Can You Put Out a Fire with Alcohol?

MY WORLD:

I now regularly eat hot dogs for lunch. What used to be a once or twice A YEAR treat at a baseball game, is now an almost DAILY dietary staple (Almost daily means not every day! That’s a victory!) A few days back, I sent a picture to my friends of my hotdogs in the refrigerator and said “sometimes I just like to watch them sleep.” Yes, it was a joke…but, was it though? There have now been multiple days where I open the fridge around 11:45 (don’t lie, you know you consider lunchtime 11am now) and I just look at the hot dogs in my fridge. Am I smiling creepily while humming “Rock A Bye Baby” in the direction of my Ball Park Franks? No! (Is that a victory for you at this point?) But I do look at them…and…yeah, dream of how good two of them would taste at 11:13AM on a Tuesday? YEAH, MAYBE I FUCKING DO!

Peak levels of stress now include the phrase “only about a week’s left of relish in there.” There’s a guy across the street from me who just sits in his window now and looks outside, and while I was eating a lunch dog (no need to say “hot dog,” THERE’S JUST NO TIME!) I caught eyes with him and raised my hot dog up to him like a “cheers!” Yeah, that’s right. I cheers’d a stranger across the street at 11:13AM on a Tuesday with a hot dog. THEN! When he didn’t nod back or show any form of acknowledging my dog cheers in any way, I got offended. And you know what? I just….

Guys.

Jimmy stop.

I made up the hot dog cheers’ing thing.

I didn’t make up the lunch dogs infatuation, but my brain is becoming so warped, that midway through writing about my lunch pups (is that funnier than lunch ‘dog’? Yeah, it is. Stick with it!) I actually did catch eyes with the guy across the street who looks out his window and I thought “next time I have a lunch pup, I’m going to cheers him with it. That’ll brighten his day!” So I will do that next time and report back re: his reaction to the lunch pup cheers. (And you thought you had nothing to look forward to!)

Aside from lunch pups and asking the VP of Ops to waterboard me with IPAs, I figured that buying a house in the middle of a global pandemic/economic meltdown, while my job skates on ice thinner than that picture of you from high school, was a prudent financial decision. (Just googled the word ‘prudent’ to make sure it meant what I thought it meant, and IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH!) The VP and I closed on our first house on Friday, while my heart attempted to close on my body simultaneously.

What should have been an exuberant, exciting moment for us, felt more like a red carpet event for the premiere of “Jimmy’s First Stroke in the Citywide Title Office.” When asked by those nosey paps who she was wearing, The VP of Ops smiled and said “the same leggings I had on while eating Munchos this morning!” Meanwhile, I carried her purse and used it to hide the grease stain on my 2007 Cincinnati Bearcats sweatpants. It was quite the affair, indeed. Fortunately, or unfortunately (who knows right now? Stay positive though because the super negative people are awful to be around…but it’s so easy to just…STOP!) I did not suffer my first stroke while signing the closing papers to our first house.

Instead, I kept my big leather winter gloves and big puffy winter coat on the entire time we were signing a BAJILLION pages while constantly reminding myself to NOT TOUCH MY FATTER-BY-THE-SECOND FACE. If you have never signed closing papers on a house before, here’s what it’s like: ten million pages are put in front of you and you have to go through them, one by one, slow enough that the guy thinks you’re actually reading them, but you’re really just looking for the lines with your name under them so you can sign there and feel a momentary sense of accomplishment. (I found my name! Mom! Dad! I found my name on the page!) On page nine thousand, four hundred and seventy six, you’ll look to your spouse with blurry eyes and say something like “I no read,” before drooling and then slamming your head on the table while scream-crying “I DON’T THINK I’M MATURE ENOUGH FOR THIS MAGNITUDE OF A PURCHASE!” (That did not go over well with the guy in the office but, thankfully, he yelled at me to get ahold of myself while staying 6 feet away.)

Then, once you’re done signing page four gajillion, you’ll sit alone in a lame office while hearing the office person dude mumble things like “are you sure?” into the phone on their desk. (Is who sure? Do I want them to be sure? I’m not sure! Should I tell him I’m not sure?! SIR! I’M ALSO NOT SURE!) Eventually, he will come back into the room, still wearing surgical gloves, remind you to take the pens with you, and congratulate you in a way that sounds more like “can I finally go home now and cry into my pillow about the future of our country?”

Closing on our first house in the middle of Shitstorm 3000 felt like trying to celebrate a birthday in New York on 9/11. “Uhhh…yay!” As hard as I was trying to stay positive and act excited, all I felt was this overwhelming squeeze of the unknown. (Squeeze? Strangle?) But while I drove back to our city apartment with The VP of Ops, I kept telling myself one thing over and over and over: “we’re all in this together.”

And it’s true. How many times has there been a situation that you’ve dealt with where LITERALLY EVERYONE YOU KNOW IN THE UNIVERSE is dealing with the same thing? As terrifying as this is, no one is exempt. And the ones that you’re thinking aren’t worrying about it because they seem the same as they’ve always been? They’re just better at acting than you are. I’ve never felt more connected to everyone than I do now.

I’ve also never enjoyed hot dogs more than I do now.

OUR WORLD:

We’re all living in an excruciatingly elongated moment right now that will change the world forever. The way we look at World War II documentaries and the Civil Rights movement and think “Jesus, I can’t believe that actually happened!” is what smelly fatsos will be thinking about the movies about Coronavirus that come out in 2056. And while I’m sure those movies will focus on the most terrifying aspects of what is going on right now, I’d like to note some of the other byproducts that will probably be overlooked by PBS’ 2056, Six-Part Docu-series “Covid 19”.

