Tag: gambling

At Least You Don’t Have That Job and Bad Purchases (4-2-18)

 

OUR WORLD:

Boy am I excited that it’s Monday AND it’s absolutely freezing outside!  This is the best!  LIFE IS MEANT TO BE LIVED!!!!  If you happen to see me before 9AM this morning, do yourself and walk the other way because NOT TODAY!  On days when I catch myself being extra bitchy and pouty (oh, so everyday Jimmy?) I’ll try to come up with people that have it worse than me.  In all honesty, my job is like 87% good stuff and the rest isn’t stuff that is worth bitching about the way the rest of the working world gets to (but I wanna pout too!!!!  Also, maybe I said that so co-workers don’t give me a side-eye, like “so…if working here is so bad maybe you should just quit!”  jk guys lol omg ttyl!)  REGARDLESS!  Some Mondays I find myself running through what jobs have it way worse than I ever had and, hopefully, ever will have.  If you’re having an especially rough Monday, roll through this list and I think you’ll begin to feel thankful.  Let’s call these the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List…(if you happen to work one of the following jobs then may God have mercy on your soul.)  

–Anything having to do with outdoor construction:  Aside from the 6 days of the year that are in the perfect temperature range, construction workers have to either be freezing or hotter than hell.  Aside from that, they have to wear the big heavy boots FOR SAFETY!  They have to wear hardhats that would def mess with your hairline, and the bending and lifting and digging and hammering and what if you slip?  If you’re a full-time construction person, you definitely have a story about slipping and “that’s why my hand doesn’t really work anymore.”  Aside from the actual work itself, keep in mind that the general public is FUCKING annoyed with construction sites because they’re loud, hold up traffic and “like, is it EVER gonna be done?!”  How many angry drivers do you think these people have to deal with per day?  If you’re working road construction, there have to be at least 8 times a day where some douche in a foreign car lays on his horn because construction has created a traffic jam.  Does the horn help ease the jam?  Of course not, but Mr. Audi Douche would like everyone to know that he HAS A FUCKING MEETING!

The combo of backbreaking work and a generally ungrateful audience is a ROUGH work environment.  The only upside is getting to eat whatever you want because you just worked so hard.  Like, if I’m jackhammering a sidewalk for five hours (that’s a thing they do, right) you better believe I’m not gonna worry about how many carbs are in the BIG sandwich from Potbelly.  You’re getting that big cuz you earned the ever loving shit out of that big.  So that’s nice…but then it’s back to the heat and hard manual labor and, you know what guys? I quit.  I just can’t.

-Starbucks Barista:  You are immediately SLAMMED busy earlier than the entire world on Monday morning dealing with Monday people who have yet to have their coffee.  Seriously, how have their not been more Monday morning Starbucks shootings?  Having worked in a restaurant that had a cappuccino machine (whatever, yeah…it’s, not even a big deal) I know first hand that making those foofy coffee drinks is a BITCH.  Thankfully, I only had to make like one per 6 hour shift.  These Starbucks people have to make like a bajillion all the while an angry pre-coffee mob is waiting off to the side wondering why the fuck their mocha gabba jabba is taking more than one second to make!  You think your job has pressure?!?! GET REAL BROTHA!

Also, how many times have you been behind that person at Starbucks who seems to be trying to invent their own personal drink?  Like, there’s no way Starbucks has a “virgin, half caf, pseudo-mocha, almond butter infused cafe ole easy foam heavy bubbles”…AND THEN THEY DO HAVE THAT THING!  But, the person who ordered it isn’t even impressed!  Instead, they just go back to their fucking bluetooth phone convo and you just wanna be like “aren’t you AMAZED with that barista?!?!”  But they’re not.  Nope, the barista will carry on like the Van Gogh of coffee drink makers and Barry Bluetooth won’t even think about dropping a buck in the tip jar.  If I were the barista?  I’d just make everyone a black coffee and then shrug my shoulders and say NOTHING when they’d complain.

-Meter Maids:  I always always always think about what a meter maid says to his/her spouse when they get back home and are asked how their day was.  Is there ever a good day to be a meter maid?  Hand up, I am SUPER mean to these people and I don’t even feel that bad about it cuz I’ve become a master of justifying it (I have effectively convinced myself that the only people that could work this job are people that legitimately enjoy ruining people’s days.)  When I have a little distance from it though, they are definitely working that job because it pays the bills and they’re just doing their best.  Talk about a thankless job.  A Meter Maid has never heard someone say “good job!”  I bet even their bosses are just pissed they didn’t assign more tickets.

I would love to be at a table next to a bunch of meter maids at a happy hour.  Can you imagine the “this is why my job sucks”-stories that they get to share with each other?  All day, everyday they are dealing with people who just missed moving their car by 4 minutes.  Oh! And, they have to be outside all day in a uniform which mucho stinks.  Please, don’t tell me about how it would be “nice to be outside” in the summer.  Why do you think air conditioning was invented?  Because being outside is nice for a minute and then “it’s actually kinda’ hot.”  PASS!

As I’ve written this, my big huge beautiful brain has been flooded with other jobs that would be mucho stinko so….guess what guys?!?! I’m gonna make this a jimmyschair Monday staple.  From here on out, FOR THE REST OF TIME! The Monday edition of jimmyschair will include a list of “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-jobs.  I’m excited.

MY WORLD:

I spent too much money at the bar on Saturday night.  I opened up a tab, turned into JimmyGoodTimes and, quickly, morphed into JimmyIGotThis for the proceeding 4 hours. Closing my tab included the “it’ll be okay” self-talk followed by hating myself all day yesterday, with a few “it’s just money, Jimmy” mixed in to try to calm myself.  It wasn’t THAT bad (I’m a pouty baby, remember?) but, like, DAMNIT JIMMY!  Much the way I do with other jobs on Monday mornings, I tried to remember back to a worse purchase that I have made, in an effort to make myself feel better.  That’s when I remembered…I bought a recliner from Costco when I was in high school.

I worked at a golf course in the summers during high school, and since I was too scared to make any actual friends, I turned my bedroom in an ultimate hang-zone (you talkin’ ’bout a Hangzone 5000?  Yeah guys, I am.)  I bought a mini-fridge, a big tv, XBox and…all I needed was a big comfy chair.  My bedroom was small and my parents definitely had caught on to my blossoming loner-den, but I lied to them about all the friends I had so, I SAID I’M FINE MOM!

Anyway, Costco had a put-it-together-yourself massaging recliner for like $400.  I told my dad that I was going to get it and he rolled his eyes so hard he def saw his brain.  Look, I was a stressed out lil baby and NEED MASSAGES DAD!  GAH!  My bedroom was 1,000,000,000,000% too small for this chair, but I was determined to be comfy at all times instead those four walls.  So I saved up for weeks and bought the friggin chair.  It took me FOREVER to put together and would slam into my dresser every time I leaned back.  The “massaging” felt and sounded more like loose pebbles being thrown at my back a little too hard, and the plug sparked whenever I put it in the wall outlet.  Did someone order a fire hazard?

Whenever my dad would walk past my room, I would sit in the chair and make purring noises because I was very weird and thought that would make him jealous that he didn’t have such a chair.  He was never jealous.  Disappointed? Absolutely.  Jealous? That’s gonna be a “no”.  After a few weeks of pretending to be comfortable in a not-comfortable-at-all-massaging-recliner, I dug the box out of the garage, dismantled the chair, and returned it to Costco.  They gave me all my money back and….WAIT!

That didn’t work at all.  Now I don’t feel better about my weekend bar spend because I can’t throw the 19 Tecates I had in a box and return them to the bar.   Great.  Well, I hope you enjoyed my exercise in not-making-myself-feel-better.  GODDAMNIT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This scene came up at our Easter dinner and we all laughed like maniacs.  Enjoy:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you open up your refrigerator on Monday morning and see all the Easter candy you stole from your parents house is sitting right in front of your dumb, fat face but you can’t have any cuz it’s Monday morning and you were gonna get back to eating healthy this week.  Thissss isssss jusssssssst GREAT!

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’m not gonna lie to you guys.  I know that I bet on Kansas and Michigan this weekend.  I also know that JimmyGoodTimes made quick friends with JimmyGambles and, next thing I know, I had like a billion little bets going on the two final four games this weekend.  What were they? I absolutely do not remember and, no, I will not check my betting history to see what they were.  All’s I know is that I only lost like $9 which is less than $10, so I’m basically even.  I’LL TAKE IT!  Tonight? I’m probably gonna bet on Michigan because my friend went there, but my brain thinks Villanova is gonna chop Michigan’s head off.

(My account currently at $64.82)

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:

  1.  The pool.  (Even if you don’t swim in it, having to option to swim is invigorating.)
  2.  Not having to clean up after yourself.
  3.  The mini-fridge.
  4.  Hotel-workers treating you like royalty.
  5.  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.)
  6. The little coffee machine in your room.  (It looks new!)
  7. Free soap.
  8. 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!)
  9. 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.)
  10. 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.

