Tag: Sports

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

Noon-2PM:

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

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

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

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

2PM-6PM:

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

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

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

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

6PM-8PM:

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

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

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

8PM-WHENEVER:

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coach P.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

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

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

(My account currently at $40.71)

K bye.

 

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

My Perfect Political Commercial and Update on CarGate (3/20/18)

OUR WORLD:

Political commercials can kiss my ass.  If I have to see one more fatass Gubernatorial candidate’s (more like GOOBERnatorial amirite?!?) shitty commercial interrupting my Monday night Bravo TV marathon, I’m going to LOSE IT! What are the producers of those commercials thinking?  Let’s show our candidate fake smile, hold a clipboard and nod at strangers?  “I do love a clipboard and a chubbo goin’ for a stroll”-VOTER X.  Why not show the candidate accomplishing things that would actually impact your life in a positive way?  “But Jimmy, I’m confused!  What types of tasks could these commercials show?”  That’s how this blog works!  Were I put in charge of producing a candidates television commercial’s, I would simply film the candidate with my iPhone (to add realism!) doing the following:

*for the sake of this exercise, let’s name this candidate Oprah Winfrey BECAUSE I’M PROGRESSIVE!!!!

Reminding you that “you already have that” before you buy it again at the grocery store.  How many times have you bought Spicy Brown Mustard in the past month?  Every time you’ve gone grocery shopping? SAME-SIES!  If you’re like me (and why wouldn’t you be? I’m NORMAL!) you probably go up and down the condiment and salad dressing aisles convincing yourself that you’re DEFINITELY out of spicy brown mustard and caesar dressing.  But, to be sure, you’ll text your VP of Ops something along the lines of “we got ‘dis?”  Then, because you’re smart, you will put your cell phone in your back pocket, forget you JUST sent that text, and buy your seventh bottle of spicy brown mustard.  (No no, it IS a waste of money.  You’re never gonna use it all.  Seriously, never.)  Now, imagine if when you went to grab that golden Gulden’s bottle, Oprah Winfrey leaned in (not too close, but…close enough) and said “you already have that.”  Would this take a seemingly endless amount of refrigerator-research-and-memorization on Oprah’s part? Yes.  BUT! If a candidate saved me not only the $4.79 at the grocery store, but the borderline-“should the cops be called?”-fury I feel when seeing I bought something I already had once I got home, they’d get my vote.  Oprah “You Already Have That” Winfrey is a winner.

Sweeping up broken beer bottle shards right before someone walking their dog walks into it.  Evidently, even though dumpsters have like 50 foot wide mouths, it’s IMPOSSIBLE for bars to not miss this opening when emptying their garbage cans at night.  Are blind people in charge of all garbage can emptying around this fucking city?  Wait, no they’d have to be blind and deaf to not see or hear the sound of GLASS SHATTERING ON PAVEMENT.  Got it.  Every morning when I take my sweet baby princess Belle for her AM dumparooski, we have to last-second dodge shards of glass lining EVERY GODDAMN ALLEY.  If, just one morning, I saw Oprah Winfrey sweeping up these shards of glass only to dump them in the one window the bar accidentally left open, I would IMMEDIATELY vote for her.  Candidate who saves my sweet baby princesses paw pads? That’s my candidate.

Standing in front of the biggest pothole on your way to work.  This would be slightly dangerous for Oprah, but worth it nonetheless.  Outside of burning alive, is there a worse feeling than the “ka-chunk” feeling of unexpectedly hitting a pothole in your car?  (Fuck, did I pop my tire? Is the right side of my car now lower than the left? Is my axle split? Can an axle split?  THAT SOUNDS LIKE A THING THAT HAPPENS! Just take me now God! TAKE ME NOW!)  What if, however, instead of smashing into that crater of a pothole, you caught Oprah Winfrey out of the corner of your eye (you’re texting…it’s not okay, but we all do it.  Driving’s boring, folks.  Texting is fun.  Fun > Boring.  Not complicated.)  Or maybe you just heard her yell “SWERVE!”  Screeching sound, maybe you almost smash into her, maybe you actually do hit Oprah Winfrey with your car.  But you DON’T hit that pothole.  For her to really secure my vote, she would have to get up after I hit her, dust herself off and start running in place to show me that she was a-okay.  (That way I wouldn’t feel guilty!  Running in place? Don’t have to feel guilty for running her over.  Thanks Oprah!)  Saving me and my car from the “ka-chunk” pothole feeling? That’s my candidate.