Hangovers were confused for coronavirus

I was going to write something about how internet is officially the best invention ever, but then I was like “but what about booze?” The person who invented or discovered booze had to have done so in the middle of some terrifying episode in human evolution.

I’m imagining it was some woman with a broken leg who just heard from her friend that dinosaurs exist. “What’s a dinosaur?” she asked, before hearing a T-Rex roar and squeezing a bunch of grapes harder than grapes had ever been squeezed before. Then, because Mrs. ‘BoutToBeEatenByMegaYoshi didn’t want to waste the only juice she’d be able to reach until her bum leg became unbummed, she started sucking the ground where the grape juice ran for days on end. By day 6, with her broken leg throbbing, she sucked the ground harder than ever before and…felt some relief. A bit of the spins and, finally….peace! Then she heard a rustling in the bushes and went back to freaking out that she was about to be dino feed.

Anyway, that’s basically how alcohol is working for me right now. As day turns to night, and stressors multiply to the point of swallowing me, I pour a beer. And then another beer. And then an old fashioned. And then a pilsner because now I’ve got to cool down. And then just a smidge of whiskey because I don’t need the sugar. And then I’m snoring on the couch in the middle of the sixth episode of “Mad Men” we’ve watched tonight.

Mornings then become a fun little game of “hangover or Corona.” The first few hours of every day are now set aside for chugging water and coffee and telling yourself not to google corona symptoms for the nine thousandth time this week. By the time 3PM rolls around and you’ve come out of the hangover enough to realize that maybe you don’t actually have this terrifying virus, well, there’s only one thing to do: Celebrate.

Home workouts that lasted more than 8 minutes were treated like Olympic training sessions

Not to brag (but maybe a little bit? Fine, yeah. Check out this shit!) but I ran a marathon not that long ago! I wasn’t a hardcore “look at me I go to the gym”-guy, but I did go to the gym and didn’t shy away from mentioning that if it came up naturally in a conversation. “Oh, your mother got a haircut? Weird you mention that because I had my personal best incline bench yesterday!”

However, since this whole “You should stay home and use this as the ultimate excuse to be a blob”-order has come down, working out has fallen to the back of my priority list. I’m sure I’m not alone in this either. Yes, it’s true that moving around and exercising makes your brain feel better, but when your job is hanging by a wet fingernail, you have asthma and YOU JUST BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE, getting a sweat in doesn’t exactly register as “something I should focus on getting done today!”

This means that completing a sponsored Instagram ad showing you how to do a 15-minute at-home workout without equipment, is the equivalent of completing a Michael Phelps training session. I came across one of these smiley Instagram trainers imploring me to “stay active indoors!” yesterday and thought “he’s smiling, so maybe I should listen to him.”

So I followed his “workout”. This was the kind of workout that I would’ve made fun of in my physical peak, but now I got two minutes in and thought “could The Rock do what I’m doing right now?” (Yes Jimmy, The Rock could do Jumping Jacks for 2 minutes and 14 seconds). When I finished the “workout” 11 minutes later, the thin layer of sweat on my forehead might as well have been an Olympic Gold Medal. I went up to the VP of Ops acting more out of breath than I really was and said stuff like, “just finished a little workout” hoping she would swoon and ask if it was okay to tell her friends about her husband’s physical accomplishments.

She didn’t do that.

Employees at restaurants are fucking brave

I think we’ve all maybe thought this for a while, but if this whole ordeal doesn’t drive home the fact that people working at our favorite “I’m getting something that makes me feel good”-institutions, are brave as hell, then get your dumbass brain examined. Seriously, if you’ve been through a drive-thru or ordered delivery over the past few weeks and enjoyed the dopamine rush that comes from eating your favorite foods, make sure you take a second to think of the people that went outside, in public, around others, to make that thing for you and get that thing to you.

Fucking restaurant people are awesome.

PODCAST:

The Bill Simmons Podcast with Pearl Jam from last Thursday.

MUSIC:

The new album from The Weeknd and all of these Instagram Live concerts that bands are doing. Here’s The Weeknd from SNL before the world blew up:

TV:

Watching “Mad Men” for the first time. If you’re looking for EVEN MORE inspiration to drink, start watching this show.

MOVIE:

The VP and I watched “Catch Me if You Can” yesterday. It’s worth it because it’s Leo and Tom Hanks, but was I blown away? No. I was not blown away.

K, bye.

No…Not….WINTER!!!

OUR WORLD:

Whoever came up with the term “Winter Wonderland” never lived full-time in a cold-weather city. (Did you look that up? So, you don’t know. Please don’t lie to your readers, Jimmy.) Winter in a cold-weather city is a nightmare filled lined with salt stains, dry skin and wet socks that is only mitigated by the fact that it becomes socially acceptable to eat more. For my Chicago brethren, this morning is the first time this year where I woke up cold, saw a bunch of bare tree branches and started tremble-crying that “it’s puffy coat time….” Then the VP woke up and asked why I was crying but I was just welling up, which is different than crying and she just doesn’t understand because her winter coat doesn’t make her look like a Michelin Man EVEN WHEN I’M DOING WELL WITH DIET AND EXERCISE! YEAH, I COULD BUY A DIFFERENT COAT, BUT I’D RATHER SAVE MY MONEY FOR ALCOHOL AND GAMBLING AND GOING OUT TO DINNERS!!!! No, none of this happened, but the point is that it could because the older I get, the worse I get at containing my emotions re: winter. Here are the top 3 worst things people in Chicago are dreading about winter:

Walking through slush while wearing your sporty no-show lil’ baby socks.