Restaurant Rules Pt. 2

OUR WORLD:

Hungover, poor and outrageously jealous of my friends with credit card points was me as a restaurant worker.  Squeezing that hostility into t-shirts that were 1.5 sizes too small (had to show off the guns) and you had what those in the biz like to call a “problem”.  Looking back at my time as a restaurant worker, it’s amazing there was never a choking incident involving me either as the aggressor or victim.  You know what my favorite thing to do was?  Tell customers “no”.  I’m not even kidding.  Like, if someone asked “do you have a tomato vodka pasta sauce?” I would just say “no,” and just let the waiting-for-an-alternative-suggestion-silence devour their whole world.  I could feel them squirm waiting for me to break the silence, but THAT. WAS. NOT. COMING.  It was a Buffalo Bill type tendency that makes me worry about what else I’m capable of…madness…yes, madness….WHAT A FUCKING DICK I WAS! (You still are Jimmy and everyone will find out and stop being friends with you and you’ll go crawling back to that restaurant begging to sweep the floors.  From, The Woman you abandoned in awkward silence until her brain melted from the stress of it all, just because it felt good to respond “no” when she asked if you “had any gluten free homemade noodles?”)  

These confessions will sound even more insane after I tell you that…I GOT PROMOTED MULTIPLE TIMES IN MULTIPLE RESTAURANTS!!!  That’s right, the lunatic in the tiny tee who got off on disappointing customers without explanation MOVED. UP. THE LADDER.  (This is the part where my head tells me that I should remind the readers that I’m a Sensei in the art of exaggeration but…I’m not really exaggerati-SHIT!)  You want to know the real reason I’m telling you my deepest darkest restaurant secrets, though?  A) Because I don’t work there anymore and like…{valley-girl voice} whatever! B) Because I wanted to establish a common ground with restaurant workers before I give my…—

“WHAT NOT TO DO” FOR RESTAURANT WORKERS

-When you see a customer trying to get your attention out of the corner of your eye, don’t pretend you didn’t see them and then act busier than you are.

Again, a go-to move for Tiny Tee Jimmy (The VP’s friend made fun of my small restaurant shirts when we started dating and I can never shake it now).  This move is absolutely infuriating because WE KNOW YOU CAN SEE US!  How many times have you sat at a cleared table waiting to get the check only to have your server walk past you a billion times pretending not to see your “excuse me, sir”-face?  Or, how about the times you realize you don’t have a salt shaker on your table only after your food is dropped?  Sure, the dish may not need salt, but you gotta dump some on it just for ritual’s sake and THE SERVER KEEPS IGNORING MY FINGER GUN/PINKY UP/AHEM-MISS? MOVE!!!! GODDAMNIT!  I think servers do this because they’re procrastinators hoping that work will just disappear.

-Don’t shrug your shoulders when people ask you which dish is better.

Look, even if you don’t have a strong opinion either way, just lie to me and tell me that the pesto is WAY better than the alfredo (cuz it always is…lay off fatsos, alfredo is cream with salt.)  I’ll never understand why some servers get awkwardly shy when asked to help a customer decide between two dishes.  Some act like there are chickens and cows with guns waiting for them in the kitchen; “I heard you say the chicken picatta was better than the strip steak.  So now I get to watch my wife get ripped from my arms and thrown onto a searing-hot pan,” said Chicken Charlie, as he turned his glock from Server Sally back unto himself, “I’m on my way sweetie….”

Unless you’re faced with cleaning widower chicken brains off your kitchen’s walls, maybe just give the customer a teeny tiny bit more confidence in their dinner order.  Also, if you give no answer to a customer looking for an opinion, all you’re doing is creating an awkward silence at the table and, therefore, causing you to spend more time dealing with people you don’t really want to be dealing with in the first place.  When I was a server, I would sometimes tell people I didn’t like items just to make them think I was trustworthy.  They’d ask, “how’s the shrimp?” and I would tell them “it’s not my favorite” even though it sometimes was.  Why? Because when you give someone an unexpectedly honest seeming answer, they IMMEDIATELY think they can trust you…(and now I feel like a sociopath for admitting I think that…)

-Don’t get defensive when your table asks why their food is taking longer than it should.

This is simple if you get ahead of the issue.  You know if food is taking too long to come out.  What is so hard about going up to a table and saying “hey guys, I’m sorry your food has been taking a while, but our kitchen is backed up and now I’m gonna tell you a lie about our computer system fucking things up because we all kinda’ hate technology.”?  You immediately get in front of the awkward interaction that begins with a table asking “what is taking so long?”  Even if it is your fault, blame it on some asshole in the kitchen that the table is never gonna meet.  Odds are that the table will appreciate how forthright you just were and will feel bad that you have to deal with Donnie’s kitchen bullshit.

Or, you can get defensive when a guy asks you why the turkey sandwich and egg dish that he and his wife ordered is taking over 40 minutes (weird…the exact thing happened to The VP of Ops and I this past Sunday…) Then you’ll get a–dammit, you’ll still get a 15% tip because I felt guilty but you totally didn’t deserve even 15% and I want you (yeah you, the professional eye-roller) to know that I’m normally a 25% tipper.  So, enjoy being 10% poorer than you should be (that’s how math works, jerk.)

-Don’t pour my drink into a glass right in front of me like I don’t know how to do it.

Does anyone enjoy watching a server approach your table, set down a glass, open your beer for you and then slowly, awkwardly, incorrectly pour it into said glass all while you just sit there like a fat, useless tub of lard?  You probably look at your phone to cut the awkwardness, don’t you? I’ve taken to just telling them that I can do it to avoid the ensuing awkwardness.  Let me say this; if you enjoy having a beer opened and poured for you while you do nothing, then your parents probably resent the person you have become.

Bring the beer and open it.  Leave the pouring to me.  I’M AN ADULT WHO HATES FEELING USELESS EVEN THOUGH I KINDA’ AM SOMETIMES BUT NOT WHEN IT COMES TO POURING DRINKS IN GLASSES!

–Don’t have Law & Order SVU on the TVs without the sound when the city you’re in has a team in the playoffs playing RIGHT NOW!

If you’re a Law & Order SVU-themed bar, then fine (I can hear The VP of Ops making borderline-sexual grunting noises at the thought of this).  But, the only people watching TVs in bars are sports fans, so why tease them?  I do think that hipster servers probably love watching sportos squirm as they pretend not to know how a television remote works and ask “wait, what channel did you say?” for the ninth time.  Part of me respects such deviousness, but most of me is a sporto who JUST GIVE ME THE GODDAMN REMOTE!

MY WORLD:

My worst restaurant experience as a customer happened when I lived in Los Angeles (golden tan, killer bod, hot babes and blow wherever I went.  You know? That Los Angeles). I was on a date with A REAL LIFE LADY (Pre-VP of Ops.  This girl was more “VP of Not Being Able To Contribute To The Conversation”)  My plan for the date was a little out there, dinner and a movie, but I’m a risk taker, guys.  We got to dinner, ordered and began having very forced, stilted conversations that were not made better with my penchant for drinking super fast when I get nervous.  I was nervous and…needed to get drunk so fast please be drunk now so I don’t have to deal with my feelings faster faster faster!!!!

Next thing I know, it’s like 45 minutes after we ordered our entrees and the food still isn’t there.  Am I eight drinks deep?  Yes, but there was no drink limit printed on the menu so looks like I’m not breaking any rules and you should shut up.  Besides, Miss No-Conversation-Skills wasn’t interesting when I was sober, so what was I really missing?

Not wanting to waste our tickets for Russell Crowe and his “Am-I-Officially-Too-Fat-To-Be-A-Star”face in “Robin Hood”, I asked our server if our food was getting close.  “I don’t know man,” was not the response I was hoping for, but it was the response I got.  Even my drunk brain was like “whoa, that was rough.”  The restaurant was DEAD so I knew the kitchen wasn’t backed up, but I didn’t wanna introduce Miss ZERO-PERSONALITY to Angry Jimmy on our first date.  So I sat quiet, kinda bit the inside of my lip and prayed that, that dickhead server just gave me a reason…JUST GIMME A REASON!

Another 20 minutes and nothing.  I hadn’t seen our server for a while so I went up to the host stand to ask for a manager.  YEAH, I DID THAT.  When the manager arrived I told him that we had waited for over an hour and blah blah blah we needed to go now.  So he asked me to pay for our drinks…Lame move, Mr. Manager.  Waiting over an hour to get no food and you want me to–okay, okay, we’re not getting angry.  I repeat!  We (as in me) are going to prove to Miss I-Already-Can’t-Wait-Till-This-Is-Over that WE are in control of our emotions even in the most adverse of conditions.  Did I tell the manager that I didn’t appreciate the service that night? I did.  Did he shake his head like a condescending bitch and apologize “if you feel that way”? He did.  We are still in control of our emotions.

Then we left the restaurant to walk to the movie theater when I saw our server, back in the restaurant, making purposeful eye-contact with me and proceeding to wave at me as I left.  It was one of those “go fuck yourself” waves and that’s when I politely told The VP of You’re About To Be Embarrassed By Me that I would be right back.

I re-entered the restaurant making a BEE-LINE for the kitchen where I saw the server giving me the “go fuck yourself” wave.  Manager Douche Canoe and the bartender got in my way but not before I got to yell “come outside and say goodbye to me!” to my new server friend.  It was a solid line and I am forever proud I got it out.  The fact that such a cool line was lost in me cussing out the manager and bartender is something I wish not to rehash.

