Do you know what Wednesday was?
 
Well, yes, Ash Wednesday and the start of the Lenten season. Let the Fish Fry and Pierogi sessions commence!
 
It also happened to mark the one-year anniversary of my gig at my day job. And what a sweet little situation it is.
 
My work peeps are fab and I'm super grateful to be there. What can I say .. I love that place, a'ight? #PDMIRocks
 
But it was a super special day for another reason, as well...
 
Because last Wednesday was also the birthday of my brother, Dan.
 
Now, I'm not trying to brag or anything but I have to tell y'all that I have, hands down, the world's greatest big bro, yo.
 
This is a man who endured unspeakable childhood misfortune: namely, being the only boy in a girl-dominant trio of sinister-sistered siblings. Being stuck with the Gina/Patty show was no Sunday matinee, you dig?
 
Let’s face it; it’s a miracle he survived his older sister bossing him around constantly and his younger sister antagonizing him incessantly. He was, in essence, our built-in Fall Guy.
 
Bottom line, if she could blame it on him to avoid prosecution and sentencing, she did. “I’m not even strong enough to have lifted your bed to look for hidden Christmas gifts…that had to be Danny!” argued artificial attorney and freakishly formidable girl Gina.
 
No angel myself, if it could get me out of a jam, I’d throw that boy under the bus faster than Superman catches bullets in his Krypto-choppers, capisce?
 
“Mommy! Danny tripped me and I fell and broke my Barbie mirror!” little-brat-version PK (then PM) whined, whipping up more fake tears than Visine.
 
I neglected to mention, naturally, the preceding pounding I gave him with said mirror, nor that the tripping of his tormentor was completely unintentional, unlike our motives. Oh, and let’s not forget holding him captive while we repetitively sang  The Beatles’ “Yesterday” entirely off-key and with full malicious intent for the entire hour it took to get to my grandparents’ house in Ashtabula.
 
Despite his begging for the encore to end; we tortured the poor kid until his guitar…and soul…gently wept. #SistersAreMeanToBrothers
 
Yet, he remains the kind of big bro who will pummel you into polenta if you look at Mom or any one of his family members the wrong way, capisce?
 
This is a dude by whom you can set your clock; he’s that dependable.
 
No one adores his nephews, nieces, and their puppies more than Uncle Dan. No one is a greater authority on Star Trek. Or Star Wars. Or meatballs.
 
No one else will watch “A Christmas Story” with me in the heat of August. Only Dan can rival me in reciting the entire movie verbatim.
 
And no one knows 80s music better, especially the original artists/VJs featured on MTV.
 
Speaking of MTV, I am literally outraged that they could bleep out the word “GOD” during a recent showing of the movie “Ghost”. Um, with the trash y’all hawk as programming? Oh no you dittint!
 
Heaven help you heathens. Hmpf.
 
All I know is, I am done with that channel but thank You-Know-Who for my big bro. Happy birthday, Dan!
 
Kimerer is a columnist who loves her big bro and thanks GOD GOD GOD for him and all her other blessings, too. Send MTV-free viewing suggestions to her via www.patriciakimerer.com

I’m a happy person. Really, ask around.
 
I’m a smiler. A hugger. A well-wisher. I’m the “say ‘I love you!’ before hanging up with fam” girl. Every.Single.Time.
 
I’m also a world-class empathizer. I’m seriously all about the other humans, especially the ones in my particular orbit, you dig? #MyTribe
 
I pray for them. I brag on them. I worry about them. Like, a LOT.
 
Are they safe? Are they happy? Are they eating enough? Are they flossing after every meal?
 
Are they Clorox wiping their surroundings constantly?  SIGH. 

It’s exhausting sometimes but it’s part of my PK-ness., for better or “worst” as my Pop used to say. He always tweaked popular phrases to make them his own … guess that was part of his FM-ness. Man, how I miss him. #LoveYouDad #StillGrieving
 
Ahem.
 