Kicking smelly people out of your gym.  As discussed in a previous blog, smelly people in gyms is a societal problem that has gone unaddressed for far too long.  Imagine seeing Oprah Winfrey go up to people at your gym, make those raise their arms and then sniff them.  If they stink, like if that sniff makes Oprah scrunch up her face, she has her massive bodyguard violently escort them out of the gym.  This sounds like the beginning of my love story with Oprah.  Who would be defending the stinko’s right to stay in the gym? Nobody, that’s who.  NOBODY!

Reattaching the top of your plastic garbage can so you can use the foot-pressy-thing.  It’s not complicated, but I’m never going to do it.  Never.  Is there a little foot-press-thingy that would pop the top up if you attached it correctly? Yes there is.  Do you miss using it? Actually, kinda.  That’s where Oprah comes in.  Next time, you just place the top of your plastic garbage can on top of the garbage so you can get back to scrolling through Instagram on your couch, Oprah sneaks in your back entrance.  Quietly, so as not to disturb your Instascrolling, Oprah then unfurls the part of garbage bag covering the part where the top clicks in.  Click! Re-furl, and she’s out.  Next thing you know, the foot-pressy-thing works again…until, you press it too hard and pop the top off again (which will probably be the first time you do it.)  That initial excitement about getting to use the foot-prissy-thing again? That’s worth a vote my man.

These commercials, as I wrote, would be filmed on an iPhone because if they were shot using a fancy camera, it would look as if they were staged.  These instances must look as real as possible, to make VOTER X actually think that “Oprah Winfrey might sneak in the back entrance of my apartment, memorize what’s in my refrigerator, and reattach the top to my shitty plastic garbage can.”  I expect to be hired as a campaign manager any day now.

MY WORLD:

A quick follow-up on the whole situation I had with my car last week.  (I think it was last week?  Two weeks ago? Whatever. Not checking. Doesn’t matter. MOVING ON!)  If you forget what happened, basically I got rear-ended by a guy who started crying when we got out to assess the damage.  He didn’t have a license, was driving his girlfriend’s car without her permission and told me he would’ve gone to jail if I called the cops.  Being the sucker that I am, I let him go but only after he PROMISED he’d pay for my damages (promises only matter to like 6 year olds).  Thankfully, the woman whose car it was, Gail, actually DID follow through with me.  She hooked me up with her insurance company and, after speaking with them a few times now, they’re going to send me a check to cover my damages!  It’s a miracle.

Gail, ever the sweetheart, sent me the following text yesterday though…and this is where things have gotten interesting…is Gail kinda hitting on me?  Am I kinda hitting on Gail?

Gail

 

(No, I still don’t know how to make that smaller.  I’m sorry)  So Gail dumped the dude who kinda-stole her car and smashed into me.  Now keep in mind that I’m married (LOVE YOU VP!) and Gail is, minimum, 34 years older than me.  But…like, maybe we’re meant to be with each other?  She was very nice, has lived up to her promise to take care of my car (everyone knows I love a promise-keeper), and she basically alerts me that she is now single.

I know it’s been a while since I did the whole flirting thing, but this feels like that…right?  Should the VP of Ops be nervous? I don’t know.  Maybe Gail enjoys throwing her q-tips away and paying rent on time.  Maybe The VP of Ops should consider this the next time she leaves the cap of the toothpaste off after brushing her teeth…Cuz it looks to me like little ole’ Jimmy has got himself ANOTHER OPTION!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Jeanne Ives is the worst and this commercial confirms that…

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

Guys, I didn’t gamble yesterday.  I’m kinda proud of myself and kinda sad that I missed out on some action (I LOVE ACTION!) The plan for tonight is to get dinner with my mom and not gamble again…but, if this restaurant has TVs…well, I’ll keep you posted.  Thanks for all your support during these trying times.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.P

The Early 30s St. Patrick’s Day

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I like him.  He’s fun.”

“Yeah, well he just texted ‘why not?”

“About…no! Not about-”

“St. Patrick’s Day.  Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

(My account currently at $55.17)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

The-Train

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

leo-decaprio-shoulder-shrug

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow will be similar.  Don’t fight it.

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

(My account currently at $67)

K bye.