I used to legitimately wonder why that server was such a dick to me that night.  Did he used to date the girl I was out with?  Seemed unlikely that any other human would be duped into going out with such a DUD, so I’m gonna cross that off the list.  Did I go to High School with him and he was offended I didn’t recognize him? Probably not because I was a total loner back then, but a real sweetheart who most people secretly felt bad for (right?) Maybe he was jealous that I was pulling off the two-earring look that he always dreamed of going for but never had the nerve to commit to?  Probably.  Or, it was just because he was a server who hated being reminded of the fact that he had to work when most people were on off-time.  And now I totally understand and feel bad for trying to intimidate him.  (I am also thankful that he did not come and say goodbye to me outside because that would have been scary!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Fat Russell Crowe in the middle of a walking work-out is a personal fave.

RUSSELL CROWE OUT IN LA

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you’re in the middle of watching an awesome YouTube video on your iPhone and, all of a sudden, the video stops because your phone has to warn you that you only have 20% battery life remaining.  THANKS FOR RUINING THE MOOD, APPLE!

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:

Another day, another dollar not won.  Starting to feel like I’m giving money away by NOT gambling.  I will be alone in a Rockford, Illinois hotel tonight and that means one thing…gambling on random NBA games RIGHT before they start.  No point in looking at the lines now.

(My account currently at $102.61)

K bye.

Restaurant Rules and Nightmares Pt.1

OUR WORLD:

I had a server nightmare last night (I think…I may not have because I super suck at remembering my dreams), but it got me thinking about back to my days working in restaurants.  Probably because I hated working in restaurants, but there were like A BILLION things that customers did that annoyed me.  Now that I’m just a Normal Joe who doesn’t work in restaurants anymore (aside from an occasional serving shift I have to beg my old boss for when my gambling losses become an ISSUE) I have noticed that there are like A BILLION things that restaurant workers do that annoy me.  IT’S LIKE THE WHOLE UNIVERSE IS AGAINST ME!!! (maybe my favorite George Constanza line that my Dad and I throw back and forth at each other anytime any tiny thing annoys us.)

costanza

Having worked in restaurants and now….uh, not….I would like to help ALL OF US (we’re a community!) by spelling out “What Not To Do” for both customers AND restaurant workers.  I will do the ones for customers today and the ones for restaurant workers tomorrow (Tease ’em like a pro, Jimmy!)  My hope is that each side will begin to understand the other and we can rid the  restaurant world of the passive aggressiveness and the “you’re not going to believe what table 7 just did” that currently plagues the world’s restaurant scene.  Let’s start with the customers…

“WHAT NOT TO DO” FOR RESTAURANT CUSTOMERS

–When your server gets to your table, don’t play finger-drums on the table and ask “so whaddya’ got?”

Whether this place is busy or hasn’t had a customer since you were born, the server will immediately go into a silent, rage filled, forced smile while holding back EVERY SINGLE FIBER OF THEIR BEING from pointing at the menu and saying something along the lines of “READ, MOTHERFUCKER!”  Nearing the end of my time as a server, I would give SUPER snarky responses when asked this question.  I was lucky a customer never punched me for responding “that’s what menus are for”, but come on, that is an asinine and NOT FUNNY question.  That’s the thing I never understood as a server; Someone would do the finger-drums/”whaddya’ got?” routine and look around their table like they’re expecting Richard Pryor-in-his-prime-laughs.  What’s funny about basically asking a stranger to read for you?  The amount of tired/lame/jesus-just-shut-the-fuck-up jokes that servers have to hear is insane, so do them a favor and keep this lame not-joke to yourself.  Every living being in the history of the universe has something better to do than hear this routine.

-Don’t be the first or last customer of the day.

This one doesn’t make total logical sense, but I am writing this to help customers.  Obviously, if there was NEVER a “first customer of the day,” there would be no customers and no money for the servers and the servers would all be evicted for not being able to pay rent and then have to live under bridges with VERMIN!  That being said, every server hates their first and last customers of the day.  I remember setting up in the morning, watching someone approach the doors right as the clock struck 11:30AM and saying to myself “Jesus, they have to get here THE SECOND we open?!?!”  It’s an assholey thing to think and say, but all servers feel this way.  It’s almost like, all servers don’t want to be serving, so if no one ever shows up they don’t have to face the harsh reality that they’re still working a job they don’t want to be working.  (That’s DEFINITELY how I was/am/will always be.)  

As far as being the last customer of the day, there is one caveat, it only applies to when being the last customer before the restaurant closes.  If you’re a server’s last customer at the end of their lunch shift, they’ll really like you as long as you don’t linger when paying the bill.  However, if you’re the person who walks in 8 minutes before closing and asks “are we too late?” everyone that works there hates you.  They won’t be able to tell you that it’s too late because there’ll be one boss/owner who actually tries hard at their job, so they’ll probably force a smile and say something like “not too late…excuse me while I take a quick rest on the train tracks though!”

-Don’t eat your entire meal and then call a server over to offer “constructive criticism” about the dish.

This is a quick way to make your server feel bad.  You said nothing throughout the entire meal, then want to tell them how disappointed you are when it’s too late for them to do anything?  If your steak was “too salty”, then why did you eat it and lick your plate?  Do you know how uncomfortable it is for a server to approach a chef about something being wrong with a dish?  IT’S THE WORST!  Now, if there’s like a nail in a hamburger, sure you can say something like “Hey Chef, maybe next time, don’t put nails in the hamburgers.”  But, if a table has eaten EVERYTHING on the plate, uh…not going to the chef.  “Hey Chef, they ate everything but wanted me to relay some constructive criticism to you because, even though they fuck up cooking boxed macaroni at home, they eat.”  Not happening.  If you have a legit issue with your food, bring it up EARLY.  If you finish your plate, nobody cares about your “tips” on how to make it better.

-Don’t insinuate that you know the owner.

You’re not fooling anyone when you ask “is ‘Owner’s name’ here tonight?” We all know that you don’t actually care to say hi to the owner, but that you’re really just letting the staff know that you’ve met their boss before.  Ugh, douche alert sirens BLARE when someone asks this.  If the owner IS in the restaurant, and approaches YOU, then fine, you’re gonna get fantastic service for fear of pissing off a boss.  The truth is, the only people that openly insinuate that they “know the owner” are assholes who tilt their head and give no-teeth smiles when they send back ANOTHER drink!  Next time, instead of asking if the owner is there, just stand up on a table with a bullhorn and announce to the entire restaurant “I plan on being condescending to my server tonight!”

-Give Yelp! a rest.

Restaurant workers hate Yelp! the way you hate the “things to work on” section of your employee review.  Imagine if that section was then put on a public website!  Do servers/restaurants do things that they deserve to get shit on for? Of course, but most of the time, the people that write on Yelp! didn’t say anything when they were actually in the restaurant.  Typically, they rile themselves up about what happened on the ride home (I can’t believe that server only gave me one extra lemon when I asked for extra lemonS!  THE ‘S’ MEANS PLURAL YOU FUCKING SONOFABITCH!) and then decide that their imagination requires a public forum (Jimmy, that’s exactly what you’re doing right now with this blog…and now my brain hurts).  The thing that stinks most about Yelp!, aside from having to type out the exclamation point every time I write ‘Yelp!’, is that most people take it as gospel.  Sometimes, servers are just having a bad day and…just relax about it.  When I started dating the VP of Ops my biggest issue with her was how much she relied on Yelp! when picking a restaurant.  Now, she likes the pictures more than the reviews (reading is not her strong suit…What?!?! Have you seen her degree?!?! Me neither!!!) but it felt like she was validating every tattle tale who couldn’t wait to run home and type their Yelp! review.  Also, real quick, a very good friend of mine once revealed to me that he was one of Yelp’s “Elite Reviewers” because he wrote so many reviews.  He was bragging about all the perks that came from Yelp! for doing this: restaurant deals, free meals at new restaurants, etc.  I haven’t looked at this “very good friend” the same since.  In fact, I would like to officially reduce him from “very good friend” to “friend”.  You know who you are.

MY WORLD:

Quick story about my worst day as a restaurant worker.  I was managing (natural leader stuff) a mom-and-pop restaurant in the suburbs that would get REAL busy, especially in the summer because our outdoor section was dopeshow 10,000.  This night, we were SLAMMED both inside and out, with a bunch of people waiting for a table to open up.   Servers were sweating from having to hustle, the kitchen crew was sweating because it was hot in there and most of them were overweight, and I wasn’t sweating that much cuz I’m not a sweaty guy but…THIS NIGHT WAS A SWEAT!

In the middle of this very tense steamroom, when it’s all a blur of “sir, your table should be ready any minute” and “Sharon, can you scream at table 9 to get up?!?!”, an older gentlemen asked me where the bathroom was.  Now, keep in mind that the inside of this restaurant was like 10 square feet.  Tiny place with the kitchen obviously on one side so…the bathroom could ONLY be on the other side.  I pointed him in the direction and he scurried away.  He had a mean face…and I’m telling you that because it’s true and you need to know that before getting really sad.