Um, something else that defines yours very kookily truly? Being a homebody. Under pre-pandemic circumstances, anyway, (remember those?) I’m down for snuggling up with my favorite heavy blanket in front of the fireplace, watching a classic movie.
 
Or, when Kyle Kimerer’s in the house -- hiding beneath it because he’s found some really terrifying new Netflix series with which to torture his aged Ma. #PerfectNight
 
Sadly, however, staying at home more often than not is shadowing my sunny sheen. That is to say, I’m getting a little Covid Crabby, Capisce?
 
TBH, I could be one maddening episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond” away from becoming snide, cynical and maybe even, like, just this side of bitter, yo.
 
I’m sorry Ray Romano; you could very well be lovely IRL.
 
However, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to throat punch your TV alter ego. Why, for the love of all that is good and holy, would Debra ever have put up with a whiny, snively, self-absorbed, baby like Ray? Oh, right, hit TV show; big bucks, no whammies. Still…
 
Not only do I wish Ray’s gigantic brother Robert would have pulverized him into oblivion every time their mother Marie favored Ray (and why?) but also, I wish “Pioneers Girl” troop leader Peggy, would have blazed a new trail on his backside when she DID beat him up ala the cookie sale location debacle.
 
See? Lockdown’s makin’ me loopy. Silly things such as that wouldn’t have even registered a solitary radar blip before ---but are now completely blipping me off.  Hmpf.
 
For instance, was our forced air heating/cooling system always this freaking loud? How could I have never noticed that it is the decibel level of a 747 prepping for takeoff? Dang!
 
Then there’s the washing machine. Holy Carboli! The stupid spin cycle takes like, four-and-a-half weeks to complete…and alas, when it finally does, it isn’t.
 
Why am I having to wring out clothes by hand that supposedly just twirled, swirled, and whirled longer than it takes a Happy Meal toy to decompose in a landfill? #PleaseRecycle
 
Grrr.
 
Luckily there has been at least one bright spot during all this cooped-up-ment: The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.  Thank you, Bravo.
 
Listen, nothing can lift me out of the doldrums like finding out the latest on my new fave super spouses. Sure, Jen Shah’s tantrums are the stuff of horror films and Mary M. Cosby’s hitched to her late Grandma’s hubby. No judgment.
 
But Meredith Marks is my homegirl and, other than my beloved great aunt and cousins living there, nothing could inspire me more to move to a state where lots of snow and lots of wives are common, ‘kay?
 
Kimerer is a columnist whose creaking floor boards are Poe-sitively making her mad. Contact her with pandemic relief hacks at www.patriciakimerer.com

One of my favorite episodes of "Sex and the City" is the one after Aidan and Carrie break up and he moves out.
 
Oooh, speaking of SATC, are you aware that it's getting a reboot and there will be a third movie? WOOT WOOT!
 
Naturally, the good news comes with a touch of scandal; that being Kim Cattrall, a/k/a the supremely spicy and super sultry Samantha Jones, will NOT be involved in the project.
 
Yikes.
 
No savagely single, sexy, smart, shamelessly social Sam? With her bombastic banter and wicket wit; Sam was the fiercely ferocious, foxy feline, femme fatale who could have been so easily despicable - but was wildly fun and fabulous instead, thanks to Cattrall's talent and timing.
 
This foursome with a subpar Sam stand-in has me somewhat skeptical. Sure, it will still be awesome to find out what the other three gals have been up to since Abu Dhabi but, sans Samantha?
 
Hmpf.
 
I guess I'm approaching it with guarded hopefulness. It's sort of like the re-tooled, Adam Lambert version of 'Queen," I suppose.
 
I mean, I love it and all… but ain't nobody can ever truly replace Freddie Mercury, you dig?
 
Moral of the story? You clearly don't mess with Sarah Jessica Parker if you intend to be in SATC sequels, yo.
 
