Tag: gambling

Sleeping W/Out AC and Chicago Renters Pt. II (5/2/2018)

MY WORLD:

If you are looking for a way to guarantee waking up in an AWFUL mood, I would suggest breaking your air conditioning unit on the first hot day of the year and trying to sleep when it’s 80 degrees in your apartment.  Thankfully, I, personally, don’t have to break my air conditioning unit because The VP and I are lucky enough to rent an apartment that SUPPLIES malfunctioning units without us even having to ask for it!  It’s almost as if the landlord read our minds when we signed our lease “I bet these two LOVE when the AC doesn’t work and they get to break a sweat while lying in a bed…oh, have I got a surprise for them!”  Well done on keeping that surprise a secret for 8 months!

Honestly, it’s hard to overcome a shitty night of tossing and turning in your own sweat.  I got up at like 3AM just to stand in front of my open refrigerator.  And you know what makes me feel even softer, is that it wasn’t THAT hot outside.  Unfortunately, we cooked last night (resourceful adults, whatever) and used our oven.  It was only after dinner when we realized that the AC wasn’t working.  So we basically hotboxed ourselves/turned our apartment into a makeshift sauna (hotbox is a weed smoking term that I have never done but it sounds SCARY!)  Let me be the first to warn you guys, cranking your oven up on a hot night and turning your 1 bedroom apartment into a homemade sauna is NOT going to relax your muscles.

Then, as if it wasn’t bad enough on us, our numba one pretty gurrrrllll was panting because she’s overdue for a summer cut because we’ve been lazy dog parents lately; so I felt hot AND guilty.  If Belle could read this, I feel like she’d roll her eyes and say something along the lines of “YOU were hot? Try wearing a full-body fur suit and only getting to cool of with room temperature water in a dirty bowl.  Pussy.”  (She would be correct.)  I will say that last night, I put some ice cubes in her water bowl and felt like the hero she deserved; she took sips and huffed out a very sarcastic sounding “woof.”  So now my dog and I are in a fight.

Then comes the part where I let my building know (are you bored with this yet? Yeah? I don’t care, this is somewhat cathartic for me so just leave.  You wanna leave?!?! WHO’S STOPPING YOU?!?!? GOD I’M IN A MOOD!)  Where was I?  (Thanks for interrupting!)  Right, so then comes the part where I let my building know and I get to hear back from like 7 different guys who must ALL have degrees in “Trying To Hide The Fact That I Have No Idea When The HVAC Guy Is Coming.”  Then.  THEN! When they do actually get here, I have to lock Belle in our bedroom and convince the HVAC repair people that she’s not able to bulldoze through the door to maul them because she sounds like a PSYCHOKILLER LUNATIC!  I’ll make some “doesn’t she sound sweet?” jokes, but they won’t really laugh because hearing what sounds like your maker on the other side of a thin bedroom door does not create a fun-loving atmosphere.  And you know they’re not going to be able to fix it the first time they’re hear, so The VP and I are looking at 2 more nights MINIMUM of trying to sleep in our own sweat.  Isn’t that just GREAT?!?!

Knowing me, I’m going to convince myself that this awful night sleep that I got is a valid excuse to eat something really shitty for lunch; an effort to make myself feel better in the short term.  This will, undoubtedly, lead to me feeling extra tight in my new J.Crew jeans and hating myself for the rest of the afternoon.  Optimism is at an all-time low in the Pomerantz household right now.  (If you can’t tell, one of my strong suits is staying composed in adverse situations.)

OUR WORLD:

Today’s Part II of “The Life of a Chicago Renter” may have a slight edge to it based on my current mental state (re: My World).  I just wanted to put that on the record because…nobody cares about the record and whenever anyone says that it’s basically an excuse to act however you want.  Right?  It’s the same as saying “That being said…” and along the same lines as “No offense, but…”

Wicker Park/Bucktown/Logan Square: (Age 28-32)

I like to refer to this as the “I’m not a hipster, but if I live near them I may get hit with some of their street-cred shrapnel”-phase.  You start to become more interested in drinking things other than beer and vodka sodas, and you’re DONE living in places with window-units and no dishwasher.  These west-side HOT SPOTS have exploded in popularity over the past decade, which means what? GRANITE COUNTERTOPS Y’ALL!!!  And in-unit washer/dryers, dishwashers and fancy modern sinks.  A big bowl sink feels like luxury when you’re used to decades worth of Heineken stains in your old-timey sink with the faucet that pops off.

There are more dog parks, so now is the PERFECT time to get a doogenstein and join the “I’m sorry, she was adopted”-crew.  Side note: whether you actually adopted your dog or not, the perfect excuse for a poorly behaved dog is to drop a “yeah, she was adopted” in there.  Immediately, you’re a selfless hero and your doogensteeglestein is a victim of a rough upbringing.  Once in Wicker/Buck/Logan, you’re surrounded by young families, dogs and people that aren’t quite done partying, but do it in a way that it’s not SO obviously destructive.   They’re professionals by this point, which is why brunch becomes SUCH deal.  Nothing like hiding binge drinking with eggs and toast; it’s not destructive or a “problem” if it’s done in the light at a breakfast table.  Remember that.

Then there’s the hipster versus bro civil war that has been simmering for the past 5 years as the bros have infiltrated hipster-land.  What’ll probably happen with you, is what happened with me; you’ll claim allegiance to the bro side of the war when you’re around your bro-ier friends, and then you’ll claim allegiance to the hipster side of the war when you’re around your hipster-ier friends.  No shame in playing both sides here because both sides kinda stink equally.  It’s also fun to sit in restaurants and bars and see the two sides glaring at each other from across the bar.  The hipsters say things like “wow, sweet khakis bro” and the bros say things like “wow, sweet fingerless gloves pal”.  It’s a duel totally devoid of actual wit, that’s easy to identify and fun to watch.

Ukrainian Village/River West/West Town/West Loop: (Age 32-DEATH)

I’m 32 now and I live in Ukrainian Village.  That’s really all the experience I have so…I assume I’ll just stay here till I die, right?

Good section, Jimmy!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I need some good-times music to help make me feel better about the whole AC sitch.  SING TO ME STEVE!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Being in a bad mood for a reason so slight that anyone going through anything that’s ACTUALLY difficult would hate you.

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 talked my gambling crew out of taking the Pelicans last night because I was POSITIVE the Warriors would blow them out with Steph Curry returning.  It seems, in the face of all the evidence I had, I have yet to crack the NBA code.  Back to the drawing board, but I’m like that little kid in the deep end who’s about to panic that they’re drowning.  Give me some fucking waterwings or something here!  The Jazz are 11 point underdogs tonight and, they have more pride than that.  Right?  So much pride to take them on the moneyline? YUP!

(My account currently at $88.07)

K bye.

