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

Well, I'm not gonna lie. I'm sad. No, the kid's not back in NY yet (I said 'sad' not 'despondent'!).

It's not that kind of sad. It's the sort where I'm just so incredibly disappointed in my fellow earthlings . . . .especially the ones living in this wonderful country of ours. Yes, it's still a wonderful country, friends. 

It's just that folks are acting, well, epically foolish, as of late.

Destroying their own neighborhoods. Refusing to take pandemic precautions. Trying to storm the capitol building.  It's making my heart hurt. #StopTheViolence

Listen, you may be upset about any and all injustice -- heaven knows I am. Sure, you may not prefer wearing a mask. I mean really, other than Michael Myers, who does?

And yeah, your favorite candidate may have lost an important election. I feel ya. 

I ain't crazy about Biden. Then again, I ain't crazy about Trump, either, ya dig? Shoot, my pick for President ALSO didn't win -- though I knew my "Dolly Parton" write-in was a long shot.  Sigh. 

Yet, America remains one nation, under God, and indivisible, yo. It's the land that I love. The home of the free and the brave. And I don't think I'm suddenly all alone in wanting liberty and justice for all, am I?

Peeps, we are so blessed to be able to speak out for what we believe. It's just that we need to do so peaceably. You may not agree nor I with you...and that's okay! As long as we respect each other's right to have our own opinions and beliefs without resorting to violence. ​Violence is never the answer. Not ever. Period. 

At the end of the day, we are still more alike than we are different. I absolutely believe we can do and be better, yes?

Please, join me in treating the nation and each other with respect and kindness.  And PRAYING FOR PEACE.

​There's nothing so rough or challenging that the Big Guy can't help us up and over it ---if only we ask Him, Capisce?

#SpreadLove #ShowKindness #Pray #Peace

Well, that’s it. It’s all over, done. Terminado. Kaput. Finito.
 
Sigh.
 
You know how, toward the end of “A Christmas Story” Ralphie laments how the Bumpus hound dogs robbed the Parkers not only of Christmas dinner but also so much more after they burst into the kitchen and devoured –or more aptly, obliterated-- the family turkey?
 
“…The heavenly aroma still hung in the house. But it was gone, all gone! No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey Hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, ALL GONE!”
 
That’s how I feel about crummy old January 3: it just plain stinks because it gobbled up my Christmas joy faster than those slobbery mutts mangled up that big ‘ol bird.
 
Indeed, today is the post-holiday blues equivalent of the Parkers’ turkey as its picked-clean carcass lay helpless on the tile kitchen floor: empty, defeated, and entirely devoid of holiday sparkle.
 
No Hallmark Christmas movie marathons! No 24/7 Christmas music live streaming on Pandora! No ugly Christmas sweaters, Christmas mittens, Christmas PJs, Christmas commercials, or a bazillion Christmas lights. Gone, all gone!
 
Hmpf.
 
In fact, other than the tree and outside lights, (which go tomorrow, after The Epiphany), I already de-decked the halls -- and stairs -- and mantle. Literally started cleaning house at 12:04AM on December 26.
 
Why? Though I adore all things Christmas, this one was the roughest I’ve had in the past 52. #MissMyDaddy #LoveYouPop
 
So you can understand why having everything merry and bright helped a whole heap. The thought of wrapping up festive wrapping season had me start scheming ways to keep that heavenly aroma hanging around the house a bit longer, you dig?
 
So here are some things it’s socially acceptable to keep displaying for, um, a while yet:
 

• Your Vanilla Bean Noel hand soap dispenser. In fact, put it under the sink until you finally get rid of all that Pumpkin Spiced Latte hand soap you loaded up on in October, yo.

• Your reindeer hand towels. Especially if they aren’t red and green? You can totally sell that as simply being a buck buff. 

• Berry scented candles. I mean, don’t light an unopened one or anything (it'll keep) but if you’ve got a triple-wick little number that’s already past 1/3 of the way used? Burn, baby, burn! There are still bushes with berries on them out there... somewhere ... I think ...

• Anything adorned with snowmen or pinecones. I have a feeling it MAY still be cold and snowy for a bit around these parts, a'ight? Totally appropriate. 

• Ditto anything adorned with cardinals; gone away is the blue bird, after all. Robins, too; except for the couple that seemed to have missed their flight south this year? Brrr for those poor little red-breasters!

• Twinkling white lights. No one will get these off my mantle. Not now, not in July---in fact, not until next Saturday-after-Thanksgiving, Capisce?  

