I May Be in Serious Legal Trouble

MY WORLD:

My world is a little baby girl right now (every living thing in the universe just rolled their eyes. No Jimmy, I’m not kidding. Even cadavers, and weird animals with no eyes.). Yeah, writing that first sentence made my skin crawl, but I promise to always be honest in this blog (tell us EXACTLY how much you owe in student loans then!) and that’s a totally honest statement. I’m not writing it to sound like the sensitive, stunningly hot, surprisingly JACKED Dad that you’re thinking I may be (not thinking that) I’m writing it because I’ve been trying to think of what to write in this section and I don’t want it to ALWAYS be about our dumb baby who CAN’T EVEN FART WITHOUT CRYING YET! Seriously, what if you cried every time you farted? Actually, yeah. If you’re reading this and you don’t have kids yet and are wondering “but Jimmy, now that you’ve been a parent for 4 seconds, what is parenting REALLY like?” WELL, SINCE YOU ASKED! If you’re wondering if you and your partner are ready to parent a newborn, try this: for the next 24 hours, every time you have to fart, start scream crying. Every single time you feel a fart, you have to start huffing, and then have that constipated huffing sound VIOLENTLY turn into growling cries that last no shorter than 11 minutes. After 24 hours, if neither you or your spouse has started cutting yourself, then you’re ready to be a parent! Congratulations!!!

Okay, that was a sidetrack. (I hate you.) My world is the little baby in my house right now, so you’re just going to need to bear with me and this section for a little. For the sake of this dumbass blog, my wife is the VP of Ops, and my baby will now be referred to as “The Warden”. I promise it won’t be all parenting stories. Now, instead of complaining about the things a baby does (you just did that, though? Oh, you think the readers won’t be able to tell that your “hypothetical” challenge was related to your daughter? So you think your readers are dumb. See this everyone? HE THINKS YOU’RE ALL IDIOTS!) I’m going to write about how bad of a parent I am here. I think you need to know the mistakes I’m making because there’s a chance that I shouldn’t be allowed to do this. Like, legally. I’m not a lawyer (then why do you have SO MUCH student loan debt?)

Last night, I think I almost popped the Warden’s head off. Not…wait…okay, it’s not like I grabbed her head and was trying to rip it off (this is not going well.) You need context (and YOU need a lawyer.)

So, the Warden was going El Nutso. It was about dusk and, according to our calculations, she should have been sweetly resting in her swing thing so the VP and I could cook and drink ranch waters until driving would be a crime. Surprisingly, our calculations were off. (You just put ‘80085’ into the calculator, didn’t you?) The Warden alerted us to this miscalculation with the use of rage squirming and growl howling deep into the early night sky. Like any fabulous parents, the VP and I both calmly took turns reminding the Warden that we could, in fact, hear her and that we would love to comply with any requests. Unfortunately, the Warden did not have any demands. She simply needed the world to hear her.

The VP held her on her chest. I cradled her gently and rocked her back and forth while singing her my new song, entitled “I love you, but you are being kind of a jerk.” Then we put her in the rocking swing. We put the sweet music on in the rocking swing! The shusher machine (wut?) Yeah, we literally have a little machine thing that just goes “shhhhhhhh”. So we put that on. No dice. Then the VP was all like, “well, should we sell her on the internet?” and I was like, “no, this is my baby! And I love her! And that love is worth more to me than the hundreds of thousands of dollars we might be able to get for her on the internet. Not to mention, I bet you don’t even know what website we could list her on! Do you?! Do you know what website we could put her for sale on? What is the website? What is it? Yeah, but how do you spell that?”

I shut The VP’s laptop HARD, and told her “I got this.” I took the Warden, who I love more than hundreds of thousands of dollars, into the other room as I went into “Daddy’s got this”-mode.

That’s when I almost popped her head off. You see, I have recently been implementing this burping method that I saw on Instagram. Now I know what you’re thinking, “you’re going to Instagram for parenting advice?” Well, the portly woman in the video had white hair and spoke in calming tones so…uhhhhhh, yeah, I think she knows what she’s doing!

This perfectly legitimate burping method, includes me putting the Warden on my knee and then holding her cheeks with one hand, while my other hand works on her back to help her sit straight up as I rotate her around in small circles. The idea is to expand her stomach, allowing her diaphragm (haha you said diaphragm) to expand and expel gas. DAD OF THE FUCKING CENTURY, MUCH?!?!?!

However, the Warden’s violent wailings had an unforeseen consequence of forcing my brain to tell my body to something else. You see, instead of my brain telling my other hand to go on her back, my brain told my other hand to go on the back of her neck. So, when I tried to sit her up straight, my hands were basically ONLY HOLDING HER HEAD. In short, I lifted her by her head and, look, she’s small and I think there was definitely a chance of it popping off. Judging by her screams, against all odds, increasing in volume, it did appear that the Warden, too, thought her head was about to pop off.

