Something We’ve Been Wanting To Get Off Our Chest…(5/30/18)

WHERE HAS THE CHAIR BEEN?!?!

A relatively young man, boy perhaps, scared of an actual battlefield, was presented with an opportunity to prove that courage was not among one of his seemingly countless allergies. The roach scaled the wall the way a veteran climber would during a storm; deliberately. Each step was carefully placed, making sure footing was stable before pushing off onto the next. The older couple’s ignorance remained intact while squint-scanning a pasta menu. Little did they know that their favorite restaurant was just like every other establishment they turned their noses up at; food, servers, and roaches. There wasn’t time to react. There was only time for courage in the form of a bare hand. Without hesitation, the server opened his closed fist, as if he was high-fiving the wall in slow-motion, and nonchalantly pressed his splayed palm into the bug; smashing it between the wall and his naked hand. He held the pose for 11 seconds, tricking the couple into thinking that he just needed a casual lean at the end of a long shift. After answering the final menu questions they had for him, he pushed himself off the wall, making sure to scrape all the roach gut remnants from the wall with his murderous hand. There could be no evidence of this. The couple went back to bickering about what they should order. The server calmly walked to the kitchen sink in back, roach entrails lining the inside of his now-closed hand. As he washed the evidence from his hands, he caught himself in the mirror. Things were different now.

Once, when I was a server, I smashed a roach with my bare hand. (Would’ve been nice if you saved us all the hassle of reading the above paragraph…) It was probably the bravest thing I’ve ever done. That’s not much of an exaggeration, either (no one was doubting that, Jimmy, but thx!) Squealing like the scared baby that I am was not an option in a crowded restaurant, so killing this roach without hesitation was the only way to avoid making a real scene. I still can’t believe I actually did it when what I really wanted to do was make a cry-face, say something like “oh my god EW!” and run over to a bigger, stronger ANYBODY while screaming “HELP!!!!!” Nobody knew it happened! If it sounds like I’m SUPER proud about this moment, it’s because I am…GLAD THAT’S COMING THROUGH!

I’m sorry I didn’t write last week, but I was busy being taught what actual bravery looks like.

About three years ago, I found a lump in The VPs boobie. Boobs are supposed to be fun and that WAS NOT FUN! We went and got it looked at and the docs told her to just come back every 6 months so they could keep an eye on it. Didn’t seem like they were overly concerned, so that was nice. The VP would go back every 6 months a few times and they’d basically tell her the same thing. But then life got like supes distracting, y’all! We got married, she got promoted, I got really incredibly good-looking after I rededicated myself to the gym and…The VP and I kinda’ forgot that she had a lump in her BOOBIE (my hope is that by capitalizing the word “Boobie” it makes this subject matter a little lighter…IS IT WORKING GUYS?!?!)

Then, one day, I thought my tooth exploded while eating a burrito. Thinking I was due for a root canal and major scary teeth stuff, I forced myself to go to the dentist…for the first time in like 5 years. Is that gross? Yeah, probably, but dentists are terrifying and everyone knows you don’t have to go until something hurts. RIGHT?!?! I’M A BABY, REMEMBER?!?! Something hurt, so I went. And, guess what? It wasn’t THAT scary. One cavity filling later, bravery street cred at an all-time high, I reminded The VP to get that lumperooski checked out again.

Hospitals are stupid scary and it’s not the smell or the art or the tile floors. If all hospitals had your favorite band playing live, for free while giving away beers and backrubs, you’d still hate going to the hospital. That’s why we should all be allowed to hit the person who says “I just hate hospitals.” NO SHIT! EVERYONE HATES HOSPITALS! And, spoiler alert, there are some parts within these hospitals that are scarier than others. The VP’s appointment was in one of these scarier areas. But, I got a cavity filled so I could talk to her about being brave. (Ever look back at something you did and are so embarrassed that you think about legally changing your name so you can just start from scratch? That’s me looking back at this.)

In early May, The VP and I went to the Breast Cancer Screening wing at the hospital to get her lump checked out again. The car ride there was the kind of quiet you get when trying to act casual in a stressful situation. Funny thing about not acknowledging stress is that it doesn’t go away. And when I say “funny thing,” you know I mean “a thing that’s not funny at all and just weighs you down,” right? Good, glad we’re on the same page. The VP was so cool, guys. She made a few jokes about my stupid sunglasses and kept asking if it was okay that I was missing a couple hours of work that morning to go with her. She talked about where we should get breakfast when it was done and what shows we should start watching that night. I believe The VPs itinerary that day read: wake up, have a coffee, get boob lump checked at the scary wing in the downtown hospital, take a pee, join the military, stop a carjacking in process, dance on the ledge of a tall building, have some eggs. At least something along those lines. She was fine: a fucking badass with a southern accent and a ponytail. They called her name and she was off into the back.

