fall....

Ain't it wonderful? After months and months of coming in from outside to stand in the way of the fan - or, to catch a snippet of AC... it's a tremendous feeling to "want" a jacket.

Life's cycle continues... Clockwork... Why is it, as our eyes age and become weeker we simultaneously become more attuned and appreciative of such changes? Ya think it's because we know that day where we won't be able to do all that is beckoning? Eh, I dunno.

It's probably only because we know winter is not far behind and we better suckup the good days whilst we can. I always wanted Florida. Something about a decorated palm tree just doesn't ring true for Christmas though.. Two piece binkini's in the Piggly Wiggly - yes... Illuminated coconuts - no. Give and take huh?

So, I'm gonna let them eyeballs feast on the changing of the trees... The football lights in the distance... Finding the jacket from last year and seeing if it still grades out on today's style... Folding and putting away shorts to a place I'll remember come May... wondering if my 36" waist will still fit in them the next time. Wouldn't it be great to HAVE to buy new 34" ones next year? Yeah, right.

Daylight Savings coming to an end. Shit. Dark is depressing. Unless of course there are two to share dark. Mebbe that's why so many babies are conceived during this time.. Kinda bassackwards to athletics. When you're young, you smooch and bear the fruit of a snotnose. IE, you practice, then you have the real game. When your older, you push 'the real game' out of the nest, then you practice! Hooray for practice. Why does 98.6 + 98.6 feel warmer?

Work beckons. Shit. Nah, I actually love work. Been the constant in my life for the last few years. Now, adding ingredients to that recipe of life. Even though I can't cook worth a crap - I'm enjoying the meal!

Have fun with your life cycle. Stick your tongue out at the little things and gasp and record the wonderful things. Save room for dessert too. Happy day.

"Throw 'em in the River"

Circa the "Animal House" years... oh, roughly 1974... Twelve of us, "Alligator snap-snap" fraternity buds... The Alligator snap-snap came from one of my airline buddies and I think it inferred "uppity, rich, and arrogant." HA, whilst it was an expensive college - 80% of us were on financial aid...

Anyways, us twelve heathens decided to have a cold one... so, we grabbed the one fraternity brother that actually was 21, piled into an old cargo van and headed for the River.. Good times, great stories, brothers.

Long about the fourth beer, shit, up pulls the local Sugar Creek Police... There we were, twelve of us, tossing beer after full beer into the river... Our van was now empty, no evidence. The bright bright light shining into our eyes - we were lined up in a row for Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane and Enos to interrogate us...

"HOW OLD ARE YOU?" Roscoe scoldingly looked at the unlucky first brother in line... "21 Sir."... Moving to his right "HOW OLD ARE YOU?"... "Ahm, 22 Sir."... Further down "AND YOU?" "21 sir.".. and thru the twelve, we spouted back "21 Sir".. "21 Sir"... "22 Sir"... etc.. until the last brother recited his purported age... I'm certain 80% of us had fake ID's justifying our answers.. but Roscoe and Enos didn't ask...

Turning away.. and walking back to his car Roscoe stopped and said "THEN WHATINTHEHELL ARE YOU DOING THROWING AWAY ALL THAT GOOD BEER?"... with that, he and Enos hooted and hawed their way back down the road.. surely eager to get back to the station to fill their brethren in on our story... Oh well, 36 beers tossed into the River is still a lot better than a minor in possession charge.. Pride is hard to swallow but it will go down...

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Son's 13-14 year old Little League team. We were average, in a very very good league... The perennial League Champs whomped up on us EVERY time we played - no matter how well we played. Wouldn't have been so bad 'ceptin for their idiotic chant that always ended "throw 'em in the River" -> referring to us, the Yankees, their opponent. Disgust - and it made you want to kick their booty but our talent prevented us from doing so... Year after year, they threw us in the River.

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Match.com. The very last sentence on my stupid little "advertisement" (or profile, whichever you wanna call it) said "and if I find 'HER', I will throw this thing in the River. (This being the computer.).... I pray, I hope I don't screw this up, because 'HER' is here. In the flesh. Gorgeous gorgeous "Gracie".. (Her nickname).. It's frankly all good - and it's like we've been on a one month date... I know that's drippy and sappy, but tis true. I ain't gonna toss the computer in the River - but thank goodness I'm done with Match.com and the seemingly never ending quest for a mate.

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Drove by that park at the River yesterday... Oh so many great memories of the past.. yet, all the focus for me was today and tomorrow... I like the River...

Say "Unique New York" three times.. REAL fast..

Ok, sorry..... that was stupid. Hi. Sorry I've been a recluse. Been on a long date... A wonderful date... Mode now is to not worry about tomorrow, and live/love today.

Strength and courage - how do we derive that? It's already in there... all we gotta do is believe/acknowledge... I know in the past I've struggled with self confidence.. Ya hear women like "confident, but not cocky, men".. Hopefully gaining in that... I am me. Always will be. Doesn't mean I can't try to better me - but I am what I am.

Please know all has been good. I'm sorry you've looked here and there's been nothing new written for some time... Believe me, there's been a lotta great conversation, great times... Dunno when I will write again, but I will. It's a part of who I am - and as long as my fingers work well - I intend to write - be it to one, or none, or maybe just to me.

Hope your lives are going well and that you appreciate sunrises, sunsets, puppies running, a coworkers new outfit, an act from a significant other, the beat of the sound coming from the radio, the bright eyes of a child... all the good things. Too oft we take them for granted. Not anymore.. at least for me.

Happy day, Victor

Smiles.......

Death is horrible, and eventual. This weekend I was with Debbie when her father passed. Eight children - all united in love to this man. Tears, stories, memories, items of days past throughout the house treasured... Each child uniquely dealing with his death in their own way - mostly through tears - but all with smiles later.

Me being the only one left in my own nuclear family - I love it when people conjure up memories of my mother, my father, my sister. It's always done with a smile. Pretty friggin' good when you stop and think about it.. Sadly, some leave this earth and haven't left reason for those remaining to smile.

I didn't know Debbie's father all that well - but I know tons more of him now - and he's all about smiles. The smiles he passed down to his children are being returned tenfold. The ultimate tribute - being gone and remembered with smiles. He is.

Oh how juvenile....

Yeah... at the time we were - but we had one helluva lotta fun..

Animal House - The "reality" series. Circa mid-1970's, Billy Jewell College. Four fraternities on campus. The fags (sorry guys)with the pretty cars mom & dad bought for them.. the Eastern/St. Louie guys... The goody two-shoes.. and us, the Sigma Nu's...

The Sigma Nu's were a great/rotten bunch of guys... We were, completely immature. But ---- we had a fantastic bond. Moreso than any athletic team I'd ever played upon.. Damn near family. Virtually everyone was a jock - but with a little stoner/wildchild thrown in..

The Pledge. Lower than white whale shit at the deepest part of the ocean we were(or so they said.) There was rush... pledging.. then the transitionary period between pledge and active: Hell Week.

Yes.. on campus's throughout the land there were casualties to hazing - but our hazing was brutally fun, tremendously brothern enriching, and yes, pure hell.

One week, 24/7. First, we got to swing by the local Co-op to purchase our very own burlap sack... Holes cut for sleeves.. this was to be our 'undergarmet' for the week. That and a jock strap during the 'fun' evening hours of 7pm to 10pm.. We sly ones learned the ole handed down "wash the burlap sack in Downy and it won't be as irritating" so we did.

Another 'fixture' to our week was a string and a pencil. Attached to one end of the string was to be your penis.. and the string was to be fed up under your gunny sack, coming out your neckline with a maximum of 5" of string exposed. You had one week to obtain 100 female signatures. Of course the first day we went along with it.. probably got purple penis's I don't remember.. then, we got smart and insteada tying one end to the pee pee, we'd find a belt loop or buckle to tie it to. Gals would teasingly yank on the pencil as they penned their names.. reckon it hurt more the first day...

Sleep. We got the mandatory two hours of daily sleep from 5pm to 7pm nightly. Anyone caught sleeping any other hour of the week would be in big 'do-do'. We eventually would find backseats, nooks and crannies around campus to catch some Z's.. and watch each other's backs..

7pm. Shit. Time for hell. We were awoken by 40+ actives pounding skillets, pots, pans with heavy silverware.. Up we arose, clad only in our gunny sack and jock strap.

"Fun" and games... There was always an agenda... and it become more challenging as the week went along... One of the first tasks was to save a carp from the toilet stool and give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Much like the current reality show where they do such yuck things.. I guess we were Reality when Reality wasn't cool. Carp saved, patooey, next diddy on the agenda...

One night they even fed us a beer. The actives come carrying in a full case of heavenly cold bottles of Michelob.. we were licking our chops.. Turns out, the Michelob was for them.. WE got hot "Katz" beer. (The old local drugstore's own.. 10 for $1, and ours were HOT, not cold.) Patooey.

To the kitchen, one pledge at a time. You were told to stand on a folding chair - approximately 20 inches off the floor. Then you were shown a 16" string attached to a huge cinder block. Yes, another string tying thing to the penis thing.. The goal was to tie one end to the penis, hold the block in your arms - then let go of it to the ground - kissing your ass goodbye to your penis. Ok, shown the short string.. Then blindfolded - then handed the string to tie up. There we stood, one at a time on the chair - debating whether to give up our manhood for a frigging fraternity. "We all did it.. now you gotta." Shit. Ok, so.. cinder block in hands held out over the chair - the shouting began "LEGGO OF IT!!! NOWWWWW!!!!!"...

Gulp. Did let go, actually bent at my knees hoping the four inch difference would help preserve my penis - and keep it from getting snapped off. I heard the cinder block hit the floor - and my pee pee was AOK. Whatsup with that? Well.. once blindfolded, they exchanged the short string for a very long one so as your pee pee wouldn't get yanked off.. the bastards... The mental test of a lifetime..

Annuder time we were back in the kitchen.. upon the chair.. again to be blindfolded... Serenaded with broken glass in pots and pans - this challenge was to jump off of the chair into a pile of broken glass slivers... Uh huh, sure. But, if ya wanted to be a Sigma Nu, ya hadta. Yes immature, yes an extreme mental challenge, yes all ultimately fun. Ok, so.. as you stood upon the stool Stinger said "NO.. WE'RE NOT MAKING THEM DO THIS ONE... REMEMBER, LAST YEAR ROGER HAD TO GET 42 STITCHES." Shit. "YES, they ARE going to do it.. WE DID IT, and that's ALL THERE IS TO IT."

Upon the chair... "GOOOOOO!!!! JUMPPP NOWWWWWWW!!!!"..... Gulp. Jumped. The landing was terrifying.. You felt the glass.. you took off the blindfold.. you wondered if your feet would be the same ever again... there they were - covered with blood.. EXCEPT. The gag was - it was corn flakes (not glass) you landed in.. and it was intermixed with ketchup. Yes, a stupid test, but a mental/emotional challenge.