Now, I know the Warden is clearly at fault here for screaming me stupid, but…like, am I in any legal trouble? Legally speaking, can I be charged with ‘attempted head pop’? That’s not a charge, right. It’s not, so, you’re actually the one on trial now. How dare you accuse me of attempted head pop! Don’t tell me how to parent! Nah nah nah, SAVE IT! MY LIL BABY WARDEN’S HEAD IS STILL ON! TELL IT TO THE JUDGE! I’LL PUT YOU ON TRIAL!

(Are you fucking drunk? Or you’re just dumb all the time now?)

OUR WORLD:

You know that feeling when you’re in a small, shitty town and you go to a restaurant that you know is going to suck? That’s what being a Bears fan this year, and most years, is like. You’re super hungry and want a break from the gas station ‘Subway’, so you say something like “we should give Memphis Grill a shot!” And instead of reminding yourself that there’s no goddamn way a place in Arkansas called “Memphis Grill” is going to be good, you dilute yourself into thinking this place was on the ONE episode of “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” that your fatass hasn’t seen yet. Well guess what tubby (really going after your fat self here), just like every episode of Triple D, you’ve seen this Bears season before! And just like “Memphis Grill” it’s going to make your stomach hurt and make you sad.

But who wants to read about this sour meat NFL season Bears fans are about to chow down on?!?! That’s no fun. So, the same way you convince yourself that Arkansas’ “Memphis Grill” is going to actually be good, let’s do that with the Bears.

The “you can’t mess up a hamburger that bad” possibility: Justin Fields has dominated football games since he was a little kid. He was the top recruit in the country out of high school, and then threw for a billion touchdowns at Ohio State. He had one of the best, toughest performances I’ve ever seen in a bowl game against a Clemson defense that is probably all in the pros now. I know the Bears suck at life, but they can’t mess HIM up that bad, right? He can’t dominate every level of football, get to the league, look around Soldier Field and go “oh wait, I’m a Bear now, so I need to start sucking ass at playing football”. RIGHT?!?!

The “as long as you stay away from the seafood, you’ll be fine” possibility: As long as we run the ball and play solid defense, we’ll be able to stay in games. And if you stay in games, you can steal some? And if Justin Fields doesn’t realize he’s supposed to SUCK now that he’s a Bear, maybe he can actually win us a game or two? As long as our defense holds up, we could surpise some people. Hey, Eberflus-led defenses have been awesome in Indianapolis and it’s not like they’ve had superb quarterback play over the past few years. And those Colts teams contended for playoff spots basically every year he was there. So…hmm…

The “every town has a hidden little gem” possibility: What if Darnell Mooney IS that dude? I know he was drafted in a late round and has oddly skinny legs, but what if he actually does turn into a legitimate number one receiver? His training camp highlights have been pretty sick. Him and Fields seem to have some serious chemistry. Cooper Kupp wasn’t a first round pick! Is it that OUTRAGEOUS to envision Darnell Mooney as Cooper Kupp-lite? If he turns into a legit number one, I could see Cole Kmet taking some strides and becoming an above-average tight end. If you close your eyes and just say “Darnell Mooney becomes a LEGIT number one receiver this year,” the Bears offense has a chance to be not awful.

Okay, I’m exhausted. That was mentally and physically exhausting. But you better fuckin’ believe those are the little thoughts running around my head as we head into this NFL season.

CAN’T WE GET LUCKY ONE TIME AND NOT HAVE DIARRHEA AFTER A BEARS SEASON?!?!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

College football kicks off a week from tomorrow. Next week, we should talk about what we’re all going to be doing and cooking and eating and drinking and wearing. I might buy a new QZ. IN FACT, I AM GOING TO BUY A NEW QZ!!!!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The self-checkout lanes at grocery stores. I will stand in line to have humans that are NOT ME scan and bag my groceries. I can’t be the only one who gets big time anxiety when using the self-checkout lane and running out of space on the scale after I’ve scanned a bunch of items. It’s like there is ZERO CHANCE I’m not going to get the error message on the screen saying “Please put your item on the scale after scanning.” It makes me so mad I wanna hit the screen with a spiked hammer. JUST MAKE A BIGGER SCALE AREA!

