whimpering into my pillow later. Is that age 34? CAN IT PLEASE BE 34?!?!

OUR WORLD:

I’m going on an impromptu, not-fun road trip to Kentucky today and so, of course, I will be allowed to cheat on my diet because road trip calories don’t count. Here are the Top 10 “Road Trip Treats”:

Gardetto’s Snack Mix
McDonald’s breakfast
BBQ Pringles
Chick-Fil-A waffle fries with Chick-Fil-A sauce
Teriyaki Beef Jerky
Honey roasted peanuts
Gummy worms
White chocolate and macadamia nut Cliff Bar
Diet Mountain Dew
7-11 Coke Slushy

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you get that feeling in the back of your throat that means you’re about to get sick, but you’re not TOTALLY sick yet. It’s like walking around with a bomb strapped to your chest AND YOU CAN’T GET THAT TICKING SOUND OUT OF YOUR HEAD!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I don’t know this person, but…

cheering young woman hiker open arms at mountain peak

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I’m at $0 right now and feeling lost. I want to gamble on something but I’m tired of baseball and I think I’m really bad at this thing. But…what if I’m not? What if I just need to…yep….STAY THE FUCKING COURSE!!!

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.

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.

Road Trips Are The Best

MY WORLD:

Yesterday, I went to Rockford, Illinois on a work trip and got super excited about getting to stay in a hotel. The Rockford Holiday Inn may not do it for you, but something about not having to clean up after myself and watching cable that I don’t have to pay for, turns me into little-kid excited. (When I walked into my room I joked to myself that I should jump on the bed. I didn’t because I was worried I’d break it and then feel fat and sad.) This little trip paired with seeing a bunch social media pics of people I know on their spring break trips has gotten me (REALLY GODDAMN JEALOUS) thinking about what makes a road trip is AWESOME. Holiday Inn + Vacay Pics = Me thinking about road trips.

Lets call this a two-day road trip, where I’d have to drive like 10ish hours and stay at a hotel (Holiday Inn?!?!) before finishing the drive the next day. Here’s how that day progresses for me and why I think I’ve discovered that I kinda love road trips…

-Waking up super early to get going on something fun, and not work, feels great.

I’m kind of a pain in the ass the morning we leave. I will have packed the night before, and The VP will still be finishing her seemingly endless packing the morning of. I’ll get out of bed super early, brew coffee, walk the dog, and then act like an excited puppy myself–wagging my tail while waiting for The VP of Ops to join me outside! She is normally not as thrilled and, for some reason, doesn’t enjoy the 14 times I ask her “can we go already?” We need to get on the road so we can get fast food because THAT is when vacation mode really begins…

-Going through the McDonald’s drive-thru for breakfast.

I genuinely think I enjoy the road-trip kickoff sausage biscuit with egg and hash brown from McDonald’s, eaten while driving and cussing at idiot drivers who don’t realize I’M TRYING TO ENJOY MY FUCKING BREAKFAST, more than I enjoy a fancy steak dinner at a fancy steak restaurant. I’m not exaggerating. Aside from how perfect McDonald’s biscuits and hash brows taste (it’s a culinary masterpiece), I don’t have to sweat the beating it put on my bank account AND I get to eat it on my way to MORE. FUN. STUFF. Fancy steak dinners always include me looking at the prices, telling the VP of Ops to not worry about the prices, and then me silently panicking in my head about how many serving shifts I’m going to have to pick up to pay for this fucking steak. Now, I will say that The VP of Ops has talked me into Burger King breakfast before and it was pretty pretty go—nope, don’t want to hear it? Yeah, I’ll leave that alone. McDonald’s breakfast for life. Should we start a hashtag? #McDsBFast4Lyfe (that has legs).

-Listening to Howard Stern interview a celebrity for a couple hours.

Normally, when I have Howard on in my car (satellite radio, yeah I have it, calm down) I’m kinda’ listening to him and kinda’ trying not to freak out about how behind I feel at work. But on road trips? I am full-on focused listening and, breaking news, Howard Stern is hilarious. There are times I get so into his interviews that I’ll look around after like 45 minutes of driving and have the “Oh my god, how did we get here?” momentary-freak-out. I’m thankful there isn’t a law against driving while zoned out (DWZO) because I’m sure traffic cops can see the blank look on my dumb face when I’m listening to Howard.

-Talking about what fast food place we’re going to get lunch at for at least 37 minutes.

You’re gonna need lunch on the early side because you need strength to drive (“strength” to sit and gently push a pedal ONE foot? Uh…yeah!) The VP of Ops is an absolute connoisseur of fast-food restaurants, and gets excited anytime we’re around one we can’t get in Chicago. On our first few road trips together, I’d buy into her excitement and go along with her plan of getting ketchup from “Whattaburger” and mozza sticks from “Sonic” and chicken from “Zaxby’s” and…by our third road trip I realized that The VP’s ADHD is triggered by those big fast-food signs you see on the highway. Now, we discuss our available options the way I imagine CEOs discuss the merits of different healthcare plans for their employees. These reasoned discussions will come to an abrupt end when I get frustrated that The VP is not a natural-born decision-maker, and MY DRIVING STRENGTH IS DEPLETING!!! So we’ll probably get in a kinda-real quick fight as I jerk the car off the exit towards Chic-Fil-A or “whatever, I’m staving now, Erin.”

-Eating IN the fast food restaurant for lunch.

