Tag: humor

Making The VP Mad and Reality Show Hall of Fame

MY WORLD:

Yesterday, I made a huge mistake that The VP of Ops was thrilled to call me out on, when I didn’t write about her.  It seems that I said the “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”-section would be a Monday staple and now it’s Tuesday.  I BLEW IT!  Sorry fam (that’s a word cool people say even when they’re not talking to family only).  Let’s make this section a Tuesday staple now, because the jobs one is too juicy not to write about on Mondays.  Deal?  ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, VP?!?! DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?!?!?!

For today’s “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable” I would like to bring us back to a little beer fest last summer.  The company I work for throws a pretty radical beer fest that I get to go to for free (no big deal).  Aside from getting schwasty wastey, this fest had fun stuff like ax throwing, freaking video games, guys, VIDEO GAMES!  And! there was a tattoo station!  For like $20, I could pick a simple, little design from a pre-determined set.  The designs were along the lines of little anchors, sailboats, sailor hats, things that had nothing to do with the sea but I can’t remember, ya’ know that kinda’ stuff.

The VP probably sensed that I was gonna go for a tattoo when I said to her “I’m going to get a tattoo later, FYI.”  (It’s like she can read my mind!)  Her initial response was dismissive because I was 4 strong beers deep and she probably figured that if she didn’t make a big deal out of it, that I’d forget about the tattoo.  Here’s the thing about me though, guys: whenever I feel even the slightest sense of VP unease, I do NOT forget.  I saw the “Jesus, please don’t”-look in her eyes when I first brought it up and oooo la la did that get my juices flowin.  We were with a couple of friends too, so I knew that I was going to get her mad in front of them…which is bonus points in my devious, devious game.

You’re probably thinking, “but Jimmy, tattoos hurt!  Weren’t you scared about the pain?” That’s the thing, I wasn’t even scared about the pain.  When given the opportunity to get The VP of Ops mad in PUBLIC and in front of friends, pain isn’t part of the equation.  I do what is necessary for the cause, and worry about repercussions later.  That’s just the kinda man I am.  I’m also a man who was, at this point now, probably 6 strong beers deep and I’ve gotten two tattoos before and didn’t even cry that much so, like, whatever.

A couple beers later, I started telling my friend Dave that I was going to get a tattoo.  The VP couldn’t hear what I was saying, but between the whispering and pointing at the tattoo stand that I was doing, she began to catch on.  Her eyes widened, and her teeth clenched as she began the process of going from “kinda joking” to “don’t you dare”-mode.  (Houston, this is Jimmy, requesting permission for takeoff.)  As The VP walked towards my friend and I, she tried to force a smile.  “You’re not getting a tattoo, okay?”  Uh, okay? Seems The VP of Ops forgot that NOBODY is the boss of me.

Thus, my response, “well, you’re not the boss of me.”  As our cute lil tiff vacillated between jokey and kinda-serious, our friends didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away and let us hash it out.  Obviously, the harder I pushed, the funnier it was going to become, so I started pushing.  What baby pants VP didn’t understand is that this tattoo wasn’t about the design, it was about creating a memory of a time I…was drunk at a beer fest with friends.  (These are the types of memories that don’t grow on trees nah’m sayin?)  If I told her the other reasons I wanted it were to prove to her that I’m the boss of me (I’m a strong man!) and that making her mad ALWAYS makes me laugh, well that would’ve ruined the effect.

She couldn’t wrap her tiny brain around me getting a permanent design put on my arm that had no meaning to me.  Uh, cuz it’s funny?  If you’re dating or married to a person that thinks they’re funny, you should be prepared for this response anytime he/she is about to do something seemingly inexplicable.  I say “uh, I don’t know? Because it’s funny!” at least 9 times a week.  The bickering between The VP and I had reached the part where our friends were genuinely beginning to feel awkward, so I turned up the heat, left the conversation and got in the tattoo line.  The VP shot a silent, flared-nostrils glare at me.  Too bad I hit her back with a cool-guy shoulder shrug once I settled in line.  “Don’t even care.”

The line was about 50 feet away from The VP and our two friends.  They watched as I stood, now arms-crossed, just a waitin’ my turn!  Dave was laughing.  The VP and her friend were not.  Well, The VP was DEFINITELY not…the other girl kinda’ was.  I mouthed “I don’t care” about 6 times to really drive home the point about who the real boss of me is.  (Honestly, at this point, it was a 50/50 split between the comedy of making her mad and actually proving that she couldn’t tell me what to do.)  Then, one of the tattoo artists made her way to me in line and told me that they were cutting off tattoo services.

Surprisingly, my “but I want one” line of arguing did not work with Tattoo Tammy.  The thing was, though, that The VP couldn’t hear that I got in line too late.  The joke could continue!  After speaking with Tattoo Tammy, I just kept lingering around the tattoo station, smiled and gave The VP a “good to go!”-thumbs up.  I probably threw in a little celebratory shoulder-shimmy too.  The VP rolled her eyes and shook her head in that VERY disappointed way that only women can do, and walked away.  If I could’ve given myself a high-five without looking like a lunatic, I would have.  In fact, I just may have anyway.