JIMMY COOKS:

I’m on a huge sandwich kick lately (lately? Okay pal! Hey everyone, Jimmy JUST got into sandwiches), and I recently made one for my brother that was a HIT. I stole the recipe from a restaurant I used to work at, but last I checked…that restaurant doesn’t have a blog. Sooooooo, MY RECIPE NOW BITCH! Here’s what you do:

Find someone you want to impress with a great sandwich.
Tell that person to sit back, relax, and strap it down.
Buy a nice French baguette, prosciutto, brie, arugula, red onion, and mayo.
Cut the red onion into thin slices. Razor thin. If you don’t cut yourself while cutting this onion, the slices aren’t thin enough.
Cut the brie into triscuit-like squares (are rectangles okay? WHAT ABOUT TRIANGLES?!?!)
Drizzle olive oil on the baguette and slightly toast it on a pan (on a pan? Why not a bowl? Thanks for the tip!)
On baguette, you’re going mayo, prosciutto, brie, arugula, thin thin THIN red onion (thin, as in the opposite of Jimmy)
Give that person you’re looking to impress this sandwich.
If this person^ is an attractive female, give her my telephone number and don’t tell her I’m married.
Yes, you can put some Dijon mustard on there, but only if you hold up the mustard and say in your best French accent “pardon, do you have any grey poupon?” and then laugh hard like a real jerk until the entire room feels uncomfortable.

K, bye.

Movie Trailer Reviews (Pt. 1) and I’m Getting Fat (8/15/18)

OUR WORLD:

Every few months, on a random lazy night, The VP and I will go full-on short-attention span Millennial and choose to watch a bunch of 2 minute movie trailers instead of diving into a new show. (So watching a show has become too hard for you? Says a lot.) For the sake of all of my devoted readers, The VP and I did the thing at the end of each trailer where we look at each other and either raise our eye-brows and purse our lips together, crunch up our nose and furrow our brows, or something in-between. It’s a complicated grading scale, I know, but here’s the breakdown:

GOOD = “Even though we’ll eventually talk ourselves out of it, we should DEFINITELY see that movie when it comes out!”

okay = “It’s going to take someone I trust freaking out about how good this movie is, but I’m not shutting the door.”

BAD = “That movie is going to stink worse than a VP taco fart.”

Before I get into the trailers we watched, I would like to point out that the pictures of me above were taken this morning at roughly 6:45 AM. Why did I use those? Well, you know in the swimsuit issue when they have pictures of “curvier” women to show that there are women of all different shapes and sizes? And then those women are hailed for being brave? Well, I used these pictures to show that there are men out there with bad morning hair and large foreheads that shouldn’t be afraid to SHOW IT OFF! WE’RE JUST AS VALUABLE AS HOT GUYS! If this inspires even just one guy with bad morning hair and a big forehead to head out into public without running a comb through his hair, then I’ve done my job. We can’t all be Johnny Hotbod AND THAT’S OKAY! IT’S NOT OUR FAULT!

ONTO GRADING THE TRAILERS!

“A Star is Born”

Bradley Cooper could not look cooler and is definitely making me think about trying to grow my hair out AGAIN because “maybe this is the time it looks like movie star hair!” I know this is a remake because my dad told me (Dads!) but let’s be real, none of us are going to watch the original because nobody my age cares about Barbara Streisand or Kris Kristofferson. You know who we do care about? Dave Chappelle playing a gravely-voiced wisdom-doling friend to Bradley HotHair. We should all try to find a friend who smokes, wears an old tank and tells us when our “social” drinking has become an issue.

Best line in this trailer is HANDS DOWN when Cooper drops this heater on Lady GaGa as she walks away from him:

Bradley: “Hey”

Lady: “What?” (as she turns around)

Bradley: “I just want to take another look at ya.”

MELT-ALERT! If you’re single, I would HIGHLY suggest using this line on some unsuspecting philly who may have self-esteem issues (I used it on my dog Belle this morning and it didn’t land. She just kept walking…Fuckin’ bitch.)

As far as Lady GaGa goes, here’s the deal: VP loves her and I’m iffy. She does seem like a bit of a try-hard who too easily vacillates between “elegant, sparkly dress singer lady with Tony Bennett” and “dirty shirt, dive bar every-woman”. It usually bugs me, but I’m buying her in this preview. Matta a’ Fack, this feels like PERFECT casting. When she starts singing towards the end of the trailer, The VP started crying and my body was RAVAGED by goosebumps. If you’re not tingling at the 2:06 mark, check yourself into the nearest morgue because you, my friend, are a dead person.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

GOOD

“The Old Man & The Gun”

I want to be more excited about this than I am. When we first watched it, I def gave the “gotta see this”-face because I was trying to convince myself. Robert Redford is my Mom’s all-time crush and makes a wrinkly face look cool. He’s also a forever-star and this feels like the last time he’s going to be in a movie that allows him to be the star (felt bad writing that). Then they drop the “it’s a true story” bomb right on our big, dumb heads and we’re thinking “oh triple-fuck-yeah!”