You wake up in early December and it snowed a little bit last night. Nothing crazy. In fact, when you look out your window you say something “oh, not that bad.” So you’re in that “this sucks, but it could suck harder”-winter-purgatory that feels almost like happiness. You get ready for your day and pack your gym bag. But when you get to the sock portion of ready-time, an option presents itself: do I wear my big, hot, winter socks AND pack my no-show lil’ baby socks for the gym? OR! Do I just wear my I-don’t-have-cankles-and-these-lil-socks-prove-it socks for the day so I get to the gym ready to go and I don’t add to my mounting laundry pile with another pair of socks? You go with one pair of socks because it’s “not that bad” out and if you’re forced to add 2 more socks to that laundry pile, it may tip over and bury you alive before your wife realizes that she hasn’t been asked “can I put sports on?” for over 18 minutes. Yeah, you just died in a pile of dirty clothes and now your wife is going to jail because how could she not know?

So you put your no-show socks on slide into those cool boots that your Mom got you last Christmas. It’s not that bad, you’re fine. By the time you hit the bottom of the stairs on your way out, you’ve totally forgotten that whole excruciating sock decision you just had to make. The podcast you’re going to listen to is queued up on your phone for the drive to work, and you’re damn near excited to hear if Bill Simmons will ask Jonah Hill the deal with his weight fluctuations. You toss your gym bag in the passenger seat and…fuck. Right as you step off the curb, your foot is wet. The snow didn’t look that bad because it melted, and your body weight caused a splash when it landed on the street. Tiny-brain you didn’t tie your boots that tight so the splash fell inside your boot and found its resting place all over your tiny-sock-covered foot. Cool. Now you’re Wally Wetfoot and you better tie that boot tight because you know the thing about wet feet? They STINK. Good luck trying to hide that stank foot in an office surrounded by people who don’t have a villainous pile of laundry forcing them into bad decisions.

Bundling up before taking your dog out and catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror by your door.

You’re lying if you tell me there’s not one second every winter, while getting yourself and your dog ready to go outside, that you don’t remember when you didn’t have a dog and think “that was a happier time.” Don’t even try to tell me that when it’s negative 9 and you hear the wind howling, you’re not mean-squinting at your dog hoping he’ll be like “you know what, I can hold it.” But whatever, dogs rule so you when you’re done putting their booties on to protect from the salt, you bundle up like you may get locked out and have to sleep in the snow. Puffy coat, itchy scarf, old Bears hat, and the camouflage gloves you bought with your brothers at a gas station in Michigan. Originally, you bought those gloves as a joke, but now they’re just your gloves and your wife can’t believe that she picked you.

When you’re done tucking your loose sweatpants into your boots, you grab the leash and march towards the tundra. Unfortunately, your wife likes hanging mirrors near doors. At first you thought it was just coincidence, but now you’re wondering if these mirror placements were part of a more sinister plan to prey on your insecurities. Said mirror grabs the corner of your eye and you take a quick glance to see how you lo—JESUS, I’M UGLY! Aside from the winter fat suit, the parts of your face that you can see are white pale mixed with little dry patches (thanks freezing wind!). Moisturizing is a way of life that you must commit to, and it’s never been more obvious. Like being hit with a wave from the ocean, you’re forced to go through every part of your last 6 meals. When was the last time you went to the gym? Yeah, you went, but did you even try that hard? Or did you just go to say you went? And, shit, you’ve been digging those dark beers lately. And the outfit? You’re not better than the Jordan Brand Cincinnati sweatpants you bought in High School? You’re really not better than that?

“I’m better than this,” you say to your wife as you head out. She smiles. You’re gonna change.

Once you’re outside, she calls her Mom. “I’m coming home.”

Going to a Mexican restaurant and ordering a margarita to play pretend summertime only to come crashing back to reality the second you look out the window and see the look of pure terror on the driver that has lost control of their car while skidding on the ice.

Once late-January hits, you’re about to snap. Two-plus months of frigid temperatures and short days have taken their toll, so you excitedly make a plan to go to a Mexican restaurant for a little “Let’s pretend it’s hot outside!”-meal. It’s different than the norm and your spouse is like “he’s full of surprises!” You’re proud of your ingenuity. It’s cute, guys. So cute. You know what’ll make it even cuter? Toss a hawaiian shirt and sunglasses on! Can you say “Summer in January”?!?!?!

At the restaurant, the servers are kinda’ annoyed with how cute of a couple they’re waiting on, which makes you even more proud of your SAH KEWT plan. You order drinks and not just drinks; we’re talking margaritas with extra salt baby. Nothing spells summer like salt, tequila and limey sugary shit! While you wait for Señor AnnoyedWithYourCuteness to get your drinks, it’s time to start reminiscing about awesome summer stories. Remember that time you went on the boat and jammed out to pre-nutso Kanye jams? Oh oh oh, how ’bout the time you had a picnic at the beach and made fun of the uncoordinated volleyball player ruining it for the rest of his team?!?! And, guys, ‘member the time you grilled those burgs and made everyone address you as General Grillmaster for the rest of the night? You’re laughing. Reminiscing. Dreaming, perhaps. The margaritas arrive and it looks like each crystal of salt was placed by hand around the rim of your glass. You do a cheers but don’t actually touch glasses because you want ALL the salt. Then you hear a screech.

Your eyes dart to the window and see that the snow has picked up and a 1993 Dodge Neon is skidding past the stop sign right outside. It’s not an emergency, but you lock eyes with the driver and share the “shit, there’s nothing you can do”-look. The Neon hits the curb and is fine; it’s a piece of shit anyway, so another dent on the bumper will blend. But it snapped you out of your summer fantasy. Your spouse knows it too. Now it’s a waiting game to see who’s going to ask the question you’re both thinking first…”You know we still have like 3 months of this shit?”

YEAH, I KNOW!