By doing all this sophomoric crap - a bond was created amongst your pledge class.. and the next year you would be the ones handing down tradition.

To many, all of the above is repulsive, childish, cruel and senseless. Sorry. To me it was priceless. Those years were some of the best years of my life. I'd do anything for those guys, and vice versa. Like truly standing up for a family member.

We made it thru the week.. and the prize was getting to enter the Active Chapter Room - an "off limits" place for us pledges... We imagined it to have golden mirrors, fancy ritzy furniture, and swank carpet. Sadly, we were about as disillusioned as ole Ralphie and his "drink more Ovaltine" decoder. It was a room with shag carpet - and the seal of Sigma Nu was painted on the ceiling. We did all that for that? Yes, yes we did.

But again... the lifelong bonds made and the passing of 'extreme' tests seemingly made you feel like you could handle anything in life. Sure the Deans woulda booted us out had they known what went on.. We loved it.. Katz Beer and all. High rickety-whoop-tee-do, what's the matter with Sig-a Ma-nu.. Terra ga who, hullabaloo, all together for Siga-Ma-Nu. Fun, fun days.

Peace

What a powerful word. Our lives hinge around it. We live in our culdesacs, farm houses, high rises in peace because of the men and women who've protected we have that assurance..

Peace will happen again in New Orleans. Hopefully peace will reign again in Iraq. We mold that, and proliferate it..

Every waking moment is all about peace. Not just the peace that provides us the freedom to mostly do and say as we feel - but inner peace. THAT'S a humongous one.

When my mother passed away, while it was sudden - there was peace. I was at peace for the recipricol loving relationship we'd cherished over the years. We each had a great appreciation and love of the other...

Every phone call we make, every interaction with whomever - the bottomline is 'was there peace'? Yes, we can disagree, yes we can argue, yes we can be upset, yes we can say things we regret (and hopefully undo later)... It's all about peace. We are human, not perfect. Those imperfections and the acknowledgment of it within ourselves and within those we relate with help formulate peace...

Yes, there've been some engagements where I've not been proud of the ending - and peace could have been established earlier - but again, human, not perfect, but human.

There are lucky relationships where peace flows so freely... Yes, it's said "don't get too high on the highs, nor too low on the lows" - but there are moments we need to stop and reflect - and yes, perhaps gloat about the bond of peace with an individual that's played a major, major role in our lives..

My stepson, whom I love dearly and has taught me so much over the years - ends every phone call with "peace." Perhaps I'm biased - and I use the word only for impact, but I believe that to be far fucking out.

While I'm not a member of any designated religion - for many years I attended Catholic services... I truly cherished those moments where we were asked to stop and extend "peace be with you" to those surrounding us.

Peace is all about fears, cheers and tears.. Yesterday, as I walked thru a hospital hallway - an infant, perhaps one and one-half years old - waved to me from her father's arms. We're born with peace - thankfully the vast majority care and strive for peace. We'll not allow others to impede our way.

Thanks to those who read - it brings me peace that you do... Compliments to those who live with peace within their relationships and those that surround them. The eyes close easier at night when there's peace.

Those awesome words: passion, love and feel. They're all about peace. Powerful, spine tingling, earth shattering.

We are so, so lucky to have peace within our lives - and should be so so proud to have lived a life of peace.

Love,
Victor

Amazing Grace....

How sweet thou the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see...

Up/down... Happy/sad... Love/hate...

Don't worry be happy... Ok, lips prepared, everyone whistle:
Phhhh-phaaaa-phuuu-pheeee-phuuu
phoooo-phuuu-phewwww-phoooo-phoooehuuuw
don't worry.... Phhh phaaa phaa phuuu phuuuewhooo, be happy...
Don't worry be happy...

Stuff happens, dunno why....
Good shit, bad shit...
Ugly stuff, great stuff...

Life is like the week... there's always a hump day..

Dick Howser (no, not an athletic supporter.. the former manager of the Kansas City Royals/New York Yankees..etc) usedta say "Ya can't get too low on the lows.. nor too high on the highs.."

Reckon that fits, but I smile a helluva lot more internally nowadays. Always been mostly a facade on the outside. Now the innards match - but it's not a facade.

Life is good. Never perfect, but very very good. Dreams. Dare to, for they can come true.

Hope, always have it. For if you believe it, it will be willed.

I know this crap is all non-sensical, so apologies. Guess you had to be there.

Happy Labor Day... which, whenya think about it... is wierd. Labor Day, yet we get it off. Hmmmm. Toodles... I promise, promise promise I will try to think of a funny story to relate soon. In the meantime, don't worry be happy.

When the dog bites... when the bee stings...

when I'm feeling sad... I simply remember my favor-ite things, and then I don't feeeeeeell, soo bad...

Yes, raindrops on roses ain't bad....

Calling a cat and having him look at you like "be for real"

Returning the love to a tail that's wagging for you...

A light rain on a 90 degree day...

Driving by places that bring back memories...

Driving in the country...

Having a full gas tank AND money left in billfold.

The Caribbean Cooler (I think it's called) It's a long, circular ride at Ocean's of Fun.. No impetus needed, the flow of the water keeps one in motion. You raft, you lounge, you move. Peaceful.. Oh so peaceful, in spite of all the termites screaming nearby...

The natural noises of a summer night...

Cool mornings...

That first cup of coffee...

Music that sends gyrations thru the bod...

A smile returned...

The Sport's page (sorry)...

Plunging in the warm waterbed on a cold winter night...

Plunging in the cold waterbed on a hot summer night...

Making waves in the waterbed, any temperature (Oh come on dammit, lighten up, this is about favorite things... and if that don't rank up there... geez!)

The perfect symmetry and green-ness of a Major League Baseball Stadium...

A smiling rugrat with no front teeth...

The first days of a walking infant... the excitement within.. the leaning for them.. and the deep breaths one draws from worrying about "boo-boo's"...

The days when you could go somewhere, plop the kid on a blanket on the floor, and he/she is young enough they can't go anywhere. Now THAT'S my kinda parenting.

Payday...

Frito's....

Peanut Butter and banana sandwiches (again, sorry)

Walking...

A hammock...

The shade...

Fixing the car and there ain't no parts leftover...

Holding hands...

Kissing...

Eyes that talk...

Feeling reciprocal 'feel'...

Relatives..

One-putting...

The internet...

Linguistics...

Clever IM's...

Fun emails forwarded that you ain't pressured to forward or send back to sender...

Fleetwood Mac...

The Allied Saints (local band)...

Peanut M&M's...

A voice on the other end of the phone you've been dying to hear...

Pictures of me when I had a flat belly...

Pictures of me prior to San Andreas faults...

A bike ride...

A game of catch...

Pickup basketball...

$3 blackjack...

Teasing co-workers...

A job well done...

Knowing, in spite of results... I've done my best...

Touching...

Contributing to another's self esteem...

Beautiful people...

A weekend trip to anywhere but home...

Being around water...

People who read every damn word of blogs and don't fall asleep whilst doing so...

My friends...

I don't feel sad (or bad)at all. Quite the contrary. I just didn't feel like writing or story-telling.. so..... I shared somea the crap that makes me happy.

YOU... Yes YOU dammit.. what makes you happy?

Say a prayer for the folks of LA, MS, AL, FL and remember, for every looter story, sniper story, there's gotta be 100 untold Good Samaritan stories... I gotta email from a cousin this morning... said "I feel so guilty living here and having 3 empty bedrooms when I know people down there would give anything to be in one." DAMMIT I hate (love) when people say things like that, think of them before I do. That rocked.

Oh yeah, I forgot Debbie. (One of my favorite things).. It's scary good. Been all of 13 days and seems like a year. (And that was meant complimentary/so natural).

Life is long (we hope) - stay tuned. G-Night

Whothehellarethoseguys?

Onea my alltime favorite movie lines... Butch Cassidy... Whothehellareyou? WhothehellamI?

How can we be the same person at age 9, as we are at 19, 29, 39, 49, 59, etc...?

9. I had no clue to the world and it's woes.. All was good.. Gimme an all day whiffle ball game... Kick the can at night... get up and do it allover again the next day. (With an occasional "oh, it's back to school-time" tummy ache.

19. Again, no worldly clue. Out and about. Period. An activity damn near every night of the week. "Tomorrow" was not the future, rather it was tomorrow.

29. The "shit there's gotta be a better way" stage. Reality has set in.. For the light switch to come on, one must get butt out door and do something to raise funds to pay light bill. If one goes about this half-hazzard, there's rarely anything left over and above paying the light bill.. .thus "shit, there's gotta be a better way."

39. Second place. This is the dawn of the era where kids rule the roost, and thoughts of "me/tomorrow" are put on indefinite hold. Bending over backwards to ensure their life is great.. we oft forget about our own. Funny how many marriages go kapooey during this stage. Well, not funny, but sadly true. The focus is taken off 'us' and placed on 'them'.

49. Shit. I guess I better getta 401K or sumpin.

50. Screw you! I AM NOT supposed to be getting this AARP literature.

51. Geez, I wonder if I sign up for AARP, what kinda discounts I can get. They now have a professional tour for golfers that turn 50, maybe 50 ain't so bad after all.

52. The early years were spent as virtually all kids spend them, very damn selfishly. Propelled and encouraged by ma and pa. The family raising years lay ground to the crevices that run along side our noses... The 40's are all about holding on to "I can still do that dammit, I know I can."

I am not who I was when I was 9. Or 19. Or 29. Or 39.

The damn kids are about raised. I've done some selfish crap. I've tried my best to climb the ladder. I've hurried, I've hustled, I've driven thru the drive thru so we could have time to do every damn thing else there was on our list to do.

I like being 50-something. Drinking wine is not about getting a buzz... it's about the taste. Sunsets aren't all about "whatthehell do I have to do tomorrow.. what will I wear.. who has to be where/when." The slower pace fits. In fact, it's kinda welcomed. Phrases like "bent outta shape" and "all up in arms" no longer fit. To see a familiar face isn't taken for granted. We've seen our parents struggle. We know that's coming. We are thankful for the ability to simply move and think - and it doesn't go unappreciated. We wish we had a chance - not to do life over again - but to maybe have played it "33 speed" versus the "45" (or 78) we lived it. The eyeballs, whilst sucking at reading the newspaper - keep their lenses open a helluva lot longer to grasp and appreciate little things.

I broke my toe doing a cartwheel. I frankly don't give a shit. I once high jumped my height. I know I can't do that now, and it bothers me zilcho. Walking has usurped running. Tis Ok. Whothehell can see everything whilst running? I'd much rather walk and take it all in.

These are the years. Yes, those earlier years were the years too. But it's kinda like we've trained our own selves to appreciate things just a shade more at this age.