Now, I could wait like 4 minutes and then head over to The VP of Ops with a whole “I decided that I love you and didn’t want to disappoint you”-routine.  God, I’m good.  Remember the ole fliparooski?  Yeah, that move was about to be back in a BIG WAY.  Not only was I going to have gotten laughs for making her mad, but I was ALSO going to get her to feel silly for overreacting.  GOD, I’M GOOD!

Unfortunately, 4 minutes later, when I sauntered over ready to begin my rehearsed routine, The VP was laughing.  Uh…she was supposed to be kinda mad and giving me the silent treatment.  Remember?  Then I was gonna be all like “I didn’t even get it.  I was joking the whole time.”  And SHE was gonna be all like “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I get so worked up over very funny jokes that you should be applauded for.”  Well, kinda throws a wrench into those plans when she is already laughing when I arrive.

Nevertheless, I began the “I decided that I love you and didn’t want to disappoint you”-routine anyway.  She cut it off with an absolutely diabolical “Oh, I didn’t even care about that, check this out,” as she showed me something funnier than me!  WHAT?!?!? Wait, this was supposed to be my finale, my coo de grah (I know I spelled that wrong, but fuck off).  Nope, she cucked me with the move that will forever be the bane of my existence.  What move? The “oh, I forgot about your very funny joke because this is way funnier”-move.  Well played, VP…BUT I KNOW YOU WERE REALLY FUCKING MAD!

OUR WORLD:

I am aware that The National Championship game was played last night (because I lost a bunch of money on it), but “Vanderpump Rules” was also on and…well, that wins.  When a reality show trumps a title game for some sport, that means it’s a HALL OF FAMER, so I would like to induct the first four shows of Jimmyschair’s Reality Show Hall of Fame:

  1.  Vanderpump Rules
  2.  Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives
  3.  Bar Rescue

Want a tease? The rest of the week’s “Our World” section will focus on breaking down each of these shows.  Get excited.  I am!  ARE YOU?!! GUYS?!?! ARE YOU EXCITED?!?!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Posting a video likes this takes a lot of bravery on my part.  A country music performance on “The Ellen Show”? Jimmy!  That’s career suicide!  Maybe, but history rewards the bold, folks…and this song jams.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Easily the most hated character on “Vanderpump Rules”

Kristen D.png

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 took a bath last night, but I did it for a friend.  Now, I don’t want to say that makes me some sort of gambling warrior, but I also don’t want to NOT say that.  Lets just say that I could not be happier that the NCAA Tournament is over because sweet baby Jesus did that kick my butthole.  There are times after longs stretches of losing that I think about maybe not gambling for a little while…but The Masters are this weekend and GOTTA SPEND MONEY TO MAKE MONEY!  I may hit up a baseball game before Thursday just to get the juices flowin again…

(My account currently at $21.09)

K bye.

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.

Easter and Being Inappropriate in Church

MY WORLD:

Happy Good Friday my sweet lil babies!!!  Who is excited for Easter this weekend?  For my siblings and I, Easter means going to church for one of the two times we go a year. (I legitimately thought about not writing this because I think there’s a chance we’re not going to church this year, and I don’t want to make my Mom feel bad about that…I may actually block my Mom from reading this post.) We’re an Irish Catholic bunch, but our Dad is JEW (saying that word aggressively is funny and not offensive because it’s my Dad) so he used to taunt us as we’d trudge our way out to church on Sunday mornings.  I specifically remember him sitting on the couch watching NFL Countdown when I was a kid.  He was the happiest he was ALL week and would wave excitedly at me saying “have fun at church!” as I contemplated suicide on my way to Sunday School and missing the first half of the Bears game.  If you’re a HUGE football fan, marrying someone of another religion, one that requires them being away for most of Sunday morning, is an absolutely genius move.  Well done, Dad.

As miserable as going to church and Sunday School was as a kid, going now with adult siblings is actually pretty fun because we get to make our Mom made and she can’t really do anything to us!  Making people mad is so much fun, guys.  As a kid, church was sitting in the pews and kneeling and being quiet and praying and standing for HOURS as the Priest drags on and on about how scary hell is and JESUS H CHRIST THIS IS BORING!  Now, though, as adults we get there purposefully late because my brothers and I get real quiet in the house as my Mom gets ready….like, “don’t say anything and maybe she won’t notice we’re gonna be late to church”-every time we go.  Thankfully, our Mom runs late.  She’ll normally burst out of her room saying good Catholic things like “SHIT!” as she rushes us all into the car.  My bros and sister and I share a “we did it!” glance on our way outside.

On the drive to church, my two brothers and I are probably making fun of our sister because she’s tougher than us but…ya know, a GIRL.  We pull up to the church and our Mom speed walks to the backdoor while we saunter behind cuz we bad y’all!  Who ‘dem bad boys?!?! WE ‘DEM BAD BOYS Y’ALL!!!  Our Mom will then look back and say something like “come on damnit” and we’ll get kinda scared for a second and hurry in.