Eating inside a fast food restaurant kinda feels like a treat because you’re used to eating in your car. Actually getting to not fear for your life (LOOK AT THE ROAD!) while enjoying these high-caloric treats adds another dimension to them. The VP and I will try to chuckle off the mini-fight we just had, but we’ll both still be kinda annoyed with the other until one of us comes upon a V funny Instagram video to cut the tension. Boom! Back to enjoying junk food and thinking about how much fun this trip is gonna be. Go through your Chic-Fil-A chicken nugget sauce too fast? Don’t even worry, we’re HERE! YOU CAN JUST GO TO THE COUNTER AND GET MORE SAUCE!

-The After-Lunch Drive

This can be a real slog. Kinda’ shleepy cuz you got up super early and have proceeded to MASH carbs all day, so now you’re crashing. You also don’t have another fun meal in your immediate future, so food-excitement-adrenaline ain’t coming to your rescue now. This is the perfect time for good-times music. I actually prefer to listen to Top 40 stations around this time because the music is usually upbeat, and I wanna know what young people are listening to so I can talk to them and sound cool. (That SZA lady has some really jazzy tunes, am I right broskis?!?!) The VP will probably try to put on The Beatles or some other very respected music that I know I’m supposed to love, but like…I just wanna listen to the rap guy who’s kinda scary (21 Savage).

As we transition into the later afternoon, it’s podcast time. This is when we’re going to listen to something that will make us feel smart, and we’ll probably text some friends IMMEDIATELY to let them know that we like to listen to culture-y stuff. (Is texting and driving dangerous? Yes. But, it’s also dangerous not to remind your friends that you’re smart.) As we near dusk, it’s time to stop at a gas station for snacks. SNACKS! GUYS! SNACKS!

-Snack and Gas Stop

You probably don’t really need gas, and you’re not that hungry, but that gas station candy isn’t gonna eat itself. Wanna know my trick? I’ll buy a water cuz hydration is healthy and I’m saving my tummy room for peanut M&Ms and Pringles. Driving strength, guys. Why Pringles? Because A) once you pop you can’t stop, and B) the pop can is perfect for between your legs while driving–like, the Pringles can engineers had to be thinking of drivers when coming up with that design. The peanut M&Ms are a treat because it’s vacation and vacation is about TREATS!

The VP goes full-on trash mode at this point. She’ll tell me she’s “not really that hungry” because she knows that I’ll tell her just to “get something in case”….like, in case we’re stranded in a ditch later and nearing starvation (it could happen!) The VP knew she wanted a Slim Jim all along, but she just needed me to give her that little “what if we never see food again?”-nudge. I got you babe. She’ll probably get a tastier drink than me, like a blue Gatorade, that I’ll drink more of it than her because water is lame-o and the Gatorade cals don’t count for me cuz I didn’t buy it!

-Darkness falls and my eyes stink.

Once, after driving all day into night, The VP asked if I was okay when she saw me squinting and leaning forward over the steering wheel. “I’m not kidding, but it looks like there is a dinosaur chomping down on the road up ahead.” Evidently, I am NOT a good nighttime driver. In an effort to avoid the common bridge/tyrannosaurus rex mix-up, we plan ahead now. Once it turns dark out, I’ve got like an hour left TOPS before we’re pulling into that Holiday Inn. Why doesn’t The VP take over driving at this point? Because I’m insecure in my masculinity sometimes and don’t want to be shown up by my wittle wife who is definitely a better road trip driver than me but…NO! IT’S HOTEL TIME!

-Hotel and Dinner Time

We pull into a random Holiday Inn and they’re serving nighttime cookies! We like to drop our bags and take a quick breather from all the…uh, sitting…that we’ve done all day. I’ll probably look at some hotel brochure and get excited about the continental breakfast tomorrow morning. OR! If they have a pool, I’ll tell Erin that we should go swimming even though we definitely won’t. We’ll probably sit in silence to text and go through our phones for about 24 minutes. The room fills with the occasional chuckle, “what?”, “ah nothing,” as we properly decompress. Then we’ll explore our surroundings in search of classier dinner fare. (Chili’s? Yeah, Chili’s.) The VP will ask me if she should change before we go out, and I’ll give her the “Uh, we’re going to Chili’s and will never see anyone we see tonight ever again”-look. She’ll give a sly, yet thankful, smile (she knew that answer was coming) and we’re off.

This road trip is off to a great start.

OUR WORLD:

The Top Ten Best Things About a Hotel:

The pool. (Even if you don’t swim in it, having to option to swim is invigorating.)
Not having to clean up after yourself.
The mini-fridge.
Hotel-workers treating you like royalty.
The free continental breakfast (it’s not that good, but I appreciate the effort and I convince myself EVERY TIME that it’ll be good.)
The little coffee machine in your room. (It looks new!)
Free soap.
Getting excited about watching cable shows that you haven’t watched in a while because they don’t have Netflix. (Catching the random “Friends” episode on TBS is a RUSH!)
The business center. (I’m not going to use it, but I like knowing that I could take care of some business like a real adult if I wanted to.)
Leaving and not telling anyone. (I don’t check out. I just leave and feel like I’m on the lamb.)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Indoor hotel pools are the best.

hotel pool.jpg

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Uh, Red Roof Inn? Get the fuck outta here.

red roof

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:

Listen guys, when you’re alone at a Holiday Inn in Rockford, you NEED to gamble on the Celtics-Jazz game. Am I happy that I bet on the first half over of a regular season NBA game? Not especially, but I’m in this for the long haul. Took about $30 in losses and it would’ve been worse if I didn’t BANG that second half over bet, so kinda’ feels like a win? Yep, feels like a win.

(My account currently at $73.12)

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