One Last Round Of 2020 Memes

Oh sweet Mother of Pearl, as Mr. Krabs would say. I sincerely hope these are the last 2020 memes. I can’t make any promises. There may be more heading your way, but right now, this is all I’ve got.

Yes, I know. This one is a little late. I meant to publish it in October but I didn’t.
Probably would have been better in November but it is what it is.
Another October meme.

Monica, A Reply To Your Reply

This picture? Took about 15 minutes. The only Grumpy Gus is my little Picasso. He was only around 4 months old at the time and wasn’t getting ice cream anyway. Besides, he was only a baby, and how cute was he?

Sorry about the full post reply. They wouldn’t let me attach a picture.

A Follow Up To My Last Post

I thought it might be helpful to give Dave a few tips instead of simply criticizing the way he handles Alvin.

Might I suggest snapping his fingers?  I have had good luck with this when dealing with my own children when they were younger. It gets their attention and I don’t have to yell.

<snap> <snap>  Alvin. Over here.

Some might argue that the snapping is dehumanizing. Alvin is a chipmunk. If my kids didn’t mind the snapping I don’t think the chipmunk will either.

Also, sometimes clapping can have the same affect. It’s loud. It gets their attention. But it avoids the yelling.

Another trick would be to speak very softly so that Alvin has to pay attention in order to hear what you’re saying.

My kids always knew this meant shit was going to go down. Oh crap, we can’t hear what Mom is saying. This is never a good sign.

On a more positive note perhaps he could use treats. It is a chipmunk after all. My dogs are highly motivated by treats. I don’t know what Alvin would like. Maybe a peanut. A piece of fruit. He’s tiny so you wouldn’t need much.

I once got 8 kids to sit still for a professional photo one Christmas by bribing them with ice cream. They ranged in age from 9 to 4 months. It went off without a hitch. It’s amazing what ice cream can do. So try that, Dave, instead of yelling at him.

These are just a few suggestions. I didn’t want to criticize without offering some possible suggestions. You’re welcome, Dave.

The Chipmunk Song

What is it with that guy on that Christmas song? Is his name Dave? I know it’s Dave in the movies; not sure it’s ever mentioned in the song.

First thing you hear as the song begins is him asking each adorable chipmunk if he’s ready. 

Okay, Simon? 


Okay, Theodore? 


Okay, Alvin? Alvin? ALVIN!!!  

What is this guy’s fucking problem? He’s screaming at a poor little chipmunk. What has Alvin really done? It’s not like he’s goofing off. He’s simply not responding as quickly as his two suck up brothers. Dave calls him twice and then he loses his damn mind. Why is he yelling at him and what is with his short fuse? He seems like a horrible manager.

Has he ever thought that maybe if he talked to Alvin in a nicer tone of voice Alvin might be a bit more responsive? Alvin might be more inclined to pay attention and give his best efforts towards this Christmas song. I don’t blame him for not wanting to work with that jerk or for not paying attention.

Then he does it again- after insulting him! He compliments Simon and Theodore (That was very good, Simon; that was very good, Theodore!) but tells Alvin he was a little flat, and when Alvin doesn’t immediately tell him he’s so sorry about his failings as a singing chipmunk he yells at him AGAIN! Alvin. Alvin! ALVIN!!!

Whenever I listen to this at work I get irritated with him every single time. Stop yelling at him! Maybe if he treated him with a little bit of respect and kindness he wouldn’t have these issues with Alvin. I think we all respond better to constructive criticism instead of screaming and yelling.

At the end of the song, when he’s telling them they’ve sang enough and need to rest, it sounds like the chipmunks are getting ready to attack him. They are chattering up a storm. Now, maybe it’s just Alvin. Or maybe Alvin has finally galvanized his brothers to rally around him. I don’t know. What I do know is I wouldn’t want to be that guy that spent the day yelling at poor little Alvin. Because it sounds like they’re really pissed. And we all know the last thing you want is a pissed off chipmunk. I’m solidly rooting for Alvin if it comes to that.