The Life of a Chicago Renter (5/1/2018)

OUR WORLD:

A lot of people are moving.  Okay, end of blog! (Sorry, but someday I’m just going to write a one sentence blog and that sentence is going to be general and bland.  I will do it for the sole purpose of making myself laugh.  I look forward to that day.)  But I am seeing a lot of people in my apartment building and on Facebook who are moving, and it got me to thinking that the life of a Northside Chicago renter, is somewhat universal.  Obviously, these are gross generalizations, but there seems to be a neighborhood progression with age that most of my friends have gone through.  The Life of a Northside Chicago Renter, goes like this:

Wrigleyville:  (Age 22-24)

This is the “I’m out of college but not done acting like I’m still in college”-phase.  Wrigleyville is a mess of old apartment buildings with window units and wooden floors that have been ravaged by years of inadvertent beer spills.  When you’re in college, Wrigleyville is what you think of as “Chicago city living”, though.  Do you remember watching Cubs games growing up and thinking about how jealous you were that people actually got to LIVE by that stadium?!?!  You’re basically a Cubs player if you live there, is how young Chicagoans’ brains work.

Then you go to college, learn how to blackout on a regular basis and start telling people that you’re never going to change because you “like to have FUN!”  So when you graduate, moving to Wrigleyville is the only place you can continue the random Tuesday night blackout in a crowded bar (if you try to do this in a River North bar, you will be the only one there and the bartender will, most likely, ask “are you sure you want another? It’s Tuesday.”)  This coincides with prime serving and bartending ages and, as I can attest, restaurant worker “weekends” happen most every night.

Coming from dorm and college apartment life, these creaky Wrigleyville dungeons don’t seem half bad, and a lot of your friends are going to be close by so…again…you’re basically still in college.  As you get into the end of year 1, though, you’ll start to realize that living in Wrigleyville kinda’ stinks.  Parking is an ISSUE at all times.  The restaurants are equipped to feed an entire drunk baseball stadium spilling into the streets, so quality isn’t their first priority.  The heating units/radiators sound like they’re screaming in the winter (literally, imagine a high-pitched cat hiss) and it always gets WAY too hot, but it’s too cold to open a window so you’re just left in temperature no-mans land.  Thankfully, you’re probably drunk, so passing out isn’t too big of a problem.

Lakeview: (Age 24-25)

As you start to get a little more established in your job, or actually get your first 9-5 job, there comes a time when you need to prove to your family that you have move past the Wrigleyville phase of your life.  Honestly, it’s more symbolic than anything.  You’re still going to show up hungover to most weekend family functions, but at least this time you can say something like “I moved to Lakeview because I just couldn’t take the Wrigleyville crush anymore.”  What you don’t realize, though, is that your parents are WELL AWARE that Lakeview is basically one block south of Wrigleyville so….you’re basically still there.

The apartments are a hair cheaper and a very thin hair nicer (yeah, like the one’s on the crown of my head…that hurt my feelings).  You’ve probably gone from living with 3 people, to living with 1 or 2 people and it’s no longer ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to have a ping pong table room (don’t worry, you’ll still have a bunch of friends who feel differently). But you’ll start getting back into the gym and eating a little better during the week, and the weekday binge drinking will slow…a teeny tiny bit.

Then, near the end of your lease, you’ll leave a Mexican restaurant that just served you pre-packaged margs and lukewarm tacos and it’ll hit you: “Lakeview is purgatory!”  It’s the waiting room with dull art on the walls between college life and adulthood.  It’s removed from Wrigley so it’s not as fun as college, but it’s still riddled with dumpy apartment buildings and mediocre restaurants so it’s not a nice as real adulthood can be.  (Caviar! Diamonds! Hair Product!)  The older friends you have around the city NEVER come to Lakeview to meet up because “nah, just come here”, and your younger siblings think all the bars in Lakeview are bland…because they are.

Lincoln Park: (Age 25-27)

Lincoln Park is cool.  There’s a zoo and a college and good restaurants and a park.  For the first time since high school, you won’t be surrounded by dumpsters with window units.  It’s a lovely mix of UBER ritzy buildings, decent apartments for young professionals and a few dumpster units for the DePaul students who are too cool to stay in the dorms.  I think this is when most legitimate dating happens because there are actually decent restaurants in Lincoln Park too.  Hard to call chicken fingers and 19 beers at Sluggers a great way to start a long-lasting, trustworthy relationship.

I will warn you, however, that the zoo is a big draw to Lincoln Park, but if you actually go there, be prepared to be depressed.  Going to a zoo as an adult is one of the worst realizations of getting older.  THEY’RE SO DEPRESSING!  Who knew that standing with screaming toddlers and professional nose pickers while watching WILD ANIMALS pace a habitat smaller than your deck was going to make you sad?!?! SHOCKING!  Also, somehow, the ice cream that you were thrilled to get as a kid at the zoo is now…like, warm.  It’s still congealed, but when you bite into it, amazingly, it’s kinda warm.  One of the most off-putting experiences is eating warm ice cream that’s not dripping.  HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN!?!?!

Thankfully, the restaurants are good enough to help you forget how sad that gorilla sitting behind plate glass is.  (Am I the only one who hopes to hear about a story where a gorilla breaks through the glass, starts body slamming only the annoying little kids and starts an ape uprising? If that happens, I can point to this blog to prove my support and, therefore, be one of the few humans spared.  *Dunk sounds*)  Real quick, here are my favorite Lincoln Park restaurants:

  1. Cafe Ba Ba Reeba
  2. Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinders
  3. Geja’s
  4. Summer House
  5. The Athenian Room

*STAY TUNED FOR PART II OF “THE LIFE OF A CHICAGO RENTER” TOMORROW*

MY WORLD:

Today, I have a quick story about “A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable.”  Well, it’s actually more an ongoing joke than a story.  You see, The VP of Ops went to Mississippi State University and talks about how it took her 5 years to graduate because she was such a good times gal (my kinda gal, na’m sayin’?)  She’ll retell stories about her 5th year, I think, in an effort to get ahead of anyone who may make some sort of “you’re an idiot”-joke in her direction.  Which I am all for because, guess what idiot, The VP is NOT an idiot and I know this because I have seen her read over 3 books! (Jimmy Fliparooski in the building y’all!)  

What I will say, though, is that I have never actually seen a physical copy of her Mississippi State diploma.  These two eyes have never even been treated to a picture of said diploma.  Does it exist? Probably? But, this game of diploma hide-and-seek has gone on for years now and, in the process, has left open the door for one of my favorite jokes.  Whenever the VP talks about graduating college, I’ll drop in a nonchalant “so you say,” or say the word “supposedly” while throwing up exaggerated air quotes, or I’ll just ask the person she’s talking to “have you seen her diploma? I haven’t.  I’m just curious if someone in the universe has.”  The VP of Ops has a difficult time finding the humor in these little jabs; much the way she has a difficult time finding the copy of her Mississippi State diploma.  (If I knew how to type out the emoji of the guy holding his hands up like “what?” I would insert that here.)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Anyone with me and think that the frozen shot idea from Tom Schwartz in last night’s “Vanderpump” finale was actually a really good idea?  Is he a legit good bartender? I SAY YES!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

How did they not show any of the following in last night’s “Vanderpump Rules” finale:

  1. Scheana getting dumped by Rob.  NEED TO SEE THAT.
  2. Video evidence that James DID hook up with Kristen in Mexico.  That 100% happened.
  3. ANY VISUAL EVIDENCE OF LALA’S MAN.  Seriously, if you’re a producer on the show, how do you not say “if we can’t put him on air, you’re off the show”?