Either way.
 
Back to "Ring-a-Ding Ding" - the episode in which Carrie's faced with scrambling to come up with $30K to buy her apartment after Aidan low-key evicts her.
 
In summary, Carrie blames Charlotte of all people, for not offering her a loan. She admits that she "suddenly gets irrationally angry and knows just who to irrationally take it out on" then proceeds to lambaste poor Charlotte, who thinks money exchanges between friends makes things weird. She ain't wrong.
 
Any who, I love this episode for so many reasons:
 
1. I never liked Aidan with Carrie. Sorry, I just didn't. He was sweet and quirky and adorbs…and he loved her so much but she just didn't love him back. It was painful.
2. Carrie deserved to get dumped. She really did. Not only had she cheated on poor Aidan (not to mention literally smashing poor Natasha's teeth in) but also, she accepted his engagement ring knowing full well she would never truly commit to him. Not cool.
3. Big tried to rescue her. Yeah, he wasn't the best boyfriend ever but still didn't have to write her that check. I love Big and no one will change my mind so please don't try.
4. Sam and Miranda came in clutch. Not to mention showing how formidable they were…when offering Carrie cash 'cause they both HAD THAT MUCH TO SPARE!
5. It proved with Charlotte is my fave. She ultimately saves the day by giving Carrie her perfect Tiffany's engagement ring from Trey. Charlotte always does the right thing and I adore her, period.
 
This all brings me to my point: a year ago, at this time, life was still relatively normal. Mostly. Then Groundhog Day hits and it all goes downhill from there.
 
Pandemic, er, I mean Punxatawney Phil, I feel, is at the root of all 2020's problems.
 
Are you aware that he's only been 39% correct in his predictions since 1886? Jerk.
 
Look, is it really Phil's fault that Covid-19 season won't end? No. But I'm irritated and I know just who to irrationally take it out on…sorry, Phil.
 
Watch your shadow AND your step this year, ya rotten little rodent.
 
Kimerer is a columnist who clearly needs more sunlight. Send her Vitamin D coupons via www.patriciakimerer.com

Here's the thing about 2021 so far ... meh.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way but - did we actually enter a new year or not? Let's go over the evidence.

I mean, yes, I know I saw Andy Cohen and Anderson Cooper in TV special in front of a very empty Times Square on December 31, 2020. And yeah, J-Lo did a concert there that night ... then smooch-a-smooch-smooched A-Rod around midnight, I suppose.

I guess there WAS a ball drop. I suppose that does make a fairly compelling case for the technical flip of the annual calendar.  

Hmm.

And sure, I did have to part company with the offspring so he could start "Spring Semester"  last weekend. Sorta still sniffling; don't judge. Either way...

Allegedly, a new collegiate year has officially commenced. Okay fine, we had to send in the tuition payment; according to our bank statement, it commenced, yo.

Tsk.

Yeah, yeah, our W-2s for 2020 arrived in the mail.  Well, all evidence certainly points to 2021.

But then, if it's true that we really DID start a new year, why are so many things the same?

We all remain banditos. Travel is a big question mark. Most places of entertainment have yet to reopen in total.

Dumb Tom Brady is in the Super Bowl. Netflix binging continues to replace baseball as America's pastime.

Worst of all, I can't hug at will, still.

Hmpf.

Then again, there's always that one constant that is NEVER a bummer: the Big Guy hasn't gone anywhere because hope and love are still more contagious than any virus.

Here's to 2021 because we GOT this, everyone! #HangInThere #YouAreNotAlone #InThisTogether #Pray #Peace

Hello, one and all. How’s it going for you on this particular January morning?
 
Um, wait, what was that, now?
 
I’m sorry. I promise you that I’m genuinely interested in your answer. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to focus on your feels. I truly would.
 
It’s just that, I’m rather scattered at the moment.
 
Sigh.
 