When you arrive late to our church you have to stand in the WAY back, and my brothers and I love this because it means we can lean against a wall!  Walls!  Leaning!  This also means that we can whisper inappropriate jokes to each other the ENTIRE time.  These church services are easily our finest comedic hours.  It’s really like we save all our best material for these hours because A) Church is forever boring, sorry God but it’s true, and B) nothing is funnier than making your religious Mom laugh OR get mad at you for inappropriate jokes during church.  As Mass begins, our Mom and sister will move about 8 feet ahead of Brothers Pomerantz Limited (BPL) to prove that real Catholics don’t need walls to lean on.  Meanwhile, BPL will immediately begin getting inappropriate…normally, at the expense of some little kid dressed like a baby back bitch.

Some of the other targets of our deep, sick burns include:

-Teenage boys who tried WAY too hard trying too look like preppy stockbrokers.  I want to try to replicate the deep burns we’d nail these doofuses with, but you had to be there.  Trust me, they were deep and they were sick burns.

-Little kids doing dumb stuff is always an easy target.  We normally stand near the door to the bathroom door, so we get a real kick out of kids not understanding why a door is locked and then proceeding to BANG on it until it opens.  It’s also intensely funny whenever a kid budges a line of adults waiting for the bathroom, but none of the adults feel comfortable enough to say anything so they just let it happen.

-Hungover college kids with bed head and super wrinkled khakis.  Sometimes you can smell the fireball-sweats from across the room, but normally we’ll throw some “hang in there buddy” head nods his/her way.

-Girls who are dressed WILDLY inappropriate for church.  Like, the ones that wear their Friday-night-going-to-the-club-to-make-my-ex-jealous-dress.  You can feel all the adult women judging THE SHIT out of them, and the Dads are all like “what girl?” (use the side-eye dude).  Normally, one of my brothers will throw in a “yeah, but what if…” in the middle of our jokes because they’re contemplating hitting on a stranger in front of the Lord.  (Hitting on people in church is something that BPL has spoken about at length, and we just don’t think it’s really possible.  Does that mean we’ll stop talking about it?  Of course not.  But, it’s just not in our cards.)

-Angry dads; the ones with undiagnosed, but OBVIOUS anger issues.  Normally, their kids are really well-dressed and seemingly well behaved.  Then, one of the kids will do something awful like accidentally burp, and Daddy RageFit will burst into a clenched-teeth “KNOCK IT OFF DAMNIT!” full-on outburst with his eyes bulging and his wife moving another 6 inches away.  For comedy’s sake, BPL always fantasizes about trying to prod Daddy RageFit into an actual church-fight, but then we get ahold of ourselves and realize that getting our asses kicked in church would only be funny for like 2 seconds.

Of course, there are wild card targets that appear throughout the duration of the mass (people wearing jeans, smelly old ladies, the handshake guy who nobody knows) but these are the go-tos that we can expect at every mass.  This year, I’m hoping we don’t have to go cuz….ughhh, just like COME ON MOMMMMM!  But if we do, mark my words that BPL will make it VERY uncomfortable for anyone actually trying to impress the big man upstairs.

OUR WORLD:

It’s Good Friday and I have written many many words this week so my brain is fried….DON’T EAT MEAT TONIGHT GUYS!  (Yes, The VP and I have resos at a fancy steak place tonight, but we made these resos like 4 months ago and so our meat consumption doesn’t count.  ALSO!  We’re using a wedding gift card that’s about to expire, so doesn’t count times 2.  Suck it nerds.)

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Salute to all the Church Daddy’s in jorts.

Jorts

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Huge fan of Easter candy but NOT the bunny circus peanut thingys.  Major Yucko Alert!

brachs_easter_marshmallow_chicks_and_rabbits_ff_130708.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:

Saved my many many dollars last night because this weekend is when Jimmy Gambles COMES FOR FUCKING BLOOD!!!

(My account currently at $73.12)

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.

Finger Guns and Sports! (3/26/18)

MY WORLD (A Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The Vp of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable):

Per last Monday’s post, I would like to welcome you to the first inaugural writing for the “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”-section.  Last week, (Thursday or Friday? I don’t know, you look it up) I put up a picture of The VP and I where I was throwing up the double guns.  This picture was taken in Memphis last September.  The VP of Ops is smiling in the picture, and that’s either because she was touching my shoulder and was probably pleasantly reminded that I have surprisingly muscular shoulders-OR-because it was the beginning of a night she did not realize would include me throwing up double guns for the following four and a half hours.

Mempis 1

The VP’s brother, let’s call him “Archduke Brotherman”, lives in Memphis and my favorite college football team, UCLA, was playing against Memphis that weekend.  The VP was also overdue to visit her Mom, SO resident-genius Jimmy (ME!) hatched a plan to viciously slaughter numerous birds with but a single pebble.   It’s a complicated plan, so strap it down: we’d stay with Archduke Brotherman in Memphis and her mom would drive up from Mississippi to stay with us and so I’d get to see UCLA and The VP would get to see her Mom.  You don’t get it, do you?  (Should the President put me in charge of war planning?)  Oh, also because I’m FUN! I decided to invite MY brother, let’s call him “Matthew”, for this excursion.