In spite of the reflection in the mirror... The minimum-ness of the 401K... The friggin' 36" belt notch that gets harder and harder every friggin' day to latch. I like my age. I appreciate my age.

I know the day is coming where I will pee my pants uncontrollably and forget my name. Fifty-something ain't so bad. In fact, it may be the best age yet.

Toodles

Free Sammy........

Once upon a time, roughly 19 sets of broken New Year's Resolutions ago, there was this exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man.... and his wife.....

Said couple had one year earlier produced a rough and ready lad... This lad wasn't supposed to ever come about - as said wife had some pretty severe difficulties bearing her first child... but rough and ready came... and the exceedingly handsome, nice friendly man thought wife's father would be tremendously upset. He was (I heard) but he never said anything to the father...

Said couple decided to officially bring an end to childbearing.. and the discussions were tubal ligation, hysterectomy and vasectomy. Since 'the wife' had such difficulties with son #1.. and #2 (rough and ready) was a C-Section baby... the exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man mostheartedly volunteered to have his scrotum cut on...

With one condition....

When said scrotum had been butchered, and doc beckons this exceedingly handsome, nice,friendly man back in for a sperm count.. said wife would agree to "assist" in gaining the sample.

Agreed. No handshake necessary, said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man since he and 'the wife' were a married couple. Word was word. Period.

Said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man drove to the doc that day... taking side street after side street.. for some reason the wheels just were not fully willing to pull into Dr's office lot.. as procedure was to be performed there...

Finally arrived.. checked with the nurse... Murmured the normal low pitch murmur about why exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man was there... and awaited his name being called. "The wife" rode along to drive home - but she would not be a party to observing the 'nutcutting.' Said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man thought she would gain too much joy from watching the procedure... just having the nads worked on was punishment enough (he said) for her difficult pregnancies..

Called in.. shaved down... Two nurses and a doc.. said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly male drawers around his ankles... and they there were... out there for all to observe.. The procedure, I've heard, went fairly swiftly.. The old town doctor tried for a "ha-ha" as he pulled a 1/2 long piece of vas deferens out for the exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly chap to see and said "aha, spaghetti!" but when one is in a nutcutting procedure, tis not a time for funny ha-ha's, or so I would think.

Door opens, exceeding handsome, nice, friendly male shuffles out.. to the passenger seat.. and on into the house... not too bad after all.. or so I've heard.

As the pain downplayed from great - to awful - to disconcerting - to bothersome - to unnoticeable... the 30 days were suddenly up... and the note in the mail said "Come hither, and bring your Sammies."

Said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man said to "the wife": "Ok, let's go." "The wife" responded "nah... I don't think I will do that." This was simply one notch below the marital covenant, and said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man was exceedingly upset with "the wife" or so I heard.

Red-facedly, said exceedingly handsome, nice, friendly man enters the bathroom, ALONE, toting his Sammy jug. Fan on, water running, bathtub going, said red-faced exceedingly handsome, pissed off husband did what he knew every man that has walked the face of the earth has done. Allotment accrued. Fan off. Sink off. Bathtub off. (No more off's to talk about.)

Red-facedly exceedingly handsome, nice but pissed off male walked down the stairs, sample in hand.

"The wife" looks.... smiles... and spouts... "So... do you feel like a cigarette?"

Funny ha-ha, or so I've heard.

A short one.....

Heard tell of some friends who were helping guide their female friend thru divorce, and back into the world of dating. Aside from the emotional assistance, in a gesture I suppose similar to a "divorce shower" she was given several XXL Condoms.
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Speaking of penis's... Why oh why oh why am I continually besieged by those emails "ENLARGE YOUR PENIS"... "NATURAL GROWTH PILLS."... "BIGGER MANHOOD"... etc?
I mean like, how do they know? Scary.
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PS: Does anyone know where one can exchange XXL condoms for M condoms?

Not my favorite word... but close.

Passion is my favorite word... Passion is all about feel. Passion for a mate, passion for a task, passion for a job, passion about a hobby, an art. Full steam ahead... blinders... let it all out... total immersion... oh baby, oh baby.. passion. That's my favorite.

Another favorite is 'sharing'. Sharing rocks. Said co-worker "Hey, I bought this little thingy of donuts outta the machine, I could only eat three - would you like the rest?"...

Reckon it all starts in the sandbox. Sharing is learned here. I've always wondered why.. seems a much better arena for the little snotnoses would be four or five safe wrestling mats placed together - surrounded by stacked air mattresses so the little creeps would stay in... and so they wouldn't/couldn't get hurt/lost. But no, we test sharing by giving them small projectiles (grains of sand) to wing toward their buddy's eyes if they aren't naturally attuned to sharing.

Sharing is four eyeballs watching the same thing - and then expression/discussion of same thereafter. Ever been somewhere, see something totally bizarre and wanna scream out "DID YOU SEE THAT?" - but there ain't anyone there to share with?

Givers, as we've discussed, love to share. Disgusting bastards! They do things that to me appear sooooooo hard (like bringing a breakfast casserole for co-workers) with ease.. and they then are perked by their sharing.

Share a story... share a slab of ribs.. share a round of golf.. share a bed.. share a kiss.. share a pizza.. share a smile.. share an afternoon.. share a six-pack, bottle o wine... a life.. share raising a child... share a hug...

I've almost been to the point I wanted to go see such-n-sucha movie that I actually considered going alone. Nope, sharing rocks. Life be all about sharing.
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Reckon there are some negative connotations to sharing. There's a local major league pitcher who's shared his Herpes with a few.. (not at all biased to those with Herpes - just kinda got the impression this feller was sharing and not telling - a no-no in my books.)

Recent cold/flu/bronchitis/whateverinthehell it is.. Called down to IT dept to tell of woe with computer the other day.. Nice lady says “Vic, you don’t sound well.” “Nah, I’m Ok, I feel better than I sound.” “Ohhhhhhhhh, so you learned well when you were a youngster and you’ve decided to come to work and ‘share’ with all of us.. I see.” (Dammit, just help me with my computer)

There is the sharing of bad news... But, even bad news has to be brought out in the open.. and usually when one shares it, it's a 'have to', and usually they're there to help you absorb what they've just shared with you...

The noun share. Shareholders. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. Shares, kinda like life/rollercoasters/grade cards - fall prey to the old gravitational clause "what goes up must come down."

Share, as in work. She ain't pulling her full share here. Worked with ole Fernando @ United Airlines.. His favorite phrase, when told to get his ass out and do a specific task was "eets notttt my yobbb mann". Fernando, I think, usedta wing sand.
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Soooooooo. I love the positive aspects of share. Like when you turds (said with love) add comments. Like the last 8 days of my life where I've virtually shared every waking minute with another. Bizarre, strange, wonderful.

Toodles

Someone asked.......

"Are you Ok?"..... Yes, better than Ok. I've long loved this 52 year rollercoaster... and of recent years, in descent, I've long awaited the slow, cranklike pace back up to the apex of the rollercoaster.... I've joked "I can't friggin wait to get to the top to see who's in the car with me." My eyes are getting clearer.
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On a side note... Last weekend Debbie and I had the date to the Chiefs (She was an immdediate hit with all)... We sat in the company suite... The company has leased it all year for the games - and when the regular season opens - us footsoldiers are understandably kicked back to the curb - and they call in clients, vendors, transportation partners...

I got an email from a feller in Baltimore who'd learned "Hey Vic, I understand the XXX Company is going to do some entertaining in the near future.. and I'd love to attend and meet you guys.."

So I emailed my boss:

Ken,

Marc from ABC Company emailed me and said he has interest in attending a future XXX Company entertainment night upcoming... I told him I really didn't know anything about it.. but that I'd forward his question on..

Oh, and if it includes free liquor, I'd love to come as well..

Vic

Ken (he of frequent tongue-in-cheek) walked later in the day to my desk... Says "well we're inviting Joe from XYZ Company in Baltimore.. in fact they're coming down for the Eagles game.. We're not interested in you attending, but we kinda would like to fix him up with Debbie."

Hehe. Sorry boss - but I like your taste!

Wife Numero Uno.......

Now, before you ask... just twice. Six years the first time, 23 legal years the second time. Damn that's a lotta years.

My favorite story about many marriages is the old geezer who walks by this spring chicky and says "Wow, you look just like my 6th wife." A bit taken back, she spouted "Geez, how many times you been married?".... "Five."

Wife number one... a good lady. Spunky as hell.. 5'5" 115 lbs, absolutely zero fears for any task. Among somea the things I observed her do: Drive a school bus as a college student.. Played college basketball (a tad short on talent, aheada the rest on effort).. owned/rode a motorcycle... for a science project she shot a couplea pigeons down by an inner-city bridge.. and then a couple out in the country... dissected their lungs and wrote a paper (and had a visual display) on the vast differences between the two, all whilst taking a full college load (Biology major no less), work 30 hours a week at an area hospital as a phlebotomist...

Oh yeah, and I had umpired some.. Continued to do so during college because it was good money... so, her attitude of course was "if he can do that, I can do that."

Several times I'd observed her putting 6'4" behemoth little league coaches in their place. Even tossed one or two.. Final game of the year.. 11 & 12 year olds... both teams 11-1, thus, whomever won this one would be deemed League Champion. Of course, SHE was to be the umpire behind the plate.

The Braves, the visiting team, took a 3-1 lead into the bottom of the seventh - the final inning... A bloop single for the Colts. Man on first, no outs.. Next batter - runner steals second... 2nd hitter strikes out.. Man on second, one out.. Four straight balls... Now we've got first and second, still only one out.. There wasn't a butt touching the bleachers - all parents, grannies, little tykes standing...

3-2 count.. an infield pop out... out number two... Runners on first and second... two outs... Braves still lead 3-1... First pitch to the next feller goes beneath the catcher's glove - runners move up to 2nd and 3rd base amidst the thunderous cheers from the Colt faithful... fouled off... 1-1... outside... 2-1... Steeee-rike (yes, she was emphatic.. maybe a little show, but very definitely wanting to do a good job).. 2-2... Nope, outside.. Full count, runners on 2nd and 3rd, two outs... CRACK.. A line drive just over the head of the shortstop - one run is in (3-2)... THE SEASON IS ENDING... BUT HOW... HOW WILL IT END?... runner from second rounds third with the tying run.... left fielder had cleanly picked it up... planted and fired toward the catcher who gritted his teeth whilst he awaited....

The ball and the runner arrived at home plate at virtually the same time...Screaming, literally screaming going on in the background... A cloud of dust...the runner slid.. the catcher swiped.. THEN... dead silence... There she was.. She, the one who feared nothing.. making the call that the season hinged on.. I actually kinda felt sorry for her to be in that predicament... "YOUUUUUURRRREEE OUTTTTT" she bellowed at the top of her lungs....