Life Predictions and Top Ten Chip List (3/14/2018)

MY WORLD: 

 

Have you been noticing something about this blog?  (This is a great lead in for a sick, deep burn at my expense.  BRING IT ON!)  Jimmy’s Chair is a stone-cold curse maker.  If I write about rules for the gym, the next time I go to the gym there will be a guy shadowboxing on the treadmill next to me (this happened last night.  I glared at him 3 times and then reminded myself that a guy who shadowboxes on a treadmill at Planet Fitness probably also carries a sharp knife in case he “gets stepped to.”  I ain’t steppin!)  If I pick a team to win, they will lose (UCLA lost to a made up school last night even though I used my lucky vape pen ON A SCHOOLNIGHT!)  If I write about the impending arrival of spring, there will be a snowstorm (I had to pull over for 20 minutes yesterday because it was snowing so hard that I couldn’t see 50 feet in front of me.)  With this in mind, I would like to make a few life predictions that I feel confident in and are in no way an attempt at a reverse jinx (everyone act normal.  No sudden movements. Shut up shut up shut up shut up)

My dog Belle will never calm down and be nice to anyone aside from The VP of Ops and I.  Great!  Grand!  Wonderful!  The VP of Ops texted me about Belle’s latest psycho-freak-out while I was at the gym last night (working out, it’s a thing I do.  Running mostly, but that’s because I have kind of a natural muscle tone.  Thanks for asking.)  

*Here’s the actual text exchange…I don’t know how to make the image smaller, back off.

IMG_3426

I’ve come to peace with the fact that Belle will never get better.  Dogs are supposed to be cuddly and nice especially when they look like a stuffed animal, but you know what?  Even Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents loved him and I wuv my wittle cannibal doggy!  I completely accept the fact that bringing her to my parents house is not in the cards.  I look forward to the complications that will arise when The VP and I plan a vacation, only to realize that the ONE COUPLE that Belle actually gets along with, is out of town that week.  Then, when we ask my brother to housesit, as a last resort, I understand and accept that he will make up an excuse because the one time he did watch her, she growl-barked at him into a corner for over 4 hours (this happened.  He called me in Memphis and told me “she’s not calming down”.  I responded “you’re breaking up! I can’t hear you!”)  Guys, guess who is looking forward to the next time we have to bring Belle to a kennel only to have The VP cry the whole car ride after dropping her off?  I AM, GUYS! ME!  And when we have kids with psycho-killer-cannibal-dog?  Let’s just say, SIGN ME UP!  This is going to be great.

The VP of Ops and I will continue to rent one bedroom apartments in Chicago for the next 20 years minimum.  Uhhhhhhh “yes, please!”  Guys, when you get a chance to live on the third floor of a walk-up in a neighborhood known for carjackings and the occasional drive-by shooting, you find the nearest pen cuz that lease ain’t gonna sign itself!  (If my parents or the VP’s parents are reading this, I would like to point out that I once got in a fight in Los Angeles and I didn’t even cry.  So…yeah, you could say I’m pretty tough.)  Maybe I want my money to go to the pockets of a landlord I’ve never met, who thinks fixing the heat in December is “optional”.  Is that so bad?  Last I checked, being different is what sets the great ones apart.  I’m different, okay?  I bet you REGULARS enjoy having bathrooms larger than an “Anorexic” port-a-potty too, huh?  Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Not me!  I’m unique! And beautiful!  Look, I can touch both walls in here! And no, I’m not at all bummed at the prospect of having to park at night on Carjack Boulevard for the rest of my adult life.  EXCUUUUUUSE ME for marching to the beat of a different drummer!

A hiring person at a major online publication will never read this blog and offer me a well-paying writing job in a warm weather city.  Getting up at 6AM to write hundreds of words is something I do because I love the act of writing and, hopefully, making someone having a rough day laugh a little bit.  That’s what it’s all about, guys.  I’m not here to somehow miraculously, against all odds, build a big audience that could gain the attention of someone at a website like The Ringer, who would then reach out to me with an e-mail with the subject line “Your writing has caught our attention and we have a ton of money to spend on new hires!”  I’m not here for that.  I’m here because this is a hobby that makes me feel good AND THAT’S IT!  Money just doesn’t move my needle, if you catch my drift.  Now, I don’t judge you if money is your primary motivation, but that’s just not me.  I’m a “for-the-love-of-the-game”-guy.  I’m the 38 year minor league catcher content with never making “the show” because I’m here for the guys, for the fans, for the love of the game.  If you’re having a rough day at work, boss is really busting your hump, I hope this blog can maybe make you smile…even for just a second.  If I can put one smile, on one strangers face, then I’ve done my job here.