All in all, a lackluster finale.

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 did not bet last night because I’m saving my strength.  My bud told me that the Bears over/under win total for next year, though is currently at 6.5.  IMMA HAMMER THAT OVER!

(Account currently at $108.14)

K bye.

Worse Jobs Than Yours! (4/30/18)

OUR WORLD:

It’s a Moody Monday, and even though it’s sunny and kinda’ warm outside, it still STINKS.  When I took Belle out for a walk this morning, she barked at an older woman on a bike.  The bike woman replied to the barking by immediately stopping, shaking her head in a disapproving manner and saying “that is quite the reaction.”  So my Monday started with a judgmental stranger.  I wanted to be like,”was it worth stopping your bike and going through that whole dramatic routine?”  I didn’t say anything, but I hope she gets hit by a truck carrying grenades.

If you can’t tell, I really need to make myself feel better by getting into today’s “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job list.

Grocery Store Pianist:  I guess you can call yourself a professional musician if you get paid to play the piano at a grocery store, but that’s not going to take away the disappointment coming from your parents and the $65k they WASTED on your college education.  (That was a really mean way to start this section.  MOODY Monday is ALIVE!)  Have you ever had the moment on Sunday when you’re wandering through the pasta aisle, talking yourself out of buying all the pastas, and you hear music that sounds live?  Then you’ll glance around and see that someone thought it would be a good idea to put a GRAND FUCKING PIANO by the paper towel section and there’s a dude in a big dumpy suit ACTUALLY PLAYING IT!

You know that guy has to be nervous the whole time he’s there that someone he went to high school with is going to recognize him and ask “so how’s the music thing going?”  That’s not to say that these pianists are bad, actually I’m normally impressed (not many bands looking for piano players?) but when your job immediately elicits “why do they pay someone to do that?”-responses, you’re in a tough spot.  Seriously, what is lost if the grocery store just…I don’t know, put the pandora piano music station on?  Would there be people that would ask for the manager and be like “where’s the paper towel section piano concert that I was promised?”  ALSO! the tipping situation is a no-win for everyone involved.  You can’t ask the pianist if he accepts tips because that’s super awkward.  The baggers and cashiers have no idea.  Then if you do tip the pianist, maybe you’re making him feel worse (like a beggar!).  But if you don’t, and he was expecting it, then he’s not making money.  BUT WHO BRINGS PIANIST TIP MONEY TO MARIANO’S?!?!

The only people who genuinely appreciate this person, the ones who applaud at the end of the songs, are looked at by EVERYONE ELSE IN THE STORE like real weirdos.  They’re the same people who applaud pilots when the plane lands.  We get applauded for doing our jobs now?  And the pianist probably doesn’t like it cuz it draws attention to him and raises the chances that someone he knows will recognize him.  I’m sure they play it off like “I just love playing music,” but that’s garbage because they probably had to apply for that position.  It’s not like a Mariano’s manager was just taking a stroll, overheard someone playing a GRAND FUCKING PIANO, and asked if they’d share their gift with the loyal patrons of the paper towel section.

Auntie Anne’s Pretzel Maker:  Ever feel like you’ve eaten only carbs for an entire day and then you retrace what you’ve eaten and YOU HAVE ONLY EATEN CARBS?!?!  Then you get sad and look in the mirror and suck your cheeks in and tell yourself that “diet starts tomorrow.”  If you’re an Auntie Anne’s Pretzel Maker, you are surrounded by delicious smelling, buttery salty carbs all day, everyday at work.  Don’t tell me “oh, you’d get sick of it” either.  There’s no better smell in the whole wide world than the pretzel stand in the mall food court.

If that’s your job, though, and you’re trying to be frugal because…I mean because you work at Auntie Anne’s…then you probably get a free lunch as part of your shift.  Which would be nice unless you’re just starting your diet and all Auntie Anne’s has are BUTTERY TWISTED CARB LOAFS!  Has anyone in the history of the universe ever ordered anything OTHER than a pretzel at Auntie Anne’s?  Pretty sure they don’t have salads, so the pretzel maker’s free lunch is either “with salt” or “without salt” (who in the fuck get’s “without salt” btw?)

So you’re just sweaty, probably covered in a thin layer of butter, not making that much money AND unable to EVER start a proper diet.  I bet the pretzel makers look over at the salad stand in the food court and ask for trades, but the salad people are like “nah, I just cut out carbs.  Smells great, though!”

Old Timey Shoe Salesman:  The old guys in the suits who are super sales-y and try to talk you into trying shoes on and then treat you like you’ve never put a shoe on in your life.  They have that real shiny shoe horn thing, and their WAY too comfortable handling your feet.  Once they’re at that level, there’s no turning back because those skills don’t translate to other industries.  Not like a pharmaceutical sales company is gonna be like “now tell me about the time you shoehorned that coalminer’s swollen foot into the penny loafer.”  That’s just your job forever.

But what about the process that desensitized these people so much?  Nobody is just automatically comfortable handling strangers feet, right?  (There’s gotta be one guy reading this who just looked over his shoulder and is like “I mean…sounds good to me…”)  How about the first time a woman with smelly, scabby feet came into your section?  You could see that she wasn’t wearing socks, but it’s not like you had to see it because you could DEF smell it.  You get fired if you refuse to help her, and I don’t think you can wear surgical gloves.  We’re talking skin-to-smelly-scabby-skin contact here, folks.

MY WORLD:

The VP of Ops is back in town after being gone most of the past 2 weeks, and it has been somewhat of a rocky readjustment period.  Is it just me, or when your spouse leaves do you IMMEDIATELY revert to your single ways and then kinda’ fight when they get back because you’re used to living like a bachelor?  The VP took my car to Trader Joe’s (a place I’d rather NEVER SEE AGAIN) and came back all “Don’t worry, I threw out your chewing tobacco tin.”  Then she walked past me all nonchalant with a little smirk to make me feel REAL small.  So I hit her back with a “so happy you’re back!” but I didn’t laugh because I was going for something deeper.  Counter-punching, ever heard of it?

Then our spring cleaning turned into me watching The VP just create bigger messes while rearranging furniture to “open the room up.”  Maybe just crack a window next time instead of dumping all our mail over the floor? But then I’m not allowed to be mad because I wasn’t doing anything (because it was Sunday and I was in full-on do-nothing mode).  So we just kind of didn’t say anything to each other for a while except the occasional “I love you” to break up the silent-fight we were having.  Being married is fun.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I could not be more excited about the Bears drafting Roquan Smith and I spent the majority of the weekend looking up videos like this…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When parents talk to their kids like adults in public in an effort to sound funny, but their kids don’t understand it so they keep crying.  Confused?  Think of a parent saying something along the lines of “I am not understanding your viewpoint on this issue” to a crying kid.  It’s not that funny and it doesn’t help settle down the kid.

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 got absolutely demolished this weekend.  I’m telling myself to take tonight off…but that probably won’t happen.

(My account currently at $108.14)

K bye.

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.