• Red & green M&Ms. Or red and green foiled Hershey Kisses. Or Rollos. Or Twix Bars. Or Christmas-tree shaped Reese Peanut Butter cups.  Look man, candy is candy.

• Santa Claus or similarly-themed undergarments --since they’d better not be visible to the other humans, you dig? Ditto any Grinch, Rudolph, or Frosty motif socks hidden by trousers.  

• The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. Sorry not sorry; this lifts my heart any day of the year. Sue me. Blare it as loudly as your speakers permit –so long as it doesn’t start to sound like his teacher’s humming it.

 
I guess that stretches things about as far as they can go. Oh! I almost forgot the biggie:

Anything and everything professing peace on earth and good will to all. ‘Cause, hello?
 
Kimerer is a seasonally-disheartened columnist who still wishes everyone a Happy 2021. Contact her via www.patriciakimerer.com

Yesterday was my Grami's birthday. She's been gone quite a while but I still miss her. All the time.

Especially on December 29 every year.

It was, for me, the last important event of the year, every year. Our own tradition, sorta. 

I mean, sure, New Year's Eve is full of dropping balls and popping corks and what not. But I've just always tended to prefer staying home to going out. Um, that's a no-brainer this year. #StillAPandemic

Besides, I'm always the DD. Totally by choice, BT Dubs. Wine makes my head hurt. I digress.

Also, New Year's Day doesn't count because ... obvi; new year.  So for me, Grami's birthday was always the last hurrah.  Love and miss you, Gram.

Any how, then there was that weird next day: December 30. That, almost-a-holiday-but-not-really. Kinda a day off, but not officially. Sorta a celebratory occasion but then again, nah. It was the in-between important days day.

It's, ya know, the last of the regular days. Not that 2020 had many of those. BLECH. 

Anyway, because it's so unremarkable, I started to feel a little bad for old 12.30, so I tried to find some reason to make it --and myself-- feel better. You know, special. Here's what I could scrounge up: 

In 1995, it was the day the lowest temperature was ever recorded in the UK. Okay, that's not like, a reason to woot woot, yo.

Um, in 1947, the last king of Romania stepped down. That seems more positive, though it was likely equally as cold, Capisce?

I guess some notable births on this date include:  1984 = LeBron James;  1975 = Tiger Woods; 1946 = Patti Smith; 1865 = Rudyard Kipling; and 1853 = André Messager. 

You can be forgiven for not knowing Patti. Or even Andre but you'd better know the others, by golly. Either way.

Also, quick shout out to my friends Sam, Dan, and Jen, who are all celebrating THEIR birthdays, today - HUGS!

But you know what the best thing about today is? We're all here to see it ... and it's one day closer to 2021. Hang in there, all!

​#InItTogether #StayStrong #BeGrateful #AppreciateEveryDay #Pray #Peace

You knew it was coming. Well, that is, if you’ve been reading the contents in this space with any consistency over the past –oh man, I’ve been blessed to be writing this little blurb for quite a while; I’m pretty old and all…
 
Uh, lemme think. Let’s see now. Kyle was pretty small when I first pitched this column. Hmm, I don’t know, let’s call it at least a decade and a half? Either way.
 
Anyone who frequents this general area of the inside cover of this section with any regularity knew that every year, like clockwork, my pre-Christmas column is an homage to Clement Moore’s “A Visit from St. Nick”…commonly referred to as “’Twas the Night before Christmas.”
 
It’s shameless thievery, to be certain. But, at this point, it really has become something of a PK tradition. There you have it. So, without further ado, I give you my take on the classic poem: 2020 edition.
 
‘Twas the weekend before Christmas when all through the world
Daily life became kooky for all boys and girls.
And ladies and gentlemen, young, old and between.
It was a little like something from out of a dream. 
 
And not the nice, fun kind with snowflakes and sleds
Or visions of sugar plumbs boogeying in heads.
No, this was the type that just went on and on
Like a scratched-up CD of your least favorite song.
 
The notes were askew and the melody flat
And no one could wake from this long dreadful nap.
The days and the nights were a quarantined blur
And it seemed restful wake might not ever occur.
 
Throughout the third rock, every plan was derailed.
No gatherings, no contact, and faces were veiled.
The humans were sad to be stuck in their homes
And longed for the days they could go out and roam.
 
Then suddenly, what to their eyes should appear?
But a chance to let go of frustration and fear!
When they realized confinement could actually mean
Some precious new memories with their fave human beings.
 
Amid all the sorrow and deep isolation
The earthlings began to enjoy a vacation…
From long, hard commutes and extended work days.
Soon puzzles or movie nights were the typical rage.
 