Guys, you smell that?  That’s the smell of STONE. COLD. LEAD. PIPE. LOCKS.  Take these to your bookie and empty all of your accounts with money in them on these predictions.  No way in God’s green, beautiful earth these don’t happen.  (Don’t move…don’t!  Shut up shut up shut up.  Act normal!)

OUR WORLD:  

WARNING: I’m about to delve into some pretty personal and, frankly, heavy issues.  If you’re not okay with possibly crying at your desk, then you may want to re-think reading this section…

It’s National Chip Day.  I know this because I love chips (and also because a friend of mine texted me “It’s National Chip Day”).  In honor, of these salty, crispy, edible shapes, I would like to present you with my TOP TEN CHIP LIST.  Now, I actually compiled a list like this a few weeks back when my friends and I got into a very heated, very prolonged argument about Flamin’ Hot Cheetos (some of these friends are raising kids.  I’m excited about the next generation.)  Unfortunately, my original TOP TEN CHIP LIST is lost in the sea of this group text, so I’m going to do my best to recreate it here.  Oh, and Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-lovers need to get over themselves, you’re not impressing ANYBODY by pretending to like a mediocre/obscure chip.  These are the same people that swear they love the taste of Malort.  Get da fuck outta here!

JIMMYSCHAIR TOP TEN CHIPS

  1. Kettle “Salt and Vinegar”:  The undisputed king chip flavor and Kettle does it best.
  2. Dorito “Nacho Cheese”:  The “I haven’t had these in a while”-chip that ALWAYS blows you away.
  3. Lays “Original Salted”:  Classic and perfect.  You don’t like these? Leave.
  4. Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles:  The VP intro’d me to these and OH MOMMA JOMMA deez iz good.
  5. Frito Scoops:  Yeah, I said it!  Fritos are amazing, and guess what? Frito Scoops are just BIGGER Fritos.  Bigger = better…everyone knows this.
  6. BBQ Pringles:  Pringles always sneak up on you and their BBQ flavor is ON POINT.
  7. Jimmy John’s Jalapeno:  They’re spicy, but not too spicy, and go great inside their sandy’s.  Beach Club with these smashed in.  Goodnight nurse.
  8. Cool Ranch Doritos:  Doritos know what they’re doing mmmmkay?
  9. BBQ Lays:  A close second to regular Lays.  Guess what these go great with? A barbecue.  Nailed it.
  10. Cape Cod Salted:  These will punish the roof of your mouth, but they’re totally worth it because CHIPS!

Feel free to debate me on these rankings, but know that I am positive that this is the definitive list.  If yours is different IN ANY WAY, you obviously don’t know chips.  Happy National Chip Day!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

All Hail King Chip!

      Kettle.jpg

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Worst chip of all time.

Bugles

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

UCLA losing to St. Bonaventure last night was completely ridiculous for so many reasons that I can’t believe Bovada is actually accepting that it happened.  UCLA acting like they’ve never seen a zone defense before is something beyond anyone’s control (except our coach, Steve Alford, who should be FIRED IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE I’M MAD!)  That one’s not my fault, plain and simple.  Not my fault.  Tonight?  Listen, I don’t want to lie to you guys, here’s what’s going to happen:  I’m going to wait until the last minute and then probably empty my Bovada account on Syracuse over Arizona State because Syracuse has a coach who people think is a good coach.

(My account currently at $34.11)

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Screen Shot 2018-03-13 at 10.17.16 AM.png

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

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

(My account currently at $59.11)

K bye.

I Just Got Hit By A Car (3/8/2018)

MY LIFE:

I didn’t plan on writing this so soon in the life of JimmysChair, but sometimes life spills cheap marinara sauce down your white button-down shirt.  Well, this morning, that drippy spaghetti sauce found my shirt.  Here goes…I think I’m definitely a sucker, guys.  (Where is this going? What happened?  JIMMY! TELL US!  THE ANTICIPATION!  DEAR GOD, THE ANTICIPATION!) 

Being a responsible car-leaser (mos def does not sound as cool as “car owner”, but we don’t lie on these pages) I was due to bring my 2015 Chevrolet Equinox in for an oil change at 7AM this morning.  I made the appointment ahead of time because PLANNING!  I figured that leaving the city so early would help me avoid the stress of traffic, and maybe I would even have enough time to have my morning nana and coffee at a restaurant like Starbucks.  Oh boyyyyyy!