I got to watch an episode of “The Price is Right” in the waiting room. The jumping and screaming of strangers on the television didn’t settle my nerves. So I scanned Twitter and tried to watch funny Instagram videos without the volume because I didn’t have my headphones and you’re a psycho if you have the volume up on your phone in public. (I’M NOT A PSYCHO!)

It didn’t really work, though. The other horrible thing about hospitals is that your mind goes to the darkest places way too easily. And when you have the internet at your fingertips, those darkest places seem inevitable after a simple Google search. My mom has been through cancer twice, really rough both times, and I learned the lesson of not going to the internet…and, yet, I still went to the internet. If you don’t think internet addiction is a real thing, then do me a favor and get the hell away from me because YOU DENY THE WORLD! So with The VP in the back, my brain and heart volleyed between forceful optimism and paralyzing fear of the unknown. Drew Carey’s annoying voice and stupid fucking glasses played the soundtrack.

The VP walked out of the exam shrugging her shoulders and walking kinda’ fast. When I asked how it went, she gave me a “it’s fine. It’s fine.” When I pressed for details, however, she told me that we had to wait to talk until we were outside. This is also known as the “oh, fuck”-moment. She was repressed manic at this point. I hope I’m not saying that to normalize how I was feeling, but I think it’s accurate. As we got away from other people waiting on other results, she told me that the doctors wanted her to come back for a biopsy: the lump had shown “substantial growth” and may be breast cancer.

The next available appointment for a biopsy was 22 days later.

Which meant that the next three weeks were for worrying, pretending everything is fine while at work and in front of friends, and then distracting ourselves with television and alcohol. I would do check-ins and ask how she was feeling about stuff every few days and she would almost always respond that she was “okay.” There was not a truly enjoyable day in those 22. It was about managing fears and staying positive in the face of the unknown and the goddamn, unrelenting internet.

My job, which consists of a lot of alone time behind the wheel (wait, is Jimmy a tire fixer?!?!), wasn’t great for these few weeks. For me, alone time means imagination time and, normally, that equates to daydreams centered around “what if I had REALLY dedicated myself to golf when I was younger? Could I have been pro by now?” Imagination time, alone in the car, is when I get to picture my life being WAY better than it is now: cooler car, better hair, bigger bank account…maybe less insecurities? But for these weeks, “imagination time” morphed into me thinking about how lucky I am to have the life I do with The VP of Ops and how scary and SUCKY any other life would be for me.

“Game of Thrones” helped. Remember when I wrote about how we had gotten into that show? THIS IS WHY! I knew we needed a HIGHLY engrossing show to distract the both of us from the upcoming biopsy, so it was time to dive into the world of dragons and war and….like, a lot of nudity. (Quick aside: anyone else get a little uncomfortable watching all the sex scenes in “Game of Thrones” with your significant other? We’re not prudes, but I feel like I’m back in high school watching these scenes next to The VP. Sometimes, during the middle of one of these RACY scenes, I’ll catch her looking at me out of the corner of my eye and I’ll just blurt out “NOTHING! I JUST CARRY THIS TEXTBOOK WITH ME BECAUSE I LIKE READING IT SOMETIMES! NOTHING!”) Between Khalisi and Drago and Ned Stark and Joffrey (WHAT A DICK!) and allowing ourselves that extra glass of wine or scotch; we were somewhat able to distract ourselves.

When the day of the biopsy finally arrived, we had settled into a new normalcy of drinking a little too much and staying up a little too late watching “GOT”. Not knowing what was going on with The VPs lumperoni was normal, and somehow after 3 weeks, the not knowing had become somewhat comforting. If you don’t know something bad is going on, then maybe nothing bad is going on? I went into coach-mode throughout, giving her pep talks that I believed 1000%…and then I would call my Mom for a similar pep talk directed at me. The power of positive thinking was always something I sneered at as a sarcastic college kid. Then my mom got sick and all she asked was that we surround her with positivity. It fucking works, guys.

On the way to the hospital on biopsy day, The VP was nervous. There were tears the night before. She blamed the tears on a fear of needles. Belle and I did our best to give her hugs and calm her down. It wasn’t panic on her part; it was more of a plea to any higher power that may be listening her desire to go back to living a normal, underpaid but well-loved life. I take it back, not knowing was never normal; it was awful. How the hell was The VP having to stare cancer in the face when she has never had a cigarette or chewing tobacco or…worked in a coal mine? It should be me: the guy who smoked through college, but justified it by “only doing it when I drink”…only to move on to chewing tobacco, but justifying by “only doing it when I golf…or am with friends…or am away from The VP.” ‘God Damn It’ is a term I thought of a lot in these few weeks and then immediately apologized for because we needed all the help we could get. Religion and believing in things that are bigger than you are easy targets for humor, I get it; I’ve done it. But when the chips are down, you’re fuckin’ right I’m talking to someone that I pray has more say than I do. I talked to God and my dead Grandma every single one of those 22 days; never more than I did while in the waiting room later that morning.

