He could tie WHAT into a knot?

The human body is a most incredible thing. Recently I read about some kid that was named the Star(Kansas City bigass newspaper) Scholar-Athlete of the year. The kid maintained a 4.0 whilst winning the State Championship in wrestling three years running. His coach exclaimed "he didn't have exemplary workout habits... he had UNBELIEVABLE habits."

Once interviewed, the kid said "I realized at age 13, you can push your body beyond limits people set. It's a remarkable thing."

At age 52, having had one ortho knee surgery... I'd been destined to walk whenever I went to workout. That Sunday morning's paper gave me new life - a great impetus - and I JUST KNEW I could run around that track like in days gone by.

Nope. Reality has set in... Yes, perhaps I can run the straight-aways and walk the curves.. but an all out 3 mile jog is currently outta the question. My apologies to Mr. Scholar-Athlete.

Chuck Lifquin was an athletic specimen in his own right. Swedish looks, 6'4", 220 lbs, built like the proverbial "V".

Chuck came to our Liberal Art's College roughly the summer of 1973... and word of his "prowess" spread quickly. Chuck played varsity football as a Freshman... wrestled Varsity..... but NEITHER was his "prowess".

Ok, listen up. Jeannie, Valerie, Vickie (2nd cousin, niece, niece) please don't read any futher.

Yes, Chuck could tie his penis in a knot. I swear. He wasn't braggadocious of it.. more matter-a-factly. Like I said (Have I heard that before?) Chuck was fairly popular with the women on campus.

Proof.. There had to be proof. Chuck pledged our fraternity. If you recall, our fraternity was like John Belushi times two. Hell week.

"We understand there is a pledge amongst your class that has a 'special' stupid human trick.".....

"Ahm yes, I guess there is."

"Chuck - FRONT AND CENTER." This isn't really gonna happen is it? Yes, I think it is. We pledges were forced to stay awake 24/7 for the entire week... and occasionally, if there was something that happened the "actives" deemed worthy, they'd allow us to snag a two-hour nap. We deemed Chuck's exploits worthy of the attempt.

So......... Chuck... with 20 fellow pledges pleading behind him...... and 35 "actives" Ya-Hoo'ing" infronta him... dropped his drawers.

One expected like a foot long hot dog - but it wasn't that at all... It was simply a very long, elastic penis. It took Chuck three to four tries, but finally, there it was....... the knot. Yes, I did see it, yes, I do believe it... YES, you creeps, I am perhaps envious.

We pledges were so very proud of Chuck and his special 'talents'... for we gained an additional two hours sleep that night. Knot sleepy any more.

Office Party........

Leaving in thirty minutes.... Could be dangerous! One of the VP's of the company opens up his house/yard/pool to everyone once a year... Year's past, it's been a select group - and I snuck in on the fringe... This year it's open to all us foot soldiers..

Ya gotta love office parties. Lord, the pool. There are many amongst us who shouldn't be seen in a bathing suit. To think, I've always enjoyed daylight savings time.

One mem that sticks out from a past office party. Was hers. She worked at a bigass bank. It was a Christmas office party. Your normal music, dancing, good food, complimentary beverage.

Round 10pm, head dude of bank announces.. "Ok, you've probably all been wondering what's in those envelope on the Christmas tree." (Howinthehell did he get to be president? This was a bank we are talking about, we all KNEW what was in the envelopes.") Turns out, it was assortion of tens, twenties, with several one hundred dollar bills.

Names were drawn, one by one you went to pull the envelope of your choice. I think we got one with three twenties. Been a few years, time fogs. However, next memory not fogged. All had visited the tree - but, there were still some envelopes on the tree.

Head dude announces... "Ok, we still have some envelopes on the tree.. and we've deducted two of them still have one-hundred dollar bills in them. Could I please see a show of hands of the people who picked an envelope that only had ten dollars in it? About six people raised their hand.

Included in the ten-dollar group was head dude's secretary. How do you describe someone that's perfect (you're not), doesn't have time for foot-soliders, "I'll decide exactly when you can get in to see (Mr. Head Dude). Prissy, dressed above her salary (unless she was receiving [givning?] perks we were unaware of. Pretty much a total bitch who was extremely in love with herself. "My time is more important than yours."