Archduke Brotherman has a big awesome apartment that makes me feel poor because he’s younger than me, so I constantly remind myself that Memphis is cheaper to live in than Chicago (facts only!)  The Archduke is also a member of the Good Times Brotherhood (G.T.B.)  So pairing him, myself, and Matthew (a founding member of the G.T.B.) together for a weekend away from home was basically a molotov cocktail of ENJOYMENT!  But, Jimmy, you ask, wouldn’t The VP of Ops’ Mom curtail your carefree Good Times Ways?  Nope! Why? Because The VPs Mom thinks I’m kinda funny AND I was gonna be drunk so…LONG HAIR DON’T CARE!!!

The first night we got there is when the picture above was taken.  We walked from Archduke Brotherman’s big awesome apartment to the street in Memphis that’s kinda’ like Broadway in Nashville but…uh…grimier.  On the walk, The VP asked me to take a picture of her and her mom.  I did because I’m really good at pressing to picher budden (picture button) and everybody knows this.  VPs Mom then said she would like to take a picture of The VP and I.  (Quick Jimmy, what pose will be funny enough to make my bros laugh so I’m not embarrassed to take a picture in front of them?!?! FASTER DAMNIT!)  Double guns was the obvious choice.  Throwing up the double guns is a tried-and-true-go-to of the G.T.B.  The VP thought it would just be for one picture though…she would be wrong.

Throwing up the double guns landed with the G.T.B. the way Bon Jovi lands with Moms who smoke cigarettes…THEY LOVED IT!  We had our joke for the night, and The VP knew it was about to be a problem.  The rest of the walk to the restaurant was filled with every member of the G.T.B. doing their best “I’m-a-spy-about-to-enter-an-enemies-territory” routine.  Basically, we’d take turns whipping around building corners with double guns drawn so that we could assure the rest of the group “coast is clear.”  Archduke Brotherman was a fan of the move where he’d throw his back up against walls, hold his finger guns tight to his chest and ask us to “cover me.”  The VP was beginning to get annoyed, aka JACKPOT!

Excuse me if being 32 years old and playing “tinker tailor finger gun soldier spy” with younger bros in public isn’t your cup of tea, but it IS my cup of tea.  As a matter of fact, I may go for seconds of that tea!  Aside from a few, subtle room-checks on the way to the bathroom, The G.T.B. took a bit of a reprieve from finger guns during dinner.  The bar afterwards, though? OH YOU BETTER BELIEVE WE WERE PACKIN’!

The VP and I went to one end of the bar to get a drink, but the other end must have been in peril because I looked up to see Archduke Brotherman and Matthew securing the perimeter.  Cue the “Oh-my-god-not-in-a-crowded-bar” face for the VP.  Sorry Babe, gotta have my guys back.  Finger guns came out because they had to, and yes, I was aiming them at strangers.  How else am I supposed to instill fear in tourists AND make the G.T.B. think I’m funny at the same time?!

The VP and her Mom went from kinda amused to annoyed to pissed to “FUCKING STOP JIMMY!” as the night progressed.  Lets just say the finger guns did not get much rest that night.  Whenever there was a lull in a conversation, finger guns.  Waiting for the bartender to make a drink? Finger guns.  Catch the eye of a fellow member of the G.T.B.? Finger guns.  I would like to proudly point out, however, that not ONE fake bullet was shot that night.  And that’s how you can distinguish a finger-gun special agent from an imposter.  Me and the rest of the G.T.B. were there to secure perimeters and laugh at how pissed off The VP was getting.  Did The VPs displeasure lead to a real-life couple fight? Almost…very very almost….and maybe kinda yes actually.  Security requires sacrifice.

*Please enjoy the following finger-gun photo shoot we held in the bar:

OUR WORLD:

Loyola-Chicago is in the Final Four and THAT’S WILD!  The thing that is most surprising to me, however, is that bars around the city have been getting JAMMED for these games.  If you don’t live in Chicago, let me try to explain what Loyola means to this city; nobody cares about Loyola in Chicago.  I used to drive by that school every day on my way to work and if you would’ve said “hey, that’s home to a major college basketball program” I would have grabbed you by the collar, pulled you close and rolled my eyes RIGHT IN YOUR DUMB-THING-SAYING FACE!

Yet, last week I was doing a bar event in some no-name suburb an hour outside the city and the place was slamming busy!  People who definitely didn’t go there for college were yelling at the screen during the game.  This is proof positive that Chicago (basically, Illinois, but it sounds better if I say Chicago) is a sports town.  What are the list of things you can use to identify whether a city is a good sports town? Here’s a quick guide to reference when wondering:

1)  Do people yell at the TVs during the game?

2)  Do stores immediately become stocked with t-shirts of the successful team?

3)  Has your Mom told you how excited she is about said team?

4)  Do bars put the sound for the game on and nobody complains?

5)  After a few months, do you notice that dogs have names corresponding to the team?

6)  Is your sister pretending that she has been a fan of the team for years and you’re like “no you weren’t”?

7)  Has your Dad mentioned that he is getting annoyed with the fake fans?

8)  It’s acceptable to get drunk on a weeknight if the team is playing.