Wednesday Work Robots and Missing Immaturity (4/25/18)

OUR WORLD:

 

Wednesday is such a day for adults.  The midpoint of the weekday grind is the exact point where you don’t know where or who you really are anymore; you’re just the person who puts on the least wrinkled shirt in your closet and walks your dog before disappearing into a computer screen for 9 hours (9, not 8, because you’re a GOOD WORKER BEE!)  Throughout the day, some people will make hump day jokes because of that talking-camel commercial and you’ll kinda chuckle because the word “hump” is funny.  But, all you really want to do is not talk to ANYONE and just blackout until late Thursday afternoon when Friday’s rays of sunshine begin to poke through your office blinds.

This grind is such a mature mindset.  I remember coming out of college and trying to treat every night like Friday because “I like to have fun!”  The thought of basically transforming myself into a work-robot during the week was too sobering for Jimmy IT’S ALWAYS GOOD TIMES.  And while this maturing is good for the health of my brain and body, I’ll have instances where I daydream about getting to be immature again.  Don’t you?  Like, don’t you just want to take your shirt off in the middle of your office sometimes and run out while screaming “I’M FREE!!!”  You’re not gonna do it, but it’s funny to think about.  Thinking about EXPLOSIONS of immaturity is what gets me through some of life’s most mundane and scary situations/settings; and I think if you’re not partaking in this exercise as of yet, it might help you as well.  So today, I’d like to start a new Wednesday tradition on Jimmyschair and write about “places where you really want to act more immature than is socially acceptable”:

The Dentist Office:

You probably haven’t gone in over 3 years and it’s getting to the point where you’ve convinced yourself that “something real bad is happening.”  I went for the first time in like 5 years a couple months ago (not to brag) and was POSITIVE the dentist was going to take one look at me before calling a Priest to read me my last rights.  (Spoiler alert: I’m still alive and it wasn’t that bad).  But your imagination runs WILD to the point where you start contemplating “what if I just never went to the dentist again?  People in olden times didn’t go and they seem to be doing okay in most of the movies I’ve seen them in.”  That is until you throw a pile of almonds in your stink-trap of a mouth, bite down and feel like an a-bomb went off inside your back molar.  The “oh fuck, something’s really wrong in my mouth” is a top 1 worst feeling in life.

So you finally make an appointment, but you’re really hoping that an alien bomber plane will just blow up the world before you actually have to go.  But that never happens because you have bad luck, so you go to the dentist and have to be MATURE and pretend like you’re not that scared.  Wouldn’t it be great to be immature here?  Like, just walk into the dentist office crying.  Go up to the receptionist wildly shaking your head and weeping “I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna go!”  Then when the dentist emerges with his scary surgical mask, you literally SCREAM BLOODY MURDER “GET AWAY FROM ME! NO! NO! HELP! MOM HELP!!!!”  The dentist would have to try to calm you down by speaking on a sweet voice and assuring you that “everything is gonna be okay.”  But you still wouldn’t totally believe him as you sat down in that murder-chair.

Then they’d turn the lamp on and ask you to open your mouth, but since you’re still in immature-mode you just refuse to.  The dentist’s assistant would kneel down next to you and maybe rub your shoulder a little to calm you down (wouldn’t that be nice as an adult?  Guess what, kids aren’t the only ones scared of the dentist!)  So then finally, after being talked to like a baby, you’d open your mouth a little and they could begin to clean your teeth.  It’s not bad at first, but then they start scraping and you LOSE IT again.  This time, it’s a full-on “get away from me!”-fit to the point that they have to konk you on the head with a mallet to continue the cleaning.  I don’t know about you, but if my dentist appointment included being knocked out cold by a mallet-to-the-dome, I’d consider that a win for the mere fact that I wouldn’t have to hear all the drilling noises.

MY WORLD:

I’m not gonna lie guys, I am supes biz at work (cute way of saying I’ve thought about crying on a semi-regular basis over the past few weeks).  So that’s my world right now: being super busy, feeling bad that my dog is alone for way too long during the day and trying to cool it with the “I worked hard today, so I deserve to binge on candy tonight.”

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Did you think I was kidding when I said I was about to go on a big Death Cab for Cutie kick?

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When “Chicago Fire” is filming two blocks away from your apartment building and, therefore, blocking off 2 streets worth of parking.  So when you get home at night, there is no parking left and you have to park like 9 blocks away on a street known for muggings.  I’ve never watched this show and, if you do, I’d ask that you please stop.  Thank you for your service.

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:

Cool thing happened to me last night, I forgot to bet on Milwaukee until midway through the first half.  Which means that I got them at (+11.5) and they covered!  San Antonio also covered, so I went 2 for 3 last night!  This parlay kid could use one hitting, but at least I’m not on some big smelly losing streak or something.  Got a bunch of games going tonight, and here’s what I’m thinking as of now:  Jazz, Wizards, Rockets, and Bucks all against the spread.  Will my thinking change between now and gametime?  Quite possibly.

(My account currently at $182.80)

K bye.

 

 

Being Single Stunk and Haircut Anarchy (4/24/18)

OUR WORLD:

The VP of Ops was out of town most of last week, got back on Sunday and left again this morning for the next 3 days.  I have officially left the “being alone is fun!” phase of her being gone, and entered the “well, who’s gonna listen to me bitch about my day?” phase of missing her.  Call me a romantic, but getting to whine about relatively benign daily happenings to someone who is GUARANTEED to agree with you is one of the main advantages of being married.  Actually, part of my vows alluded to this when I wrote: “I promise never to spare you a detail of the times when an older woman will inadvertently cut me off in traffic.  I promise to assign said woman some malicious motive that I fully expect you to agree with when I recount the story to you later that night.”  Guys, I’m like so kidding about having written vows–we’re not those kinda’ weirdos.  It’s called a joke!

Which is a long winded way of me saying that I do not miss being single.  For those who are good at it, congratulations; you won’t enjoy the rest of today’s “Our World”.  You live in a world that I am not a part of, if you’re good at being single.  For me, and I believe many of us, the world of being single sucks, and here are the parts that suck the most:

Feeling compelled to talk to strangers at bars:  Obviously, I can only speak to this from a guy’s perspective, but going to bars while single and hoping to meet a future LOVAH! is a terrifying prospect.  What happens is you stand around with your friends trying to not look like you’re scoping everyone out, but you are and it’s SUPER obvious when you keep missing the straw to your vodka soda (you are watching cals BIG TIME when single).  There will be the mega babes who are WAY out of your league, but you’ll spend about 9 minutes trying to come up with a snappy one-liner to level the playing field.  Something along the lines of “hey…uh…getting to date you would make my dad real proud of me.”  Unfortunately, Babe-a-tron 5000 doesn’t know how reluctant your dad is to offer praise, so that’s gonna be a swing and a miss.