This could be the end of the story, Braves coulda triumphantly run on the field 3-2 victors... but, as the dejected Colt fans were collapsing in defeated exhaustion and the Braves fans were beginning to raise their fists in victory.. .the 11 year old catcher still managed to grasp a slight moment of the silence and proclaimed (loud enough for all to hear) "BUT UMP... I MISSED HIM!" Shit.

I headed for the car on that note... couldn't bear to see how she wiggled outta that one.. but somehow the pigeon-shooting, bus-driving, motorcycle riding woman found a way...

When she reached the car, I didn't even have to ask. "I just told him to never ever say anything like that again." Braves 3, Colts 2, kinda.
Henry Gibson.

PS to those who've asked.....

Yes..... it's been going very well. I feel like the luckiest man alive. One day at a time, and I'm sucking up every ounce of time spent as two. Four years I've waited for 'feel'. Funny, I'll be divorced very soon, I feel, and I actually have had the urge to work on my house.

Mini-thoughts.......Art Linkletter

was right......

Sis-inlaw's daughter had a passion for her cats and dogs. A few moons back, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.... sis-inlaw's kid answered "A Vegetarian."

Logan came to our house to play... Ripped around for an hour with son.. Asked "Logie, are you hungry?"... He stopped... Ran to the phone... Dialed... "Mom? Did we have lunch yet?"...

Ms. Vickie, all of three... asleep in her bed... prior to dozing, she'd strategically placed 37 stuffed animals completely around the silhouette of her body. 'Round midnight 'mom' comes in.. one by one pulls them off her bed back to the shelves where they had long lived. As she lifted the final stuffed toy.. Vickie deadpanned "I knew you'd ass it up."

Said by a six year old gal in uniform to a wet-behind-the-ears fledging young PE teacher - at a time when he wasn't chasing Jason around "Mr. (what's-his-last-name) I'm a Brownie.. Wanna eat me?"

Said amidst a game of hide-n-seek by youngest daughter to mom.. "Mom.. Have you seen Valerie?".... "welllll... have you looked under the refrigerator?"... Youngest daughter drops on all fours... eyeballs to the linoleum to peek for sister.

Little Ricky always kinda slurred his "S"'s... He would always ask "Can I schitt here?"... "C'mere Vic, you schitt over here."... or.. at the completion of round one of a long game of hide-n-seek.. "I'm tired, I'm schittin thisch one out." No schitt, he'd schay schitt like that.

Studying the planets in first grade... stepson rose to his feet.. announced (and we had no idea where he got this) "Girl's are from Jupiter, that's why they're stupider." He did receive time out... we were actually called on this one... Too damn liberal I guess, we simply laughed!

I remember, I was kinda sorta still a kid... I loved baseball like no other... The very year they started having WORLD SERIES day games. SHIT. (Actually, I probably said 'shucks' back then.)....... so..... Cardinals/Yankees (I think)... Game 2, 1960-something, started about 1pm... 'round 12:30pm mother gets call from school nurse. "Victor's sick? What's wrong with him."... "well, he's telling us he has 'The Runs'"..... "Ok, thanks, I'll be there in a jiffy to get him." I'll be damned if she didn't pull up to school (probably dressed in Cardinal red) and she was waving a roll of toilet paper out the window. Hehe. I loved my mom. Moms rock.

Ok, Henry Gibson cutting it short today. Today more like blawg as I feel like crapola. The bastards at work... I asked chicky if she thought I had a fever... she said yes and then "THAT'S when you are MOST contagious"... next thing I know, Nurse Wratchet was at my desk announcing "Finish that task, then get your butt out of here." Shit. I never miss work. I respect my job too much to do that. I ain't a brain surgeon, but if I ain't there, no one knows how to do what I do. Going to study my eyelids. Happy resta the day.

Have no fear......

Feel, passion, smiles, hugs, touch, verbal niceties, simple things such as eyes meeting. I fear not. All relationships ultimately end - but I think when one is in a relationship - or has the potential to be in a relationship... the euphoric feeling of all of the above makes one oblivious to the notion that heart could get yanked right outta your body.

As we age, and if we've accumulated "Samsonite's", sure - that worry is always there. Who cares.

How long's it been since you made out in the driveway? Yes, perhaps silly - and certainly resembles snotnoses who've just gotten their licenses.. sitting in daddy's car. Shit, I remember that feel.

I feel it again. Only difference, I'm an EXCELLENT driver. (K-Mart sucks btw)..

(Note to self: Urge ever hits again at age 52 to emulate 10 year old great niece and turn a cartwheel just as good as hers... don't do it. At least don't do it in sandals. Yes, probable broken toe. Somehow, the pain wave is being diverted.)

Sorry if that was yuck... mush... but, twas what was on my brain. I challenge you to do something sophomoric with your significant other. I still say that initial wonderful feeling never has to die. Kinda like flowers I guess - a little pampering. Perhaps covering them for a late spring frost... Watering them in the dry dry July - Augusts... (You perverts, I never even mentioned fertilization!)

Just remember, one minute of one day can make your life better instantly!!!

I love it when a beautiful brain jumps in and says something prophetic, uplifting like that...

to backtrack...

"Dear nieces,

I know I've come across as disgustingly depressed the last few years - and I guess it's simply been who I am.

MAYBE tonight will change all that. I've cried wolf before.

Gotta date to Chief's game with an old high school girlfriend, Debbie.. She's a year younger, simply gorgeous (from my shoes), and has been through a similar experience as I. Debbie's personality is bubbly. Damn the luck, she's a smoker too. Damn the luck, she occasionally enjoys a beer.

It's taken me three months to gain the courage to ask her out... While she grew up of moderate means - she's been married twice - a lawyer each time - and I figured there'd be no way this 8-5 cubicle working, owner of falling apart 93' Ford Taurus with no AC (don't get me wrong, I'll drive that car until it no longer can drive, and I love and appreciate the spirit/history of that car)... anyways, I guess I hadn't asked her out cause I didn't think I stacked up well for her. Ironic, as she was the only girl (in my younger days) that I ever really dumped. What an idiot I was!

Love, Victor

About me: See the funny little clown... he's laughing on the outside.. but crying on the inside... I'm not real sure that perfectly fits - but have you ever been on a roll where one thing after another very bad happens... and you stop.... pray/hope/believe... one day it will get better.

The list: the passing of my one and only beautiful sister in '99. the passing of my super brother-in-law in '00. Each of these passings incredibly changed the families therein. The final yuck days (after many, many good years) of my marriage.. 5/31/01 the morning after the night she'd called at 2am to say, "too drunk to drive home, staying at my sisters." Called her at work the next day. Sick, not there. Called her sister's house.. 'Well, I can't wake her up."... drove there. Car there, no wife. That night "ahm, well, we ran out of beer, I went with this guy to his house to get some more - we started talking and the next thing I know I'm asleep (by myself) on the couch." An interesting tidbit: this couch is now in her living room!..

Dating.. quite a few... and some very damn nice ones.. A couple I even wondered "this MIGHT be the one I could share the resta my life with" only to learn later for whichever reason (hers/mine) it wasn't meant to be.

Loss of job in 2001.. Some lifelong buddies invited me to come into their warehousing business - I would keep books, inventory and in return earn 10% of the business. We grew too quick - and it ended.

Went to Sonic as asst. mgr designated as future manager of the new store to open soon in Lawson, MO. Tedious hours - however fun with the kids.. After opening the Lawson store... a few months later (after I'd worked 114 hours that week) my boss calls me in on Monday morning - my day off and proclaims "we're demoting you to assistant manager ($24K a year) from manager here ($60K).. you know what your problem is Vic? You're just too God damn nice... You need to be an asshole like me."

Happy to say one good did come from that... I love where I work now and it is absolutely not a drudge at all to make the morning commute.

My present home life - and I haven't shared this with many. My son has knocked me to the ground three times in his life. Twice with blows to the jaw, once a full force (didn't know it was coming) push from behind. This has been about two-three years ago.. and it hasn't happened since - but life here is not good. I'm 6', 210, he's 5'7", 140. I can't, cannot, hit my own son. The living room is occupied literally 24/7, so my abode is my bedroom. I live here. It's depressing here. The house.. eh, I won't even tell you.. Let's just say I don't think one of those "we buy ugly houses" types would buy this...

Ok...... back to the thought for the day: Just remember, one minute of one day can make your life better instantly!!! (My niece wrote that too me... she rocks... it rocks... she's her mother's daughter.. and that came thru her - I tuly believe that.

I had that moment last night. As I awaited in the foyer at Debbie's house - when she walked down the steps my jaw literally dropped. Yes, the physical is important - but the course of the night was even better. I observed her love of live, the easiness with which she communicates with people... her wit.. her taking a moment to let someone know they're important to her... it was just very simply all good. She's equally as gorgeous a person as her physical attributes.

Our date lasted from 5pm (Tailgate at Chiefs.. First half in the company suite... left for party at her ('our') friends.. Fabulous. Then talking on her back porch until 5:30am.. Smitten.

I know it's only one date... but it was extremely extremely good. Maybe the roulette ball has finally dropped on my number. Time will tell. Meantime, I'm gonna suckup every moment.

My invention........

Speakin o'driving, I've long had in mind an invention... If you think the idea sucks, eh, that's ok. If you think we could both get rich, then send me a cashier's check for $40,000 so we can get started.

You remember the old roll down maps in high school? Remember? Jim Boyle placed the Playboy foldout over South America?.....

Well... like those damn kid "shade things" people put on their windows.. I think it'd be cool to have a "roll-up car shade" on the driver's side... and you could have messages on it, say six different rolldown options - and use them for whenever the situation fits...

Simple sayings like:

Peace

I love you

I'm an EXCELLENT driver.

If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

Can I have your number?

Wanna doink?

I'm drunk... shhhhhh... Don't tell.

This IS South Dakota isn't it?

OR........ If you're into age discrimination and you've rounded a corner only to come upon grandpa doing 45 in a 70... howabout:

Would you mind checking your pulse to see if you still have one?

OR........ you've encounted a snotnose with music blaring, F-Bombs coming from the speakers:

Turn that crap down, and pull up your pants.

OR........ if you're into road rage, howabout:

"You're Number 1" <- and the '1' could be the finger.

Where the F___ did you get your license? Dollar General?

Thanks for the tailgate, but I'm not really into doggystyle.

OR......... Hell, you could sell ads. I mean, everywhere you look nowadays there are ads. You chickies don't use the urinals, but nowadays, if you stare straight ahead whilst peeing, there's an ad infronta your nose. If you look down, hell, there's an ad down there that you are actually peeing on.

Sure! Al's Plumbing. Budweiser. OR...... howabout your favorite sport's teams? Hellyeah!

For an address to send the $40,000 cashier's check (or for those of you gorgeous single ladies who might someday desire to see the perfect set of balls [doc's words, not mine!] please call me at 1-800-555-1212.

