Sandman

We had Christmas with my family yesterday, my dad and my sister came over, as did my kids and grandkids. My sister told me she was bringing some kind of oven-baked sandwiches for lunch. That's fine, I said. She is not a bad cook but we have different tastes. I do not eat onions. I don't like the taste but more importantly, they just tear up my stomach. I don't ever ask for a dish to be altered to my tastes, I just silently avoid anything I don't want to eat. Once, my sister made these mini meatloves for a family get together. I do not like meatloaf at all but it smelled fine and I tried it. I immediately tasted onion and asked her if it had onions in it. Her reply was "You can't even taste it! I minced it up really fine!". I said that obviously I could taste it and furthermore, why add it in if you can't even taste it? She had no reply, I finished my meal and was miserable after I got home. My sister arrives and says she made 2 pans of "regular" sandwiches and one with "stuff" on it. I go for the regular and after the first bite, I taste onion. I ask if there's onion in it and she says "just onion powder! I didn't think it would bother you!". I guess she doesn't know what onion powder is made of. "Can you even taste it?", she asked. Well, how the fuck do you think I knew it was in there? (I did not say this). I don't know why you need onion powder on a sandwich but whatever. She just can't help herself, I guess. I didn't eat much of it, so there were no bad effects.

My favorite Rickey story is when he went to the Mets and John Olerud was on that team. Olerud had to wear a batting helmet at all times, as he had suffered a brain hemorrhage years before and he wanted to be extra careful about his head. Upon talking with Olerud, Rickey said "That's funny, I had a teammate in Toronto that also wore a helmet all the time". Olerud said "Yeah...that was me. We played in Toronto together".

This hit me last night, no fever but congestion and bad gut cramps. I starting shitting water around 9 PM and it didn't slow down till 4AM this morning. Not sure if this is an illness or due to the massive amounts of pizza I ate over the weekend.

Even though we left northern California over 40 years ago, I was born there, so this hits close to home.

Had a friend do this and he came to work with 2 different loafers on, one black and one brown.

I go into the office every other week, I rotate with this woman, so we never see each other. Every day, the person in the office has to put the daily filings into a folder and that folder gets put in a filing cabinet. A drawer can fit 6 months of folders in it, so every 6 months you have to start a new drawer. At the beginning of July, I started putting the folders into a new drawer. But when I came back, I noticed she must have forgotten because she put her shit in the wrong drawer. I moved it and didn't say anything. It has been 6 fucking months and she is still putting her shit in the wrong drawer. I was going to say something but I wanted to see if she would eventually figure it out but nope. I guess she thinks it's like a bag of holding, you can just fill it up forever and it will never get full. If I were a younger man, I might wonder how she could be so oblivious but I'm old and have been married twice, so I know the deal.

We were at target and in the kids toys, for reasons I can't understand, there was a kiddie abacus: Wife: We should get that so our grandkids can be smart! Me: Should we get you one too? Wife: Shut up

Sunday morning, I asked my wife if she wanted to go out anywhere, or would she rather just chill at home. I told her I'm in the mood to stay home and she agreed. An hour or so later, she proclaimed that she wanted to put up the christmas decorations. I don't care what she puts out and let her have free reign of the decorating, so she doesn't mind that I go in the other room and leave her to it. But it never fails: "Can you come move this?" "Can you carry this?" "Can you hold this up?". Fuck, I just wanted to watch ONE football game.

There's a new Target christmas ad, has a mom pushing a cart with her kid sitting in it. They're walking through the parking lot as the snow gently falls around them...and she's wearing sandals and no coat. Fuck off, target.

If there's a verified tattoo on it, I'll keep it under consideration.

If they're smart enough to ask about that during jury selection, you're right.

If I'm on a murder trial jury, there's got to be a body to get a conviction. Or at least a pool of the victim's blood that's large enough to determine that they couldn't live after losing that much blood.

I don't do yard work but I get what you mean. I guess I'm just too deep into my routine of "get up, shower, dress and go". I don't want to put on clean clothes if I haven't bathed.

Does this mean I shouldn't take a shower before I got play golf?

He hit a lot of bombs