What’ll happen most of the time, is that you’ll just stand around your dumb friends, not approaching ANYONE of the opposite sex.  Instead, opting to just get progressively drunker until somebody gets a text from a girl they know that is at another bar.  “She have friends?!?!?  HAS TO, RIGHT?!?” Is what you’ll be thinking, but you’ve gotta play it cool, so you’ll act like “sure, guess I’ll go with you.”  Then you’ll get to the next bar, realize that the girl does have friends, but those friends are not impressed with sarcasm OR outfits from Old Navy’s Spring, 2011 collection.  It’s okay, though, because by this time you’re drunk-STARVING and ready to eat your feelings away.  THEIR LOSS!

Having to explain to your grandparents why you’re not married with kids yet:  I swear to god, once you hit the age of 22, all grandparents expect you to be married with a kid on the way.  Old days were a wild time, during which, I guess everyone was married with 3 kids and a big house by the time they were able to rent a car?  That’s the way they friggin’ act at least.  Every family dinner when you’re single will include the “why are you still single?”-portion of the meal with your grandparents quizzing you on what exactly is going wrong.  It’ll usually be a potential critique wrapped in a compliment, like: “You’re a handsome, smart kid, you should have no problem finding someone.”  Unfortunately, when you’re single and, therefore insecure, that sounds more like: “The problem must be your personality.”  Seriously, how are you supposed to respond to that?  “Well thanks Grandpa, but I do have problems finding someone because I’m now out of college and approaching women in bars, or grocery stores, or gyms makes me so scared that I literally think about KILLING MYSELF!”  WARNING: Grandparents do not find humor in suicide jokes.

Playing the 3rd Wheel:  The main reason that playing the third wheel sucks is that you’re almost like the unpaid entertainment for the couple that night.  I always felt the need to go a little harder, be a little funnier, be a little extra-er when I was the third wheel.  Like, the couple had to be thinking: “if Jimmy bores us at any point in the night, we can just bail.”  Your couple friends will ALWAYS assure you that “you’re NOT the third wheel,” but…uh…you are because you’re the third person there and your pants are a little tighter than normal because you ate a big sandwich for lunch so you feel ROUND, LIKE A WHEEL!

Then will come the part of the night where you’ll kinda’ glance at someone across the bar and the couple you’re with will see this, and convince you that you NEED to approach this person.  Funny how everyone in a relationship IMMEDIATELY forgets how much of a no-go that proposition is when you’re single.  They’ll give you a “what’s the worst that could happen?” or “I think she just looked at you, too.”  They’re lying.  Trust me, they’re lying about this 100% of the time.  All they want is some free entertainment; getting to watch someone strike out with a potential mate IN PERSON is something I would pay to see.  In fact, there should be a viewing section at the biggest single bars in the city.  Wouldn’t you pay to go to one of these massive, DJ-booth, single meat markets, and sit in like in the security camera room?  They could have a charismatic storyteller, narrating the pick-up attempts going on throughout the club, and you could just watch it and be thankful that it’s no longer you as the star of this horror-show?  There really should be a channel called “Single People in a Club” which just shows security-cam footage of clubs around the country on Friday and Saturday nights.  I’d vote for someone like Hannibal Burress to narrate the scenes (I really wanted to say Louis C.K. for the narrator but…like…he can’t come back yet, huh?  We sure?  Okay. Okay!)

MY WORLD:

I know today is supposed to be the “A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”, but since I’m not an ABSOLUTE monster with endless stories of me pissing off my wife, I’m going to write about the haircut I got on Sunday.  (Calm down!  Calm down!  YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT!)  

As you know by now, I get my hair cut at a salon because I am a fancy boy who likes STYLE!  Or, mostly because I want to get my head massaged by a professional head massager person.  So I’ve been going to this hip place called “Fringe” for the past couple years where I may be the only male client.  (I’m sure this isn’t true, but anytime I’m in there, I’m the only guy there so…maybe it is true?  YOU DON’T KNOW!)  Now, I only get my haircut like 2 to 3 times a year because I’m lazy and try to convince myself that I can pull off long hair a couple times throughout the year.  Normally, around like month 3 post-haircut The VP of Ops will toss a “your hair!” my way one morning when I wake up with especially sexy bed head (sexy or, as The VP would put it “gross and not sexy in the least).  So I’ll wait another few weeks before the VPs jabs start to actually hurt and then, finally, make an appointment.

For the past 2-3 years I had been getting my haircut by this girl named Tori at Fringe.  She was good, not great, but whatever, I wasn’t that picky.  Until last time when Tori wasn’t available, but it being a hair-emergency, so I just went with whoever was available.  A woman named Leah was assigned to my mangy head, and lemme tell ya’, WE CONNECTED!  She gave a top-notch head massage while washing my hair (during which I made a joke about how close to purring I was that she took in stride and even gave me a courtesy laugh for!)  She then gave me a killer haircut and was just a DELIGHT to converse with.  Not too much talking, but enough that I didn’t feel drown in any awkward silences.  I left thinking about two words in regards to Tori: SHE GONE!

After wearing a hat for most of the past 2 months, I finally made a second appointment with Leah this past Sunday.  Unfortunately, I did not plan ahead and ask if Tori was going to be there.  So when I walked in to “Fringe” and Tori was sitting at the reception desk, I had to make a split-second decision.  “Hey!!! Our system is down, so I didn’t know you were coming in!” said an excited Tori.  To which I responded, “Yeah, my name is Jimmy and I’m here for a 12:30 with Leah.”  My split second decision was to act like I had no idea who Tori was.  I barely made eye contact with her as she responded: “Oh, okay…yeah, I didn’t know who you were with.”  It’s one of the coldest, meanest things I think I’ve ever done.

She went and got Leah, and a funny thing happened; I didn’t feel a thing.  I was expecting to be knocked over with a wave of guilt but, instead, I felt nothing.  It was exhilarating in the darkest of ways.  This must be what the Joker felt the first time he upset the established order.  As I passed Tori on my way to get my hair washed, I almost wanted to whisper in her ear “I’m an agent of chaos.”

Does this mean that Joker Jimmy is a newly discovered side of my personality worth exploring further? That the weird-astrology people were right when they take about Gemini’s having split personalities?  Quite possibly.  Tori’s heartbreak at not getting to cut a relative stranger’s hair (me) was a sacrifice necessary for me to find my inner darkness.  A darkness that could lead to me never settling on one hair-cutter person for fear of an awkward interaction.  A darkness that could lead me to finding the perfect hair-cutter person; one who would be able to give me the volume and shape necessary to hide my thinning crown.  A darkness that could put an end to me having to use a blow-dryer.  As Tori watched Leah cut my hair from afar, she must have felt the thing about chaos…fear.  And maybe that fear that she’s not good enough, will drive her to become a better hair-cutter person.  You’re welcome, Tori.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Me in the salon on Sunday…

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Anyone watch Ariana on “Vanderpump Rules” last night?  She got mad at Tom for leaving to hang out with Jax after the break-up because she wants Tom to “commit” to her being first in her life.  HOWEVER, she still refuses to even consider marrying Tom.  Get out Ariana, nobody likes you.

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:

Well, Russ Westbrook proved that I’m stupid.  That’s fun.  Thankfully, I did also bet on Houston last night, so it wasn’t a total wash.  For tonight, I like Miami (+10), the Milwaukee moneyline and San Antonio (+11.5).  10 and 11.5 are a lot of points for teams that play hard and have proud vets, and Milwaukee seems to have figured out how to beat Boston.  BANK OPEN?!?! YOU BETCHA!