Love,
Victor

Ohhh no... not another Hodge-podge?

Yeah, sorry, I suck don't I. I envy them bastards that are pressed with deadlines... GOTTA come up with a feature story by such-n-such PM for tomorrow's paper... Nomme... I sit here, I absorb the day... I maybe have a beer... I write when I wanna... YES, YES, YES....

Today could be the most exciting day of my life... but we'll see... and I promise to share later....

Driving... Can we switch to that? That wasn't the plan on the brain as I drove home... but when I plopped my butt down here, I forgot whatinthehell I was gonna write about....

Your driving style? Are you, Type A, ONLY the left lane, get upon theirass until they pull over, flash the headlights if they don't.... Average? Normal distance from pack, speed limit, maybe a mile or two over... Cautious... VERY DEFINITELY one car length for every ten MPH of the one in fronta ya. <- that's me.

I've been cussed in snowstorms... I don't give a rats... I ALWAYS make it, knock on wood.

Do you put on eyeliner as your left thigh controls the steering wheel?.... Do you talk on the phone incessently, oblivious to the next curve, normal slowdown, readied lane change?

Do you, stick your little finger in your ear... then pull it out and LOOK at it? I mean like whatinthehell... are you judging the wax content? Eww....

I've been married to VERY GOOD, but somewhat domineering ladies. I've stated in these goofy dating websites "I want someone, whom when a car pulls out infronta them, they simply take a deep breath and move on."

Well... I guess I do that... Unless it appears the guy did what he did with intent.. then I may follow his ass for awhile... (try to determine if he can whip up on a 52 yr old... or if perhaps he looks like the type to have a concealed weapon)....

Driving is interesting.... I had an Aunt that drove from STL to KC in left lane, 60 MPH (speed limit 70) for the entire 4 hour trip...

Invariably, I'll get behind the g-pa that has his left turn signal on for 62 miles...

I think dweebs get road rage the easiest... They are squished on at home by their wives, so... they feel vindicated when they get out there in the open road and are on equal terms with others. I feel their being baffled at home can rub off on them being superfuckinghero on the road.

And another thing.... before I tell this one, I hope you remember my love for Herbert Washington and Bert McGinnis... I really really ain't prejudiced... It seems, whever you see someone going 65 in the left lane on a 70 MPH highway, it frequently can be an African American woman. I talk to myself in those instances... and I understand. Even after all we've overcome, they still have the racial hurdle to jump, and they are female on top of that. Tis Ok bebbe... Take that left lane, I don't blame you one iota....

My principal... remember? The lady who gave my salary review and said 9 wonderful things before bringing up the one thing I very badly needed to work on? She was perfect. Yes, I am naive, but she was the closest thing to a perfect person I ever met. When I interviewed with her... after a number of questions she came up with "What is your philosophy on Education?"... I thought and I thought... I tried remembering whateverinthehell the going speal was on it.. .and I repeated that... She then told me... "You know... mine is... to treat each child as if he/she were your own." (Did you ever squirm and feel one-upped?... what she said rocked... and she lived it... I was lucky to work for her..)

Anyways, Irene (the PERFECT principal) and I... sped out one day to checkout the camp we were going to take the entire 6th grade to camp to for an overnight... This was like in April... and I'd managed to build up my evaluation of said principal to around a 120% score...

Holy shit. She got behind the wheel... and I thought to myself... "Our Father, who art in Heaven"... She tailgated... she passed... she swerved... she did virtually everything to almost make me pee my pants.... Twelve miles into the trip I blurted "I KNEW IT."... "I JUST KNEW IT."........

"What, you knew what?" she came back with. "I just KNEW you weren't perfect... and while I'm a little disappointed.. I too am somewhat comforted by that."

She laughed, we made it... and I never/ever rode with her again.

My favorite driving story has Eddie Murpy at the wheel, little Stevie Wonder in the passenger seat. Stevie pulled out his harmonica and began an awesome rendition of "Fingertips".... Eddie, as only Eddie could say.. looked at Stevie and said "Shit, you wanna impress ME Stevie? Take the wheel."

Keep 'em between the lines.......

El presidente, Kansas City, Gay Liberation Society

Well Victor, if you come load airplanes for us, we'll pay you $13,477 more per year than what you are making teaching school. To quote Butthead... "Ahm, Ok."

There we were, a conglomeration of new hires and transfers into Kansas City for Eastern Airlines.... We're talking early 1980's... (I know these stories get old from so long ago, so chill out... and think about what your body looked like in the mirror in the early 1980's, that should help matters!)..

"Throw suitcases for six months, and you can fly anywhere in our system for $6 coach, $12 first class. "Ahm, Ok."

Former Braniff workers... former railroad workers... Eastern transfers - mainly from Miami... a very nice mix - and we all basically got along... This job was sweet.. you killed your body for probably a total of 2 and 1/2 hours per day, and played Spades, Hearts, Dominos, watched TV, whateveryouwanted to do the remainder.

Herbert Washington. Ok, those of you reading that - I'm certain first thing that comes to your mind is African American. Yes, Herbert is. If you could pick one person on this planet you would consider "THE nicest person I know"... "THE person I would trust until the end of the world".... it was Herbert.

Herbert, early 40's, had put in a lengthy career with Braniff. They went belly up, so... after losing his 20 years of retirement, he decided to start from scratch with Eastern. Although 40-something, his work ethic had the spunk of an early 20's man. Courteous, calm, I can't speak highly enough of him.

Herb liked to tease though... We had 8 minutes left to load out a flight to Atlanta.. the plane obviously had more goodies (mail, freight, baggage) to load than it's belly could hold. Herb sent 'rookie' "EJ" down to United to see if we could borrow their "belly stretcher." Uh huh, right. But EJ fell for it... went to United.. .the guys there suredly knew Herbert - and countered with "No, dangit, I'm sorry, we loaned out the belly stretcher to Delta."... Off EJ went.. Delta sent EJ to Northwest.. the Northwest guys just laughed their ass off, and EJ returned to the flight as it was 'powering out'... sweating profusely, he eyed Herbie and Herbie had the big ole shit-eatin grin on his face.. "got another."

YES YES YES...... Six months in... Screw it, we're splurging ($12 first class to Orlando versus the $6 coach...)... Spouse, stepson, son, me... that's only $24 more.. yes, let's do it!

Dressed in our Sunday best.. we strolled up to flight 274... all looked good. Booked 80% full... appeared we wouldn't even have to separate, and we could sit by our kiddos, 10, and barely 1.

White-knuckled, I am that whilst flying, but the crew was awesome... even when the little turd's ears started hurting from the altitude... a little over two hours later we landed in the hometown of Mickey.

Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Universal Studios. Seaworld... even us old farts could hardly wait...

Orlando's airport had these flat, circular baggage belts that protruded out roughly 30' from the opening they sent them thru.... We waited and we waited... No recognizable luggage... Finally we see our biggest suitcase coming thru the straps, onto the belt in front of the still remaining 80 or so passengers...

Yep, signs of Herbie. There, perfectly stood upright were six consecutive suitcases adorned with GIGANTIC labels "VIC (whats-his-last-name) PRESIDENT OF THE KANSAS CITY GAY LIBERATION SOCIETY".... The bastard! I hustled the bags off the belt.. mighta even pinched whatshername on the butt just to attest "huh-uh, IT AIN'T SO" to all the waitee's still standing around. No matter, I'm certain they gotta big kick out of it... I was mad but also glad to see our bags, all at the same time. "Paybacks are hell" I thought to myself.

We did Mickey, collected small broken up shells along the beach, all (in spite of all that cream crap for protection) got burnt like crazy, loved SeaWorld, Universal (especially the Back to Future ride), hated (I did) the GD (gosh darn) rollercoaster at Disney that is inside, completely dark (I just KNEW I was gonna meet my maker in the form of a steel girder, no matter how taught I held my head.)

$48 later, back in KC. For those of you mathematically challenged ones, that's the little turd, his brother, their mom and me, planting our butts in First Class back home to KCI.

Being a longtime proponent of the school of thought "I can dish it out, but I can't take it" I hadta come up with a plan for Mr. Shit-eatin'-grin Herbert.

That next week, sometime during our 5 and 1/2 hours of "down time" I managed to come about a few pages of Eastern Airlines Company letterhead." I typed away:

Dear Mr. Herbert Washington:

You have always been an exemplary employee for Eastern Airlines. Your attendance has been absolutely perfect, you get along well with co-workers.However, cameras we installed locally have captured you defacing customer property (My friggin family's suitcases!)..

In spite of your exemplary record, this behavior means immediate termination. Effective 12:00pm, 8/26/1986, you are no longer an employee for Eastern Airlines.

I explained the whole situation to my cool supervisor Marty Lowen, she cooly agreed to go along with it, and EVEN sign the letter and hand it to Herbie! Walked out between flights, handed Herbie the letter. Opened... reading as he walked... got to the termination wording and there the letter went - thrown up and left on the ground as if "yeah... I did do that... Oh well, Braniff went under, I was Ok... now this has happened.. no reason to get excited... I will make it" (If I don't kill Victor first!)

I don't remember who got to Herbie and stopped him from getting on the employee bus for "the last time"... but I kinda sorta got back at him... Yeah, maybe a little too harshly.. but I knew my buddy Herb could take it... We laughed and shook hands the next day we worked together.

I love ole Herbert Washington. Me hopes there are those out there you love as well.

Life is SO weird.......

We ALL come from different backgrounds.... We ALL were raised virtually completely differently... Yet we all face a similar life......

Golfing tonight. One buddy, given up by his 16 yr old mother for adoption.. His aunt and uncle actually adopted him... He's had a wonderful life.. Yes, some contact with birth mother, but not much...

Another buddy "My dad died when I was in first grade... and my mother died when I was in 6th grade." Dang Dave, I'm sorry to hear that.. who raised you then? "Well, I was the youngest of 9 kids, so one of my older sisters basically raised me." Sure seems he's had a good life...

My own father - his mom died when he was six... he was raised by his dad, an aunt and uncle in St. Louis, and his grandparents... fairly frequently shuffled inbetween. Once, his father (a non-drinker) owned a bar.. they lived on the second floor above the bar.. But ya know, my mother had the same pair of parents virtually her entire lifetime - and my father's happiness equally matched my mothers.. I guess that bodes well for my mother's favorite line "The secret to success in life is how you deal with Plan B."

I only wish for my own son, he could have made it into adulthood in a bonded family.. It gives me optimism though to see so many who haven't been dealt a great deck - yet they've become wonderful "card players."

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Howinthehell this is whittled down to grandparents, I'll never know.. I guess because my parents were married forever... and my mother's parents were married forever...

I hope you have special, wonderful memories of your grandparents.. (Which reminds me.. a chick I work with was raised by her grandparents... and she simply adores them.. and is normal as hell)...