Next thing I know, one of our servers flares her nostrils and points down at the ground in a panic.  Another server said something like “is that a meatball?” and, oh dear god no, there was a big-meatball-sized shit on the ground.  Old guy didn’t make it…(I know, you’re feeling bad for him right now and I understand that.  Don’t get too sad yet, it evens out….)  Being the manager, I had no choice.  I wasn’t going to make the busboy making bullshit money do this…and the servers had already sprinted into the kitchen away from the meatball-poo.  I flew to the back, got the broom and dust pan, swept the dumperoo up, sprinted back to the alley and threw ALL OF THAT OUT.  Then whipped back inside, to spray and scrub human shit out of the carpet on my hands and knees.  The smell was real, but there was no time to waste and making a big deal out of it would’ve freaked everyone out even more…so I acted like it wasn’t a big deal.  It was.

As I scrubbed away on all fours like I was trying to cleanse every last carpet fiber that was bombed, the old man and his son stepped over me.  They literally lifted their legs to step over me the way you step over your sleeping dog on the way to the couch.  They then returned to their table outside to finish their meals LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED.  I get that old people accidents happen and aren’t funny, but as the son, wouldn’t you have gone in to say something like “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, how can I help?” to me?  NO?!?! NOTHING?!?! AM I ON PLANET BULLSHIT!?!?!

The family literally said nothing to me and they came in and out of the restaurant a few more times.  Thankfully, they didn’t leave any other presents for our carpet on these trips, but how do you walk past someone who just scrubbed up your grandpa’s shit without so much as a “fuck-I’m-embarassed” look?  It was almost like this was par for the course for them.  “Hey guys, here’s the plan for tonight: let’s go to dinner, order apps and drinks, ignore when Grandpa dumps in the middle of the busy restaurant, and then get dessert and go back to laughing!”

I used to smoke cigarettes in these days and I remember the cigarette I lit up after that shift was the most-deserved cig in my lifetime.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Emma Gonzalez.  I know this is out of left field and kinda’, maybe too political for the type of stuff I normally write, but Emma is all sorts of badass.  I think it’s really easy to label High School students as dumb, because you were dumb in High School (I’m including me in this.  I was very very dumb and very very afraid of everything in High School) but this badass is not dumb and not afraid.  Or, if she is afraid, she’s tough enough to overcome that fear to say make super poignant points that require bravery to say.  I am incredibly impressed by Emma and I really like telling people that.

Emma Gonzalez

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is how our sink looks every morning after The VP of Ops “brushes” her teeth.  I legitimately don’t think she was ever taught how to properly apply toothpaste to her toothbrush.

Toothpaste.jpg

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:

Didn’t gamble last night because I’m a strong man who has will power and gambling is not a problem for me so please stop asking me if I think I may “have a problem.”  Thank you.

(My account currently at $102.61)

K bye.

Bad Boy Stuff and Weekend Warnings (3/23/18)

MY WORLD:

I got caught trying to sneak into a gym yesterday.  You see, sometimes when I have a work event at night, I’ll find a gym in the town of my event to get a good PUMP (treadmill run) in before.  Being the Frugal Fred that I am (cheapass), I have found a couple of “community fitness centers” that don’t have the most attentive front-desk staff.

The particular spot I went in yesterday, I had been to multiple times over the past year.  Normally, there’s an old guy at the front desk not paying attention.  So, instead of paying the $11 one-day fee, I walk like a BAWSS straight past the front desk and into the locker room.  The old guy probably just doesn’t care enough to stop me, but I’ve convinced myself that he admires a man who walks with purpose.  That’s me!  A man who walks with purpose…so he doesn’t have to pay $11.

Yesterday, however, there was a young girl at the front desk.  No matter, my BAWSS walk (Rick Ross voice BAWSS!) would dissuade her from stopping me.  Deep breath, long, border-line angry strides and I’m fre—“Excuse me, sir!”  Can’t be talking to me….”SIR! EXCUSE ME?!”  (cue my “uh-oh” face).  I turned around like she had just snapped me out of a dream.  “Oh, yeah? Hey?”

“Can I scan you in?”

“Oh…uh….I mean…”

This is where I pretended that my parents had just moved to the suburb and they had “told me I could work out here.”  Unfortunately, she then asked for my parents names and address.  (Just cut the lies, Jimmy!  Come clean! Now! Come clean!)  And because I’m really smart and quick on my feet, I told this TRYHARD BITCH (I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean that) that my I didn’t know their address because they just moved and “my memory is just blegh!”, and that my Dad’s name is Jim Pomerantz.

As she typed “Jim Pomerantz” into her local government issued supercomputer and asked for my ID, I remembered that the first time I went to this gym, I did sign in as a guest and gave my name as “Jim”.  That’s when she asked, with a furrowed brow, “have you been here before?”  I was caught.  But, guess what? I JUST KEPT LYING.

“No.”

“Hmm, cuz we have your name and address in here as having signed in as a guest before.”

“Not me.  That’s weird.”  I actually said that guys!  Like, someone with my EXACT NAME AND ADDRESS HAD ALSO SIGNED INTO THIS COMMUNITY GYM AS A GUEST ONE TIME!!!! If that doesn’t make you laugh, then I give up forever.

I ended up paying the guest fee and dominating a treadmill.  On my way out, instead of tucking my tail between my legs, I gave that TRYHARD BITCH! (sorry) a hearty “Thank You!”  She did not respond and I’m pretty sure my picture is up in their employee lounge now.

OUR WORLD:

Guys, it’s Friday!  Oh my goodness gracious we made it!  WE MADE IT GUYS!  As we gear up for what’s definitely going to be an all-timer of a weekend (is it? I don’t know.  Who cares?) I wanted to point something out that needs to be pointed out…movies lie to us.  But Jimmy, why would you bring that up today? Of all days? I’ll tell you why my sweet babies, because the weekends are when we act most like how we see people act in the movies.

You’ve been pent up at your jobs and in your houses (you don’t have a house, Jimmy.  An apartment counts!  Well then say apartment…) all week watching movies and shows when you have any free time, so your brain is ready to talk you into acting like that dude with the good hair.  Weekends are when you at least begin contemplating how you are “going to make a change!” Before you do so, I implore you to consult the following list of things that movies tell you to do, that you should NOT do:

-Don’t tell your crush, who already has a bf/gf/husband/wife, that you are in love with them.  This applies mostly to the single, under-27 crowd, but I extended it to the real dedicated “lets fuck a life up”-crew who are contemplating ruining a marriage to have their movie moment.  There were definitely a few times when I was single and under-27 that I was POSITIVE that my crush was just waiting for me to make some touching speech in the rain to break up with her boyfriend. Thankfully, I was always a bonified (more like ‘bonerfied’ lol omg) wuss in these situations and never went through with it (I can’t believe they never noticed me sulking near them in the bar.)  

What would actually happen if you went through on this kamikaze mission? The person you are confessing your feelings to will look at you like you’re an alien.  Like “uh, dude how many times did you watch The Notebook this week?” (I’M SORRY, I DIDN’T KNOW THERE WAS A LIMIT!!!)  They’ll probably start laughing early on in your “remember when you gave me that look”-speech, and possibly call their friends over to catch a glimpse of this death spiral.  (Holy shit girls! Dan’s doing his Notebook speech!  Get over here!)    It’ll be too late for you to pull the “just kidding” card, so you’re going to prove that you have follow through and try to finish your rehearsed plea.  It will only get worse.

The spouse will show up at some point, be it during or soon after this performance, and you haven’t prepared for that, have you?  What if he doesn’t find it sad-funny and is hell bent on smashing your face in?  You don’t fight.  You pretend like you can when you’re drunk, but it’s been years since your one sorta-real fight and it was TERRIFYING.  This situation is snowballing and now you’re in the hospital.

This “dream person” has put you in the friend zone for a reason, but you also have ZERO idea what this “dream person” is like in a relationship.  What if DreamGuy is into feet stuff and the fact that he has foot fungus doesn’t hold him back from asking you to suck his toes?  That could happen!  What if DreamGirl thinks hitting on your dad is the way to get on his good side? But then your Dad is like “I still got it” and tells your Mom, the one who bakes cookies, to “scram, Donna!” …and THEN DreamGirl is kinda like “wow, he just ended his marriage for me” so she goes along with it!  NOW YOUR DREAMGIRL IS BANGING YOUR DAD!

In the end, I just don’t want your friends to catch what happened on their iPhone cameras and then send it to you for the next 33 years whenever they “could use a good laugh.”

-Don’t “just let go” and, like, jump off a cliff or something.  Granted, I have not been on a cliff that I could jump off into the clear blue sea, but, like, who cares? Just go to a pool and don’t risk hurting yourself.  Have you ever heard a friend say “I went cliff diving” and thought he/she was cooler for doing so?  Nope, and that’s ALL they were hoping for when they did that.  A bunch of out of shape people do it, so it’s really not that impressive.  And I’m sure it’s not that fun and probably hurts your feet.

-Don’t drink your sorrows away and then get in a fight at the bar.  The sitch that movies portray go like this: sad, pissed off guy with nothing to lose drinks beers and shots alone at a dive bar.  The game is on and his team is losing because, of course.  He gets progressively drunker (but his hair still looks DYNAMITE) until a big ole sumbitch at the end of the bar says something disrespectful to a woman.  “Apologize to the lady!” leads to a confrontation.  This David v. Goliath confrontation goes one of two ways, 1) David is a secretly awesome fighter guy and hits Goliath with, like, a throat punch that cuts off Goliath’s air supply (v cool move) or 2) Goliath throws David out of the bar, but David is okay cuz he only got hit once and just has a black eye that will cause a hot babe to say “lets get some ice on that.”  This will not happen to you.