It’s That Day Again

There were so many different things I thought I was going to write about.  I started off thinking I would write about the fact that no matter how much I try to train my brain that today is just another day there’s always a little part of me that recognizes today is the day I made the biggest mistake of my life, aka my now defunct anniversary.

Then I tried to find a new pair of jeans. I was going to write about that. Shopping in the age of a pandemic is not easy. All of my old jeans are too big; I really need some new ones. Truth be told I can usually wear the old jeans for about 30 minutes to an hour and then they begin drooping and falling off my ass. It’s a good problem to have, I suppose. Much better than the old problem which is where I couldn’t zip my jeans up because I was getting too fat. Nonetheless, I’d really like to find a few pairs that fit. After nearly two hours of trying to find a new pair of jeans, ones that would fit just right- not too tight, not too loose- I gave up and headed to the Chick-Fil-A in the food court at the mall. I was already there and my hope was that it would be less crowded than the other one.

As I waited in line for my food I got a notification on my phone. It was Jerry Lee. 

No, he did not text to commemorate our former anniversary. He was letting me know I should check my Venmo. Mississippi finally sent the money back and he was finally sending it back to me.

I find a certain poetic justice in that. Turning over a big chunk of change to me on what would have been our 26th wedding anniversary. I always find it humorous when he pays me alimony on our anniversary. I wonder if he realizes that? Do you think he’s connected the dots and ever thinks, “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary! If I’d just kept my dick in my pants and stayed married I could keep all of this money,”? Probably not. I’m sure if he even remembers the past significance of this date he feels it was a good deal. 

It won’t happen again though because it’s automatically deducted out of his paycheck now but you have to admit as far as anti-versary gifts go this one is a doozy. I got a nice big pay day and the saga with Mississippi is finally over. Plus, he has to pay me again on Tuesday. To cap off this fantastic day I’m getting on a plane tomorrow afternoon and flying down to see my love. Happy former anniversary to me!

You’re a Better Person Than Me

I think we’ve all heard that before. Usually spoken when someone does something we would not be able to do, or maybe something we wouldn’t ever want to do.  As in:

You celebrate all of the holidays with your cheating ex and the AP? Oh, you’re a better person than me!

You invited your cheating ex and the AP over for dinner? You’re a better person than me!

You met up with the AP and had a heart to heart? You’re a better person than me!

You don’t hate the AP and you guys go get mani/pedis together? You’re a better person than me!

You bought baby gifts for the affair baby so your kids could give their new “sibling” something? You’re a better person than me!

Are they though? Aren’t they just better at eating shit sandwiches?

Then, of course, you get the whole, “It’s so great that you are moving on and not letting bitterness and anger rule your life.” Because obviously if you’re not best friends with your ex-husband’s ho then you must be bitter and/or angry. Who wouldn’t want to be besties with the person that fucked your husband behind your back and helped blow up your life? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Do you really have to eat shit sandwiches in order to prove you’re no longer bitter and have a fulfilling life without the fuckwit in it? I say, “No. No, I do not.” I don’t need to be friends with someone in order to prove that I don’t hate them. I don’t need to buy them gifts, have them over for dinner, or have heart to heart conversations with them either. Not being friends does not equal remaining bitter or angry. It could simply equal rock solid boundaries.

Why do we keep perpetuating this idea that the only healthy way to divorce is by cozying up to the people that hurt us? Do we want to encourage people to debase themselves in order to prove something to others? I’m not encouraging people to deliberately be antagonistic. By all means, be civil when you must interact. But this idea that you need to celebrate the holidays together for the sake of the children, or that you must welcome the interloper with open arms as another parent? No fucking way. It is not necessary.

I’m sure that in a lot of cases the divorcing couple and the AP could have an amicable relationship. How difficult is it for the cheating spouse and affair partner to be amicable? They weren’t blindsided. They’re skipping off into the sunset, living their brand new shiny lives. They haven’t lost a damn thing. You wanna act like you’re friends? That would be swell! It’s image management at its finest.

Look! Look! What we did wasn’t that bad? Would my jilted spouse hang around me and my paramour if what we did was so awful? Look at what great friends we are! All is forgiven! I’m still a wonderful person despite the fact that I lied and cheated. My affair partner is still a wonderful person despite the fact that they fuck married people.