They came to take The VP into the back right when we got there. Let’s rip this band-aid off. I told her that she wouldn’t feel a thing and reminded her that all of the awful things she had been through up until now prove that she is tougher than she gives herself credit for. There was the time she broke her leg and the time she got mugged and the time she split her ankle open and the time she moved to a completely new city without a job and made an entire life for herself. She could handle a big, dumb needle to the boob. Then she went in back and I started talking to people in my head.

I made deals in my head about things I would never do again and other things I would stop putting off. If these were true negotiations; I wouldn’t have said no to anything if it meant this biopsy didn’t hurt the way The VP feared it might. (Thankfully, God didn’t ask for my flat screen television…) “The Price is Right” wasn’t on this time; instead, I was treated to “The Today Show” on the waiting room TV. Granted, I wasn’t in the best of mindspace at this point, but that Hoda lady is insufferable. Can’t we just put videos of animals doing cute things on waiting room televisions? I went back to the scary world wide web in hopes of finding stories where biopsies felt good and always came back showing no signs of cancer. (Thanks for nothing, internet.)

The VP of Ops bopped out from the back about 45 minutes later with big eyes and a bigger smile. The biopsy didn’t hurt! They didn’t have immediate results, though. We’d have to wait another “1 to 2 days” for them to call her with the results. More waiting was okay because you celebrate small steps when dealing with health issues. She had gotten through a big, hollow needle in the boob with a smile on her face. Time to go celebrate with pancakes (she actually got quinoa cakes for breakfast, but “celebrating with pancakes” sounded better than “celebrating with quinoa cakes.”)

She chilled at home for the rest of the day and I went back to work. Neither of us had told anyone what was going on this entire month aside from our parents. I definitely wanted to, but “I’m scared my wife may have breast cancer” is a tough conversation starter. We had another 1 to 2 days of keeping this secret before it would either go away or become another scarier thing entirely. We stayed up REAL late that night watching “GOT”.

We both went to work the next day not knowing when “the call” would come. I was in charge of training a new employee and The VP was to manage an admin staff and book flights for bosses because booking your own flight is too fucking stressful for some people apparently. I imagined her listening to higher-ups complain about how stressful their travel schedules had been that day and got angry at my desk just thinking about it. I may have planned exactly what I’d say to these people the next time I got to see them. You could say I was handling this stress AGGRESSIVELY.

At exactly 1:25 PM, The VP called to say that her doctor had just given her “good news.” No cancer.

So we got to go back to breathing again. I let out the most heartfelt “FUCK YEAH!” I’ve ever said and my eyes welled up. She giggled a little because I guess you can’t yell “Fuck Yeah” when you work in a tall office building. I told her how proud of her I was, and am, and we talked about the power of positive thinking and the AMAZING PEOPLE THAT WORK IN HOSPITALS. Holy crap, those people are a higher breed than human. The VP will have surgery to get the lumperooski removed and that won’t be the most fun time ever, but she’ll be fine. And we’re thrilled to go back to living our normal, boring, well-loved lives.

I’m sorry I didn’t write last week; this was why. And I meant to post this yesterday, but it ran long and I wanted to make sure I wrote it the way I wanted to.

I wanted to write this because when we were in the midst of waiting and being scared and getting trapped in the panic room of “imagination time,” I would search the internet looking for an uplifting story. Maybe this can be that for some people. The whole thing sucked because stress stinks and hospitals are scary. But, I got to see my wife act like a brave, grown woman in the face of an adversity that would bring me to secret tears in public bathrooms. She bit her lip, nodded and carried on. I got to see this with my Mom during her two bouts with cancer, and it’s the absolute most inspiring thing you can ever see. As much as it sucks to be going through, getting to see understated, everyday courage in those closest to you is amazing. It deepened my love and appreciation for my Mom and it has done the same now for my wife.

Someday, this big scary world wide web will allow our kids to read about how their Dad wanted to cry when he saw a roach and how their Mom laughed after a biopsy. And I couldn’t look more forward to being outed as the wimp in our boring, too-small, but well-loved home.

I love you Erin.

In Defense of Me and 90s Kid Stuff

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Punchable face times a billion.

Savage

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

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

(My account currently at $207.73)

K bye.

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