MY WORLD:

When I’m not writing this blog in the morning, I’m trying to work on a script and it’s really difficult guys! In film school, I was only able to write shitty scripts AND I COULD WORK ON THOSE ALL DAY, EVERYDAY. Now, I’m writing before work and…oooooo momma, I’m having trouble. Turns out that coming up with a totally original movie idea is not something you can do just because you…uh…want to do it. The first “assignment” I have due with my writing comrade is due tomorrow and I’m about 20% of the way done with it, so yeah, I’m stressed.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Realizing that the reason political ads are the way they are, is because THEY WORK.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Saw her perform on SNL and, ladies and gentlemen, we have a NEW CRUSH ALERT!!!!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

As you know, I had been on an epic losing streak. We’re talking the kind that you would tell your grandchildren about when they ask why you live in such a shitty part of town 45 years from now. Then, Sunday happened. Guys…I hit a 4-team parlay and it felt like I, personally, defeated ISIS and saved humanity from their reign of terror. The VP did not share my level of excitement, but she did hit me with a semi-genuine “oh, yay!” So that was nice. Did I squander some of my winnings by then betting on the Packers moneyline because my friend is a Packers fan and I’m a great great great friend? Yes, I did, but I also cemented my status as a “great great great friend” in the process. So, as far as I can tell, that’s pretty much breaking even. I told a few people yesterday to bet on the Titans moneyline and then forgot to place that bet myself, so…that was fucking annoying. Probably gonna take tonight off to watch voting results while praying the Republicans takes that much deserved L.

(My account is currently at $100.72)

K bye.

Work (11/1/18)

OUR WORLD:

Meh, I’ve been wrapped up in my own world lately. Go see “A Star Is Born” if you haven’t.

MY WORLD:

You know what is one of the coolest feelings I get to feel in life? It’s when someone says that I should get back to writing this blog because they miss reading it. There’s nothing deep or poetic coming, it’s just a cool fucking feeling.

I don’t want this blog to devolve into one post every three weeks that basically explains why I haven’t been writing it (uh oh, I feel that’s what’s about to come here though…) BUT (no! He’s gonna do it!) that’s what’s about to come here. The reason I haven’t been as active on Jimmyschair is because I think I’ve been going through some sort of third-life crisis (planning to live till you’re 99? Sure, pal. Those drinking habits will NEVER catch up with you!) AND because I’m trying to write a script that will someday win a competition and me a bunch of money…But mostly, because I’m fucking awesome at making excuses. That’s the truth.

When I got back back from Ireland, I felt kinda’ changed. When I told my Dad that it was a “life-changing experience”, he did what I would’ve done before I left if someone told me that: gently rolled his eyes in a “I’m not being openly”-rude, but “I’m not not being openly”-rude kind of way. When he did it, I wasn’t offended, but felt more certain of it. Like, “oh, you don’t believe me? watch this”….So I proceed to get kind of depressed about my place in life for the next 6 weeks. See Dad! Before I left, I was relatively happy. Now, I’m relatively sad. HAPPY TO SAD SOUNDS LIKE A LIFE CHANGE TO ME!!!

Let’s not go overboard here, either. Using the “D” word (depressed? oh, yikes) is something I did by accident in the paragraph above. I still use that word lighter than most, and it’s because that’s how I was raised. I get that joking about depression is a big no-no today, but…just, come on. I’ve been kinda’ down lately and I wanted to use that word so get over it. Have I been clinically depressed? (What are you a fuckin’ doctor?) No, I haven’t (HE DOESN’T KNOW THAT FOR SURE, GUYS!) There are just times when it feels like, “fuck, am I too far behind to catch up?”

How does this happen? I’ll tell you! You go on the trip of a lifetime. You see the world for, literally, the first time, and you come back home feeling invigorated and like you’re going to change a few things to live that fuller life that’s possible. But first you have to rest and be lazy for a few days because you’re tired from the trip. Then after you rest, you’re like, “wait, what was that thing I was gonna do?” By then, your body and brain has reacclimated to being that chair person that’s on every episode of trashy daytime television crying about how they’ve “tried every diet and NOTHING works!”

I wasn’t eating that well and had started to convince myself that gaining a few pounds is a thing that most adult males do, so fuck it. I got back into snacks and scrolling through instagram for hours on end! HOW COULD ANYTHING GO WRONG? Maybe, JUST MAYBE, scanning the internet for everyone’s best picture of them living their best life for hours on end, isn’t the healthiest habit. Maybe it hypnotized me into forgetting about how manicured people’s Instagram lives are. Actually, not ‘maybe’, that’s what happened. Instagram started feeling like a window into the lives of those around me and those lives looked way better than mine. Where’s the window showing someone have a near panic-attack when trading in their leased 2016 Chevy Equinox? “So like, how close do they inspect all the dents and dings? Do they use a magnifying glass? Or, just like run around the car real fast and not look closely at all?”

So then it’s time to play the age game, right? The “I’m 33 years old so I shouldn’t be dealing with”-whatever game. Mine version of the age game went something like “I’m 33 years old so I shouldn’t be panicking about how I’d pay for moderate car repairs.” (I’m still kinda’ panicking about that btw, but I’m gaining perspective.) Then, instead of going to the gym to make my brain feel better, I’d jump into the pity party steam-room and inhale only excuses. “It is dark out and you’re sad about not being a millionaire so it’s okay to skip the gym.” AGAIN, WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Shit gains momentum when you let it. All of a sudden, I’m kinda quiet and getting angry about things that shouldn’t make me angry. You know how you get annoyed when you hear someone unwrapping a little piece of candy? They crinkle the wrapper for two seconds and you feel a rush of “JUST THROW IT THE FUCK OUT!” But once second number three hits, you’re fine and you totally forgot about it. I was more of the “I still remember you and that fucking wrapper AND I WILL EXACT UNMERCIFUL REVENGE!” like a day later. You ever tell your spouse or someone you’re super close with “I’m not mad at you, I’m just mad at everything” through clenched teeth? The VP may have heard that once or twice.