You will get hit so hard by Goliath that you’ll think you’re gonna die.  Actually, you may die.  Goliath may actually manslaughter you right there.  OR, you’ll throw a punch that lands, demolishes your hand (it hurts real bad…i know cuz i got in fights…whatever, guys…not that big of a deal…it was actually really stupid…i don’t want to talk about it…you could say i have a dark side…) and then you’re going to get arrested, cry in a jail cell, and get fired on Monday.

Speaking of your job…

-Don’t quit your job in dramatic, or really any, fashion.  Who hasn’t wanted to recreate the Jerry Maguire scene at their office?  (My office even has a goldfish with a box of big plastic bags next to it!)  

jerry maguire  

Sorry to break it to you, but the response you’re going to get is the HR person putting their hand on your shoulder and asking you to “go have a chat.”  In the middle of your big fuck-off speech, someone at the back of the office will take out their headphones and interrupt you with a “what’s happening? what’s he saying?”  It’ll ruin your entire flow, you’ll get flustered and accidentally prove that you’re not as good at public speaking as the job you have necessitates.  This, my friends, is called a backfire.  Even if you stop the “I HAVE PASSIONS I NEED TO EXPLORE!”-speech now, your boss is thinking that someone with such poor planning and public speaking skills isn’t the kind of employee they need right now.

-Don’t have a cigarette.  Do they look cool in the movies? UHHHH DOUBLE DUH!  What they forget to include after the cigarette is the: instant regret, crippling “Am-I-going-to-have-to-get-one-of-those-voice-box-things?”-fear, a hangover going from a 3 to an 11, and your mouth tasting like wet ass in the morning.

 

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Since I trust you, I want to let you in on a lil secret….Shawn Mendes is a blast-off-to-outer-space STAR.  He has a new song out that DADDY LIKEY!  Get in on it now.  (Also, funny to call him “Shawn Menses” when you’re trying to cut him down in front of your lady person.)

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you take your dog for a walk and she poops twice but you only brought one bag.  Somebody saw.  Somebody definitely saw you leave that there.

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:

Now, if you’ve been paying attention to jimmyschair, you know that sometimes I change my bets midday.  Thankfully, I did that yesterday.  The picks I put up on yesterday’s blog would have gone 0 for 4.  GOOD THING I EVALUATE THINGS AS THE DAY PROGRESSES CUZ I SWITCHED TWO OF MY BETS AND ENDED UP (basically) EVEN FOR THE DAY!

Tonight?  Can you just text me what you think because I am so lost with this tournament?  That would be a nice thing to do.

(My account currently at $24.21)

K bye.

Ideal Lollapalooza Line-Up and How I Got A Nickname (3/22/18)

OUR WORLD:

The lineup for Lollapalooza 2018 came out yesterday and, after looking it over, I broke into my best old-timey-Italian-chef accent and loudly proclaimed (alone, to myself, in my car) “Thissa issa Garbagio!”  If you’re not familiar with Lollapalooza, A) NERD! and B) it’s a big music festival in Chicago that was supposed to be about alternative rock bands and has somehow turned into a teenage grindfest set to robot music.  Now don’t get me wrong, Coach P (that’s me, FYI.  A nickname I will delve into in today’s “My World”.) loved himself a good grind sesh when he was in high school/college/right-after-college-when-I-was-real-drunk-and-in-Wrigleyville, but with age comes the realization that grinding in public is WEIRD and you suddenly feely amazingly uncomfortable around anyone doing it.  Like, “where are my eyes allowed to go?”-uncomfortable.  Me next to grinders = Giving an exaggerated eye-roll/head shake to signify to everyone around me that I’m not a creep, then definitely watching the grinders out of the corner of my eye because when people are having sex w/ clothes on next to you, YOU WATCH!  OKAY? IT’S FASCINATING!  AND YEAH, MAYBE I AM GETTING A LITTLE RUSH ON THE IDEA OF BEING CAUGHT WATCHING THEM!  I DON’T KNOW, I CAN’T EXPLAIN IT!  (oh I can explain it…I’m dat naughty boy.)  And now I have to go take a walk.  I feel shame.

So that’s why people my age can’t really go to Lollapalooza anymore, and it doesn’t help that lately, the Lolla (cool Chicago lingo) music booking people seem to ONLY book bands and headliners that appeal to not only grinders, but teenage grinders.  This is a no-fly-zone.  I can handle the drunk, 49 year-old just-divorced-guy grinding with the 41 year-old wino because it’s funny.  But, the teenage grinding is too young and too weird and like, legally, uncomfortable to be around.  Real talk, I feel like I could be arrested just for happening to stand next to teenage grinders (and I’m still not positive that’s NOT the case).  Even just writing about it…like, is this okay? (You’re understanding that I’m against it, right? Guys?)

Therefore, in an effort to avoid uncomfortable grinding situations, and potentially jail time, I would like to propose the 33 year-old’s perfect Lollapalooza lineup.  (I am 32 now, but will be 33 in August.  I wanted to point that out because The VP of Ops is 33 now and…so she’s older than me.  Just wanted to state, for the record, that The VP of Ops is older than I am.  Does that mean I’m a dirty dawg and she’s a cradle robbin’ nasty nancy? I don’t know.  That’s for you to decide.)  When creating this lineup, keep in mind: 1)  It is a one-day lineup only because 33 year olds can no longer enjoy RAGING on back-to-back days.  Can we do it? Of course we CAN, but the second day will be half-fun, half-holy-shit-this-hangover-is-gonna-kill-me.  2)  The bands/acts chosen can NOT appeal to the teenage grinding crew.  While I do like some younger pop acts (Khalid, nbd) I am not willing to risk jail time to see them perform.  3)  Bands will only play TWO SONGS MAX and will play at the time of day best suited for their talents and our mood.  Why only two songs? Because all of your fave bands have two songs that you LOVE and it’s always better to leave a show wanting more than pretending not to be bored with their new material.  Without further ado:

Noon-2PM:

*I will  say that the bands/songs I am choosing for these day-parts will not take ALL of the allotted time.  Deal with it and, you know what, enjoy it.  You’ll be able to go get all the beers and snacks you’d like without missing songs.  You’re welcome.

Dispatch plays “The General”–Dispatch only gets this song but they’ll play it twice because it kicks ass and I don’t know any of their other songs.  It’s a good song to start the day off because it’s about “taking a shower and shining your shoes” and THAT’S MORNING STUFF GUYS!  Shaking the cobwebs off and getting into that first beer.  No grinding in sight.  (Real talk, listening to Dispatch now and their second most popular song “Only the Wild Ones” is enchanting!  Am I getting into Dispatch before your very eyes?)

Counting Crows plays “Round Here” and then “Mr. Jones”–I know, I don’t like Adam Duritz’s hair either, but that doesn’t mean that these two songs aren’t solid daytime JAMS.  Slow, but not too slow.  Perfect sway in place music.  As Mr. Jones hits it’s crescendo, you’re gonna give your friends the “It’s so on!” look…

Bone Thugs-N-Harmony plays “The Crossroads” and then “1st of Tha Month”–Oh, it is SO ON!  Be careful not to stand next to the friend of yours who actually knows all of the words to these because you will be made to feel inadequate.  My move with Bone Thugs? Look down wit’ my hands up during the verses only to pop up like a friggin jack-in-the-box for “MEET ME AT THE CROSSROADS, CROSSROADS!”  A little hippity hoppity has completely OBLITERATED any remaining early-day cobwebs.  We’re outside and having fun!

2PM-6PM:

Outkast plays “Ms. Jackson” and then “So Fresh, So Clean”–You have entered the midday party rap jam zone and it. feels. right.  VP of Ops will have a consistent “I’m-smiling-as-big-as-I-can”-face throughout the duration of this zone.  Again, another time when your cool friend is going to know more than just the “for eva eva?” words, but they’re gonna be nice about it.  Get ready for a lot of pointing at your spouse when Outkast sings “I’m sorry Ms. Jackson!”  Guess what? WE’RE ALL MS. JACKSON TODAY!

Bloc Party plays “This Modern Love” and then “Banquet”–You may not know this band off the top of your head, but they had a moment in the early 2000s where we all liked them mucho.  Put these songs on and you’ll definitely say “Oh, I remember this!” to yourself.  Pop-rock that plays before it’s dark is what is needed now and Bloc Party is here for you.  It’s fun! It’s sweet! It’s light! Whoa, it’s picking up some! AND YOU CANNOT GRIND TO THIS!

Girl Talk plays “Play Your Part (Pt. 1)” and then “Shut The Club Down”–This is as close to robot music as we’ll get, but don’t worry, it’s not true robot music.  Remember when Girl Talk was super awesome for like 2 months?  The mash-up master of all the songs we liked when we were younger is exactly what this doctor ordered.  Can’t have him play too late because these songs mixed with darkness = “lets-make-regrettable-decisions!” for people in their early 30s.

MGMT plays “Kids” and then “Electric Feel”–If you still don’t get excited when these songs come on the radio, do me a favor, mmmkay? Pack your shit and move to Russia cuz you, my not-friend, are up to NO GOOD.  I don’t know what happened to this band after this album, but it doesn’t matter.  Shooting stars shine brightest and burn out super fast or whatever the fuck that saying is.  These two songs are FOREVER JAMS and the perfect entry point to dusk.  Sun has begun to go down a little bit…we’ve come off the high of Girl Talk, but we’re still riding the feel-good waves.

