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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

Noon-2PM:

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

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

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

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

2PM-6PM:

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

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

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

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

6PM-8PM:

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

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

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

8PM-WHENEVER:

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coach P.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $40.71)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

The Early 30s St. Patrick’s Day

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I like him. He’s fun.”

“Yeah, well he just texted ‘why not?”

“About…no! Not about-”

“St. Patrick’s Day. Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

(My account currently at $55.17)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

The-Train

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

leo-decaprio-shoulder-shrug

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow will be similar. Don’t fight it.

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $67)

K bye.

Car Crash Fall-Out (3/9/2018)

MY WORLD:

While waiting for the estimate for my repairs in the work lounge of the Glenview, Chevy Dealership, I texted Fred, the guy who hit me. Yesterday, I nicknamed this guy “Cryface McFlatBrim”, but I’m going to call him Fred today because A) “Cryface McFlatBrim” is kind of a lame joke that I’m not proud of, and B) His name is Fred. (Wait, he’s going to call someone by their name? No snappy nickname? WELL, WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN READING THIS?!?!)

While I didn’t delve too deep into it yesterday, Fred told me that he was driving his wife, Gail’s car to drop their daughter off at a nearby city college. Gail, unlike fuckin’-ruining-my-morning-Fred, does have a license and car insurance. I took down all of this info but, probably sensing that his wife would give him a harder pankin’ than any future fellow inmate, Fred insisted I contact him with repair costs so he could pay out of pocket and keep this all hidden from his wife. Fred did not seem to understand that Gail may start asking questions once she saw the hood of her car looking like a boy scout tent. According to my calculations, Fred is not a planner.

Now sitting in the work lounge, I texted Fred to see if he’d respond. I didn’t trust my handwriting, so I wanted to confirm all of Gail’s car insurance info with him confirming some of her information. But really, I wanted confirmation that I had just been taken advantage of by a bad driver with a good cry reflex. No one would be mad at me for letting this dude go. In fact, I’d tell the story full-well-knowing that I’d be portrayed as the real victim; a softie who got taken advantage of. (Awwww, Jimmy’s so cute.) Paying for the repairs out of my pocket would only enhance my victim-ness, creating even more sympathy for myself whenever I’d tell this story. My cynical suspicions were confirmed.

Until he texted me back 8 minutes later. (Well, he still won’t live up to his word. Listen Fred, I’ve already written the end of this story in my head.) He confirmed Gail’s car insurance information, but again insisted that I call him once I get the estimate so he can pay out of pocket. He tells me “I work for GM I make a 1000$ a week I will pay u.” (Shit, this guy makes more than me?) I almost texted him back to just stop texting me now so I don’t get my hopes up that he’s going to follow through on his word.

Stevey Eyebrows, the manager of the body shop, comes to get me in the lounge. (Wait, is Jimmy Nicknames back?!?! MOM! JIMMY NICKNAMES IS BACK!) Steve tells me that the oil change went well (do they sometimes not?). He hands over a few sheets of paper and says “you may want to sit down when you go over the estimate” before pretending he was too busy to sit with me. Hey Steve, ever heard of being a shoulder to cry on? (Dear Steve’s Wife, you don’t have to live like this.)

Alone and afraid, I read through the estimate. Yomma momma. $1,100. I took a picture of the estimate and texted it to Fred. He responded “For tour bumber”. Yes Fred, “for tour bumber”. I reminded him that my car is leased and that they need to replace the bottom part of the “tour bumber” (it’s not mean to make fun of spelling because he has an iPhone and, therefore, HAD to have overridden autocorrect because he was POSITIVE that it was “bumber” and not “bumper”). Then the texts went silent for a little bit.

I paid for my oil change and confirmed with Stevey “My Shoulder is not for your Tears” Eyebrows that my car was drivable. It was. I got in my car, eager to call my parents and friends to tell them how hard my life is. (I’d end all the convos with something like “not that big of a deal” so they’d think I was extra tough. Can’t knock this sturdy boy down! Oh, also…please help me.) Then Fred called.

“You mean to tell me that your bumper is gonna cost me $1,100? I’m going to need you to mail me that estimate” is how he started off the convo. In my book, that’s known as “instigating”. Sometimes when I’m put in situations that are about to require confrontation, I’ll channel my father; a 64 year-old hard-ass psycho who I’ll be afraid of forever. So I did that. Top of my lungs, not screaming, angry yelling that Fred is “fucking nuts if you think I’m trying to take you for a ride. What? You think I forged an estimate sheet just to text you a picture of it?!” I reminded him, in a not-so-gentle-way, that the reason I let him go was because he was crying hysterically. His voice raised to say that he “barely hit me” and that “this just doesn’t sound right.” As I took a deep inhale to unleash absolute-fuck-you-Fred-fury, I heard another voice on his end.