Please..... think in your own brain of your memories..... here's a few of mine...

Grandpa sitting on the front porch swing EVERY summer night listening to St. Louis Cardinal's games on his transistor....

Grandma putting up St. Louis Cardinal's baseball calendars... yet, she would cut out newspaper articles to cover all the Budweiser/Busch ads!

Their fridge was ALWAYS stocked with boo-koo Grape Nehi...

Us three cousins riding in the backseat of granny/grandpa's car across town... normally somewhere around 23 miles per hour.. .hearing granny chastise "Now MAN, MAN, slow down, you're gonna KILL these children."!!!

Grandpa taking his hearing aid off at dinner time (the load murmur got to him)... and, since he had his hearing aid out... he couldn't hear his "pooters" so he just kinda wailed away... and it was the laughing tonic to this 9 year old's day when he did...

Fresh baked pies keeping warm on the oldstyle room furnace in the living room.

The 1950's version of Lysol kept atop the stool in the bathroom: wooden matches...

"Arthur takes his bath every Saturday whether he needs it or not." Granny.

Upon completion of the mass Christmas present opening... granny (who with g-pa lived on a very limited budget) would stand and pass out envelopes filled with money to every single one of us there...

Granny/G-pa's dog Skip. THE thing to do for older adults in Fulton, MO in the 60's was to "drive uptown" around lunchtime... converse with other retirees... this was a Monday thru Friday occurrence... You knew if someone was ill if they didn't make it... I swear to goodness, Skip, their dog (who we pretty much thought was dumb at everything else) would leave the house like clockwork every day at 11:45am to run uptown, and lay in their M-F noontime parking space until their car pulled in.

I have been blessed with so many good memories... I hope your eyes/ears have seen em too......

Oh how often do older folks teach us lessons.. A quick "grandparent-inlaw" story. Stepson was nine. We'd gone away somewhere for the weekend (I can attest, it wasn't camping... oops, did I say that?)... anyways.. my stepson's dad's sister (u still with me on that one) watched him. Lo and behold she'd taken him to get his ear pierced. I've got the coolest stepson on the planet.. and his mother was a damn good mother with him. Both of us normally levelheaded folks were a little put out by this... sooooooooooooooo... One holiday, we were at the house of the grandparents of my stepson... In their basement lived the 86 year old great-grandmother...

Hotsy-totsy me hollered at stepson... "Hey Denton... c'mere."... "Uh huh?"... "Why don't you run downstairs and see what Nana (great-grandmother) has to say about your earring?"... If you've played blackjack before, this was kinda like the good feeling you get when you've got 20, and the dealer is showing a 6... Denton (the stepson) runs down... a few minutes later I see him back upstairs circulating with the other snotnoses... so I ask "well, what did Nana say?" (Ha Ha, here's where I get my revenge... surely she was AGHAST by this nine-year old's earring)... "Well.... she said I "was right uptown now." Shit. I hate-hate-hate when others knock some sense into my gourd!

No matter your upbringing, I value you, and I wish you good luck as you take on life daily... THANKS for all the comments... They make me feel I'm right uptown.

THREE EMAILS........ YEAHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Played golf. Whooped the little dude's butt by 6 strokes... Got home, and there they were, THREE, count 'em THREE emails....

One, a back door sneak in trying to sell something....

Two, a reminder note it was time I pay my mortgage online...

Three, another reminder note I pay my mortgage online... (Somehow, the second one leads me to belive they DO know me.)

Jeopardy: "He worked it out with a pencil."

What is: "Did you hear about the constipated mathematician?"

"Hurt Grandma, hurt."

Noon, December 25th, circa roughly 1985:
The meal was served, but all thoughts/attention were on "what's under the tree." We, the "old farts" who'd been thru this so many times before, watched as the little ones devoured their food in a millisecond as it was known "ya have to eat before we open presents."
Could it be THE new Care Bear? The Super Red Rider BB Gun? Big Wheel? The newest Atari game? Hungry Hungry Hippo?....

12:05pm, 12/25/1985..... "Can we open presents now mom?" little nephew Jesse asked, shuffling his peas and mashed potatos in 'reducing' fashion, baited anticipation. Jesse, an adorable blondie, actually kinda resembled Ralphie from Christmas story - what with his horn rim glasses, slicked back hair. (Relax, he now wears contacts)... Jesse, at age 5, didn't want any of the above toys. Nope, his "please please please" was Cowboy Boots.

12:07pm, 12/25/1985.. One of the inlaws was telling an amusing story about a co-worker, absolutely had nothing to do with Christmas.. and virtually at the same time the six rugrats chimed in "Can we PLEASE open presents now?" "Soon, VERY soon, but first we're gonna have some desert, THEN we can."
I don't know why I'm reminded of this, but I was. The desert thing was like the time 1950's-60's kid's radio fella 'Cowboy Bob' signed off.. then forgot to turn off his mike and bellowed "THERE, that oughta please the little bastards."

12:11pm, 12/25/1985... Chocolate pudding, pecan pie, ice cream wolfed down. Nephew Chris, arms now crossed disgustingly, "PLEASE, can we NOW open presents?" "OHHHHHHH0-KKKKK!"
In they ran. 53" of stacked presents sorted to the designated recipient in less than two minutes. "Mark.......... Set........ Gooooooooooooooo." In 94 seconds, over $2000 worth of gifts were opened... wrapping paper now completely covering up the carpet.
"YYYYYYYYYYYYYES, YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYES, YEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" Jesse triumphantly admonished upon opening the box containing his brand new Cowboy Boots from granny/g-pa. "Yessssssssssssss!" For a second, granny smiled that smile of "yeah... we did pretty darn good... he's a good kid... a deserving kid... we wanted to do right... and it certainly appears we did."

12:13pm, 12/15/1985
After several attempts, Jesse broke down and pleaded "Mom... will you help me get these on?"..... "Sure honey, come on over." They tugged and they pushed, they pushed and they tugged. Ouch... ooooh... uggghh... FINALLY, the right one was on. Same scenario was repeated for lefty.... and it was one of them there Kodak moments to see Jesse proudly peeking down at his brand spankin' new, shiny black Cowboy Boots. YEAHHH!!!!

12:15pm 12/15/1985 "Hurt Grandma, hurt" Jesse proclaimed. The other monsters were already outside (probably with no coats on) playing basketball, throwing the new Frisbee, or in an upstairs bedroom cooing over Chatty Cathy. Jesse meanwhile, was limping noticeably, yet still smiling, yet still proclaiming "hurt Grandma, hurt." Of course, brand new boots hurt. They're stiff, the toes are pointed, and it takes some getting used to.

1:15pm 12/25/1985 "Hurt Grandma, hurt"... "Oh Jesse, I'm sorry.. but they're new, and I'm afraid it is just going to take some getting used to them... you know, kinda breaking them in too." "Ok Grandma." The old folks were now on coffee, exhausted from late night wrapping, early morning Santa arrivals at our respective households. The other snotnoses had enough emotional petrol in them it'd be another 7-8 hours before they were wiped out.

2:30pm 12/25/1985 Jesse's smile was diminishing some, his very definite limp was still there, but he was still very obviously proud.. yet muttered "Hurt Grandma, hurt." "Well Jesse" granny chimed in "maybe it'd be a good idea if you took them off for a bit... went out and played with Chris and Denton."... After a year of anticipation.. Jess peeked down at his boots, then back up at Granny... "Naw, I think I'll be Ok."

3:23pm 12/25/1985... In tears by now, and in a low shriek, occasionally bordering on a very loud shriek "HURT GRANDMA... HURT!".... "Ok Jesse... come on over, granny will take your boots off, *but I'll put 'em RIGHT back on you* but first I'll rub your feet, as I know how much new boots hurt."

3:24pm 12/25/1985 "OHHHH MY GOD...... I can't believe I did that" said granny.

3:30pm 12/25/1985... All is good, Jesse now out "kicking it" with cousins. Running even.

The moral on this one... If at Christmas time, you ever purchase a brand new pair of Cowboy boots for your cool grandson, be sure to take the paper stuffing out of the toes before you wrap them.

Coach, ya got two nickels for a dime?

I was a wanna be NBA basketball player. I'd dribble a basketball and my white ass up three blocks virtually every day as a kid to the outdoor Catholic School basketball court - adjacent to the neighborhood predominantly occupied by African-Americans. We didn't know color in that day - unlike the times - and I consider our town lucky. That's a story for another day.

My high school basketball career was that of mediocrity. If you remember, I'd broken my arm being Al Bundy in HS Football - so, I was still "with cast" when practice began my senior year. Sprints, we were running sprints. I was madly in love at the time, and since I couldn't dribble, scrimmage, do what the others were doing - I was extremely bored and wanted to get the hell out of there. Sooo, long about when I thought it was our last length of the court - I continued out the opened doors - did a Ralphy toward the school exit and went and saw my sweety. Hell I forget now who I was dating. Coach was in his 27th year, his handle on team discipline had slipped a couple of notches - I figured no way my absence would be noticed, nor penalized even if I did get caught.

Next morning, I was reading Kansas City paper... Sports, page 4 - BIG picture labeled: "Returning Liberty lettermen".... "Joe Blow, Jim Smith " (not pictured: "Victor whats-his-last name"). Yes, KC Star reporter came right after I left, doing the annual projection for our high school. My timing for departing practice that day was not the greatest.

I continued playing in Junior College - and our team was in it's first-ever season, so, a fitting place for a player of mediocrity. Team pictures from the early 70's look more like women's basketball players - as virtually everyone at least had hair covering their ears. Mine hit my shoulders, and on more than one occasion my female English professor whom I loved/admired deeply would purposely walk up behind me, tap me on the shoulder and say "Excuse me ma'am."

On to the Liberal Arts College I attended... nope, not talented enough to play - but, didn't stop my love of the game. I was what is referred to as a "gym rat." Intramural hellion, connoisseur of the game, eerily in love with basketball, Pete Maravich wanna-be.

"Hey Vic" the women's athletic director called out one day..."C-mere, I wanna talk to you." "Me?" "Yeah... c'mere." I, the gym rat, was being offered the assistant head coaching job of this fine Liberal Art's College FIRST EVER edition of Women's Basketball. Cool!

Sooooooooooooooooo many memories... I did that for seven years - the first as the assistant, and the next six as head coach.... Ulitmately got a wife outta the deal, but that too perhaps a story for another day.

Diddies from that era:

Hey coach, ya got two nickels for a dime?... "Change for a dime? WHY would anyone need change for a dime?"... Embarrassing moment number one. (Do they still have those damn machines in women's restrooms? If so, what's inflation done to the price? hehe)

Basketball games get rather emotional... I'm fairly darn self deprecating, but I gotta say I was a fairly good motivator in my role. They played hard, and on several occasions tears would come out after defeat and more than once I heard "we wanted to win for YOU." (Shit, there's that 'feel' thing again.)