6PM-8PM:

Kings of Leon plays “Closer” and then “Use Somebody”–God, I loved this album.  As the sun starts to set, it’s time for kinda’ ominous guitars and gravely voices.  Uh…check and check!  “Use Somebody” is an all-time anthem that, while overplayed, I still sing outloud in my car EVERY time it comes on.  Hot tip when doing that: do NOT lower the volume to see if you “actually kinda’ sound like the lead singer”…you don’t, and that realization is going to lower your self-esteem.

Green Day plays “When I Come Around” and then “Basket Case”–Before Billie Joe put on too much eye make-up and got sober, they were an absolute good-vibes-hit factory.  Now, you could argue that these two slammers off “Dookie” are better daytime jams.  My rebuttal?  As the sun goes down, we can’t just listen to ominous rock songs one after the next.  Gotta break it up with some party vibes.  Enter Green Day.  (This was one of the first CDs I ever bought when I was younger, and I remember my Mom asking me what “Dookie” meant.  It’s pooh, Mom.  Dookie is pooh.)

My Morning Jacket plays “One Big Holiday” and then “Gideon”–It’s getting dark outside, guys! That means we’re seeing some cool light shows (not too techno-y though…don’t wanna attract grinders) and GIMME THAT MY MORNING JACKET VOICE!  Kinda singing, kinda yelling, with big hair and a big beard….I NEED IT!  “One Big Holiday” is our energetic goodbye to the sun (LOVE YOU SUN!) and “Gideon” slowly…cautiously…opens the doors to the night…welcome to the darkness, my friends.

8PM-WHENEVER:

Queens of the Stone Age plays “You Think I Ain’t Worth A Dollar,But I Feel Like A Millionaire” and then “Go With The Flow”–Kick that fucking nighttime door down!  Darkness and Josh Homme’s rockin-ass voice means one thing for Coach P: head-banging.  This is the part of the night I forget that The VP of Ops is standing next to me as I head bang my way through every second of these songs.  I will not move the hair out of my face cuz I’m trying to feel like the rockstar that I am not (but like…I kinda look, like it right?)  The VP will roll her eyes, tell me to push my hair back and then get kinda-actually-mad when I tell her to leave me alone.  Can’t wait!

Radiohead plays “Myxomatosis” and then “I Might Be Wrong”–This band was made to only be listened to at night.  Your energy may be waning, and this is that cool not-too-fast-not-too-slow spooky rock you are craving.  I like how weird Thom Yorke looks and acts on stage.  Seriously, the weirder the better.  This will be a continuation of me pissing of The VP of Ops when I kinda’ do my Thom Yorke impression by flailing my arms around and shaking like I’m being electrocuted.  Oh, also “I Might Be Wrong” has my favorite opening instrumental part of any rock song ever.  It goes like “boom doom boom doom doom”-you know what just listen to it.  K.

Jay-Z and Kanye play the entire “Watch The Throne” album–You thought you were done getting hyphy?!?!? (I don’t really know exactly what that word means, but it sounds right). This album is blue flames hot hot hot and anytime I hear it, it’s like the first time.  EVERYONE IN THE UNIVERSE LOVES THIS ALBUM.  There will be cool lights, weird floaty stage things cuz of Kanye and The VP of Ops will do the scrunch-face thing that makes her look tough and cool at the same time.  I will probably try to do some sort of sway dance moves that I’m not young enough to pull off, but I. WILL. NOT. CARE.

Who wants to start a letter campaign with me to get Lollapalooza to actually run this lineup?  No?  Okay, just meet the VP and I at our apartment on Lolla-day this year cuz I will be playing this lineup LOUD.  (Can you bring some Rose’? Thanks!) 

MY WORLD:

Some of my friends call me “Coach P” and it’s probably my favorite thing in the world.  You wanna see me light up like a rich man’s Christmas tree? Call me “Coach”.  How did I get such a baller bad boy nickname? I kinda’ forced it.  Those people that say you can’t force a nickname, I would like to introduce you to my nutz cuz I JUST DUNKED ON YOU!  (Both my mother and my mother-in-law read this and I do not feel good about writing the nutz thing.  Sorry ladies.  ‘Member when I did the dishes after Christmas dinner?)

A few years back, I talked my friends into joining the VP of Ops and I at a divey bowling alley called “Fireside”.  It’s in the movie “The Break-Up” if that helps.  If not, imagine your favorite dive bar has the bowling alley from “The Big Lebowski” behind it.  Yeah, it’s pretty effin’ sweet.

I was in my chubbo phase, so I dressed extra dad-like to play off my appearance as a joke.  “Fat? Guys, it’s a joke!”

*Real tip: if you’re getting bigger, start dressing worse.  If you buy cool, bigger clothes your friends are just going to notice that you’re wider.  If you start wearing kinda funny, out-of-style clothes, your friends will just make fun of you for being a bad dresser, but you’ll act like you do it cuz it’s funny.  It will piss off your spouse, but “it’s called a joke, ever heard of it!?!?!”

So, wearing loose khakis and probably a dope quarter-zip, I kinda took on this “Coach-like” character at the bowling lanes.  I was drinking vodka out of a clear plastic cup because I WAS WATCHING MY WEIGHT and “Fireside” serves everything in clear plastic cups.  Being awful at bowling, I figured I should give The VP of Ops very gruff, pointed tips on how she could be better.  I would use this gravely voice and huff and puff around acting like her gutter-balls were actually disappointing me.  I was the old man bowling coach who lived above the lanes and only drank cheap vodka.  My “lessons” included yelling “Roll the ball!” and “Again!” at The VP of Ops.  She did not find this character as humorous as I did.

Thankfully, my comedic-genius of a friend, Jamie, started calling me “Coach P” during this routine and IT STUCK LIKE WHEN YOU WEAR A SHIRT OUT OF THE DRYER BUT YOU FORGOT TO PUT THE DRYER SHEET IN WHEN YOU STARTED THE DRYER.  Now, did me correcting everyone to only call me “Coach P” for the rest of the night have something to do with it sticking? Listen, I’m not a judge.  Okay? I’m not a judge.  I’m a coach.

Coach P.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

There’s an ad at the beginning, but it’s worth it. (If you are my parent or a parent of The VP of Ops…maybe skip this?)

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is the type of robot music that plays at Lollapalooza now as everyone grinds and makes the older people stay in the back.  I can listen to this when I work out (yeah, I work  out.  Whatever.) But, I’m not listening to this in public at a rave.  I just can’t.  Also, as I played this song on my computer’s speakers, Belle made an audible “can you turn that off now?”-sound.

 

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:

Guess what haters? I WON MY BET LAST NIGHT!!!  To all of you who told me that “maybe gambling isn’t for you” or “do you really have enough disposable income to do this?” SHUT UP.  Bet it feels bad to be such a stupid idiot!  I just, can’t believe that people actually doubted my gambling abilities.  Why do we fall down?  To get back up!  Well, I’m up and I’m ready to carry you all the way to the bank!  No better way to re-enter into NCAA Tourney picks than this.  You feeling great? I’M FEELING GREAT!  Give me Nevada, Texas A&M, Kentucky and Gonzaga tonight.  Hope you like getting rich.

(My account currently at $40.71)

K bye.

 

My Last Weed Experience and Movie Reviews (3/21/18)

MY WORLD:

I’ve fallen into this routine when I write these blog posts (aka yet-to-be-truly-discovered-voice-of-a-generation-masterpieces) where I listen to the same three songs as I start to write.  From Dave Matthews Band’s Live Trax Vol. 6: Fenway Park, I listen to “The Idea of You”, “Grey Street” and “Bartender”.  From there, I’ll usually drift into some cool underground artist that you probably haven’t even heard of so, like, don’t even try (Oh…you HAVE heard of Sia?)  Between these songs and the lingering pot smoke I detected on my morning walk with Belle (of course I immediately called the Police), I was reminded of the day I realized that I couldn’t smoke pot anymore; the last time I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert.

I’m going to say it was the Summer of 2013 because 2011-2015 is basically the same to me now, and I don’t remember exactly and I don’t want to look it up so…SUMMER OF 2013!  My brother Matthew, my roommate Dave and myself bought tickets to see DMB at Alpine Valley, a little Wisconsin farm town a couple hours outside of Chicago.  Yes, I did realize I was seeing Dave Matthews Band with guys named Dave and Matthew and, yes, I did bring this up at least 19 times throughout the day.

My brother met Dave and I at our apartment for the pre-concert pump-up session that is needed before any big show.  This PCPU (pre-concert pump-up…come on, keep up) consisted of playing Dave Matthews Band songs LOUD while drinking beers and going through what songs we NEEDED to hear at the concert later.  (I love how during every PCPU, you’ll say something about how disappointed you’ll be if they don’t play a certain song and then you feel the need to KEEP BRINGING IT UP to the people around you during the show.  Nobody cares.  Let’s not do that anymore.)  After a few beers and shots (oh my god guys, shots?) it was time for us to make our way to the meet-up where shuttle buses were taking people from Chicago to Alpine Valley.