But how interesting can a movie about an old, polite bank robber be? I love bank robbin’ movies as much as any other genre, but the best parts of those movies are the guns, chase scenes, and fiery “we’re going down in a blaze of glory!” speeches that the leader ALWAYS gives to the rest of the crew towards the end. Redford giving soft smiles and cute shoulder shrugs takes away from the “he could die!”-tension. Casey Affleck playing the cop who’s hunting Redford is a solid choice because Casey knocked that role out of the park in “Gone Baby Gone,” but even he seems charmed by Redford’s cute antics. Give me Jon Hamm getting pissed about the “not fuckin’ around crew” in “The Town” ALL DAY over Casey blushing about the note Redford left on a stolen dollar bill for him.

Redford does deliver a patented cool-guy line when he talking to Sissy Spacek about life metaphors, and says: “You know what I do when the door closes? I jump out the window.” Can anyone pull a line like that off in real life? There has to be a documentary somewhere about a real-life bank robber who tries to talk like that, but it just comes off as cringeworthy, right?

Oh, real quick, Tom Waits is in the movie and when I hear his voice all I can think about is how Heath Ledger based his “Joker”-voice off of Tom Waits. Sorry Tom, but you’re the Joker forever now.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

“Life Itself”

This movie CAN’T WAIT to make you pretend not to be crying while sitting next to your weeping wife. One hundred percent chance that you’ll look down at your feet at some point in this movie while telling yourself to “fucking get it together, you’re an adult in public.”

First off, is the “Hola”-guy fat Channing Tatum with a mustache? Once that guy hit the screen, all I could think about was “what the hell happened, Channing?” Anyway, I’m torn on this trailer because I think I’m falling madly, deeply in love with Olivia Wilde, but I can’t remember anything she has been in that’s actually good. She’s stunningly gorgeous, and ALWAYS comes off as “down to earth” because she has weird haircuts and wears college-girlfriend clothes, but is she a good actress? If she was, I’d be able to think of ONE role where I thought she was good, right? (Hey Olivia, welcome to Jimmy’s attempt to play hard-to-get. I assure you, however, that he is not hard to get at all.)

Meanwhile, Oscar Isaac has officially wrestled the “that guy who’s in everything I hear is good but don’t see”-trophy from Viggo Mortensen. He’s a good actor because he looks actory and I say “Oh, I like this guy” when I’m around other people, but I’m not positive I’ve actually seen anything he has been in. This casting is feeling like some sort of magic trick. Like, at the end of the trailer, I’m half-expecting David Blaine to just show up dangling a pocket watch in front of me while whispering “you DO want to see this movie.” I do? I DO! Wait…do I?

The voiceover dialogue is heavy handed but well-written. The song playing in the background makes me feel…emotions…and makes me want to…probably wait to watch this on demand. The dead parents joke towards the end is solid, but then immediately feels off-putting when we see beardy Oscar Isaac having a MOMENT with a Starbucks in his hand. This is the movie that your parents see and your Dad stays completely silent while your Mom assures you that it’s “INCREDIBLE!”

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

MY WORLD:

Should I just get fat? I have a fantastic excuse of my badly sprained ankle to put some weight on AND get sympathy at the same time. In fact, I think if I put weight on it’ll only draw attention to my horrible, horrible, “he’s tougher than me for walking on it”-ankle injury. How would that happen? Thanks for asking; people would see me, immediately think to themselves that “wow, he has let himself go,” only to be smacked right in their dumb, judgmental face with me lifting my right pant leg to reveal A FREAKING ANKLE BRACE! I’d plunge the dagger deeper with a line like, “killing me not being able to workout.” And you better believe the only shirt I’ll be wearing is my 2013 Chicago Marathon shirt that has gotten VERY TIGHT. Get ready to feel bad about your inner thoughts re: my weight.

Real talk, I have felt a little bit bigger since this horrific, horrific injury and I am getting self-conscious about it. You ever put a pair of pants on that feel tighter than they usually do, but then quickly tell yourself “I mean, they did just come out of the dryer”? Because that was me yesterday–blaming the dryer and not the fact that I’ve eaten maybe 37 mini-York peppermint patties over the past…uh…one day. Why was it hard to get to the third notch of the belt? I mean, I probably just tried to fasten the belt lower on my hips than normal. Hips are wider than waist. Obviously. I definitely pulled my pants up a few times yesterday and sucked in to be like “yeah, they’re still loose!” They weren’t loose though, guys. I repeat, not loose.

Shouldn’t my body realize that I’m not able to workout and compensate accordingly? Hey body, I’m not lying on my back while eating an entire bag of Goldfish because my ankle DOESN’T hurt! How ’bout a little help, metabolism? Maybe Mr. Metabolism could pick up some slack one fucking time.