Then I’d sit down in front of my computer, stare at the blank screen and try to write Jimmyschair. Except now, the feeling I get looking at the blank word document had seeped into the rest of my life. It wasn’t a challenge, it was standing over me celebrating it’s knockout. And, guess what? The canvas is comfy! I think that’s how it happens. The first few times you’re lazy and stop trying and have a few beers and some pizza, it’s really enjoyable! And if it’s not really enjoyable, it is really easy. You’re like “wait, not trying is definitely easier than trying. This is great!”

The canvas was comfy at first. Not writing this blog was easier than writing this blog, so I did that. But my tricky tricky brain did this thing where it convinced me that the reason I wasn’t writing this blog was also because it’s kind of a waste of time. If I’m overtaken with stress about paying for a dented bumper and rent and our flights for that wedding and student loans and shit, we’ve gotta have a kid soon, right? If I’m consumed with money-related stress, then I should only spend time on things that can make me money, right? And, spoiler alert, I don’t earn money from this blog. Thus, waste of time. My mind jiu-jitsued my laziness into an acceptable response to stress.

So I stopped writing my blog for a while and spent time trying to figure out a way to make money writing. But writing is like going to the gym, which I was also NOT doing, in that the longer you go without doing it, the harder it is to get back into it. The next logical step to take, once out of proper writing shape, was to make the decision that writing a script was where my efforts should go. Writing a blog was too hard, but writing my first script in 6 years and making it a good enough one to win a competition and provoke a Hollywood bidding war was reasonable. YIKES! Try taking a year off from running then convincing yourself a week before the Boston Marathon, that you could win it. It should not have come as a surprise that the following mornings were spent, yet again, staring at a blank page, unable to muster a fuckin’ thing.

I forced myself to the gym again. My ankle hurt and all my workout shirts were a little tighter than they used to be, but I went and forced the treadmill. And it felt good. My legs hurt like “should I go to a leg doctor person?” but it felt good. And then I did it again and again and took a little break and then again and again. I’m getting there.

I texted two old screenwriting friends for the first time in years and asked if it was still possible to do the whole write-a-movie-thing. I knew they’d respond “yes,” but I needed to see it. They didn’t respond “yes” though, they responded “FUCK YES!” So now I created a writing schedule with one of them to hold each other accountable as we write our next script.

With the script work and the gym and my job, I just didn’t have time for Jimmyschair. Right? Right. Until I did.

That felt good.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Yeah, I got really into this movie and soundtrack. I’m sure it had nothing to do with my moods…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When people drive down alleys behind your apartment like they’re actual roads and almost smash into you and your numbah one pretty girl dogga. Even if they’re not that close to actually hitting you, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if Michael Myers stumbled upon those drivers alone at night.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

It should come as no surprise that my bout with laziness and being kinda’ blue coincided with a DASTARDLY gambling run. Does it also then come as no surprise that I didn’t start writing this blog again until I won my first parlay in weeks on Monday night and that’s the last bet I made? Yeah, I’ve taken two days off to bask in the glory of my Monday night parlay, and you know what?

It feels good…and it’s going to feel even better when the Raiders cover tonight against the 49ers. Yes, the Raiders blow, but betting on CJ Beathard as a favorite makes me wanna puke.

(My account is currently at $70ish)

K bye.

Procrastination Nation and Under-The-Radar TV (5/17/18)

MY WORLD:

Are you a procrastinator? ME TOO! Sometimes I’ll go on like 3 week spurts where I’ll be super productive and “ahead of the curve” and then…oh, I don’t know, The VP and I will start “Game of Thrones” AND PUSH EVERYTHING ELSE TO THE SIDE. All of a sudden, it’s Mid-May and both my drivers license (“license” is a hard word to spell FYI. I’ve never gotten it right on the first try) and my city sticker expire in June. Which means, folks, that I’ve basically missed the deadline to renew both of these by mail and now I need to go to the DMV in-person. WAY TO GO, ME! WAY TO ADD AN ABSOLUTELY MISERABLE CHORE TO YOUR LIFE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T PLAN AHEAD! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU JIMMY “THE ASSHOLE IDIOT” POMERANTZ; GIVE HIM A ROUND OF APPLAUSE!!!

The most messed up part of this whole situation is that I remember getting a reminder about renewing my city sticker a few months back, looking at it and saying to myself “I’m probably gonna forget to do this until the last second and, therefore, force myself to go to the DMV in person.” Seriously, I remember it like it was yesterday. The only thing is, it was funny then, and it’s NOT FUNNY now. When I was a boy in schooling (I don’t know why, but saying “when I was a boy in schooling” with a British accent is making me laugh V hard) I remember all of the sleek justifications for procrastination. The schooling I’m talking about, mind you, was when I was in grad school for screenwriting (I’M LIVING MY DREAM!). A bunch of my classmates and I would read stories of famous writers who would talk about how “all writers are procrastinators” that our framed procrastination as being almost necessary to become a successful writer. Guess what, guys? That was total bullshit. All writers aren’t procrastinators. All writers get nervous when they don’t have anything to write about and then they distract themselves from facing the blank white screens because it white = failure. DROPPIN’ TROOF BOMBS Y’ALL!

I, however, am a legitimate, red-blooded American procrastinator, and here are the things I constantly find myself addressing either at the last minute or…after the last minute…Is this an attempt to take the sting out of my failures by finding fellow procrastinators? YOU BETCHA!