I don’t know why this narrative gets so much play. Nor do I understand why so many betrayed people buy into it but I really wish it would stop. You don’t have to befriend the person who gutted you, whether that’s your spouse or the affair partner. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Go live your best life and let the swine roll around in the muck. You don’t owe them a minute more of your time.

The Trouble With Daylight Saving Time

I think this sums it up perfectly:

Every year the time switch gets worse and worse for me. Last year it about killed me. This year it’s doing nearly the same. Why, you may be wondering? Why is this so difficult for you, Sam?

I grew up in Indiana. Up until Mitch Daniels became the governor most of Indiana did not participate in Daylight Saving Time. 

Little bit of trivia about the Hoosier state for you non-natives. The western part of the state is on Central time because many of the people who live there work in Chicago. Chicago is on Central time. Since they already committed to following Chicago’s lead they burrowed even deeper and always observed DST. It makes sense, I suppose. If you’re going to be on a different time schedule than the rest of the entire state because of your ties to Chicago you may as well go all in and change time when Chicago does. 

But for me and most of the people in my state we grew up without having to change our clocks twice a year. No, instead every summer our television shows would start to come on at 7 pm, instead of 8. That was a much easier adjustment than the sudden, “Oh, it’s pitch black at 6:00 at night now.” Or, “Hey, it’s 10:00 and the sun’s still out.” I’m sure the fact that we live right on the border of the time zones helps with those extremes but nevertheless… my point stands. I just start getting used to the idea of the dwindling daylight hours. I can no longer come home and run outside unless I want to do so in the dark. I know that by 6:30, maybe 7:00, it’s going to be dark. And then BAM! Next day it’s dark at 5:30. Pitch black by 6.

I would never make a good vampire. I am one of those people that when it’s dark I’m ready for bed; it could be 2:00 in the afternoon but if the room is dark I could go to sleep and sleep until morning probably. Which is funny because I’m up late quite often. But I’m tired. I can’t really function. It has to be something that does not require a lot of brain function. That’s why it’s so difficult for me to get any writing done. Or to get my ass to the gym later on in the evening.

I get home now and it’s dark. I eat dinner and I wait for my food to digest so that I can go to the gym and run since it’s not safe to do so outside. I sit on the love seat to write a post and I feel my head bobbing. I often find myself resting my head against the back of the love seat while I rest my eyes and before I know it I’m asleep. At least for a little while. Or, I simply lose my will to change clothes, get back into the car, and drive to the gym.

I don’t know why it’s taken such a toll on me these last few years. Yes, I grew up in Indiana but ever since I made my first move as a married person, back in 1996, I’ve lived where the time has changed. Michigan. Mississippi. Utah. Virginia. Hell, come to think of it I’ve lived in every single time zone except for Pacific. It should not be this difficult but it is. Maybe it’s an age thing.

Then again, we observe DST longer than we don’t anymore. I’m pretty sure it used to be 5 or 6 months out of the year, and now it’s 7 1/2, almost 8. My theory is that the time changes when we’re already losing so much sunlight and so now the switch seems so much more abrupt. It might be easier if went back to our regular time in late September or early to mid October when it’s getting dark around 7:30, maybe 8.

As much as I hate losing that hour every March and my body has to adjust to waking up earlier (not to mention it goes right back to being dark when I get up in the morning) I do love having it light much later in the evening.

My mother, on the other hand, hates it. She thinks it’s beyond ridiculous to still be light at 8:00 at night. She thinks 7 is a more reasonable hour. Not me. I love knowing I have time to run after I get home and I don’t need to worry about getting hit by a car because they can’t see me. I like it when it’s light outside at 8 and 9 and I still have the energy to do things and I’m not nodding off at 6:00 because it’s dark and my body sees dark and thinks, “Sleepy time!”

This is the time of year I count down to December 21st. I keep telling myself once I hit that day it’s the shortest day of the year and then the days will grow longer. Or rather the days will stay light longer. I confused my daughter on that once. She looked at me and said, “Don’t they all have 24 hours in them?”