Since Mr. Metabolism and my dumb body are too lazy to help me out and keep my waistline in check, I’m thinking I just lean into this to prove what assholes my body and my metabolism are. “Wait, so they clearly know your injured, and they’re not doing anything to help you out? And yeah, you deserve to eat chip products on your back with an ankle like that!” THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This song came on this morning and I stopped what I was doing to just smile and bop my head around to the beat. Try it.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The street we live on is closed through the weekend for a children’s carnival. Great. I can’t wait to see how calm Belle is about getting walked next to screaming kids who think they’re allowed to pet anything that comes near them. Hey kids, if you like your fingers, I suggest keeping them away from my anxiety-ridden doggo.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I got a “bonus” from Bovada yesterday because THEY LOVE ME! and definitely not because I’ve been losing at an alarming pace and Bovada has nicknamed me “The ATM”. I’m not kidding, I can’t remember the last win I had. I am in full-on, betting only parlays mode because I need a big win to make up for recent losses. This strategy, thus far, has proved fruitless. Its gotten so bad that I have begged for picks from a guy I work while referring to him as “Baseball Guy” because he talks about baseball sometimes. Talk about baseball once in my presence? Guy MUST know how to pick games. I lost the first parlay he gave me.

(Account currently at $11.42)

K bye.

Reality Shows That Should Happen and Are We Going To Move? (7/31/18)

OUR WORLD:

“The Men Tell All” episode of “The Bachelorette” was on last night and, I’ll admit, Jordan was an electric factory. He got me laughing a few times and did make me ask The VP “is he in on the joke?” I kinda’ think that he is, which makes it funnier when he’s bragging about how he owns billboards in everyone’s head and should’ve been wearing a work vest to this episode. Bravo, Jordan, bravo (I’m making that aristocratic face rn while nodding and giving a very pompous round of applause.) But then the episode kept going and going and I remembered that I don’t give a shit about “The Bachelorette” this year. IS BECCA GONNA PICK THE LOW-KEY RACIST OR THAT SMILEY DUDE WHO HAS ZERO PERSONALITY?!?! I hate when my guy friends make fun of all of the shitty reality TV that I like, and I hate even more that I’m now one of those guys with this season of “The Bachelorette”. However, there is a silver lining! With the part of my brain normally devoted to this show now FREE, I have dedicated it to thinking of some reality shows that NEED to happen. Here are the first 3 that I’ve come up with:

“Serving Patricia: The Story of Michael Kelcourse”

I’m officially all caught up on “Southern Charm” and I’d like to thank all my supporters for sticking by me while I caught up. Took a lot of courage on your part to stand by a “reality fan” who had yet to watch the crown jewel of the south. (Are you crying? I am too!!! WE DID IT!!!) I’m sure there will be spin-offs from this show most likely revolving around Shep or Craig or Naomie or the T-Rav rape trial (yikes…) BUT there is only ONE spin-off of “Southern Charm” that is absolutely necessary: the story of Patricia’s old-man butler Michael. I’d like to call it “Serving Patricia: The Story of Michael Kelcourse”. (Wow, creative Jimmy.)

WARNING: this will not be your typical lite Bravo fare. I want this show on AMC or HBO or some other network that specializes in shaky, handheld camera documentary-style reality shows.

I want one cameraman following Michael Kelcourse (the fact that I spent time googling “Patricia Southern Charm Butler” is not something I’ll tell my grandkids about). I want this one cameraman to, essentially, become Michael’s only real friend in the world; allowing him to open up about all the things that Patricia makes him do that we DON’T see on “Southern Charm”. Patricia has “Michael, there is a body in the freezer outside that I’d like you take care of”-written ALL OVER HER. She’s been married like 19 times, you don’t think ONE of those former husbands “disappeared mysteriously”? GET YOUR DUMB HEAD OUT OF YOUR FAT BUTT! MICHAEL KNOWS WHERE THE BODIES ARE!

Maybe one night after returning to his chambers (does he have “chambers”? does he live in a cage in Patricia’s basement?) Michael pours a glass of bourbon for himself and his new best friend Cameraman Jack. About halfway through their first glass, but not yet talking, Michael lets out a deep exhale and brings his fingers to his tear-filled eyes. “I’ve done bad things, Jack. I’ve done bad things.” Jack would lean forward, pour a little more bourbon in Michael’s glass and say “we all have.” Michael would start gently shaking his head, though, and when he lifted it up we’d see his eyes were full-blown red from crying: “I was just following orders.” That’s when the camera would be set down, but not off, and we’d hear Michael cry and reveal where all of the holes are that he had to dig for Patricia’s ex-husbands.