Buying toilet paper before I run out

I thought I’d get better at this after college…then after living with 3 dudes…then after getting married…and I’m still terrible at it. If I was in a job interview tomorrow and they asked “what are some of your weaknesses?” I would be forced to tell them about how often the paper towel roll ends up in my bathroom. It’s sad how I’ve perfected the art of tearing apart the plies of paper towel so as not to clog the toilet with a too-absorbent tissue. Usually, it’ll take about 3 days of me walking into the bathroom and seeing the paper towel roll awkwardly hanging off the toilet paper holder for me to make a trip to CVS to rectify the situation. Could The VP of Ops step in here and make a trip herself? Yes, but she has the FANTASTIC excuse of “well, I don’t have a car.” For as useful as having a car is, I do wonder if the excuses I’d be able to unlock by NOT having one would be more beneficial…

Doing the laundry before I’m forced to wear the emergency pair of loose boxers

Past the age of 27, most men make the switch from boxers to boxer briefs. Screw a Bat Mitzvah, this is when a boy becomes a man! (Bar Mitzvah? Bat Mitzvah? You get what I’m saying.) However, we all keep like one pair of boxers to be worn “just in case”, and that “just in case” is just in case we put off doing laundry to the point where we run out of clean boxer briefs to wear. The “Just In Case”-Boxers will be kept in most men’s underwear drawer for a minimum of 49 years. (Mine are from mid-college. The elastic is BARELY working and they have multi-colored christmas trees all over. If you happen to catch a glimpse of these peeking out above the waistband of my jeans someday, best keep your distance). It’s not flattering, and we know that, BUT! Who’s gonna see them? Seriously, it’s like having a fire extinguisher in your house; you hope you never have to use it, but you’re happy it’s there just in case. These loose, awful feeling boxers are also kinda’ necessary because they do FORCE me to do laundry that same day. Going into day 2 wearing my loose, christmas tree trunks is an absolute nightmare scenario. NIGHTMARE. SCENARIO.

Checking my credit card balance before it gets declined at a restaurant and I act super surprised in front of everyone that heard the waiter tell me “this one didn’t work”

I JUST DON’T WANNA LOOK! Quick aside: The VP hates when I talk about money stuff. She’ll say “I don’t want people to think we’re living under a bridge!” We’re not living under a bridge. We’re actually doing relatively TOTALLY FINE, but that doesn’t stop me from throwing EVERYTHING on my Citi card so I can get POINTS POINTS POINTS!!! (I’m a slave to points, guys.) But then, what’ll happen is, I know I’m getting close to my limit but I put off looking at my account online because I don’t want to have to face how much I’ve spent on Cliff Bars and Waters (and candy) at 7-11 over the past 10 days. When I do finally go to check my account online, I definitely hold my breath and wince while the “recent transactions” page loads. Sometimes I just get so nervous that I bail out of the site before it loads (‘load’ is a funny word). Much the way girls do, I have a “that time of the month” period where every time I hand over my Citi card (free advertising…maybe throw some points my way?) it’s a roll of the dice. I’ll try to watch the server at the computer terminal to see if they’re running the card more than once. If it’s more than once, I’m dead. If they’re shaking their head or rubbing the strip on the back of the card, also dead. If I can see this ahead of time, though, I at least have however long it takes them to get back to the table to come up with a feasible excuse. “Weird, I thought I activated that one”-is a go to. However, if I’m unable to see them at the computer terminal, and they sneak up on me from behind with the “I’m sorry sir, but there seems to be an issue with your card”-I’ll momentarily panic. My instinct is to shoot a flared-nostrils look at The VP and yell “RUN!!!” Unfortunately, The VP is simply not fast enough to keep up with me. Knowing this, I’ll usually just make some self-deprecating joke about how expensive my Peanut M&Ms habit has become.

OUR WORLD:

Are we all officially overwhelmed with the amount of television choices? Over the past few weeks, while proudly crowing about how The VP and I had finally started “Game of Thrones”, I was normally met with a “oh that’s nice, but you HAVE to check out this show!” If you can’t tell, I love T.V. We all love T.V. I’m not even counting the people who say “I don’t own a TV” because they are not people…they are animals (TOPICAL JOKE ALERT!!!)

But sometimes too much of a good thing is bad. (Is that the saying?) I say this because I was planning on writing reviews of G.O.T. (that’s how cool people refer to “Game of Thrones”. I’m part of that club now. AND, YEAH, IT’S A BIG EFFIN’ DEAL!!!) but then I realized that nobody would want to read reviews of a show that are SEVEN YEARS TOO LATE. My bad on that one.

So, if like me, you’re feeling overwhelmed by every one of your friends telling you to watch a different Netflix show, I’ve compiled a list of OLDER/UNDER-THE-RADAR shows and movies that hold up. I’m guessing you haven’t seen these or, if you have, its been so long since you have that re-watching them would be like watching them for the first time. These are not in any order because I don’t want to get into that bullshit. They’re just good (or I’ve heard they’re good from V reliable sources). Giddy up!

“Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” (NBC TV Series): It’s just good. (I know, I watched it.)
“Deadwood” (HBO TV Series): I’ve heard it’s good from V reliable sources.
“In Bruges” (Movie): It’s just good. (I know, I watched it.)
“Boss” (Starz TV Series): It’s just good. (I know, I watched it.)
“Reno 911” (Comedy Central TV Series): It’s just great. (This show is way too overlooked when the topic of “best comedy series” of the past 20 years comes up. This is in the discussion. TRUST!)
“Adaptation” (Movie): It’s just fantastic. (An all-time great screenwriter + Nicolas Cage at his best = YUP!)
“Moon” (Movie): Think “The Martian” but grittier and more realistic. Sam Rockwell is the most underrated actor going right now.
“Terriers” (FX TV Series): I’ve heard it’s good from V reliable sources.
“Rescue Me” (FX TV Series): It’s great and it has been long enough for me now that it’s entering into the “may be time to re-watch that”-category.
“Zodiac” (Movie): The more I remember this movie, the more I think I loved it. Downey Jr and Gyllenhaal at their best.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Top 5 Funny TV Character is “Terry” from “Reno 911”

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When a new person moves into the apartment below you and thinks that talking outside on speakerphone at 11:49 P.M. on a Wednesday night is appropriate. (ANGRY OLD MAN ALERT!)

I DON’T WANT TO BRAG BECAUSE I’VE BEEN ON A REAL HEATER TO THE POINT WHERE I’M GOING TO ACTUALLY WITHDRAW FROM MY GAMBLING ACCOUNT, AND PUT THOSE WINNINGS INTO BITCOIN. THIS IS NOT A JOKE, I’M A BITCOIN INVESTOR NOW AND I’M THRILLED ABOUT GETTING TO RIDE THE WAVE ON MY WAY TO BECOMING MEGA-STINKY-RICH.

I mean, I think the new section title says it all.

(My account currently at $327.55)

K bye.

Inside My Dog’s Head and Miserable Live Sports Experiences (4/6/18)

MY WORLD:

Yesterday morning, after I did a little thang called WRITE THIS FUGGIN’ BLOG, I took Belle out for her morning dumperoo (she’s sah kewt). Unfortunately, even though I did my best to avoid all possible human/dog/natural interaction for her, people ended up crossing our path and Belle went psychokiller nuts. Nothing like feeling like a failure of a dog owner at 7 in the morning!

Basically, she after she pooped, I zoned out as I picked it up with my bag-hand (if you were a dog, wouldn’t watching your human clean up your shit be the highlight of your day? Like, “yeah, pick up my shit. That’s what you get for giving me the same bland-ass kibble EVERY FUCKING DAY!”) While zoned out on poop-bag island, a girl on her way to school and a woman walking her dog, walked behind us. In the Pomerantz household, this is known as a “WAIT, NO!”-situation. Belle lunged at the girl, who legit screamed and started running! (If I saw her again I would apologize, but it was over-the-top and kinda’ hilarious.) Then Belle saw the woman and a stranger doggo and IT. WAS. ON. I had to grab Belle by the chest and squeeze her between my legs to keep her from doing Buffalo Bill things to that little stranger dog. The woman walking the other doggo didn’t say anything, but she was judgey with her eyes, I could tell.

As I held my sweet lil baby psychokiller princess between my legs, though, she started to kinda’ pant/cry and it made me feel super sad. It wasn’t a “ouch, your fantastically toned and powerful quads are hurting me, Jimmy”-cry, but more of a “god, life is stressful!”-pant. She was out of breath and, like, just ground down by the stress of it all. I get it! Belle! Dad gets it! And it got me thinking about how her brain must work, and what she must think as we go outside of her safe space (the one-bedroom apartment that she doesn’t have to pay to live in) for a walk in the morning. To help myself understand where Belle is coming from, I would like to ask you to indulge me in a little exercise where I will write as if I am Belle about to go out on a morning walk. Did that sentence make sense? Below this line, Belle is narrating her morning routine (Belle writes in red):

How long do I have to pretend I’m sleeping in this dumpy “bed”? DAD?!? Fuck, thought he moved. Nope, just another mattress-shaking fart from Mom; why Dad is with this sloppy bitch is beyond me. They act like they’re doing me a favor by locking me with them in their bedroom for the night, but now I’m even more stressed because who’s patrolling the kitchen? I bet that asshole dog from downstairs is having a garbage party right now! DAD!?!?!

DAD! Dad you’re up! Hey! Hi! Howdy! Hola! Woo! Dad! Dad! Dad! Oh yeah, gimme dat booty scratch! Oooooooo that’s the spot! Dad! Dad! Dad! What’s the plan today? Breakfast time?!?! Wait! Let me check the kitchen real quick to make sure you’re safe (I sprint to kitchen right when the bedroom door is opened every morning because I care about my Dad and his safety!) COAST IS CLEAR DAD! Oh, you wanna hang in the bathroom? Oh…closing the door in my face. Got it. Makes sense, you need your privacy. Hey, don’t worry about anyone coming in–I’m gonna lay right here to make sure that doesn’t happen. You hear that Mom?!?! Don’t even think about barging in on Dad during his private time! (Mom normally won’t get out of bed for another few hours and that is A-OKAY with me! Maybe she should think about just moving out? I don’t know, just a thought.)

DAD! YOU’RE BACK! How was private time? Bet it was good! You deserve it big guy! Alright, let’s talk turkey–when we going on that walk? It’s not that I have to go that bad, but stuff is happening out there and if I don’t get to bark at it, I’m gonna have a nervous friggin’ breakdown. Dad! RARK! RARK! (yeah, that’s how my “barks” sound; more like “rark!”. I’ve found it’s a more menacing sound than your typical “B-ark” sound.) Did you hear that? Dad! A door opened in our building! RARK RARK RARK! There’s another one! No, I’m not gonna “shush”! Dad, if I “shush” then no one will be afraid to barge in here and steal you away from me. I’d basically be inviting the Dadnappers in here!

Hug time? Yes! (Guys, every morning, Dad sits on the couch next to me and gives me hugs. He doesn’t love when I kiss his pretty face, but I do it anyway.) Yawn? Me too! Dad, watch me yawn! Look! YAWWWWWWN! We have so much in common! You ever think about that Dad? Like…what if you were more than my Dad? Like…what if Mom wasn’t even here? Never mind, I’m silly. Sometimes I say crazy things!