Sure, I’d love to wax political about the guy who just moved into his new digs at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in our nation’s capital – and the most recent former occupant of that residence. And how they could have played a little nicer in its sandbox.
 
Oh, I’m no Washington, D.C. realtor but I’m pretty confident that place has got a sandbox. I mean it’s got a tennis court, a jogging track, swimming pool, movie theater, billiard room, and bowling alley so, I’m just spitballin’ here.
 
Either way.
 
I’d love to chat ad nauseum about how the first guy is an unsteady, doddering boob who makes very little sense any and every time he talks. Er, wait, was the that the second guy? Oh, that’s right. It’s both those grumpy old men.
 
Yeah, I totally want to contribute to the ongoing national pukefest that is the fallout from their unprecedentedly ugly election.  
 
Okay, now I’m flat out lying. I couldn’t want to weigh ANY LESS on anything even remotely related to this election season – which is apparently NEVER GONNA END?.
 
For the love of all that is holy; someone please make all the icky stop already.
 
Sheesh.
 
And yeah, I’m curious how your 150K-step-a-day strategy’s shaping up -- or if your turmeric and Twizzlers diet has trimmed your tummy yet.
 
I want to know all about your New Year’s cleanse concoctions and your predictions for who’ll end up facing dumb ‘ol Tom Brady in the Super Bowl.
 
Stupid super-human, drop-dead gorgeous, never-ages, negative body fat, has the perfect family, Tom Brady. You just KNOW his team will end up in the big show.
 
Rotten rugged rogue. Yeah, I’m bitter. Whatevs. #GoBills
 
Any who, I’d really, really LOVE to get your take on cloth masks vs. face shields or working from home vs. in the office or whether or not you’d get on a plane right now for a million bucks and so on and so forth.
 
It’s just that I’ve got a really busy schedule today.
 
First on tap is the moping about. After which will come the hours-upon-hours uncontrollable sobbing. Luckily, I’m a multi-tasker so I’ll be able to easily worry myself into a veritable tizzy at the exact same time as all the crying.
 
I’m super talented like that. Think of me as the Tom Brady of weeping.
 
Shoot, after that, I’ll be lucky if I’ve got enough energy left to refill the tissues a third time before the second shift begins.
 
Fine. The kid went back to college and I’m a total wreck. There. I admit it.
 
What can I say? Moms miss their sons. Like a lot.
 
Sniff.
 
Ding dang it! I thought by the second half of his junior year, I’d be fine.
 
But clearly it’s more likely that Joe will swing by Mir-a-Lago for a night cap later than me suddenly snapping out of my Mom funk, Capisce?
 
Sorry; I promise to be better next week. Until then, I’ll just be in the corner whimpering, so, just like everything else is so far this year; please stand by.
 
Kimerer is a columnist currently scheming ways to shuffle off to Buffalo. Contact her with fastest routes via www.patriciakimerer.com

Well, we’re two weeks deep. Whatcha thinking?
 
Yeah, me, too. Meh.
 
For all intents and purposes, as they say – oh and hey, BT dubs, why do they say that?
 
I mean, if you’ve got to preface a statement with “For all intents and purposes,” are you just assuming a certain level of distrust on the part of your addressee?
 
Hmm.
 
It’s sort of like a qualifier; something of a disclaimer -- or worse, shameless begging for credibility. Let’s face it; this is basically the equivalent of saying, “I swear, I’m telling the truth,” a’ight?
 
I might be overthinking things. So, impeach me. Again.
 
Er, I mean, sue me.
 
Sigh.
 
Either way, the whole point is: this year feels like a whole big bunch of “same old, same old,” to me.
 
Near as I can tell, 2021’s just an icky extension of crummy old 2020 thus far. 2020: The Sequel.
 
Turmoil. Discord. Fear. Bad behavior. Disrespect. Insolence. Dishonesty. Sadness. Disappointment. Anxiety. Contempt.
 