66-65, a homecourt win over our arch rival, Missouri Valley. We always met briefly in the locker room to talk for a short right after the game. I dunno, I guess we became like family - as - as I began the little post game congratulation speech - TWO (not one, but TWO) of them forgot it was me standing there - and their tops came off from all the excitement of the moment. Embarrassing moment number two. There were many.

Cottey College - at that time was a rickety ole junior college - and we played them early every year to prepare for our regular season... We'd womped up on them pretty decently... Had our postgame talk.. I trudged to the van to fill my dual capacity role of van driver. Cottey College is out in the middle of nowhere, a female junior college then - and I ain't real sure how frequently they'd seen a man around. With my eyes covered... Ok, maybe just one of them.. an on-purpose striptease act was performed in the windows of the dorm our van was parked next to... This went on for like fifteen minutes - until the first chicky on the team returned from the lockeroom to the bus.

The wild Cottey women had settled down a bit by now - but still, it was another 15 minutes before the next player emerged... and then the next one - another 15 minutes later... after one full hour, the 4th player walked out. "Burgy, what in the heck is going on in there?"... "well coach, they've only got one outlet in the locker room... and we've each GOT to dry our hair." Shit.

Road trip. My senior year, second year as head coach. We'd won in mid-Missouri on a Friday night - were spending the night in one of the mom & pop motels that was within the means of our budget. Upcoming noon game Saturday in another mid-Missouri town. My assistant was a fraternity brother who'd quit playing basketball the year before. 6'6" tall, skinny as a rail, and one of the nicest guys I'd ever met. Traveling with us on this trip was the assistant coach from the year before - another fraternity brother.

As fraternity brothers do (yes, even a group of Baptist College fraternity brothers) we bought a twelve pack to celebrate the victory - and to hash over the season, school, and who we thought had the nicest butt on campus. Shortly after our second trip to the liquor store.. Joe, the skinny assistant - takes a shower. He sits wrapped in a towel - we're all fairly lit by now... One of us, don't remember who.. say "hey Joe, ya wanna make $5?"...... "Sure, how?" (In spite of this being a fairly expensive college to attend - 90% of us were poor.").. "Well, Mr. Joe, I'm going to place this $5 bill on the windshield wiper of our van.. all you have to do, is walk outside completely naked , get it, and it's yours." "Hell, I'll do that for $5."

Joe drops his towel, jogs out for his easy money, his skinny ass rail of a body shining in the moonlight. CLICK. Motel door locked. Dumbass. Fifteen minutes of begging, pleading, knocking, banging ("Joe cool it, you'll wake the girls") we finally let him in. Moral, if any get rich scheme sounds to good to be true it probably is.

I love basketball, any age, any stage.

The goal is to get Catom58 to say something emotional...

"Victor, it's YOUR blog... I can't do that.." To that I say, patooey. There is nothing better than feel, and the expression of - be it thru tears, thru the keyboard, from between the lips, maybe a roundhouse - hell I don't know... I love "feel."

Occasional times when I "feel".....

Thanksgiving..... 20+ family members surrounding... seeing the multiplication from one couple... outstanding... and tied...

Watching a mom or dad's face as they observe their child with proudness and you can just sense the happy bond betweengst.

Seeing a couple - almost any age - doing special "help" things for the other... No production or show for anyone... just because they want to, and they derive pleasure from that.

Seeing live musicians, watching their facial expressions and only wishing I could feel how they feel. (Singers are the BEST for this.) If you live in KC and ever getta chance to hear the Allied Saints... watch that gal, u'd see what I mean. Feel.

Crying. Crying is all about feel. Fuck it, feel is good. I cried like a baby on the back porch of my uncle/aunts house when I was 34 and my mother passed. I hurt because of all the good that preceeded that day. (Brevity time out: Sometime that day... my sister drove her bigass Winnebago camper thing down there... her and I alone, sitting in the bigass Winnebago thingy, chatting about mom, the funeral, etc. Well, she had to pee. So, she gets up, heads for the bathroom in the bigass Winnebago Camper thingy... I hear this CLICK. (BR Door locked.).. I got tickled. When she came out I was like, "hehe, did you really have to lock the door? Did you like think I was gonna barge in or something?" hehe... I LOVED MY SISTER AND I MISS HER LIKE CRAZY... (Ok Catom, ur turn!)

Observing... Just observing someone who's been thru something emotional.. Coming back to work after a funeral.. about to go celebrate an anniversary... their kid's first concert... first communion... first prom...

The ole brain..... recollecting... perhaps this is the greatest "feel" method. Thinking about old times... Stopping to remember the roses from that day, that friend, that event... Screw digital cameras and HD TV, our eyes are the most marvelous visual wonder of all...

Anon talked about her son both happy and crying when her grandkiddo was born. That's feel. I know how Life After 50 is feeling in anticipation of G-child numero uno... Catom just got called gorgeous yesterday by a longtime admirer who has felt that all along but he just got the Kutzpah to verbalize it.

Feel baby... inflection... tears... rapid friggin heart beats... excitement almost to the the peeing of pants point... Somehow it reverberates thru one's bod...

Yes, this is "my" blog, but it's OUR life. I'd love to hear your moments of feel. Why hide 'em? It's a good thing, amplify 'em......

A quick note to "Four Chickens and a Coke"

You, the band that was s'posedta play at 7:30pm tonight and no-showed... leaving a 1990's hit-playing band to try to entertain us 1960's-70's kinda people.... Lemme just say that was 'fowl.'

Ohhh woe is me......

Life's not fair... I'm a single father barely getting by... I drive a '93 Ford Taurus with no AC and we're in the middle of a fricking drought (not conducive to dating)... I have to scrimp and watch every dollar... My kid ain't working, and he's got four able limbs... I want to get divorced (and am) but it's admittedly hard after 20-some years... My house need TONS of work and I ain't got the will, nor the money to do so... the liner has been out of my inground pool for four freaking years... I've not gotten laid since.... ah, nevermind!

That reminds me... There for awhile I guess I was situationally depressed. Go to doc, pay my co-pay, he puts me on these antidepressant meds, bids adieu with "Victor come back and see me in three to four months"... "K doc."

Now I've heard about these antidepressants and their ability to give one inability when one is "you-know-what-ing" (Virtually EVERY one of them)... Hell, they'll make me feel better, count me in, I''ll take em...

Four months... go back to doc... give the nice lady my co-pay... "Hey Doc, howya doing?"... "great Victor, thanks..."... and he proceeds to ask me a set of questions regarding depression that he memorized a long time ago... then he spouts out "Now Victor, are you experiencing any sexual side effects?"..... Suddenly I felt the urge to say "HEY DOC, HOWABOUT THOSE CHIEFS?"..... hehe... I mean shit, WHAT SEX? In my normal "speak up, we can't hear you voice" I said "hehe, well, doc... I just don't know about that one, I'm not in a relationship." End of questions... I did wonder if they have breaktime in doctor's offices like we have break time where I work... I can just hear him relating that story... The women where I work are TOTALLY piggish. I've walked away red before. Somehow one day the topic whittled down to anal sex... I, one of one males sitting at table, faced with five frowning women (ten eyes) expounding on how that was simply a male homosexual tendency, "you men are disgusting" yada yada yada. Perhaps I was the butt of their jokes that day, I dunno.

Back to "woe is me." If you've got enough energy to scroll up and read that first paragraph.. it really sucks. I've got a great life.

There once was a little boy who lived in Jackson County who wanted the latest $140 pair Nike's like the little boy that lived in Johnson County. His mom took him to WalMart and he got a new pair of $39.95 sneakers... Another little boy saw him, and wished he only had a pair of tenny-boppers that didn't have holes in them.... Another kid down the road saw the kid with the hole in his shoes and simply wished he had shoes... Then the double-amputee boy wheeling himself down the sidewalk in his wheelchair was somewhat envious of the boy who was walking barefooted along the way.

My problems ain't problems. Compare my list to the 19 year old returning from Iraq who will face the next 60 years learning to deal with one arm... Howabout the middle aged guy with Parkinsons?.. The mommy just diagnosed with breast cancer... The mate of one who's just committed suicide?.... The family forced out of their rented household because both breadwinners got laid off from the same company 3 months ago and they couldn't make their payment...

Granted, life is/can be hard. Putting things all in perspective sometimes helps. Tonight when I drove home after a quick date with a very nice lady - I stopped in the gas station by my house... peeked in the Planter's box that normally is overflowing with plain ole Salted Peanuts and appeared empty. Shit. I don't wanna pay twice the amount for cashews.. I HATE the roasted ones... whointhehell is in charge of ordering these things anyways?... Then I realized those thoughts were rather silly. I guess I was being watched over - as I stood on my tippy toes to peek down to the bottom of the plain ole Planter's Salted Peanuts box.. there was one laying in the bottom.

I'm rather nuts to complain eh?

Oh, and one I forgot to mention......

I've had this lifelong dream to get the hell outta Dodge, rent/purchase a small min-home (like one of those old Shinook things).. take off (up to a year?) and just see America.

Any rich, willing applicants (good cook would be a very definate plus) please apply within.

Please put your thinking caps on......

Please know: I am perked by your comments, and please know, they don't go unnoticed, unappreciated. Your comments are my $2.35 per gallon fuel to continue blogging - and I'm tickled to no end that some have told me they enjoy this... I do too. (And, apologies to the nice lady at the gas station who TWICE now has told me "Fill up... gas is gonna go up." Her words started at $2.14/gal, we're now at $2.35/gal in KC. My apologie$ for not taking your heed.

This ain't gonna be funny - ok, ok who said any previous were? I just wanna know, as we age, as we can still move fairly well, as we all still recognize the name on our nametag............. WHATTHEHELL are some things you wanna do for the resta your life?

My list:

I wanna see Cooperstown....

I wanna see the four dead guys in granite....

I'd love to see my son as a productive, independent citizen....

I'd love to go shopping for "her"....

I''d love to take "her" to my cousin's house in St. Louie (it's a mill converted into a wonderful, indescribable household/retreat/mecca)... I don't know if I've ever been more at peace as I have when I've been there.....

Close ur ears... I wanna get naked with "her"... not so much to "oh baby oh baby" but to moreso stare into one another's eyes and enjoy the fact "on this planet, there is no one else I'd rather be with than you."

I'd like to do something for the givers I've run across in my life. Howinthehell do I make up for 52 years of birthday cards from my aunt? I dunno, I'll find a way.

I want to be in a situation (maybe car trouble, maybe simply advice) where I don't have to stop and think...."SHIT....... who do I call?"

I want to do exactly what "she" wants to do.....

I want to experience 24 hours where I don't have the urge to run to my PC.

I had sooooooooo much fun in working with youth... I'd love to experience that again (without having those wonder "why is this old perve doing this?")