“Sir?” It was a tough, older woman. “My name is Gail. I own the car that hit you. Thank you for letting my husband go. We are going to pay for your damages. We just don’t have $1,100 in the bank.” Shit. Did they just pull a fliparooski? Am I a bad guy now cuz I yelled at a poor, older woman? (No Jimmy, all good guys in movies have that scene where they scream at homeless grandmas. Moron.) Maybe because she pulled off an immaculate fliparooski on me or just because she had a calming mom-voice (nothing better), but I liked this woman. I apologized for getting so heated at her husband and explained what had happened earlier. She thanked me for trusting that they’d follow through, and told me to go through her insurance. “That’s what insurance is for” is exactly the kind of thing my mom would say, Gail must’ve known that. I told her that I appreciated her (NOT FRED!) and that I only wanted to deal with her from there on out. She gave me her phone number.

I went back into the body shop and went over how best to file the claim through her insurance. (As an adult male, I’m aware that I should probably know how to do this, but I don’t. I bet I know stuff you don’t know, so like…just chill.) I needed her to file the claim before I did because that’s what Steve said and Steve knows. So I texted my new pal Gail how she should go about doing this. For entertainment purposes in this story (lawyers don’t read blogs, right?), maybe I said Gail was driving the car. MAYBE IS NOT A DEFINITELY! THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT! (“It is?” would be such a sick burn). I sent the text and headed off to work.

Thing was, I didn’t really know Gail. She told me what I wanted to hear, but I was still careening down poop-river without a paddle, and it had been 38 minutes without a response to my text. “Oh, you think mom-voice is gonna get you off the hook? Check this out Gail!” I shot over a kinda’ threat (was definitely a threat) saying “just so you know I have recorded our phone calls and saved our text message exchanges. I will use them if I am forced to report this to the police.” I’M A MAN! I AM STRONG!

My phone rang immediately. Evidently, Gail didn’t want to respond to my initial text because she was driving. She sternly told me not to threaten her. “Don’t do that”-then hung up on me as I started to backtrack. Well shit. Always a bummer when the tough-guy routine backfires (wait, you actually DO want to go outside and fight? Uhhhh…just kidding! LOL!)

A couple hours passed. I did my job, figuring I’d file a claim with her insurance company a little later, that she’d then deny and…I’d just suck it up and pay the damages. I wasn’t happy or mad. I didn’t feel good for basically getting a guy out of jail. It just felt like a reminder that everyone’s life is hard and, sometimes, you have to do selfish things in order to get by. I understood Gail. If I were in a little tougher financial position, would I bail on something like this if it were the other way around? Maybe. I’d feel SUPER guilty, but…maybe.

Gail called me at 3:09 PM. She told me that she had to retire due to a heart condition and that my threat-text had made her a nervous wreck. (Threats are not chill!) I apologized sincerely, and explained to her that I had put a lot of faith in a couple that lives in another state and that I’m not exactly made of money. I told her that Fred was not my friend, and she started laughing. “Oh, he’s keeping his distance from me. He knows I’m pissed at his dumb ass. I called you because I filed a claim with my insurance company saying everything you said happened. I don’t care if he has to work a hundred extra shifts, he’s gonna pay me back for this.” We laughed together cuz Fred really does suck! We talked about how long Fred is going to have to be her personal servant for at least two weeks. “Two weeks? More like two years!” Gail rules, guys. She didn’t know Fred took the car that morning and, supposedly, has told him multiple times to stop driving without a license.

I apologized again because I can’t believe I threatened an innocent older woman with a heart condition (writing that out made me feel worse.) Gail reminded me that “this is what insurance is for” (swoon) and that her daughter, a nurse they were visiting, also leases her car. I kinda but most definitely welled up. After thanking her for dealing with me in an honest way, I told her to call me next time she was visiting the city so I could take her (NOT FRED!) out for a beer. “Oh, honey, I will most definitely do that!” was the absolute perfect response.

I don’t know if I’ll get the money or if the insurance company will pull legal tricks or maybe Fred will convince Gail that getting out of this situation is worth a little short-term guilt. But, I really like Gail. I hope she comes back to Chicago sometime (BUT NOT FRED) and I get to buy her that beer. Fuck cynicism. Take a chance and maybe you’ll get to drink a beer with a new friend. Offer stands forever, Gail.

OUR WORLD:

It’s Friday!

Honestly, it took me a very long time to write the ‘My World” section today and now I need to shower before I go to work (ooooo dirty boy!)

HAPPY FRIYAY!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Yes, there’s an ad at the beginning of this video, but I am a new Khalid fan and feel V COOL about liking a young R&B guy.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The face your dog makes when you leave in the morning.

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 ACTUALLY WON 2 OF THE 3 BETS I PICKED YESTERDAY!!! I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT BECAUSE IT DID NOT GO AS WELL.

Today? Alabama, Kentucky and Xavier against the spread.

(My account currently at $0.00…i said i didn’t want to talk about it)

K bye.