OR…Is there a dark side to this seemingly permanently-chipper old man butler? I bet there is guys…I REALLY, REALLY BET THERE IS!!! There is no way that you can bring dirty martinis to some stuck up lady with a face doesn’t move all day, every day without retreating to some secret drug dungeon that allows you to put up with a life you can’t believe you’re living. I don’t actually think that Butler Michael is a closet opium addict, but look at the eyes, there’s something…something dark beneath….and, if there’s not, maybe he could teach all of us how to be happy living a life other than the one you dreamt of when you were 19.

michael kelcourse

“Backstage Pass”

I want to know what the backstage scene looks like for old bands that USED to be known for RAGING party scenes before and after shows. Think along the lines of: The Rolling Stones, The Who, and Aerosmith. Listen, I don’t actually know if these bands were known for being fucking party animals, but I just assume that older rock bands all did cool drugs and were skinny alcoholics during their heydays SO JUST GO WITH IT!

They’re probably a bunch of recovering addicts now, but doesn’t being backstage after a show trigger some “man, I’d love a fucking beer right now”-urges for these guys? How do they overcome that? If I’ve had a weekend of hard drinking, I’ll tell myself on Monday that I’m not going to drink for a few days. Then, I’ll go for a run, get home, open the fridge and think to myself “Sweet Baby Jesus a beer sounds AMAZING.” 3 beers later, I’m talking to The VP about how “I deserve these.” And that’s from the rush of running on a treadmill! Give me the rush of having 30 plus thousand people treating me like the coolest cult leader of all-time and I’d be doing keg stands on the hood of a convertible weaving down a congested highway!

Or maybe they’re not able to overcome those urges and the code of being backstage just shields them from having to publicly admit that they’re actually not sober. Like, maybe you have to sign a non-disclosure agreement that says “when you see Keith Richards drain his 6 pack of wine bottles, you are not allowed to text your high school friends that Keith’s new biography ‘Sober & Feeling Great!’ is a book of lies”? And if they’re not drinking or doing drugs or COOL STUFF LIKE THAT, what are these aging bands doing backstage? Are Keith and Mick sitting at opposite ends of a big open room just flicking each other off in between telling their young girlfriends why The Beatles are overrated? WE NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS!

“Overnight Pharmacist”

There are 24-hour pharmacies (right? Googling….yep! There are! Continue!) which means that there are pharmacists who have to work the 11PM to 7AM shift. And you know what that means?!?!?! Guys with panicked looks on their faces asking for “uh, the, uh, ya’ know that pill that…the no baby pill?” and people TWEAKING out on god knows what handing over “scripts” written in crayon that say: “Just whatever he asks for. Yours Truly, Doctor”. If I were a pharmacist asked to work the overnight shift, I would insist on wearing a full suit of armor and having a current Navy Seal Sniper Badass Killerguy as my personal bodyguard.

If you’re looking for a magic combination of elements to create drool-worthy reality television, mixing drugs, threats of violence, and darkness with a “person just trying to do their job” seems like a safe bet to me. As for the production costs, you really wouldn’t have any. All you’d have to do is outfit the CVS in rural Arkansas with higher grade security cameras and install some microphones and BOOM, get out of the way and let the night do nighttime things!

I will throw a bit of caution in here that this show does have the potential to be insanely sad and depressing and “this is making me feel horrible about everything.” How do we get around this? Simple, EDITING. The editor of this show will play a VITAL role in dumping the inevitably heartbreakingly sad moments that must occur in pharmacies overnight. Nobody in the world needs to see the stuff that I don’t even want to write about happening because i know that it does and I know that it would make me cry. So…you know what, let’s just make it easy: let’s just have it be the scenes of people being nervous trying to get Plan B pills or unsuccessfully trying to get other sexual-related drugs. An old guy coming in with a fake script for Viagra is comedy gold. GOLD! In fact, let’s just rename the show “Overnight Pharmacist: Only The Funny Sex Stuff and Not The Sad Other Drug Stuff”. THAT SHOW DEFINITELY DOESN’T SOUND DEPRESSING!

MY WORLD:

The VP and I went to Nashville this past weekend, and it made me think about whether or not I could move again. And if I can’t, what does that say about the rest of my life?

When I went to Los Angeles for grad school and student lo-(nobody wants to hear about your debt) I was VERY single and poor at an age where it was socially acceptable to be unable to afford clothes from somewhere other than Old Navy. When I moved back to Chicago it was for legitimate family and personal reasons and I was still VERY single (The VP is beginning to question all of the “ex-girlfriend” stories…”Was I your first girlfriend?”-VP to me tonight.) But now at the seasoned age of 33, with a WIFE!, stable job that pays some to most of our bills, and on the verge of maybe trying to become a parent (Am I having a seizure?) do I have the courage to move again?