Unfortunately, while heading down Division St. in bumper to bumper traffic at 6:23AM (life!) I was rear-the-fuck-ended.  Hard, guys.  I immediately, angrily yelped a guttural “NOOOO!!!!” In the land of Progressive Insurance and a leased SUV, the crunch-sound of a minor accident sounds EXACTLY like the sound my phone makes when Chase texts me a low-balance notification.  I pulled over and hoped an apologetic, millionaire was driving this Pontiac Grand Prix to prove how humble millionaires can be.

Surprisingly, the driver was not an apologetic millionaire (this Jimmy fella’ is a real GOOF!).  Instead, he was a mid 50s guy wearing a flat-brim hat (not good) who pulled over, immediately opened his door and began bawling crying “I don’t have a license!!!”  Don’t worry though, it gets better.  As I debated calling the cops on a grown man crying, I told him I was going to take pictures of our cars.  Then my phone died cuz I dare it to every night, hoping that it’ll overcome the adversity of 6% battery and build phone-character.

My phone is a weak weak phone and I am a weak weak man.  Like father, like phone.  I told “Cryface McFlatBrim” that I wasn’t going to call the cops on him.  Honestly, it was awful seeing this.  I know what it’s like to be in some difficult times, but I’ve never cried in front of a grown man stranger.  That’s the type of “fuck-I’m-in-BIG-trouble”-stuff that nightmares are made of.  I’m guessing jail was on his horizon if I called the cops.  I can’t do that to someone who hasn’t made me bleed.

Being the sweetheart of a sucker that I am, I told him that I needed to take down ALL of his information.  I took down his license plate #, insurance card of his wife, VIN, a urine sample, his iPhone passcode, his deepest darkest secret, and recorded his opinion on whether the “Making A Murderer” proved, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Steven Avery is not guilty.  Why did I trust him?  (Is that my Dad screaming “you idiot!”? He may not say it, but he’s proud of me.)  I trusted him because he told me he worked at General Motors and he said “I’m a trustworthy guy.”  That’s kind of exactly what you want to hear if you’re wondering if a guy is trustworthy, right?  YUP!

Now, I’m writing this in the “work lounge” of my car dealership while eating a hollowed out bagel (stress cancels out cals and carbs).

work lounge  bagel

This story is about to continue with the estimate for the body damage that I’m waiting on.  The Body Shop manager is big time car-dealery guy named Steve, and I feel like I’m in the waiting room of a dentist office with a broken tooth.  The news he’s about to deliver can’t be good…and Cryface McFlatBrim is probably buying another hat that he’s too old to pull off with the money he should be sending my bumper’s way.  I’m gonna shoot him a text while I wait (I did get his phone number, Dad.)

I’ll wrap up this story on tomorrow’s blog.  (This is a supes profesh thingy called a “tease”).

OUR LIFE:

I want to write about why early-March is the worst time of year, but my brain is currently locked up in a self-loathing death spiral because I trusted that crying guy who hit my car.  Whenever I’m able to momentarily block that out, I’m hit with a digestional/morning-coffee issue that is not meant to be resolved in a Chevrolet dealership.  (I HANDLE ADVERSITY WITH APLOMB!)

So…uh…March stinks cuz it’s a total tease and I’m tired of wearing jackets that make me look puffy.  (No joke, my stomach just made an old-timey, British police siren sound. Right now, my inner-self is making an ugly cry face while saying “I just can’t” over and over again).

I just can’t, guys.   

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I very much wish this was the guy driving behind me this morning.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME: 

Guys over 50 who wear flat-brim hats can go straight to hell.

 Picture1

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: 

Oh yay, now I get to relive another kick to my nuts.  I bet on South Carolina (-2.5) last night against Ole Miss.  SC was up 4…until Ole Miss hit a meaningless 3 at the buzzer for a backdoor cover.  Cool God, fun joke.    I have yet to pick a winner on this blog which is amazing.  Seriously, it’s amazing.  If I was TRYING to lose 8 picks in a row, I couldn’t do it.  Therefore, I have decided that naming this section “MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN” is a jinx.  Thus, I am renaming this section to “MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENIUNELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE”

Today, I’m on Virginia, SMU and Boston College against the spread.

(My account currently at $34.28) 

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.