I know I’m supposed to have 10 because that’s what most lists have, but this is my blog and I can do what I want so ENJOY THE EIGHT AND BACK OFF!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

If you don’t like Sister Jean, get away from me right this second.

sister jean

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your wife’s 100,000 phone alarms goes off in the morning and she KEEPS HITTING SNOOZE SO YOU CAN’T GO BACK TO SLEEP BUT IT SEEMS LIKE SHE’S JUST HAPPY AS A CLAM!  (Just me?) 

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

I went 6 for 8 this weekend because you can’t keep me down for long and I definitely got the hang of this whole gambling-on-the-tourney thing.  It’s pretty easy, actually.  The plan is to hold off this week unless a random game is looking extra tasty (EXTRA. TASTY!) and save my big money bets for The Final Four.  I look forward to bragging about my winnings.

(My account currently at $102.61…oh yeah, back in the triple digits nbd.)

 

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.

Sunday TV Binge Shows and Why Angry Wives Are So Funny (3-19-18)

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday was a day of rest for The VP of Ops and I.  Perched in our assigned living room spots, me on my chair (it’s a real thing, this chair, and we’ve developed feelings…real feelings) and The VP on our couch.  (While I love my chair, I will say that not being able to lay sideways on days like yesterday is something I never planned for when claiming my spot as the chair.  This was a slight miscalculation on my part, but I have learned from it and plan to revisit the “assigned seat” negotiating table once we buy our next couch.)  

Aside from the occasional “you okay?”-head tilt towards the other, we were busy dealing with our own Post-St. Patty’s-Day-issues.  Self talk (breathe Jimmy.  Wait…that’s not how breathing works!  HOW DOES BREATHING WORK!?!?!) and awkward positions on your assigned living room seat is what Sundays like this are all about.  How many times did you get kinda excited and think “I’m actually not that bad!” only to get up and have your brain start smashing the eject button from inside your skull.  Zero? Yeah, me too.  Cool cool coolio!

Anyways, we’ve all been here and aside from ordering food that’s not going to taste as good as you think it’s going to, binge watching television shows is the only tonic.  For us, yesterday was “Peaky Blinders” all day, and it got me thinking…what are the best “Sleepy Sunday” binge-worthy tv shows?  *This list is not BEST TV shows, it’s shows that have the ability to soothe your hangover.  Maybe you’ve watched them before, but that’s okay, these shows are like your blankie or dirty old stuffed animal rabbit that you got when you were born and still sleep with (hand up).  

Lets call this our “Top Sleepy Ti Ti Shows” (you know, cuz you’re sleepy and tired…SLEEPY TI TI!):

  1.  The Office:  Number one with a bullet.  Do I even have to say it’s the American version?  I remember when news hit that they were making an American version of “The Office” and I was such a snooty film-school dick about it.  “No way it can recreate the subtle moments the way Ricky Gervais did!”  Pssshaw!  This, my friends, is called a “wrong take”.  Steve Carrell as Michael Scott is the best television character of all time (mean this a billion percent) and getting to watch the prime of this character is the chicken noodle soup of television.  You know what it’s going to be, yet, somehow, you still love every second of it.  (What an analogy!!! Hey! Let’s add that as a section!  YOU’RE DOING IT!).  *FOOD ANALOGY = CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP
  2. The O.C.:  I just wrote and then deleted the following…”I’m not even embarrassed about this pick.”  That means I’m embarrassed about this pick.  I blame The VP of Ops and her powerful influence over my brain for this but let me say this fellas: you watched the first couple seasons of this show when it first came out, and you loved it.  DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!  NOT TODAY! NOT ON JIMMYSCHAIR!  This show holds up better than you think it does.  Seth is still funny.  Rachel Bilson is still a babe (see guys? that’s a cool-dude thing to say.  Babes.)  And Ryan still pulls off the white tank look even though, according to all your research, that is not possible.  Remember that super simple sandwich that was your favorite as a kid?  You haven’t had one since you were 11.  This show is like that sandwich.  Try making one, I bet you’ll remember why you loved it.  *FOOD ANALOGY = SALAMI SANDWICH ON WHITE WONDER BREAD
  3. Parks and Rec:  A close cousin to “The Office” for sure, but why should we hold that against this show?  I feel like every time I bring this show up, there’s kind of a “yeah, but it’s not The Office”-cloud over it.  It’s not “The Office”, but it’s almost as funny.  Fat Chris Pratt > Jurassic World Chris Pratt.  Can someone get Chris Pratt out of the gym because he was well on his way to being a comedy megastar.  He’s fine as an action dude, but I like comedies more than action movies so…DO WHAT I SAY!  Andy Dwyer is new-age Chris Farley and Nick Offerman as Ron Swanson makes you want to grow a mustache and be surly to all your co-workers.  This show is a good chip.  It’s not KING CHIP.  It might be the same brand as KING CHIP, but it’s a different flavor.  *FOOD ANALOGY = BUFFALO BLEU KETTLE CHIP’S
  4. Friday Night Lights:  Binging dramas can be difficult.  This show would be higher on just a list of favorite shows of all-time, but it still places as rewatchable because Coach Taylor is my idol.  I don’t even say that as a joke anymore.  When we first watched it, I’d say “I wanna be Coach Taylor” to the VP with like a smirk.  Like, I was sending that thought out as a trial balloon.  But with distance, comes perspective and I think I actually want to become the fictional coach from “Friday Night Lights”.  I would like to coach High School football in Texas.  Did I play? I mean, not really, but…I like football a WHOLE BUNCH!  Guys, A WHOLE BUNCH!  Also, I think I can pull off the gruff, kinda moody, kinda nice, kinda mean, but..oh wait…he’s tough too-type of persona.  Also, not to brag, but I pull off mid-length socks and khaki shorts like I was born in ’em.  This show is truly aspirational much the way a complicated rice dish is.  Much the way I think I could actually become Coach Taylor, you think you won’t fuck up the rice in that complicated, yet delicious looking rice-based dish.  You will fuck up the rice.  *FOOD ANALOGY = COMPLICATED RICE-BASED DISH
  5. Arrested Development:  The new seasons on Netflix don’t count.  Seriously, do not tell me that “they’re actually pretty good”.  I don’t believe you and I don’t care.  The original first 3 seasons of this show are so damn smart and funny that they’re all that matters here.  Cool thing about binging this show is that you can get through those first 3 seasons in a reasonable amount of time.  It’s not going to take your life over.  The most fun debate to have about this show is to ask your friends who their fave character is.  The easy answer is Gob, but guess what? THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S WRONG!  Jesus H, I’m so tired of trying to sound smarter than I actually am and picking someone other than Gob for fave character.  “You see, the thing with George Michael that everyone overlooks is-“SHUT UP JIMMY!  It’s Gob.  Convo over.  You’re not that smart.  I’m aware you can make the case for Tobias, but uhhhhhhh NO.  And if you even bring Michael into this arena you will be hanged at the behest of the king (me.  I’m the king here.  King Chair).  This show is so damn funny and I’ve seen it so many times, but I still find little moments that I missed.  It’s like ordering trying a new item or condiment from a fast food restaurant you go to all the time…and being impressed with it.  *FOOD ANALOGY = MCDONALD’S BUFFALO SAUCE (my new KING SAUCE for Chicken Nuggy’s.  Game changer, guys.  Game changer.)