(My account currently at $180.40)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

Animal Control Officer:  

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

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

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

Used Car Salesman:

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

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

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

Personal Chef for a Celebrity and their Kids:

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

10-Crunch Bar

9-Chocolate Covered Almonds

8-Twix

7-Kit Kat

6-Gummy Fruit Slices

5-Gummy Bears

4-Crispy M&Ms

3-York Peppermint Patties

2-Peanut M&Ms

1-Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $192.22)

K bye.

In Defense of Me and 90s Kid Stuff

MY WORLD: 

Aside from treating my body like a dumpster, talking to Belle about how she’s the “numba one pretty gurrrlll” and sleeping in my clothes, there’s one final pastime I take part in whenever The VP of Ops leaves town; getting paranoid about what she’s saying about me to other people.  You see, there’s this thing that some people take part in, where when they’re away from their significant other they complain about his/her faults and idiosyncrasies to their friends.  Mind you, this is something that I have only HEARD ABOUT, for my friends and I keep our conversations strictly about sports, chicken wings and who our current man-crush is because IT’S A SAFE SPACE AND WE’RE PROGRESSIVE!  (Chris Hemsworth and Eddie Vedder forever btw).

However, I am aware that The VP of Ops has sheep-like tendencies when surrounded by her poor influences of friends.  While they’re complaining about the ragamuffins they’re with, in an effort to fit in and not be the “yo mans ain’t got it like my mans got it”-girl, she probably folds and joins the complain party.  Knowing this, I would like to put forth some explanations and defenses for what she MAY be saying about me to her friends.

“He’s really moody”—First off, who isn’t?  Right? I mean, I’m sure there are co-workers of yours that you think are super even keel, but they have to be kinda’ bitchy sometimes at home later…right? RIGHT?!?!?  Uh, and you think The VP of Ops ISN’T moody?  THINK AGAIN BUB!  Last time I checked, yelling “I’m going to murder you” at your husband, just because he’s playing the “I’m not touching you”-game, is called a MOOD.  Your honor, I would like to employ the “well, she is too”-defense.

Real talk, this cuts deep because I am POSITIVE that it’s true.  For some reason, being “moody” has worse connotations than being a serial killer in my brain.  (He’s moody?!?! Ugh, I don’t have time to deal with that!  Yeah, my husband killed 4 people, but they were like SOOOOO annoying).  Sometimes, I’ll catch myself mid-“if you don’t stop humming to yourself I’m going to blow my brains out” and immediately toss an apology the VPs way.  The apology, though, normally sounds something like “I’m mad right now and I don’t know why and it’s not your fault so I’m…(through grit teeth)…so I’m sorry or whatever.”  And if she brings up how I was moody the next day or another time when I’m in a GOOD mood? It’ll immediately piss me off and I’ll kinda’ deny it and will try my best to act not-mad…but, I’m fuckin’ mad about it.  CAN’T THIS JUST BE OUR LITTLE SECRET?  Oh, and to the girlfriend who I’m sure will mention something about me being a Gemini, just shove it.  Astrology is for the birds, everyone knows this.

“He ALWAYS watches sports”—Well maybe if you had money riding on whether Mariska Whateverthefuckitay was going to catch the rapist in this episode of “Law & Order SVU”, I would support us watching that together.  Gah fuhbid you join the team and root against Anthony Davis making the Blazers look like ABSOLUTE dog meat when I have the Blazers in my 8-team parlay.  And also, if I watch sports all the time, how am I able to write such eloquent, insightful critiques of “Vanderpump Rules” and “Summer House”?  Answer the question, please.  I’ll wait…

This is the time when The VP of Ops will, most likely, bring up the fact that I have yet too hook up the second cable box in our bedroom.  Did we move in last August? Yes, but there are a lot of wires and, like, I JUST DON’T WANNA!  PLUS! PLUS!  All she wants to watch is “Law & Order SVU” and that’s on netflix, so she can just watch it on our Apple TV in the bedroom.  I would like to point out that I have mostly given up watching weekend pre-game shows (which are like catnip for guys ESPECIALLY during football season) so that we can watch that stupid fake pioneer woman cook some unhealthy bullshit for her “Cowboy Kids” on Food Network.  (We did just find out that Pioneer Woman married into like one of the richest families in the country.  When your family is worth in excess of $500 million-not kidding-it kinda’ puts a damper on the whole “just cookin’ for some farm boys” motif they’re going for. Just my 2 cents!) Are you going to bring that up to the girl crew? Do their guys ask what time Vanderpump Rules is on every Monday? Do their guys pause “Relation-shep” in the middle of the show just to talk to you about charismatic and likable Shep is?  Didn’t think so.

“He’s bossy”—This one is similar to the “he’s moody” one in that it hurts, but the difference here is that I’m not bossy.  I’m really not.  This is not me trying to be funny by denying the truth…I’m just not bossy.  Ask my boss at work if I’m bossy; bet he says I’m not.

Really though, I think I’m good at admitting faults (see, “He’s really moody” section) but this “bossy” label is one hundred percent due to the fact that The VP of Ops is an all-time horrible decision maker.  When I say that, I’m not meaning it in the sense of making bad decisions like “she decides to get a neck tattoo when she’s drunk.”  More like, she just WON’T make a decision.  Every single Saturday that we both have free, I’ll ask her what she wants for lunch.  “Where should we go? We can go wherever you want!”-I ask like the Magic Lunch Fairy.  What this leads to is her telling me that she’s going to find a spot by looking through the Yelp! app on her phone.  Then, about 13 minutes later, I’ll walk past her and see that she’s just scrolling through Instagram.  “Oh yeah, I forgot”-and she’ll get back to the Yelp! app before asking me “well, what do you want?” no less than 39 times.  So me putting an end to this misery and picking a restaurant that she told me she LOVED is, then, an example of me being bossy?  In the words of an Italian television caricature “Getda’ Fug Outta Hee!”

OUR WORLD: 

So Spotify has this thing now, I don’t know if it’s new or not, where they create a playlist for you called “Time Capsule”.  Through the magic of the internet (and the government…) they somehow know what songs I liked when in my formative years.  This morning I have heard some real treats like Matchbox Twenty (Rob Thomas can sing, so back off), “Sabotage” (the only Beastie Boys song I like), and “Rollin'” by Limp Bizkit (NOT the only Limp Bizkit song I like…WHAT?!?! IT’S GREAT WORKOUT MUSIC!)  

This “Time Capsule” got me to thinking about the 90s and so I wanted to put together the beginning of a “Whatever Happened To __________?” list for my fellow kids of the 90s.  Maybe I’ll continue this in future blogs…maybe not…I do what I want.

–Eve 6:  Was “Inside Out” just too perfect of a song?  I’m guessing they made that and were like “well, we can’t top that…so let’s just leave.”

–Drew Barrymore:  She was in every single movie for a stretch there and now, where she at?  Drew? Where you at, Drew?  She is also maybe the best example of a celeb I can’t decide if I’m attracted to or not.