“The Bachelor” Recap and Excuses to Avoid The Gym

OUR WORLD:

I want to be more original than the rest of the internet today and write about something other than “The Bachelor”, but sadly, I am but a sheep unable to stray from my shepherd, Chris Harrison.  Last night became an exercise in distracting myself from how YUCKO I felt watching grown women get dumped on national television with cheap jokes in text message chains.  The VP of Ops told me she felt bad watching at one point early on in the show, and I snapped back that I didn’t feel bad because, as you all have hopefully learned by now, I am one tough hombre with big muscles who eats protein and NEVER APOLOGIZES!!! ARGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Like 20 minutes later, I hit the VP with a dose of original sensitivity and said that I felt bad watching this (the VP immediately reminded me that she had JUST said that and that I had shot her down.  Well guess what ladypants?!?!? My feelings matter more than yours because mine are more unexpected since I’m such a big, tough, masculine protein powerhouse who only cries when 7-11 is out of chocolate Muscle Milk Pro Series 50).  As painfully dull as Lauren B. is, she did seem to genuinely trick herself into falling in love with this professional DOOF.  So when she walked like 18 miles down that hill, dodging Alpacas in heels along the way, only to get dunked on by Arie, guilt…creeped in.  I wish I could have maniacally laughed in her face, but unless they’re true villain material (Krystal!) then I do feel bad watching a girl cry.

Okay, so we’ve established that I’m not a monster, right? Cool cool.  Dude, Arie is a SAVAGE!  My favorite part of this epic, “If I say I have to follow my heart, I’m a good guy, right?”-meltdown, aside from Chris Harrison’s sad face taking us to commercial breaks, was that Arie never came close to crying when he broke up with Becca.  If this were me, first off, I’d probably cry because I actually am a sensitive baby (just kidding Dad, this is how I reel in all the hot babes), or if I had some sort of ocular issue blocking my tears, I would at least fake it!  During the whole Becca break up scene (still going btw…Arie ain’t goin’ nowhere!) I kept thinking “Dude! At least give her a sniffle, a wipe of the eye, a bite of a quivering lip!  Something! Anything! YOU LOOK LIKE A SOCIOPATH!!!

Now even though I don’t know exactly what a sociopath is (no, I will not look it up on Dictionary.com) Arie is def a sociopath.  It means like “attention-whore” right? Whatever, going with it, feels right.  Can you imagine breaking up with someone and then refusing to leave when they ask you to?!  I’ve broken up with someone once (time to look at the empty sky and wonder “what if…”) and I literally would’ve paid her over 40 dollars for her to tell me to leave as quickly as Becca told Arie.  “I broke up with you and you don’t want to talk about it and make me feel like an even bigger asshole than I already feel like? HELL TO THE FUCK YEAH!!!! k thx byeeeee”-Me.  Meanwhile, Arie “Can we just talk” Lyin’Dick (that last name joke has probably been made already but I’m proud of it) awkwardly continued to stay after she asked him to leave like 90 gabillion times because….ohhhhhh, cuz he likes camera time.  Yep.

That’s why he didn’t cry.  I’m convinced that the only time we’ll see Arie actually cry is if he puts a GoPro on his dumb face for the moment when Chris Harrison thanks us for watching this season of “The Bachelor”.  He is so obsessed with camera-time that he maneuvered a way to get an extra episode of the show.  I almost respect how conniving he is.  You know what kind of planning had to go into this?  I imagine after the show ended, Becca would go to bed alone, probably thankful that Arie and his weird hands weren’t groping her face, and Arie would retreat to his fort in the basement with ALL of his crayons and toy race cars (They’re not toys! They’re models damnit!) so he could draw out all the ways in which he could stay on TV longer to prove to his father that he’s not a massive failure let-down (How many times do you think Arie has scream-cried “I don’t want your life!” to his race-car-legend father?)  

When Arie decided that the only reason people care about Bachelor guys after their season is if they’re massive villains, that was his only route to staying relevant.  (I’m legitimately gaining respect for this move the more and more I write it.  Is Arie a genius?)  Yes, he will be booed in the head of most women he encounters for the rest of his life, BUT, 1) there will also be the women who, just to be contrarian, will claim that they like how he “followed his heart” and 2) he will be the male version of Omarosa on reality TV for YEARS: whenever a reality show casting director needs a male villain, Arie will be the first name to pop into their head.