And that’s just from looking in the mirror after my morning weigh-in!
 
Seriously, humans. Let’s get it together as a race, already. #Peace #Respect #Kindness
 
But to get back to the Groundhog’s Day of a year that was and still is---what is it going to take to finally flip the calendar, yo?
 
I mean, shoot, a majority of our mail is still trapped in some kind of time warp apparently?
 
For starters, I received a coupon from a well-known department store chain for like, $20 off for every nickel I spend or something. All I have to do is make a purchase of $100 or more … by December 15 of last year.
 
Cool.
 
It’s no big deal. It’s not like I need to buy any more Christmas presents last year. Er, wait; is Christmas really over? I’m not entirely convinced since I keep getting cards. Every. Single. Day.
 
Not kidding.
 
So, hey, just in case you’re still in the mood – maybe pick a relatively mild evening and go a-caroling around your block? Just a thought.
 
Ooooooooh! And did I tell you? Not that I’m trying to brag or anything but apparently, I’m a new, automatic member of the “octagon rewards” program.
 
That’s right people; a fact that will ensure me a lease payment of under $200 a month for a fully-loaded, ultra-safe, faster-than-all-get-out-but-can-seat-a-family-of-22-comfortably gold-encrusted SUV! All I need to do to drive off the lot in that bad boy is get to the dealership by midnight on 12/21/20. Octagon schmoctagon.
 
Hmpf.
 
Eh, there’s always Uber.
 
Oh well --- at least I don’t have to pay the electric bill for December…since IT STILL HAS NOT ARRIVED.
 
For real.
 
Hey, if they can be in denial over at WE HOLD THE POWER OVER YOUR POWER company, so can I. Sure I’m wearing 17 layers of clothes. Okay, I know the laptop battery won’t hold out much longer.
 
Naturally I get tired of trudging to the shopping plaza to charge my cell and I-Pad every morning and yeah, the camping lantern isn’t that great for night reading but until I get an invoice, I’m not payin’, capisce?
 
Besides, none of that is going to matter come December 29, 2020, when I’m a SHOO IN to win the 87 gazillion dollar jackpot at the local casino, so there!
 
Who’s laughing NOW, 2020? Wait…
 
Hang in there, Peeps. The Big Guy’s still nearby. And, much like my eventual pot ‘o gold, better days await. #InItTogehter #StayStrong
 
Kimerer is a columnist stuck between December & January. Hover on over to her blog at www.patriciakimerer.com any day of this (or last) year.
 

 If were a bettin' man, I'd have to say purt' near a hunnert percent.

Yeah, I'm fairly certain it's a veritable "sold-out" situation, you know what I'm sayin'?

As in, by way of an informal straw poll of some of my closest peeps (and a few random squirrels outside my kitchen window--yeah, I'm still working from home), it's a landslide. Dang nearly each person surveyed confessed.

They all openly admit that they have, at least once in lives, said it to their kinfolk.

In fact, in most cases, it was uttered considerably more often than that, yo. The defiant statement (or some similar iteration thereof!) in question is as follows:

"YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

Oh yes, you have. Don't deny it. In fact, upon further investigation, respondents also admitted that they had hurled the hurtful comment at one or both of their parents as children and then again in adulthood. 

I get it. No one likes to be bossed. Humans have been proving this since the literal dawn of time. 

And yet, in another lop-sided unscientific survey,  there's an overwhelming preponderance of evidence to support the notion that, parents give solid advice -- at least, generally speaking. Any of these gems ring a bell?

Sweetie, real friends won't make fun of your jeans just because they didn't cost $300. Not only was Mom right, but NOT having Susie Snobby in your life only made it better, to be clear! 

Regardless of the attendance policy, you can't ace a course if you skip it all semester and only show up for the final. How many in the class learned this one the hard way?

I know they aren't calling for it, but take your coat just in case it snows. You went for fashion instead...and froze your tuchus off at the homecoming game, remember?

