Day 208

Day 208, self quarantine:

Thursday, October 8, 2020

Kamala slayed Pence last night and a fly came to rest on his remains.

CottonTop literally stood there on stage decomposing and the fly knew.

Pence is every bit as creepy as Trump, huh. 

Yikes.

But ew, doesn’t Pence look just like the Heavens Gate dude?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heaven%27s_Gate_(religious_group)

Okay, it’s too early to go there today.  They both make me incredibly nauseous.

Maybe later.

So we have this insane squirrel family in our back yard.

We have Steve, who is now Fat Steve, because Gary overfed him all summer, and Steve’s brother, who Gary named Dougie because he used to sponsor two brothers Dougie and Steve, who are alas no longer with us.

Those two plant themselves in the bird feeders and stuff their cute little cheeks all day.

But they have two hilarious babies who we call the Jenkins kids, who race around the yard tripping over each other and knocking down plants and our yard gnomes like they both just ate a giant bag of M&Ms.

So.  Why do we call them that?

When our kids were little, they were friends with a brother and sister, also Irish twins like Julie and Eric, and their same ages.

Their mom watched their sugar intake and only let them eat healthy fruit and vegetable snacks, unlike me, who considered candy/chocolate its own food group and let my kids eat everything.

Naturally, the Jenkins kids used to love coming over to Casa Slick for play dates.

While here, they would dart in and out of the kitchen, and I wouldn’t even see them do it, but they would their line their pockets with forbidden treats.

Every time I would check on them, they were eating something. 

And when they weren’t eating, they raced through the house like loons, darting in and out of closets, shrieking, running and leaping.

So yeah, we have the squirrel equivalent now to remind us of our former lives as parents.

Fat Steve, Dougie, and the Jenkins kids.

I guess they’ll be joining the cardinal family - Lou, Georgette, Li’l Julie and Li’l Ricky as our only holiday guests this year.

Thanksgiving is next month, people.

How is it possible Gary and I are going from our best Thanksgiving ever, 2019, when our whole family was together, to now.

Gary won’t let me talk about it because we live one day at a time but I know what’s coming.

The holidays alone.

I guess the good news is, we’ve already experienced Thanksgiving alone in 2017 and I never really talked about it but it was the only time in recent history Gary made a dinner that flopped so to say it was an awful experience is putting it mildly.  We ended up eating a bowl of Cheerios for Thanksgiving.

(I got the idea that year to have lasagna for dinner and we bought no cook noodles.  Pro tip:  You need to cook them.)

Maybe I’m wrong but I don’t think so.  The pandemic is still raging and every single expert is saying it will be even worse in the coming months so I think I’m just being realistic.

I think I need to accept 2020 is a lost year.

But in a way, it hasn’t been.

As horrifying as this year has been, it’s brought unexpected gifts.

The birds and squirrels, and a whole new appreciation of nature.

The gifts of patience and acceptance, which have eluded me my entire life.

There’s a lot more, actually, but I’m thinking it deserves its own post.

As does the vegan mushroom stroganoff Gary made for dinner last night.  Oh my fucking God, the sauce was made from white wine, coconut milk, fresh sage and thyme, and balsamic vinegar.

Maybe we’ll have that for Thanksgiving.  At least I’ll have dinner to look forward to.

Oh okay I’ll stop.

It’s all good, by Thanksgiving the election will be over and we’ll be rid of the squatter in the White House.

Oh wow does it feel good to type that.

Anyway, that’s enough out of me this morning. I need to get in gear to be Robin Slick, paralegal.

Happy Thursday.