Reconnecting with family, a blessing well hid,
Was keeping so many from flipping their lids.
So baking and cooking and binge-watching shows
Became the new normal through sun, rain, and snow.
 
Soon many discovered this curse held some joys
Like rare, 1:1 time for a Mom and her boy.
Then another thing happened though the world was still listless
It occurred to us all:  NOTHING cancels out Christmas.
 
And though the festivities look quite different this year
The joy of the season remains patently clear:
 
A long time ago in a cold little shed
A newborn boy baby laid down his sweet head.
With Mommy and Daddy and shepherds on hand
A message of brightness enveloped the land.
 
A big host of angels proclaimed from above
That this infant was born to give everyone love.
To save us from evil and wipe away sin
And give us a chance to start over again.
 
So, just like the angels were happy to tell:
A savior named Christ is our Emmanuel.
That means “God is with us” – He’s always right here!
So don’t be afraid, we’ve got nothing to fear.
 
Merry Christmas to all from my family to yours
I pray that you’re safe and are healthy, for sure.
And though this odd year may mean slightly less fun
At least hope’s around the corner in 2021!
 
Kimerer is a columnist wishing everyone a very happy, healthy, safe, and blessed Christmas. Send holiday cheer to www.patriciakimerer.com

Sure we’re all familiar with the classic song about the little feller, presumably recently visited by the Tooth Fairy, who just wants his two main incisors as a present this year.
 
You know, Spike Jones & His City Slickers’ 1948 seasonal smash “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth”.
 
The song was originally written in 1944 by teacher Donald Gardner during a class at one of the public schools in Smithtown, New York where he taught music.
 
Apparently, he’d asked his second graders what they wanted for Christmas, and noticed that almost all of the students had at least one front tooth missing as they answered in a collective lisp. Inspired, Gardner wrote the song ---within 30 minutes.
 
The ditty became a phenom … as indicated by the multiplicity with which it was ripped off, er, I mean, remade. And then re-remade. And then; you get it.
 
Alvin and the Chipmunks were the first to re-record the song in 1961. Nat “King” Cole, ever the class act, deemed a respectable grace period before unleashing HIS beloved version  – Gardner’s fave, incidentally. Personally, I’m partial to Big Bad Voo Doo Daddy’s 2013 rendition. Just sayin’.
 
I want to clarify that I’m truly not one to ask for anything at Christmas or ever; not how I roll, yo. But I will tell you what I DON’T want for Christmas:
 
-You-Know-What. I’m not naming it but everyone is aware of the plague of which I refuse to speak. Blech. Don’t want it for anyone in Casa Kimerer … or in my fam … or in my circle of Peeps … or of the humanoid persuasion. Indeed, I don’t want it to come within six or sixty or sixty gazillion, quadrillion, 160 bazillion feet of me, mine, or even any creature great or small living on the third rock.
 
Except for, maybe those Asian Giant “Murder” Hornets. I think even PETA is with me on this one. What the hex is WRONG with those things, anyway? Honey-bee slaughtering sickos. Ahem, I digress.
 
-The Mirror. You know, the one with the trainer and like, 90 million exercise enthusiasts hiding inside it some cyber way? I’m sorry, but is anyone else as creeped out by this whole concept as yours truly?
 
First of all, women my age avoid mirrors about 98.72% of the time as a hard/fast rule. But to have svelte exercise Svengali Sven staring into my soul as I sweat, grunt, and barely cling to gravity whilst my sagging 50-plus body struggles to keep up with buns-o-steel, bikini Barbie bouncing around the Barbados beach? Naw.
 
-The Manspider. Speaking of creeped out...this little clay sculpture of a man’s head (roughly the size of the one on the “Ken” doll) affixed atop eight spider legs is available on Etsy. But, Madone! Why? Who in the name of sweet baby Jesus invented that? And moreover, how much coal needs to be in your stocking to earn one of THOSE bad boys? Please, for the love of all that is holy, just --no.
 
-A Vacuum Cleaner. I don’t care if it’s the Bissell 8,597 and it cleans the floor, scrubs the carpet, tosses in a load of laundry, and neatly puts itself away in the closet when it’s done. Nothing says, “I bought this ‘cuz we need it and also, you’re kind of a slacker” like a vacuum cleaner poking up from under the tree. I did NOT appreciate it the year Kyle was born and I sure as shootin’ don’t need another reason to feel unproductive these days, Capisce? #ThisMeansYouKerry
 
Kimerer is a columnist who just wants a Covid-19-free Christmas for all. And maybe some fuzzy socks. Contact her at www.patriciakimerer.com