That’s the list.

MY WORLD:

I shaved my facial hair into a mustache this weekend because getting under The VP of Ops’ skin is really fun for me.  That was the reason.  I don’t think it looks good.  In fact, I know it does not look good, and I’m not secure enough to try to convince people that I don’t care about that (although, I DEFINITELY did that this weekend.  I got a few “it actually doesn’t look that bad”s from friends and I lied when I responded “dude, I don’t even care.  I just think it’s funny.”  I cared.  I care.)  

stache*not gonna lie, shades and stache are a solid combo

I did this a few weeks back when The VP of Ops was out of town for the weekend and my brother thought it was funny.  That was fun.  When the VP got back in town, she recoiled at the sight of me and my stache.  I ended up shaving it before going into work that Monday because I was nervous about having to act like debuting a mustache wasn’t a big deal to me.  (Oh this thing? God, I totally forgot I even had it.  I don’t know..just felt like it.  How do I think it looks?  I don’t even care.)  I’m so not that guy.  (DAMNIT!  CAN I PLEASE BE THAT GUY SOMEDAY? GOD? PLEASE!  I WANNA BE THE “WHATEVER” GUY!  THEY’RE SO COOL!  NOTHING BOTHERS THEM!  THEY JUST SAY “WHATEVER” AND SMOKE ANOTHER CIGARETTE!)  I am, unfortunately for The VP of Ops, the “This Pisses My Wife Off, So It’s Hilarious”-guy.

It’s why I tie light jackets around my waist in the fall and early spring.  Is it comfortable and convenient? Yes, of course.  But, it also causes The VP to give me the side-eye and whisper something to me like “really? You’re really doing that in public next to me?”  Uh….yeah babe!  I’m doing this to you in public.  (I like to laugh!  So sue me!) It’s why I wear sunglasses that are like a 4 on the looks scale.  Do I want to buy cool-guy shades from a designer that my hipster brother told me about? Yes.  But then The VP wouldn’t be moderately embarrassed to introduce me-wearing my gas station hotboi shades-to a friend of hers I’d yet to meet.  WHERE’S THE FUN IN THAT?!?!

Now, because I am having so much fun thinking of all the times I have done something with the primary goal being to make The VP of Ops uncomfortable/mad/embarassed at me..I will be debuting a new section to my Monday blogs from here on out.  The section will be called “The Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The Vp of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”.  Look forward to a full-on story next Monday and many Monday’s from here on out.  In the meantime, I look forward to brainstorming new ways to accomplish this…cuz there are like a lot of Monday’s in the future of the world AND I GOTTA GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to run through a brick wall right about now.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I just hate this fucking song.  Remember when it was super popular?  What the fuck was that all about?