Up again?! Oh, I know that look! IT’S WALKIN’ TIME!!! Okay okay okay, watch this! Dad! Watch this! Spin, spin, spin, spin. Four spins Dad! Not even dizzy! (Yeah, I do use a lot of exclamation points. EXCUSE ME for being excited! NOT! Classic Belle Burn right there) Oh, you’re gonna put that big scary metal collar on me? Okay. Not my fave, but you’re the boss, Dad. Hey, look! You like my smile? Yeah you do! Putting your coat on? Smart. Classic Dad, being smart!

Now Dad, you gotta let me go first down the stairs okay? We don’t know what’s ahead…(am I kinda’ choking my way down the stairs? Yes, but I sacrifice for my Dad.) Did you hear that? DAD! HURRY! COME ON! WE GOTTA RUN DOWN THE STAIRS AND GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! I HEARD A SOUND THING THAT I DON’T KNOW! COME ON! HURRRRRYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

That was a close one, right? Phew. Hey, it feels great outside! I’m gonna pee now (Dad is always super respectful here, he turns away while I make a tee tee. Dad, the consummate gentleman!) Was that a squirrel? What’s that smell? Who was here? Dad, you smell that?!?! Dad! Dogs were here! Let me investigate…no, I don’t want to keep walking…but, Dad if I don’t smell every one of those blades of grass then….DAD! Ugh, fine. I’m walking. I’m walking.

Pretty quiet out here this morning, just the way I like it. Hold up, I’m gonna do a little pee here so they know this is OUR turf. Dad! Wait! I swear, you don’t understand so many things about turf wars. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be in a gutter somewhere. Just kidding Dad. Obviously, no one could push around my big strong Dad.

Hey! This is where we cross the street, right? Yep, knew it! Dad! I knew it! Yeah, I’m gonna poop. Dad, I really don’t need you telling me to “go poop” every morning. I get it, you want me to poop. It’s coming, okay? You know what happens when you force a poop, Dad? Bad stuff! Real bad stuff! Speak of the devil, here it comes!

Come on Dad, I gotta be as close to the parked cars as possible. Come on! Okay, here I go. (per usual, Gentleman Dad not looking at me.) All done! Hey Dad, I pooped! Just let me kick up this grass so everyone knows what I did and we’ll be all set. Oh, you’re picking it up? Yeah, that’s nice I guess. Maybe we leave it though? It’s just, I feel bad that you have to-WAIT! DAD! DON’T WORRY I GOT THIS!!!!

RARK RARK RARK RARK GRRRRRRR SHRARK!!!! STAY AWAY FROM MY DAD YOU BACKPACK BITCH!!!! THIS IS OUR FUCKING TURF! OHHHHHH, WHAT?!!?! ANOTHER DOG?!!? SEE WHAT HAPPENS IF HE LETS ME OFF THIS LEASH!!! OH I FUCKING DARE YOU!!!! MAKE A MOVE!

DAD! LET ME GET THEM! DAD, YOU DON’T KNOW THE STREETS LIKE I KNOW THE STREETS! RARK RARK RARK RARK! (He always holds me back, but if he could see me fight…I don’t know, maybe he’d look at me differently? Like, as more than a dog? I don’t know. Oh, silly me!)

Then I walk Belle back through our alley because there is less of a chance of running into any living things. She’s panting the entire way back, like she just finished a marathon. I feel bad and kinda mad and kinda sad that her brain seems to be an absolute stress-bomb of matter. By the time we get back up to our door, though, she seems to be smiling again, having forgotten the stressful nightmare that just occurred. At least that’s what I tell myself…

Hey Dad, I bet Mom isn’t even out of bed yet! You sure she’s “the one”? Asking for a friend…

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday was the White Sox home opener, and if you voluntarily went to that game you should be start lining your walls with pillows cuz you, my friend, are NUTS. Sitting out in the cold for April baseball is a billion percent miserable experience, and it got me thinking…what are some of the most miserable live sports experiences:

–Early-season (so the game is essentially meaningless), freezing baseball game.

–The Kentucky Derby. I have no idea why this appeals to people. Watching horses run for a minute while you’re dressed like an asshole sounds about as fun as going to a little kid’s birthday party. HARD PASS.

–Any regular season college basketball game. Seriously, if it’s not March and you’re not a current student, who cares?

–Any little kids baseball game ever. Even when I was a kid I felt bad for my parents having to watch that dreck sitting on shitty bleachers. Parents should be encouraged to stay home.

–Early season NBA game sitting in the 300 level. You can’t see anything, so you end up watching the jumbotron the whole game. All you’re thinking about is how the seat you’re in is less comfortable than your recliner at home, and the drinks you’re drinking are WEAK and super expensive. What a great time!

–Late season NFL game when your team’s season is already over. When the Bears are 3-9 and people sit outside in a blizzard to watch them play the 4-8 New York Jets, I’m all like “but why?”

That’s all I’ve got for now. It’s still super cold outside, but at least it’s Friday. GO FRIDAY!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I know I’m a little late with this posting, but Sean Penn is cool. I don’t care if he’s messed up on Ambien. He’s still cool.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you shake your bottle of hair conditioner for like five minutes in the shower only to have the last .2 ounces spill out onto your shower wall. NOW MY HAIR’S NOT GONNA BE CONDITIONED!!!

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:

Nobody I bet on for the Masters had an absolute blow up day yesterday, so I’m still feeling good. Honestly, I am so due to win something big, so I’m pretty sure one of my guys is gonna win. Like, almost positive. PRAY FOR ME!

(My account currently at $0.00)

K bye.