–The guy with tiny sunglasses in “The Professional”:  I’ve actually never seen this movie, but feel like I have because I’ve seen the preview like a hundred times and CONSTANTLY think about watching it on nights I’m having trouble finding something.  He seemed like a pretty solid character actor, though.  Maybe? I don’t know.

–Jesse Camp:  This is the guy who won MTVs first “Wanna Be a VJ” contest.  Man, this dude was off-putting.  Also, pretty provocative name for a TV show, in hindsight.  I don’t want to look up what this dude is up to now because I fully expect it to be very depressing.

–Ben Savage from “Boy Meets World”:  Again, not going to look up what he’s actually up to, but for very different reasons than Jesse Camp.  I don’t want to look Ben Savage up because I’m rooting for him to be miserable now.  When I was a grad film student at UCLA (are you impressed by debt? Well get a load of this!) I ran into Ben Savage hanging out in the office of my student housing building.  He was like hanging out with people that worked there or something? Anyway, I recognized him and because it was a Friday night and I was probably 5 beers deep at this point, struck up a conversation with him.  Unfortunately, he quickly turned this light conversation into a passionate monologue about how stupid and delusional he thinks people trying to break into the film/television biz are.  He did not know that I was (am?) one of those people.  He was so condescending and pompous, that I wish I would’ve told him that the GLARING FLAW with “Boy Meets World” was that Topanga was WAY too hot for him.  Everyone agrees on this and if you see this cheesedick on the street, feel free to remind him of it.  I’d appreciate it.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I bet you’re like me and still know all the lyrics to this.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Punchable face times a billion.

Savage

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:

Well, my NBA playoff parlay is basically dead now that the Blazers are down 0-3 to the Pelicans.  Isn’t it great when you look back on a bet and it’s SUPER OBVIOUS that betting against Anthony Davis was a bad idea?  I just love it.  I placed a few bets last night and ended up going 2 for 4, so that’s not horrible at least.  I’m guessing that Philly is becoming the favorite to come out of the East now, and so I think I may want to put some money on Cleveland.  I can’t stand LeBron, but I just can’t see him going down to Ben Simmons and Embiid…not yet.

(My account currently at $207.73)

K bye.

Country Clubs Suck and Dog Nicknames (4/19/18)

OUR WORLD:

Ever walk into a place and IMMEDIATELY feel like everything there, from the people to the furniture to the paint on the walls, is eager for you to leave?  If you’re having trouble coming up with the last place that made you feel this way, let me help you out: think of the last time you were in a country club.  Now you get it.  Studies show that readers of jimmyschair are 91% less likely to be a member in a country club than the rest of society (studies, guys, we’re talkin’ serious stuff that people wearing tiny glasses wrote about).  But you have been to one before because everyone is due to experience an old lady with poofy white hair and an expensive pin (it’s called a “Brooche” you animal) giving you the “leave immediately, or I’ll put a murder-spell on your family”-glare.  I got to experience this yesterday on a business (straight cash homie) call, and it reminded me how absolutely obnoxious country clubs are.  Why does this appeal to people?

The appeal of being a part of an exclusive club can be attractive, but when entry into that club is determined not by merit, but by your bank account, how does the guilt not taint the membership at least a little bit?  Obviously, most people who are well off have worked their asses off earning every nickel they have and there should be no guilt about that.  But when those people inhabit the same club as Thomas TrustFund, they…kinda’ become the company they keep.  Imagine a scenario where some shlubby dude, let’s call him Jimmy, wearing an old t-shirt and dirty hat gets lost.  Jimmy is driving around the middle of suburbia for a while when it starts hailing golf balls as a dense fog rolls in.  So pulls in the first driveway he sees and takes it up to a big, old-timey looking house place.  He’ll walk in, not noticing the “Members Only” sign that’s small enough that you’d have to wonder if it’s a test.  Once inside, soaking wet with bruises on his head from the hail, the 4 members wearing blazers with patches on the elbows, will immediately begin to grumble.  The one whose family has been members the longest, Thomas TrustFund, will volunteer to be the enforcer because the mere whiff of danger is intoxicating for this neutered house cat.

“Excuse me sir, are you a member?”-Thomas huffed, knowing full well that members aren’t allowed to wear “Big Dog” t-shirts.

“Oh, shoot I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a club.  It was just a nightmare outside, so I had to get off the roads.”-Jimmy responded.

Thomas asks Jimmy to “kindly leave”, (which is a thing that only true dickheads say; more offensive for it’s condescension than if someone said “you! yeah you, get da’ fuck outta here!)  and will send Jimmy back into the hail tornado.  Then Thomas will return to his midday bourbon circle-jerk to clink glasses celebrating exclusivity and how “tough” he just was.  Now, if you’re the person who worked your ass off for every nickel you have, but you now own the same douchey blazer as Thomas and have clinked glasses with him, you are now Thomas.  Seriously, just change your name.

I can hear my mom reminding me that all people that have money and belong to country clubs aren’t assholes, and that’s probably true.  However, if they get to build a club and golf course and pool all with the sole intent of excluding other people, aren’t those excluded people then allowed to label this society as “the dickhead society”?  It seems fair, no?  You get a pool, we get to unite in calling you dicks.

Is a pool and access to a nice golf course and a private dining room worth being properly labeled as a dick, though? There are super nice public golf courses throughout the country (I know because sometimes I save up and play them and end up wanting to quit about 6 holes in).  A pool?  Well, that’s tougher, but we all have a friend who has a rich uncle who likes to throw parties.  If not, just do what my parents did and get a room at the Glenview Embassy Suites for the night so you can swim in their pool.  We’ve already gone over this; hotel pools are the best.  A nice restaurant? Are you effing serious, bro?  “Newks” is a sandwich chain-restaurant in the south that has better sandwiches than any goofy clubhouse “chef” could slap together.  And steakhouses?!?! Every town in America now has that one nice steakhouse that you save up to go to once every 3 years and leave saying “that was SO worth it.”

So the appeal MUST be the status that’s associated with it, and that’s where I’m lost.  Bragging about your bank account, however passive aggressive it may be, is something that should be pointed out and mocked every single time.  This is why “Caddyshack” was such a great movie (related: I caddied at the club that “Caddyshack” was based on, and it was SPOT. ON.  Seriously, it’s stunning how little in that movie was exaggerated.) This is why no matter how many times my Mom tells me to not sounds so judgmental about the people in these places, I can’t resist.  This is why whenever I go to one of these places, ready to give them the benefit of the doubt and be surprised by their welcoming nature, I  end up leaving disappointed.

Yesterday, while doing BUSINESS, I was asked to take my hat off before entering an empty dining area in a country club where my presence (because of my work) was requested.  Not wanting to cause a scene by starting up an impromptu “Hat People Matter”-campaign, I removed my hat and continued our meeting; looking like an absolute asshole with my hat hair.  And why did I have to take my hat off?  So as not to offend the…oh, wait…NOBODY WAS IN THE DINING ROOM.  No no, this is just “club policy”.  Give me a fuckin’ break, pal.  That’s like a movie usher yelling at someone for using their phone after the movie ended and everyone left and the theater was now empty and dark because that was the last showing of the day.  It was almost like this guy thought “now, he must have noticed that his LEASED car stuck out in our parking lot, but let’s really drive the point home that he’s a slob by forcing him to show off his dirty, helmet-like hair in front of the four well-dressed club executives.”