 

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 going to lie to you guys, this NCAA tournament has been an unmitigated disaster for my gambling account and…life.  Like, the amount of new deposits I’ve made into this account are nearing the “is this actually impacting my life”-zone.  It’s scary and kind of invigorating all at the same time.  I am saving my remaining balance, however, for this Thursday’s games when the tourney returns.  That’s the plan at least…stay tuned.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

Spring is Coming and Gym Rules (3-13-2018)

OUR WORLD:

Now that daylight savings time has arrived (or left? What’s the difference?) I have started my official countdown to Spring activities!  ACTIVITIES!  Yes, it’s 31 degrees outside today, but it’s sunny and it’s March 13 and GODDAMNIT I CAN’T TAKE THE WINTER ANYMORE!!!  People who live in cold weather cities turn into fatter, sadder, angrier versions of themselves from November through whenever it’s 55+ degrees for three days in a row.  This past February, I got so fed up with everything that I bit my steering wheel. And when I say “bit”, I mean I kinda screamed and definitely chomped down on it.  You could see teeth marks in my steering wheel for a few hours.  There’s bitter cold, shoveling, salt stains on everything, darkness, you have to put those fuckin booties on your dog every time you go outside, and wear that jacket that makes you look puffy AND I’M BITING MY STEERING WHEEL!!!! That’s what a Chicago winter is like; you bite your steering wheel.

So, once March hits, you start thinking about the activities you’re going to get to do that will signify making it through the wars of winter.  It’s a time of hope, that lasts until…god, we’re gonna have another snowstorm I know it…

Drinking a beer outside:  You’re toasting right in the face of winter once you’re able to do this.  “Hey Winter, have fun with the dumb penguins in Antarctica!”  It’ll probably still be a little chilly when you have your first outside beer of the season, but you’ll pretend that you’re not shivering and don’t need a jacket.  (I said I’m done with jackets!)  It will always be my favorite Chicago sight to walk around the blocks of bars in mid-March when it’s 53 degrees and EVERYBODY is sitting outside pretending they’re not cold.  It’s such a meatball/hardo-move, but the entire city takes part in it.  We are all meatballs.

Pretending you’re excited at a Cubs game before mid-May:  Going to Wrigley is straight fantastic, but April/Early-May games are BRUTAL and you’ll never admit that to your friends.  Every year, you’ll get invited to a game where the weather won’t be great, and you’ll have to fake that you’re blown-away-excited about going.  While there, however, all you’re thinking is “Jesus baseball is slow, this beer stinks and I. AM. FREEZING!” Then you’ll smile at your friends and talk about how glad you are that “baseball is back!”

Buying a new pair of shoes that look AWESOME only when wearing shorts:  I bought a pair of light tan leather slipper shoes (don’t know what those are called) that had little pineapple-bombs on them last year.  It was a pretty hipster purchase for me, but I was blinded by my early-March excitement and convinced myself that, with shorts, I’d look like one sexy papa in ’em.  The next 40 days of wearing mostly pants (and not the pineapple-bomb shoes because they look no bueno with pants) definitely cooled my excitement about these shoes, but the act of buying them is a tradition that is not worth abandoning.  This year, I’m thinking, wait for it, about boat shoes.  It’s been a while since I rocked the boat shoes and shorts look, but I’m thinking since my wife is southern and Jimmy Good Times LIVES for the summer months, that boat shoes are a due for a Jimmy comeback.  (I will be nervous about what people at work say about me wearing boat shoes, but I’m a brave boy.  Dad? YOUR SON IS A BRAVE LITTLE BOY!)

I’m aware that full-on warm weather is a ways out, but just shut up and let me dream for once in my miserable life.  This is the time of the year for hope.  I hope that I’m going to gamble myself into millions during March Madness.  I hope that I get to drink a beer outside in the next 2 weeks.  I hope that I don’t have to shovel my car out of a parking spot and then get in my car only to get cut off by a guy wearing a skull cap before 7:45 AM.  I hope I don’t have to bite my steering wheel again.

MY WORLD:

There are people that go to the gym, that have no right to be there and I feel it is my duty to stand up and say “GET OUT!”  While the majority of my time inside the greasy purple walls of Planet Fitness is spent trying to not look at the clock, the remaining time is spent convincing myself not to say anything to the mutant next to me.  It’s rush hour traffic with body odor and no laws, I’m amazed there hasn’t been a real life “The Purge: Planet Fitness”.  (No, I have not seen any of “The Purge” movies because they’re scary and “Unsolved Mysteries” gave me nightmares as a kid.)

Now, I am aware that some people get nervous about going to the gym.  I have friends like this (I call them “Slobs”).  I think I understand the fear of being a gym beginner.  Nervous about not knowing what to do, not knowing how machines work, being judged for getting gassed after 4 minutes.  I get it.  I feel like that when I go to the weights section now, after not lifting for like 5 years.  (Do what I do when you get gassed super quick; grimace and grab your arm.  Try “working it out” by stretching your arm and then shake your head all disappointed like “damn, when will these war injuries heal?!?”  Boom, sympathetic character.)  