While out with our BEST FRIENDS who moved to Nashville a couple years ago, and some other super awesome friends of ours, I was flattered to have been asked multiple times “so when are you guys moving down here?” My answers ranged from “oh, ha ha, we’ll see” to “when you find me a job where the pay is good and the uniform is a t-shirt and minimal effort.” The real answer is that I may be too scared to bet on being able to restart my life again at 33 when I’m not the only one that matters to me anymore. The idea of tossing our stuff in a truck and driving off to a new southern adventure is tantalizing, I won’t lie. But that means finding a new place to live and a new job and dealing with a new boss and what if I have to work for a mean lady?!?! WHAT IF SHE YELLS AT ME AND CALLS ME FARTFACE?!?!

Lately, thoughts of blinking and living the same life 10 years from now have been consistent and consistently terrifying. When you drive around alone all day, your mind can only stay focused on reality show butlers for so long. Wading into the murky “what just touched my leg?!?!”-waters of figuring out exactly what I want the VP and my future to be is fun and scary and constant. Is settling into the rest of our lives right now, not only safe, but the financially responsible thing to do? We have both have 401k’s! Or is swinging for something bigger and better than slightly above average, sooner rather than later a risk that we won’t be able to even think about in a few years? The clock is ticking! What type of life necessitates shaking it up with a move? Something worse than ours, right? There are no answers to these questions, I know.

Courage is what it comes down to. I mean, planning would be a major part of a potential move too, but it’s courage first and foremost. Instead of waiting to get suddenly brave or find some big, cool blanket that makes me feel secure enough to stay here, I’ve decided to start something VERY cheesy with The VP. Starting tomorrow, we are committing a half hour, each night to “Dream Time”: where we will put our phones down, put some music on and start writing down about things or places or (hopefully not people) we want to see and do. It’s cringeworthy and I’m sure that The VP will not fully appreciate me outing our lameness on an INTERNATIONALLY READ BLOG. While I may not yet have the courage to pull the trigger on a move or toss an immovable anchor where we currently are, I do have the courage to be honest. When will we move? Maybe sometime. Maybe never. I don’t know, but we are going to start dreaming with our eyes open.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s an emo-Jimmy you’re getting today, so I’m going to lean into it and put up a song that reflects how where I’m at. The lyrics are insightful and if you don’t sway in your chair while listening to this then you’re dead.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Putting on a pair of pants that you’re sure are tight because they’re a 33 waist but then you take them off to look at the size tag and they’re a 34. Can someone please invent cookie-flavored diet pills? Tysm.

JIMMY GAMBLES

No lie, I’ve been taking big-time baths lately on baseball because betting baseball, apparently, IS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE. Football is coming soon and with it will come the return of this section.

(My account currently at $4.71)

K bye.

32 Year Old Drinking Habits and Who Should Be The Next “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette”

MY WORLD:

When your best friend has their first kid, is it appropriate to hold a funeral for the days of getting drunk together? After my experience this past weekend, the answer is a resounding NO. In fact, after visiting our best friends and their newborn this past weekend, it is clear that our drinking get-togethers are simply taking a turn away from crowded bars and into living rooms with GAMES!

The VP of Ops and I started dating when my roommate at the time, Mike aka “Mush”, started dating her roommate at the time, Amanda aka “Meanmomda” (cuz she’s mean to me and a mom. Wit like this can’t be street legal.) They had extra tickets to a concert one night, invited us, and let’s just say The VP couldn’t keep her grubby little hands off my carved-from-stone bod. (Actually, we talked through the entire concert, pissing off EVERYONE around us. However, we’re not the bad guys in this story because I had never heard of that band and care more about me than strangers so…like, whatever.) HAPPILY EVER AFTER MY GUYS OMG SAHHHH KEWTTTT!!!

Fast forward a few years and this friend group has an addition in the form of a baby who is, no offense, like bald and kind of a slob (you know, with the peeing and pooing and barfing and boob grabbing). Since Mush and Meanmomda live 7 hours away now, this past weekend was our first since the arrival of Baby Slobivia, I mean Baby Olivia. (I immediately feel bad for making that “Slobivia” joke and vow to refer to her as Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia from here on out.) The plan was for us to hang in one night, and then go out the next when Meanmomda’s Mom would watch Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia.

As I get further away from my 20s, my disdain for deep hangs at crowded bars grows, but there is part of me that denies this like it’ll make me younger. (Excuse me, Bartender? Yes, I’m 32 but feel that if I admit to myself or anyone around me that I’d prefer to be on my recliner, eating pizza and watching “Parks and Rec” for the 19th time, that I will immediately become my father Oh, so I’ll just have a vodka soda because I hate the taste, but it’s low in carbs and I’m feeling chubby. I’m having fun!) Thankfully, this Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia took the heat off my aging insecurities, and kept us in the first night and, folks, lemmetellya’ it was just terrific.