Feel free to eat ANY other fruit in this entire orchard; just not these particular apples. Well, well, well -- we all know how horribly wrong THAT one went, Capisce?

Look, kids, admit that they know best then suck it up and do the right thing ---just like your Mom and Dad always told you to, a'ight? Heaven knows, it certainly couldn't hurt the state of the world in 2021.

#WearYourMask #SocialDistance #BeKind #Love #Pray #Peace 

Quick shout out to the demon with the yellow eyes, venomous fangs and forked tongue moonlighting as a phlebotomist at my local lab. BT Dubs, you may want to invest in a more appropriate disguise, er, I mean uniform?
 
I’m thinking a smile and some scrubs might play a little better with the clientele. Hiding your pointy tail and webbed fingers with a lab coat and some gloves might not hurt either but, you know, totally your call.
 
Oh, a quick backgrounder to summarize this mini horror story for y’all? Sure.
 
Due to a little genetic glitch in my methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase (MTHFR) ---not to mention my wildly weird eating habits, ahem— I have to have my blood drawn every month.
 
Like, four vials, yo. Every time. From the same lab. Each month. As in, in four weeks, PK will be right back at the counter. Not that I enjoy it, but given her scaly-skinned veneer and all, you’d think Vampira would jump at the chance to suck my veins dry … and not necessarily with a syringe, Capisce?
 
Any who, that’s why I need to make sure all my various vitals stay vivacious—especially since MTHR is chock full of super fun potential health issues including but not limited to:

• Acute leukemia
• ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder)
• Anxiety
• Autism
• Autoimmune disease and thyroid issues
• Bipolar disorder
• Cardiovascular and thromboembolic diseases (specifically blood clots, stroke, embolism, and heart attacks)
• Chronic pain and fatigue
• Colon Cancer
• Digestive issues, including IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome)
• Hormonal issues, including PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome)
• Migraines
• Nerve pain
• Pregnancies with neural tube defects, like spina bifida and anencephaly
• Recurrent miscarriages in women of child-bearing age
• Schizophrenia

 
Yup. That’s MTHFR. Shoot, why didn’t I get the genetic anomaly that causes Tetrachromatic Vision… where you can see things in Technicolor to the 100th power? Now THAT would be awesome.
 
Or the Malaria Resistance one? Even if  you get bit by like, 872 Tsetse flies, you won’t be bugged by the pesky parasite. Not that I want to get bit by anything, anytime, anywhere, a’ight? But still, immunity in any form is a neat party trick.
 
Heck, why not dream bigger? Like being vexed with a variant causing chocolate cake to work as a fat burner? Now THAT is a mutation I can get behind – especially if it ignores my behind.
 
Or maybe one that reverses wrinkling and sagging after you hit 40? Um, Beam Me Up for that one, Scotty!
 
Or, oooh, how’s about that one in “X-Men” where you get those wicked cool slasher hands? Could come in particularly handy for those with the chocolate cake quirk. Just sayin’.
 
Heck, even being a TMNT, er, Teenage Ninja Turtle beats just being stuck having MTHFR. And, yes, sadly that’s really the acronym.
 
I couldn’t even have conjured a more comical moniker for my under-chlorinated gene pool. Indeed, MTHFR is one annoying little mutant. And speaking of that phlebotomist…
 
I realize you hate the earthlings and all; but since you DID choose to inhabit our planet, perhaps you could try a little harder not to be a complete dog-breathed jerk face to them when a clerical error prevents you from seeing their bloodwork prescriptions from the doctor’s office, um, down freaking stairs?
 
Kindness to the other humans, people. Very chic, very vogue. It’s what’s for 2021. And forever, you feel me? #Peace
 
Kimerer is a columnist seeking peace on earth; especially in America. Come on, folks; let’s get it together, ‘kay? Visit her via www.patriciakimerer.com