I’m not talking to my “Slobbo” friends (it’s making me laugh, but I don’t mean it).  I don’t want to ban beginners.  I simply want to institute some rules for the roads.  This is what I propose:

1)  If you are “the smelly guy/girl” who can’t seem to shake B.O., then you either have to wrap your pits with industrial saran wrap, or wear a MINIMUM of 6 thick sweatshirts to hide the stink.  Look, thankfully I have not been cursed with chronic B.O. and while I’m sympathetic to those who have been, there MUST be more awareness.  When I’m on the treadmill and Shteve (not “Steve,” his name is “Shteve”), the data miner/amateur gamer, gets on the one next to me with his nerd B.O. I have to stop myself EVERY TIME from stopping my treadmill just to glare at him while shaking my head.  (Instead, I’ll normally do cool passive aggressive things like audibly sighing or coughing.)  I don’t know if B.O. is like a medical issue without a cure (probably? right?) but you can’t dare people to offend you by pretending it’s not there.  (Did you say I stink?  YOU’RE A STINKIST!)  Listen, I get some gnarly looking rashes on the backs of my knees sometimes, and you know what I do?  I WRAP THEM UP BECAUSE I AM SELF-CONSCIOUS AND DO NOT WISH TO SUBJECT THE PUBLIC TO THIS HORRIFIC SIGHT!  In short, if you stink, get out.

2)  When getting dressed in the locker room, pants go on as soon as humanely possible.  What childhood trauma happened to these people who put their shirts on first?  If you put your shirt on first when getting dressed, your credit score should be docked 800 points because it’s time you leave this society.  Now, I don’t know about ladies locker rooms (because I don’t go in there, but I do have certain dreams about it and I do not wish to hear about your stories that do not align EXACTLY with my dreams.  Thanks for understanding,) BUT, men’s locker rooms in gyms that have men over the age of 50 are an absolute horror show.  I think something snaps with guys who have been married for 20+ years where the only way they can remind themselves that their balls actually do exist is by parading around their gym’s locker room in a shirt and no pants.  “Look everyone!  My testicles ARE here!  All of these mirrors and your horrified faces are proof!”

Ladies, this is a common thing in Men’s locker rooms.  An older dude will shower, come out of the shower and put the towel around his shoulders as he SLOWLY saunters his fat ass back to his locker.  Once there, he’ll sit down (BARE-ASS!) on the bench in front of the lockers for a not-so-quick breather.  Men like me (sane people) gasp at each other, in a whispered panic, to remind each other that this is not okay.  Old Balls McGee then, FINALLY, begins to get dressed only to disappoint EVERYONE IN THE HISTORY OF SOCIETY when he puts a shirt on and hits pause on the dressing process.  (Wait? You’re done?  NO!!! SIR!!! THE PANTS!!! THE PANTS!!!)  He’ll then take a lap around the locker room to make us all feel bad for his wife before using the hair dryer on the 8 hairs still in his dome…AND THEN HE USES THE SAME HAIR DRYER ON HIS BALLS IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR!

If the FBI hasn’t already begun forming a task force, I have lost faith in my government.

3)  If you are walking on a treadmill next to your companion and carrying on a conversation the entire time, you might as well be at home.  I’m not saying you can’t talk to someone, but the gym is a stop-and-chat-zone ONLY!  When I can’t fully hear my Bill Simmons Podcast because you’re too busy recounting why your boss sucks to your friend for 45 minutes, I should be allowed to chop both your heads off with an axe (I have thought of the appropriate punishment for this offense for years, and there’s no way around it, the loppin’ off the head with an axe move makes the most sense.)  Listen, I’m not a fan of treadmill walkers to begin with, but if you’re able to carry on a full conversation throughout a “workout”…YOU’RE NOT WORKING OUT!  You’re supposed to be panting, or at least focusing on how to breathe normally so you don’t pass out, fall down and get shot back into the wall by the belt of your treadmill.  (One time, I closed my eyes while on a treadmill, took a wrong step and got catapulted into the wall behind me by the treadmill.  Unrelated, I did not get laid in High School.)  

What these walker talkers must understand is that everyone else in the gym is trying to distract themselves from the fact that they are in the gym.  That’s why there are televisions and podcasts and music.  It allows you to zone out, and forget that you’re doing something that’s not that fun.  However, once that zone-out-zone is penetrated by your shrill voice and dull stories, the illusion disappears and we remember that we’re in fucking Planet Fitness and not eating Salt & Vinegar chips while watching Sportscenter.  The way you would never wake a sleepwalker, do not disrupt the workout zone-out.

That’s it, guys.  Those are the 3 main rules:  No stink, no balls, no talk.  There are many other things at the gym that annoy the shit out of me, but I will keep those to myself like a proper Irish-Catholic rage bottler that I am.  If you are a gym newbie and you follow these rules…I don’t know, I’ll probably find something else you there that’ll annoy me because I LIKE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT PEOPLE I WILL PROBABLY NEVER GET TO KNOW!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Almost warm = spring = baseball = fathers and sons making grown men strangers cry with sweet moments like this

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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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: 

UCLA’s play-in game is tonight against St. Bonaventure and I’m going to bet on UCLA (-3.5) because I went there and I have never seen St. Bonaventure play basketball.  Do I think UCLA is any good this year? Not really.  BUT! When you’re dumb and don’t know anything about one of the teams playing, but you like to gamble, you put money on the team you want to root for.  Classic Jimmy move here.

(My account currently at $59.11)

K bye.