I know people paint the picture of typical DMB fans wearing cargo shorts, and pookah shell necklaces, and, I don’t know, other sweet-ass shit, but I never notice that.  And I didn’t this time as we waited with the cargo-shorts wearing masses to get on the buses.  Whenever I’ve gone to a Dave show I just notice that everyone around me is pretty nice and excited.  (Suck it hipsters.)  So while I would love to recount some “you wouldn’t believe how bro-ey these bros were”-stories, I just remember people being nice and excited.  (Make something up Jimmy!  This is boring!) As we got on the bus, however, I do remember IMMEDIATELY panicking that there was no way I was getting out of smoking weed today.

Right after college, I got pretty good with weed.  I could wake and bake and do fun stuff like go swing on the swings at a park where I was the only person above the age of 7 (ya know, fun-not-creepy-at-all stuff like that!)  I worked in a restaurant, had a good relationship with a dealer and really enjoyed getting stoned to watch movies.  But I lived alone, and that meant getting stoned alone far too often…which leads to solo freak outs in the dark.  (Tonight’s plan? Get home. Smoke. Eat an entire bag of Tostitos with queso. Freak out about my future in bed.  CAN’T WAIT!)  After one too many of those “I’m an absolute failure in life forever”-freakouts, I swore off the sneaky smokey treat.

But then I’m sitting on a bus surrounded by nice, excited people, no! Friends!  WE WERE ALL FRIENDS ON THAT BUS!  Sitting in thin clouds of pot smoke, I was thinking “I mean, all my friends on this bus seem to be handling marijuana quite well.  Frankly, they seem to be enjoying themselves QUITE a bit!  Therefore, I have decided that I am cured of my weed-freakouts and will, again, partake in that sneaky smokey treat.”  Actually, it was much more out of a fear of being labeled as a lame-o that I told Dave and Matthew that I’d smoke with them when we got off the bus.

Dave and Matthew acted excited about me agreeing to smoke with them.  That is because they had never had a front-row seat to my weed freakouts.  Ignorance is bliss, friends.  We arrived at Alpine, got off the bus and snuck behind…well, we didn’t really have to hide because everybody in that world was smoking weed.  So Dave pulled out his bowl and I took a hit.  It wasn’t a massive coughing-fit hit, but I held it in like a pro and gave a pretty dope head nod to my brother Matthew as if to say “Y’all know me, still the same old G.”  I was cool weed guy for, approximately, the next 8 seconds.  Then I made Dave give me his sunglasses and got REAL quiet.  (Oh no…Jimmy Freakout has entered the building!) 

As we made our way to the lawn area, I made my way into my brain to begin the weed freakout in public routine.  Paranoid about my heart racing, I decided a beer would help slow it down.  WRONGO!  It was dusk and I was keeping these stolen sunglasses over my eyes like my life depended on it.  Seriously, if Dave took those sunglasses back, my body would have eyes would have melted and my body would have exploded and my Mom would have been all “I can’t believe my son exploded from weed!”  Dave and Matthew seemed to be doing okay, but we were all quiet.

Dave ran into people he knew and introduced me in my sunglasses-in-the-dark self to them.  I was thankful to Dave for this because when you’re stoned to the point of almost crying, meeting a complete stranger is EXACTLY what you want to do.  (Hello, my name is Name.  Good to name you.  Name!)  The show began and my symptoms only grew.  Why was it so fucking loud?!?!  I was positive that everyone around me was talking about why I was wearing sunglasses in the pitch black.  (Because I’m scared! Okay? I’m so scared!)  I tried to get into the music, threw a few fake “I’m having fun”-smiles at Dave and Matthew and attempted to kinda dance.  I’m sure it looked more like an adult with cryface who was having a mild seizure.  I absolutely needed a really firm hug from someone telling me “it’s going to be okay”…and I really had to pee.

Like, I really really really had to go pee, but it was dark and super crowded.  I thought if I tried to make my way to the bathroom, that I’d never be able to find Dave and Matthew again when I came back.  My brain evaluating the future = I’d search frantically for my sweet brother and brave roommate only to realize that they had already gotten on the bus back to Chicago…and I didn’t know anyone else there…and I would die alone in the lawn pavilion amidst concert debris at Alpine Valley.  Hold it or die was my choice.  I saw a guy near me pee into a bottle and I was very jealous of his pee-courage.  I looked down at a water bottle near me, but it was too crowded and people were definitely looking at me like “don’t even think about pissing in that bottle near me.”  Like, at one point I leaned down to maybe grab the empty bottle and I’m pretty sure a guy pointed a machine-gun at me and said “not another move.”

Whether he just sensed me nearing a heart attack or actually heard me mutter “help!”, Dave came to the rescue.  He had to go to the bathroom, did I want to go?  I LOVE YOU DAVE!  Thing is, Dave is a very fast, aggressive walker and he took off like he was in a race.  I did the half-jog-half-I-cant-walk-this-fast-naturally thing to keep up.  He stormed through the crowd in a way that I can only describe as magnificent.  Keeping up with this magnificent storm was difficult and so I did what any self-respecting adult male would do.  I jogged to get real close to him and grabbed his hand when he swung it back.  Like a little brother holding on for dear life was me clutching onto Dave’s paw.  (I’m not dying in Alpine tonight!)  

Post-pee (oh yeah, I kept an eye on where Dave was the entire time we were in the bathroom) we met outside the bathroom.  Now, I don’t know if this next part is completely true, but it’s how I remember it…Dave looked at me and I looked at Dave the way a dog looks at it’s owner walking out of the door with a suitcase.  (Don’t leave me).  And Dave extended his hand.  I will never be more excited to hold hands with anyone ever again.  He led me back to our lawn area like a true gentleman.  When I got back, my brother Matthew said “Jesus, this weed is freaking me out.”  THANK GOD!  I’M NOT ALONE!!!  WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER!!!

The rest of the concert consisted of all of us talking over the music about how bad we were handling the weed.  It was comforting, but still scary because we were all still kinda stoned.  We chugged water and gatorade and didn’t listen to the show because all that mattered was getting back to sober.  Ever have that feeling? Like, you would DO ANYTHING to just get back to zero on the effed-up scale?  I would’ve taken a punch from Godzilla if that would have sobered me up.

That was the last time I smoked weed (basically). And here we are 5ish years later and guess who is going to the June 30 Dave Matthews Band concert? Me, Dave and Matthew.  I hear CBD is pretty chill.

OUR WORLD:

With our sports teams dying on the vine and weather that is still shitty enough to justify staying inside FOREVER, I figured I’d help you out by reviewing the movies currently playing at the theater near my apartment.  (Movie date? Movie date!) Now, I have not seen all these movies, but I will review them anyway and not tell you whether I saw it or not.  Think of it as a fun guessing game.

The Shape of Water:  Not as good as you want it to be.  Get ready to look at your date a few times to make sure if they’re okay with fish sex.  Michael Shannon is cool.  Jimmy Rating = “Good, ya’ know, not great. Good though.” 

7 Days in Entebbe:  More like 7 Days in NOTHANKYOUtebbe (sick burn Jimbo!)  Do you like seeing movies with actors you’ve never heard of about a thing you never knew happened?  Well actually, sometimes I do because then I can talk about it like “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of the 1976 Air France hijacking!”  This movie is no bueno, but it allows you to sound smarter than your friends.  Jimmy Rating = “Even though it wasn’t very good, I know more than you because I saw this movie.”

A Wrinkle in Time:  Oprah, magic and people whispering “this isn’t as good as the book.”  I didn’t read this book and I don’t appreciate everyone making me feel like a dummy for that.  Jimmy Rating = “Nah, I’m good.”

The Death of Stalin:  I supported Stalin dying, so I support this movie.  Jimmy Rating = “You don’t?”

Thoroughbreds:  A couple girls try to kill a mean dad and then a skinny guy who kinda looks like Elijah Wood (but isn’t Elijah Wood) shows up to thwart their plan.  Don’t hate the plot, but it is hard to get over the “I’m just not sure that isn’t Elijah Wood” whisper-fight you’ll get into with your date during this movie.  Jimmy Rating = “IT’S NOT ELIJAH WOOD!”

Red Sparrow: Jennifer Lawrence as a sexy, ass-kicking spy with a bad haircut.  Sounds like a winner until you realize that no one has talked about his movie since it came out like 3 weeks ago.  That can’t be a good sign.  Jimmy Rating = “Maybe in 18 months when the VP of Ops is out of town and I’m drunk and there’s nothing else on demand.”

Annihilation:  Weird, artsy sci-fi where Natalie Portman looks to the sky a lot and the people around her tell her to “get back!” It’s good, but you won’t get it because you don’t like art, so just skip it and watch another episode of Spongebob.  Jimmy Rating = “You just don’t get it.”

 

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The time you realized you’re not good at drugs.  (Sigh…)

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 didn’t gamble last night and I really wanted to.  I even sent out a trial balloon text to my gambling crew about putting some money on the Blazers (+4.5).  No response = no bet…and then the Blazers lost by 4 AND WE WOULD’VE WON!  DAMNIT!  Back to gambling tonight because I am done with zero action nights.  Put the mortgage on Cavs (-1.5) over the Raptors.

(My account currently at $28.21)

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

The Early 30s St. Patrick’s Day

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I like him.  He’s fun.”

“Yeah, well he just texted ‘why not?”

“About…no! Not about-”

“St. Patrick’s Day.  Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

(My account currently at $55.17)

K bye.