Yes, kid, but some days have much more daylight than others.

Eighteen more days. I can do this. I will endure. I may be in bed by 8:00 some nights, but I will endure.

Polar Bear Down

I love polar bears. I collect them. I actually had a polar bear Christmas tree back in my old life.

It was just a regular little 3 foot tree. My former sister-in-law had gifted me with a set of polar bear lights, knowing that I liked polar bears. I had accumulated polar bear ornaments over the years, as well. Eventually I had so many that I bought the little 3 ft. tree and put all of my polar bears on it.

As you can probably imagine it hasn’t seen the light of day since 2014 or 2015. I really couldn’t remember how much decorating we did for Christmas in 2015 because that was the year Jerry Lee was busy fucking his cousin and the kids and I headed to Indiana to spend the holidays with my family. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out I did not pull out the tree.

Regardless, every year I would put the tree, ornaments and all, right back into the wardrobe box we had. The tree fit effortlessly into it and when Christmas rolled around the following year I only had to pull it out, fluff out the branches, and maybe place a few of the ornaments that had fallen off back on.

This year I finally decided to bring it out again. We had space for it so may as well bring it out of the box and let it spread a little holiday cheer.  Only…. when I pulled the tree out of the box there were no ornaments on the tree. The polar bear lights were still on, and the silver beads I used as garland were still wound around the tree branches. But no ornaments.

I even ended up hauling in my box of ornaments for my own tree and going through the entire box of them to see if I had taken the ornaments off of the tree and wrapped them up with all the others. No dice. I found the heavy polar bears I had bought years and years ago as a full set with the dates on them. But I had accumulated so many polar bear ornaments that I eventually took those off of my polar bear tree and just put them on our regular tree. There were two others in the box as well, but that was it.

I don’t recall taking the ornaments off and storing them someplace else. My daughter swears she doesn’t have her ornaments either and they should be in a box someplace. So maybe they are. I tried looking through all the boxes out in the workshop but I didn’t see them. I didn’t get through all of the bins and boxes, and I didn’t take everything out of each box, so I suppose there’s some hope there. Then again, it may be the same thing that happened with Picasso’s Christmas nutcracker collection. I think they were up in the alcove in the garage and they got left behind. That sonofabitch.

When things like this occur I often find myself cursing his name. I whisper angrily to no one, “He wanted this. He chose this. He deliberately left everything behind. I didn’t choose any of this. It was all forced upon me.”

That doesn’t really help matters, does it?

I was in a funk for a little bit, mourning the loss of all of my polar bear ornaments that I had lovingly collected over the years- many of them gifts. Truthfully, I wanted to cry. I told the mobster what had happened and he assured me that we would get all new ornaments for my tree. They would be better and “gooder”. I didn’t want better or gooder. I wanted my old ornaments. The ones I had collected for many years. The ones I hadn’t seen in five or six years because I didn’t have any place to put my damn tree.

I think part of my problem is that I really do need to be dramatic and whiny first; then I can move on and do whatever the hell it is that I have to do. I really need to purge those feelings of disappointment first. I was thinking about that when I pulled the tree out and the ornaments were not there, and when I went through the entire bin hoping against hope that they would be safely wrapped up there. There was a fork in the road and I could play this one of two ways. I could be Pollyanna and tell myself, “They’re only ornaments. This will give you a chance to buy all new ones.” Kinda like the mobster said. Or, I could cry and throw a fit and declare that no polar bear ornaments would ever match the magic of the previous, now lost, ornaments. That was the way I was headed. Let’s just throw out the damn tree and forget about it. Take the few I have, stick them in a box, and give them to Goodwill.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, we were planning on going shopping so I didn’t have time to properly wail and gnash my teeth. Such a damn disappointment; however, in the end the shopping trip saved me. It took my mind off of my loss and I actually ended up buying a new ornament with a small polar bear on it while I was out. It certainly doesn’t make up for the dozens of ornaments I lost but it’s a start. I guess I’m learning to be a Pollyanna. Hooray for me?