I'd like to help old folks somehow before I are one.

I'd like to write down names of people who have touched me in life, and try to get ahold of them.

I'd love to make this longer and I certainly have more - but some fellow blogger (blogette?) and I yapped until the wee hours and I "didn't do the resta my homework"... SORRY! The dog ate my mouse!

Happy day - I'd love to hear some things you'd like to do the resta ur life - and again THANKS for your comments!

And it's one, two.....three strikes you're out....

Life After 50 wrote:

"I agree with Catom58, I Can't WAIT for football season, Go RAMs! (although not sure how they will be this year.)Not ready to give up baseball though and October could be World Series for the Cardinals again! Anyway, looks like you do have the majority in sportsminded chickies reading your blog!"

Baseball? Is it still baseball season?

Tis the season........

Seasons…… I’ve long mentioned my penchant for wanting to live in Florida…. Something about going to the Piggly Wiggly and sharing the isle with chicks in bikini’s… Comfort, calm… Then ‘they’ tell me “NOOOO, all those damn New Yooorkers go there to retire, they’re rude as hell.”.. .Or, “Are you nuts? What about hurricanes?”…

Well, I gotta admit I would miss the seasons. There’s something to be said for comparing a string of lights strewn over a wimpy palm tree versus adorned over a fresh cut cedar that G-Pa just hustled from the country.

Today as I looked out across all the trees from where I work, already there are signs of fall. Hell, it could be the damn drought we’ve had - but many trees are already changing - and before you know it, they’ll be wondrous, then suddenly barren.

Bill Cosby said “October is my favorite time of year…. The flies get slow.” October is all about transition. Decent utility bills… crisp air reminding us football season is near (Ok, sorry, forget you are mostly chicks… but that’s important to us piggies)…… Time to put away the short sleeve goodies, and space out your long-sleeved items. (Or, if you’re a single ole man, you go to lumberyard and buy a 6’ metal pole… make an upper level and a lower level in your closet - then you gotta nuff room you can store clothes for any damn occasion/temperature. Much simpler than boxing, toting them up/down the damn stairs each seasonal change.)

I remember being in college seeing this couple huddled at a football game in the bleachers under a blankie… She, nose red from the biting wind, dropping temps… he with arm around her as if to protect and love. I remember thinking “I want me one-a them situations.” Is love stronger in the fall? Is summer too damn sweaty to wanna get close? Is winter too damn cold to have all of your senses to feel? I reckon fall rocks.

Fall is getting rid of the damn rugrats from the 24/7 summer. Fall is all about putting a screeching halt on AC bills from the summer. Fall says “OK, this is the period of the year that genuinely prepares you for winter.”

Winter? Shit. I wonder about the price of housing in St. Pete. I wonder if “she” lives down there? Well, at least the grocery shopping would be more interesting.

Sunday nights suck........

Eh, they really don't - but they are unique and different. You're torn between enjoying the remainder of selfish time, and preparing for "their" time. For many many years, I played in a Sunday night softball league - and we piggos would perhaps get carried away.... We'd play for exactly one hour, then spend three hours in our lawn chairs talking about our one hour game. Long about 1998, there was a family vote as to whether I should continue playing in 1999 at age 47. The vote was 1 to 1, I lost.

Scrolling back to the days when I could still run like hell and talk legibly thereafter - an interesting conglomerate of dudes met at the Seminary (they had a gym) to play crosscourt basketball on Sunday evening for hours. You shot free throws to determine teams... and then it was shirts/skins - sweat, camaraderie, "glory days", and being an older fart - losing didn't hurt so much.

This particular Sunday night - I was hurting before we even started. One of my best friends (Cary) had gotten married the night before - and we stayed late at their reception to make sure the caterers hadn't run off with all the good beer the Weplers paid for. I was - wasted.

If I remember right... she left me there... I called, and she came and picked me up...

The next day, Sunday, sure - I had an incredible headache. Not much stirring that day - but at least she didn't get on me too bad for my antics/behavior from the night before.

6pm Sunday night. Ok, 20 minutes until basketball. WHEREINTHEHELL are my shoes? High and low, kid's room, stepson's room, basement, laundry basket - u name it, I looked. No sneakers. "Ahm, you might try the back yard." Ohhhhh, so she was pissed about the night before. Yes, there, about one frustrated throw away from the deck laid my tenny boppers. Tis Ok, I earned it. Off to basketball.

Shake hands with Coop, Dick, Tommy, Tom, Smitty, Lew, etc... and we shot free throws for teams. I shoot free throws like I golf, shitty (But I play great defense!). So.... I was destined to be a skin. (The first five guys making free throws get to be on the same team, and they get to be shirts.)

I rip my shirt off, they take the ball downcourt... Allofasudden the attention to the game is lost and everyone is pointing at me, laughing their ass off. WHATTHEHELL DID I DO? Nothing I could think of. "Hey Vic, run into the bathroom and look at your back."

Ok, I did. There in the mirror, in big black magic marker was "DRUNK" written in three inch letters mid back. Yes, I guess I earned it. I wish I had a picture to capture her smile that night when I walked in from basketball.

No moral to the story - I guess I'm just thankful that for so many years I didn't "let go" of the weekend - and I stretched all the living I could into it. Whatthehell kinda things you do at this age to stretch weekends?

To which he replied

Anon wrote: I just thought of something regarding the name Dick. I was doing some outbound telephone marketing to an insurance agent with the first name Dick. When the receptionist answered I asked, "Is Dick in?" I lost it and had to hang up before he answered! Another name to avoid when naming your child--Peter.

Hehe. Yes Anon, there can be great consternation with that name. My local high school had a female shot putter named Shannon Dick. Of course, using the old megaphone style thingy, the guy running off the shot put contest would announce "Smith up... Jones on deck... Dick in the hole." Hehe. (It was probably equally embarrassing for her when it was "Dick up" too.)

Ophelia Fanny

My father never ate ice cream 'cause his tongue was always in his cheek. That -> Ophelia Fanny, he always said, was to be my name if I were a girl. With the exception of his always mispronounced "Victurd", I never had a nickname. My weak comeback was to call him (Bud) 'Butt'.

Yes, society is filled with folks having real names such as Ben Dover, Anita Mann, Etta Burger, Dick Hertz, Bobbit, etc, etc.

Why folks name their children Richard and then call them Dick I'll never know. Witness the Eaton family. Or, my cross country coach in High School: would you believe Dick Leeker? True. Richie Leeker? Rich Leeker, Richard Leeker? Nope, he went by Dick. He was a positive role model for us punks though, glass was always half full, hehe.

Where I work, we move military member's personal crap allover. Names, names, names. Occasionally you'll get an email from a co-worker saying "checkout 3104772" (our registration number for the member.) The most recent email came from a chicky and was followed by "hee hee." Simple last name, Woodcock, but twas a fun moment taking away the normal stresses of the day. I emailed her back and said "I wonder if he and the Mrs could start a fire without matches?"

Plenty of Ho's in the military. My favorite was Phat. Kid where I taught High School was Rick Shaw (say it real fast, kinda highpitched). Longtime KC Chief's football photographer: Rusty Nail. There is (or was) an OBGYN in Kansas City, yes, Harry Beavers. I delivered mail to Me Hurr. Schoolmate to Stormy Persons and the two Biggerstaff brothers. Anita Little got divorced and became Anita Wolf. Knew the Klitgaard family. Kept the phone number to my lawyer in my billfold (Justin Case). Lady at work in account's payable that takes care sending checks to our vendors is Mai-Ling.

If either of you that read this has come across some 'real' good ones, I'd love to hear. Thanks - Happy Saturday, Victurd.

Do overs......

Occasionally, I'll hurry thru something - go back and look again and think to myself "Jane, you ignorant slut" that's not what I meant/or how I meant that to come across.

Tis hoped it's understood I didn't mean I'M the one that always emails first... Calls first... Is a friend first... Rather, what I meant to relate - to have a friend, ya gotta be one. To get (and continue to get) emails - ya gotta send some.

Happy Friday.

That spike thing........

Ever go to an old-fashioned restaurant - eat the good stuff, pay your bill and they take your 2 inch by 5 inch piece-a paper and gingerly plop it on "the spike"... that longass nail looking thing with a base that holds it up?

Reckon at the end of the day they take all the "wounded" receipts off and sum up the day.

My spike:

1) Always pick a shuffleboard partner that is at least as good (if not better) than you.

2) Remember to fill up gallon jugs in trunk with water when your car is continually overheating.

3) If you own pets, and are reliant upon your son or daughter to make sure they are put out several times a day - carry a clothespin in your car for when you walk in after work.

4) Don't talk about Iraq, the price of gas, or our youth with someone you don't know very well.

5) If you see someone you might be interested in, have the GD (gosh darn) courage to get off your duff and say something. Anything. I once heard "heavy penguins" works. They look at you like you're nuts.. then you say "you know... icebreakers." I've always sucked in this role. She'd have to sit RIGHT NEXT TO ME to strike up a conversation. Swing and a miss tonight.

6) If the lady you see at the gas place every morning tells you "gas is going up" - fill up. I didn't, and tomorrow it will be $2.27/gal vs. $2.14 this morning.

7) If you've played golf for 34 years and your score is exactly the same as the day you started, give the MO-FO up.

8) Promise to start the next day with a quest to find "The Perfect Mate" or "doggie-Certs". I love Smokey (The Yorkie) like crazy, but I ain't sure how many more days/nights I can stand his breath sharing my waterbed.

9) I've noticed some shit. I don't get emails unless I initiate 'em. I don't get smiles/jokes back unless I initiate 'em. I don't get friendship back unless I initiate demonstrating being a friend. I don't know how someone feels about me until I tell that person how I feel about them. (I make one exception to this rule... my lifelong best friend: Sanford. The little bastard... it's been 30+ years since we were in High School together - and he hasn't dialed my number in all those years. When we do connect, it's as if the year is 1970, or 1982, or whatever, as if we'd not missed a moment. I'll trade him not calling for that constant/for sure friendship. The bastard.) Editor's note: All is good... I know ANON loves me.

10) If you ever have the notion to figure this thing called life out - don't EVER start a blog.

11) Lord knows we have enough trouble to keep from saying the things we'd really like to say... I challenge you to say things that might bring you to tears. Get off yourass and call that friend from where you worked in 1995 and tell them you miss them, and you wondered how life is. Lookup your favorite teacher's name in phone book and simply tell them they were your favorite teacher before they depart this earth. Call your brother or sister and tell them "ya know.. .I was sitting here thinking about the time we ________"... Contact someone who's legally out of your life - but still inside your heart (ie. inlaws - maybe best friend of ex) and tell them "Ya know, I know it will never be the same, but I cared for you.. .and I just wondered how things were going?"

12) Stay the fuck away from blogs from sentimentalists.