I’m a middle-class white dude who was raised in a very nice suburb and these places make ME feel like sewer matter; I can’t even imagine how they make people less fortunate feel.  I hope to make a buttload of money someday, go to a country club that’s struggling with membership and buy the land it’s on so I can tear it down and build my dream: a “Newks” in Illinois.  What’s better than a “Newks” sandwich?  A “Newks” sandwich that comes with a free round of golf and pool access.

MY WORLD:

With The VP of Ops out of town, I’ve been talking to my dog, Belle, quite a bit more than usual.  Fellow dog owners? You feel me? Cha feel?  Here are the nicknames that I have bestowed upon Belle:

-Pretty Girl

-Numba One Pretty Gurrrrrrl

-Sundog Millionaire! (said, with an exclamation point, in the villain’s accent from “Slumdog Millionaire”)

-Bubba

-Bubba Shlubba

-Dirty Dog

-Ro Ro

I will keep you all updated on the new ones that my dumb brain comes up with just about every day.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The old couches that are super not comfortable and in every stuffy country club you’ve ever been to.

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

I can’t lie to you guys.  I wasn’t able to gamble last night and I don’t even know what happened in those games because of work stuff.  I apologize for letting you down.  Gambler Jimmy will return soon…and with a vengeance.

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.

 

 

When Your Wife Goes Out of Town and Gross Foods (4/18/18)

MY WORLD:

The VP of Ops has left me.

She took off on an airplane this morning to go to a little place called Mexico, ever heard of it? (The friend of mine who reminded me of the “ever heard of it?”-joke was disappointed that he/she did not receive proper credit in last week’s blog.  Well, TOO FUCKING BAD!  THIS IS MY WORLD! AND NOW, WHENEVER ANYONE THINKS OF THE “EVER HEARD OF IT?” JOKE, THEY WILL THINK OF JIMMYSCHAIR FIRST! ME! ME! ME!)  This Mexico trip is a 5 day bachelorette-a-thon where they’re staying in a…(uh oh, I know she told me where they were staying multiple times.  And, I definitely was not listening to her when she was telling me)…they’re staying in a place where there’s a beach and stuff.  What that means, is that I’m single for the next five days.  It’s true, guys.  I can do whatever I want because The VP is not here and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have internet access so KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUT!

Jk lol omg guys.  It’s called a joke!  What it really means is that I’ll probably gamble more, eat worse and throw a few pouches in my lip because I’M FREE!!!  (There should be another warning label on tobacco tins that reads “Just because you only do this when your wife is out of town, doesn’t mean it’s not still bad for you.”)  You see, every time The VP of Ops goes out of town, I go through the same stages in the first 24 hours of “Freedom”:

The “Wow, I can’t wait to do whatever I want when I get back tonight”-stage:  This is the most exciting stage of The VP actually leaving.  THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!  This stage usually occurs right after she leaves and I promised her that I would miss her so much.  However, what I’m really thinking when I tell her that I’ll “miss her so much” is “I wonder what I’m gonna have for dinner tonight before getting to watch 5 straight hours of playoff basketball with action on EVERY SINGLE GAME!”  The first night alone, you need to be alone–this is not the night to invite your friends over and make them jealous that their significant other isn’t out of town too…that’s for tomorrow.  Tonight is for tacos or wings or…no, just tacos or wings with moderate-to-heavy drinking and maybe a vape or dip sesh.  Bad boy stuff only.

The “Wait, so I have to take the dog out every time while she’s gone?”-stage:  I don’t know why this reality always surprises me when she’s gone, but usually late in the first day of it, I get salty that she’s not flying back to take Belle outside.  I’ll get back from work, plop my finely toned and overworked bod on my chair and Belle will start crying.  However, now I can’t trick her to “go find mom!” (Such a great dog trick. Stupid dog, Mom’s in the kitchen; Can’t you hear her talking to me?)  And then I’ll think to myself “well this is kinda’ bullshit.”  Don’t get me wrong, Belle is my numba one pretty gurrrrl, but sometimes Relaxin’ Jimmy just needs her to stop staring while running in place and growling at me.  Normally, right about now, is when The VP of Ops will call me to “check in” (I’m not a baby!) and I’ll have to try real super hard not to sound pissy on the phone about having to do EVERYTHING IN THE UNIVERSE!

The “It’s late and I’m really tired, but I need to force a drunk tonight to prove how much fun  this vacation is”-stage:  End of night one ALWAYS feels like this.  I should just go to bed because I’m an adult with a CAREER (ever heard of it?) but that would be admitting defeat to myself.  It’s like I can hear 25 year-old, single Jimmy making fun of me for even thinking about going to bed before 10:30.  I’m not kidding when I tell you that there is probably going to be some audible pump-up self-talk along the lines of “come on Bud, let’s have a time!”  Then I’ll go and pour another little glass of scotch that I don’t need OR really want.  BUT WE’RE HAVING FUN, DAMNIT!  I’ll try convince myself that I care about watching the Oklahoma City game because I have $8 riding on it before falling asleep in my chair and waking up at 2AM in a “where am I?!?”-panic.

I’ll wake up the next morning to a living room that smells like scotch because I left my half-full glass on the coffee table, and my socks are on the ground and there are taco wrappers on the counter.  Guess what, though? Don’t have to clean it up till later.

OUR WORLD:

The Top Ten Foods That Are Gross And Why Does Anyone Eat Them:

  1.  Yogurt:  The consistency, the sound it makes when you stir it and if you lick the lid then we can’t be friends anymore.  I’m serious.
  2. Cauliflower Mashed Potatoes:  Fake mashed potatoes and I am not even close to being tricked.  They taste like sour mush.
  3. Cottage Cheese:  Are people serious with this shit?  Can’t be.  Must be an elaborate prank.
  4. Grape Nuts Cereal:  It’s brown gravel.
  5. Energy Gel/Goo:  Distance runners/people who are V serious about working out eat this stuff during workouts and it’s GNARLY GROSS.
  6. Lox:  I have never tried them and I will not.
  7. Black-Eyed Peas:  All you’re thinking about is how normal peas are way better than these weird things.
  8. Ham Salad: You’re not chicken or tuna salad and you never will be.  Stop trying.
  9. Bologna:  Too smooth and round.  Nope.
  10. Anchovies:  I don’t even want to hear that you’re chopped up finely in my favorite caesar dressing.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Ran across this song yesterday and remembered that I really like it.  Not a huge fan of the video, so just put this on in the background and don’t watch the video.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Gag city.

Yogurt

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:

Well, I didn’t gamble on the Blazers and that’s good because I’m starting to feel like I may be jinxing teams again…I did bet on the Cubs and the over last night and the Cardinals won and the over pushed so…WINNER!  Tonight, I’m loving a moneyline parlay of NBA games: Cleveland, Utah and Houston.  Feels so right.

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.