Ok, so head dude's bitchy sec was dressed to the max. Heels, dress, frilly white top. Seated roughly thirty feet from the tree. "On the count of three.... ready?.... ONE... TWO... THREEEEEEE!!!" and off they went. Midway thru the race of tellers, security folks, proof operators, loan officers to the tree, head dude's bitchy secretary's heel snags on something. There, right in front of forty of us, her feet flew out from under her... ouch, flat on her back, legs STRAIGHT up in the air for what seemed like a full minute(YES, everything exposed) she laid in the middle of the hall receiving a thunderous collective "HELL YES!" roar from us peons/mates. I think even head dude chuckled.

Hopefully, there will be tales from tonight. Have a safe weekend.

Midway between the PC and the Waterbed.......

Rumblings from the day.....

I guess I picture myself somewhere right between Lyle Lovette and Alec Baldwin. (I know, what was Julia thinking?)....

You've read of my pathetic search for "her".... and I'm certain it's fodder for insomnia....

Why, why, why am I occasionally "of interest" by those who already gotta man?

Two things come from that..... #1 "Oh YES, what's it gonna hurt, who will know" and "howinthehell do I tell you I agree to sucha thing."...... and finally, #2 sinks in: No way Jose. It's real flattering, but I can't.

Wednesday, lunchtime. Same chickies I eat lunch with every day. "Hey Marla... run to my car and get my divorce papers off the visor... I ain't seen 'em yet... we can share."

So she does..... we read thru.... and I haven't the foggiest answer as to why, but Marla, some 14 years my junior (Married with children) has always sent those signals that ain't misleading....... They are very forward. "She's gotta be nuts to leave you." Wow. So comfortable, so uneasy, all in one sentence.

Tonight at the bar... GOT-DANDRUFF!-SOME-OF-IT-ITCHES (Said quickly, sounds like GD Son-of-a), DID HE GO TO THE BAR AGAIN TONIGHT?... Yes, I'm sorry... It was Friday, payday, I was lonely, there were to be five-to-six 20-something rats in the living room at my normal arrival time at home - so, I needed a respite.

Shuffleboard. I play shuffleboard. It's a great way to meet people, and I've discovered I ain't half-damn bad at it. Sidney, a petite late 30-something chicky, and I have "funly" hooked up on the same team the last several times I've been to local watering hole. All-the-while her live-in (as many years senior to her as I am)sits at the bar - he doesn't like/play shuffleboard.

Shuffleboard, like life, is all about high's and low's. When Sidney, or I, have a high and score 3 or more points - she runs to me.. I ALWAYS look to see whereinthehell her BF's eyes are - always glued to the TV straight ahead.. .and she in so many physical actions tells me (jumping on toppa, backing up to, high five-ing/rubbing) "if we were alone, I'd take your clothes off in a heartbeat.. I wanna I wanna I wanna."

Tis kinda hard to concentrate on the game at this point. It's a good feel and a bad feel. And a feel that cries out "WHERE ARE YOU?"

To all of you I ask....... If you are hit on by someone who's "taken", is it a good feel when someone expresses interest? If you are too GD moral like me... You're nice, and you point them in the direction of partner "A" (but, draw some comfort in the fact they indicated interest).

Do you have,forever etched in your brain, something someone has once said to you about your character? Back in the dinosaur days... I worked in this Sporting Good's Store. The female partner repeatedly told me "YOU NEED TO READ THE BOOK "LOOKING OUT FOR #1". Mebbe she was right, I ain't never read it.

BEFORE YOU FORGET WE ARE TALKING ABOUT "THOSE TAKEN" BEING FORWARD, MAKING THOSE "NOT TAKEN" UNCOMFY...... lemme tellya two quick Sporting Good's Store stories.

#1.... Two guys walk in... Brothers. Brother A says "I'd like to buy Brother B a trophy for the "hole-in-one" he just got at Claycrest Country Club."... "Well SURE, we can do something up.... but lemme ask... doesn't the course give you anything when that happens?"...... "Ahm, yes, I guess they do.... but we snuck on the course, so we couldn't tell the guys at the desk."