Mush and I enjoyed cool craft beers at a reasonable pace (NERRRRDDDSSSSS!!!!!). VP and Meanmomda drank red wine at a faster pace because Meanmomda was just sober for 9 months and MUST. CATCH. UP. We played “What Do You Meme?” which is a game like “Cards Against Humanity” but better because The VP and I say so. DID I STUTTER? While playing the game, we had a stand-up special from Tom Segura playing on the TV that Mush and I would rewind to show each other our favorite parts. AND! We ate sandwiches from a place called Newks that I love so much I’d be willing to risk my marriage for it (like, if The VP said she’d divorce me if I didn’t stop going to Newks, I would agree to stop going there to her face. Then, I’d get in my car, drive directly to Newks and keep going there behind her back cuz I am one bad boy who loves dem saucy sammies!!!)

Cute Sweet Little Angel Olivia cried a little bit, but mostly just drank her bottle and did a few lines of cocaine…I mean, pooped. Meanmomda and The VP tried to cheat at the game multiple times because they both have undiagnosed personality disorders (not me though cuz I’m PERFECT! I’M THE BEST! ME!) And we barely left the couch for the entire night and Jesus H Christopher I had a ball!

I think getting older is maybe just about having the confidence to say and do the things you ACTUALLY want to do and, the older you get, the more confidence you have. When I was 17, I didn’t have enough confidence to fill a thimble (lamest Monopoly game piece of all time). So if cool guy told me, when I was 17, that he’d be my friend if I put on a fancy top hat and marched around the grocery store yelling “I have to fart!” I probably would’ve started-a-marchin’ cuz my confidence was lowwwwww (do you feel bad for me? You should probably give me something then.)

15 years later, my answer would be different thanks to my SKY-FUCKIN-HIGH level of confidence (due to my hard bod, shoutout Planet Fitness and genetic stuff but mostly my work ethic and…I have a double chin in most pictures…FUCK) Now, if I was asked by a cool guy if I’d like to ditch these parents and their new baby to go to some place sweet like “Tilted Kilt” to watch the Bulls try to lose, I would say: “Thank you for the offer Rex, but I prefer wearing sweatpants and watching Meanmomda chug red wine while cheering on Olivia’s farts.” (The thing Mush was most excited to show me about having a baby is that they audibly fart and it’s awesome.)

OUR WORLD:

Now that “The Bachelor” is over and Becca has been named as the next “Bachelorette” (meh) I started thinking about some celebs who should actually be the next “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette” (not gonna lie, feeling like I have to use these thingys “” every time I write “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette” IS VERY FUCKING ANNOYING! YES I KNOW THEY’RE CALLED QUOTATION MARKS IDIOT!!! IT’S FUNNIER TO SAY “THESE THINGYS”!!!)

Jim Carrey: He has reached peak level of “Is he a genius or just a super weird dude?”-status. Watching him interact with 24 year old women named “Diamond” would be such a delicious cocktail of awkward, I’m sweating just thinking about it. Imagine, a one-on-one date with Jim Carrey where he would talk about how splatter-painting is his way to mark his place in this never-ending evolution of time and space. The girl, Diamond, would nod, start to cry a little and then ask the producers if Arie was still single.

Bill O’Reilly: I don’t know if he’s single or not, but I would really love seeing how creepy he actually is when trying to get a woman into bed. I also V much enjoy watching the women on this show pretend that they are INSTANTLY in love with whoever “The Bachelor” is. No way you walk up to Arie thinking “MAN OF MY DREAMS!” Bill O’Reilly would be that feeling times a billion. “Oh, the saggy face guy who was on TV before it was revealed that he paid like $34 million to keep his sexts under wraps? LOVE!” They should really put a heart rate monitor on these women and have a graphic on the screen showing us how their heart rate changes the second they step out of the limo to see the man they MUST instantly love.

Oprah: The smart guys on the show (hello? anybody?) would be immediately excited that they hit the sugar momma lottery. If you think guys fighting over a hot babe get competitive, just wait until they’re fighting over A BILLION DOLLAR WOMAN! Weaponry would be allowed and the house would be deemed a lawless territory by the US Department of Justice. Last man standing wins Oprah and her booming voice.

The Girl from “Peaky Blinders”: I just think I really love her and would divorce the VP and try to be on the show if she was on it.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I’m not posting this in a “let’s laugh at this loon!”-type of way. I legit love the way Jim Carrey thinks. It’s out there, but FASCINATING.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People who wave at you after you flick them off in traffic.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

The Nuggets lost by 17 to Dallas last night. This is getting embarassing. But…the night is always darkest before the dawn. I didn’t make the bet because I was busy shaking hands and kissing babies at a work event, but I WILL BE BETTING TONIGHT! What should I do? God? Are you there?

South Carolina (-2.5) over Mississippi. Please god please I’m losing faith in my gambling abilities.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.