Meanwhile, Becca will be fine guys.  Can you spare me this whole “she’s so brave!”-chant?  Why is she brave? Because she got dooped by rich kid who can’t commit to a job, much less a woman for the rest of his life?  Puhhhhhh-lease.  Now she gets as many supportive Chris Harrison shoulder pats as she could ever want, and will probably be the next “Bachelorette”.  Hey Becca, can you say hot guy parade?!?!  Arie let her off the hook!  What would have been worse is if she had to pretend not to be creeped out by Arie’s face-grabbing-tendencies for another 3 months until she snapped and decided that being lost at sea would be a preferable existence so she rented a boat and…just…left.

What we need is for Arie to be “The Bachelor” AGAIN.  I’m not kidding.  ABC should keep quiet who the next one is, only to start next season with a quick update on where Arie and Lauren are at.  They’ll go to shoot at the home they just bought (with a sandbox in back cuz Lauren loves sandcastles!) and right as the update is about to end, Arie dabs right in Lauren’s face and sprints into a waiting helicopter.  “Luyendyk out!”  He puts on “The Bachelor” tux while in the helicopter and is dropped off right back where we started…the front door of the house as all the new girls pull up in their limos.  I can already hear the new girls trying to convince their Dads that “he’s changed.”

MY WORLD:

I didn’t go to the gym yesterday because my stomach was weird and, I gotta tell ya’, there may be no feeling better than coming up with a great excuse not to go to the gym.  The earlier you can discover it, the better, so you can enjoy a not-so-healthy lunch only to be followed by a, GUESS!  That’s right, A-NOT-SO-HEALTHY dinner!!! “Listen, I would be working out if my stomach wasn’t so weird, but I can’t so I might as well follow Potbelly with Lou Malnati’s with some peanut M&Ms as a snack in between cuz I needed a happy boost on this gray gray day!”-Me to me all day yesterday.

Now, because I’m here not just for me, but for US, I wanted to provide some excuses to get out of going to the gym that don’t make you feel as Arie should have felt but doesn’t cuz, remember, he is now “Arie-rosa” (Arie/Omarosa mash-up.  Try to keep up, this blog’s jokes wait for no one.) 

1)  “I worked out over 4 times last week, so my body needs to recover and if I take time off, the shock of the return will actually burn more calories than if I had gone everyday.”  This is a real gem (god, I love complimenting myself on my blog.  ME!)  If you’re fatter, you burn more cals so…getting a lil chub chub actually makes your next workout that much more impactful.  Listen guys, who burns more calories when walking up a flight of stairs, Michael Phelps or your fat Uncle Terry?

2)  “My spouse has to work late so I have to pretend to be mad that I can no longer go to the gym because I have to be the one to take our dog out.”  Classic Jimmy-move here.  The VP of Ops will call me later in the day, right before I’m about to head to that purple, judgement-free hell-hole of a gym (Planet Fitness? More like Planet ItsaMess…k, not my best).  She’ll tell me that she’s not going to be able to get home until later so I need to let our Princess Belle out before she makes a tee tee poo poo on the priceless rug I kinda’ stole from my parents garage.  I’ll probably exhale on the phone and go quiet cuz I’m a graduate of The University of Pout, but really, I’m kinda excited that I get to put off sweating next to a stranger who thinks wearing cologne in Planet Fitness is a good way to make friends.

3)  “Weather.”  Raining? Roads are slippery.  Snowing? Roads are slippery.  Fog? Can’t see the roads (which are probably slippery).  Wind? Car might blow over.  Sun? Sun burns guys and I don’t wear sun block because I’m not a high schooler with no friends (been there, done that). Cold? Car might freeze OR my leg muscles won’t be able to fire properly and I can’t afford to risk injury when I need my body to go to work and earn an income to pay for The VP of Ops’ insatiable appetite for rare jewels and craft mayonnaise.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People who wear cologne or perfume to the gym.

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

There’s good news and bad news.  The bad news?  Yesterday’s Milwaukee pick lost by 3 when the line was (+2.5).  The good news?  I didn’t realize the game was at 6 Eastern Time SO I COULDN’T MAKE THE BET IN TIME!  THAT’S BASICALLY A WIN GUYS!  MY FORTUNE’S HAVE OFFICIALLY TURNED!  Seriously, if that’s not a sign that I’m back, I don’t know what is.

Tonight’s moneymaker is Denver (-5) over those stanky Mavericks.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.