Navigating Sports Fans at Work Today (3/15/2018)

OUR WORLD:

Today is the first day of the NCAA Tournament, the REAL kick-off for March Madness.  This is the 4th of July in the middle of March, celebrated indoors, without fireworks or hot dogs, but…GODDAMNIT, YOU GET WHAT I’M SAYING. (I’m on edge, and I’m not apologizing for it today.  I’m a full pot of coffee deep and my nerves are….FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP BARKING BELLE!!!)  Today is a super big deal for sports fans, and the fact that a candidate hasn’t run on a “I’ll make the first 2 days of March Madness National Holidays”-platform is a real mystery.  (Jimmy Politics IS IN THE BUILDING!!!)  However, I do realize that today is also a prime day for the non-sports fans to poke fun at  and needle people of my ilk.  I am asking, for the sake of sports NUTZ everywhere, that you refrain from doing that today.  (I’m not kidding.  This is not a joke and that is why there is no joke being inserted here.  This is a serious ask from a serious man.  Simply, today is not the day.  NOT. THE. DAY.)  Along those lines, here is a guide for you non-sporties out there at work today looking to steer clear of the  glare/wrath/shout/get-the-fuck-away-from-me-RIGHT-NOW-ANDY:

*Before I begin, from here on out, I will be referring to the Sports Fans as “Jimmy’s” and the Non-Sports Fans “Hitler’s” because I am Jimmy and, I don’t know, “Hitler’s” has a ring to it.

This Morning:  The “Jimmy’s” will be BOUNCING into work.  No coffee crash this morning because they’re going to keep drinking it until lunch.  Can’t crash if you never stop, everyone knows this.  The train to PURE-BLIND-JOY-VILLE has left the station and the Jimmy’s are hanging off the sides waving their newsboy caps in the air like they did in the old-timey movies.  We’re going to paradise!

The-Train

Adrenaline through the roof because ALL of the “Jimmy’s” have convinced themselves that this is they year they win their NCAA pool.  (I am SO in that mindset right now.)  They’re settling in to their desks and smiling and shooting cool head nods at everyone, including the “Hitler’s”.

This is the part of the day where a Hitler may get caught in the middle of a few Jimmy’s talking about what upsets they have today.  Hitler’s, this is the only time you will be able to make the “Sports!” joke without SEVERELY pissing off a Jimmy (saying “Sports!” in the middle of a sports convo is Hitler’s go-to “joke” even though it never actually makes people laugh.  Next time, just say “I feel left out!” Same effect.  It’s what I do when people talk about wrestling or books.) 

The Jimmy’s will be listening to good-times music (think, “Valerie” by Steve Winwood on repeat) because they need positive vibes.  Don’t even think about putting the office speakers on something like Bon Iver or The National because positive vibes and positivity and being optimistic and everything is going to be great! I FEEL GREAT!  THIS IS GOING GREAT!!!! (I literally just said “I feel great!” outloud in my chair while listening to “Valerie”)  Hitler’s, get it out now.  You can’t touch the Jimmy’s at this moment.  Roll your eyes, audibly sigh and say stuff like “Tom, is your powerpoint ready for the meeting?”

As we near tip, the Jimmy’s will be chair dancing, making explosion noises like “BOOOOSH” after every e-mail they fire off, smirking at fellow Jimmy’s around the office and, fuck it!  LET’S DANCE GUYS!  TODAY IS OUR DAY!!!! TODAY IS OUR FUCKING DAY!!!!

Lunchtime:  The Jimmy’s are beginning to split into factions now.  Some are winning, some are beginning to lose and crumble.  The coffee crash is expedited with a lunchtime beer.  Hitler’s, watch out for the Jimmy who orders the second lunchtime beer…they are entering a dark place and you don’t deserve any of the attitude they’re about to throw your way.  “I don’t know, Bill.  I said I’d get to it after lunch!”  These types of minor outbursts are to be expected at the point.  Not too mean, but they’re getting close.  You did nothing wrong, okay? It’s not-HEY!  It’s not your fault!

You will also notice that The Jimmy’s are beginning to turn on each other.  Rivaling factions of Jimmy’s in the same vicinity is a recipe for dis–well, not disaster.  More like, “I get it, your sleeper is up 13 at half”-type tiffs.  No one is super pissy yet, but there are some Jimmy’s who are beginning to question if this really is their year.  (Wait? But…this is my year, isn’t it?  This can’t…this just can’t be.)

Post-lunch self-awareness for Jimmy’s will be at an all-time low.  They will be mediocre, AT BEST, at their job and that is not okay (but like, it kinda is).  I point this out because Hitler’s need to stand back now.  Don’t go up to a Jimmy to see if they “returned that e-mail yet.”  It’s not the time.  Now is the time to for the Jimmy’s to be smashing the refresh button on ESPN.com’s NCAA scoreboard.  Pretend you can’t hear their muted cheers or stifled curse words or audible “his foot was on the line!”‘s.  Jimmy’s are not looking for conversation, they are talking to God.

Early Afternoon:  The Jimmy’s will be rubbing their faces and blinking very hard at this point.  If they’ve taken losses in the first batch of games, they’re giving themselves pep talks.  If they’ve hit on some wins, they’re probably taking deep breaths while mouthing words like “calm down, just the start.  Long way to go.”  They’re a little more approachable at this point, but no sudden movements or brazen attempts at sarcasm.  It’s a fragile time.  If Wright State beats Tennessee, they’re back on track..but…STAYING POSITIVE!  NO BUTS!  WE’RE ONLY THINKING HAPPY THOUGHTS RIGHT NOW!

Hitler’s, if you REALLY need something done for work, now is the last time you can ask.  Be gentle and kind with your requests.  The Jimmy’s are beginning to feel a twinge of guilt for ignoring 3 hours worth of e-mails, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have good hearts.  They’re ready to do some, SOME! work, but don’t get nuts or mad.  A simple, “Hey Jimmy, if you have time, would you mind?”  Done.  Love the ask, and, guess what? Doing it right now!  Sorry if I was a little short earlier.  Then they’ll make an embarrassed smile, shake their heads and roll their eyes a little at how childish they’ve acted.

leo-decaprio-shoulder-shrug

This is when you, Hitler, give the confused, “Don’t even worry about it!”-look with a lazy airwave.  You’ll jump straight to the top of a Jimmy’s “he/she is a good person” list with a move like that.

The second batch of games begins and their concentration will begin to wane back into the ESPN scoreboard.  If they haven’t finished whatever they “need” to finish…it’s gonna have to wait.  Mmmkay?  It’s just gonna have to wait.

End of Day:  The Hitler’s have probably had it by now.  I get it, being surrounded by a group of people who are SUPER interested in something you have no idea about, must SUCK.  I am not friendly in situations like this.  Like, when I go to Farmer’s Markets in the summer and people are freaking out about $7 tomatoes, but all I can think about is how hot I am and how Mariano’s ALWAYS has tomatoes…that are ALWAYS cheaper.  “Not getting it” stinks, and I want you Hitler’s to know, that I know, that it stinks.

You’ve had to put up with en entire day of adults wildly cheering for and against teenagers that they’ve never met.  It’s a dynamic that’s easy to mock, but doing so is a total dick move.  No matter how funny your “You didn’t even go to that school”-reminder may be, no one will laugh.  You’ve had to swallow all of your go-to “sports don’t matter as much as the thing I like”-jokes and quips for an entire work day AND YOU’RE READY TO BLOW.

Therefore, this is the most dangerous time of day.  The Hitler’s have HAD IT with the lack of productivity and barbarism of The Jimmy’s, and The Jimmy’s have lost a few games by now and are beginning to calculate how much money they have spent on failed brackets over the past 5 years.  (Don’t!  Guys!  Guys!  Don’t do that!)  The exit from work must be careful for both parties.  To avoid setting off this powder keg, here’s what I suggest for the walk out: Jimmy’s should identify themselves by tying their coat around their waist.  (I do this on the reg because A) The VP of Ops HATES it and B) It’s makes sense sometimes).  Hitler’s should identify themselves by, no matter the weather, wearing their fingerless gloves (come on, I know you have them.)  Waist-coaters should not get in the same elevator as the fingerless-glovers, and Fingerless-glovers should not ask the Waist-coaters how their day was.  This is the time of day where it’s just better to be safe than sorry.  Avoid each other.

Tomorrow will be similar.  Don’t fight it.

MY WORLD:

Today’s “My World” is short and sweet…CUZ STEVE WINWOOD JAMS!!!  This is my year to win a bracket because I never have and The VP of Ops has and that is bananaland UNFAIR.  I plan on dominating the television whenever I am home over the next 96 hours and not. apologizing. for. it.

VALERIEEEEEE!  CALL ON ME!  CALL ON ME, VALERIE!  COME AND SEE ME!  I’M THE SAME BOY I USED TO BE!

(one of my top 6 favorite things to do in life, is to sneak up behind the VP of Ops and whisper into her ear “I’m the same boy I used to be.”)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

heirloom-tomatoes-on-sale-at-a-farmers-market-isaquah-washington-BNMKEC

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, I’m officially afraid of the JimmysChair gambling curse and today is not the day to test it.  Therefore, I will simply wish you all luck.  The next 4 days are going to be a grind, pack a lunch.

(My account currently at $67)

K bye.