$2... Belive it or not, our Sporting Good's Store thrived on swimsuits. I was roughly 23. Blonde, friggin gorgeous, rougly 20, walked in to buy swimsuit. Helped her find her size, mosied up to front register. I have absolutely NO idea why she didn't completely shut dressing room door, but she didn't. Dressing room door had a mirror on it... and back in the days before I even knew whatinthehell a "DD" was, there they were. (Wife, years later, would go on to work with this chicky at a bank... they all laid side bets as to how much her boobies weighed... so... one day, she got the scale out... flopped em out... in excess of 5 lbs each..) Some pictures your brain takes are forever etched. Oink. That one was too.

Back to the continuing saga of "Hey, I'm available, whyinthehell do all of you unavailable women continue to push me to the brink of insanity."

I still don't have a good answer... I've yet to be a piggo too - but I gotta admit, some of them make it pretty damn hard. Maybe it's the after-taste of what happened with "her" that keeps me from being 100% pig. I dunno. Thus far I have.

If you see a rich, 45 year old, crusty old blonde divorcee......... holler, wouldya?

Idiosyncrasies

A structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.
A physiological or temperamental peculiarity.
An unusual individual reaction to food or a drug.
(Above courtesy of Yahoo, but only after I tried twelve damn spellings of that word.)

Idiosyncrasies (By Henry Gibson) are little things that become big.

Please don't comprende this as a "paper's served, aha, I'll get back" kinda thing.

Ya know... the more I'm actually left in charge of my own life, the more I kinda enjoy it. No, I'd prefer to be involved with a mate - but if that ain't gonna happen, I'd be cool with that. (Note to son: I don't want/need an expensive tombstone... but when that day comes... please remember to pay extra to have the words "I had fun getting here" inscribed. Thanks)

I mean hell, why not maybe make a mark and still be impactive even though you're staring up at the grass. I've never been a big piercing/tatoo kinda person... but I always thought if I ever did get one.. .it'd be about size 12 type... mid-front hip, saying "morticians suck." (why not go out with a laugh?)

Back to idiosyncrasies....

WHY....... WHY after 23 years does one remember the phrase that always gave you that fingernail on the chalkboard 'gimme a Rolaid' kinda feeling?

Phone call tonight....... Being the vocal extrovert I am.... I chimed in with "yes"... "I dunno".... .. "Sure, that's fine".... and "Ok"..

Drum roll............ Ready for the idiosyncrasy?...... Ok, I give in.

"Like I said." Yes, only three words... but those three words reminded me of Tarzan's horrendous screech as he descended the vine... Or George Sr's "read my lips" thingy.

In that five minute phone conversation, after hearing "Like I said" for the third time - I felt just like a mechanic who bolted in the last doo-hicky and THERE WERE NO PARTS LEFT.

Helps me here. As we depart and become two 'I's... Is it normal to turn down the sound on the good, and amplify the crap that truly drove us batty?

This prolly ain't gonna make a lotta sense to anyone, but it was kinda like going to your favorite dining joint... dialing up your favorite thing on the menu and chowing down. And after doing so, there's a "hurt-good" kinda feeling.

Believe me...... I KNOW I have my own idiosyncrasies.

Like I said though, I still likes me.

Just outta reach......

Poor Scruffy. Ten years ago I caught this plea "Victor, I have driven by this place the last three weeks... there's this adorable Terrier... he's on 291 Highway at a business... The guys who own it don't have any teeth... and this poor little 'scruffy' dog is on a 2' chain..... CAN I ASK IF WE CAN HAVE HIM?"

Shit. If you've kept up (keep up dammit if you haven't) you might remember my love of "Oscar"... and Brownie, and Magic, and Stripe... (And there have been a whole host of others.) So I'm a wimp when it comes to critters.

"Sure... go ask the no-teeth guy if we can have him."

Fit-teen minutes later, this tail-wagging, fairly hideous, portly, scruffy dog comes walking thru the front door..... at home, as if he was visiting long lost relatives...

By this time we were down to four cats and one dog. The cats basically ignored "Scruffy", whilst Sadie (our gentle, white, part-Lab, part-Retriever)and Scruffy participated in the normal "smelling of the ends" that all dogs do. (Tails wagging all the while...)

Sadie (probably 28" tall)was "fixed", but Scruffy (14" tall)was still obviously very male. They complimented each other the first few weeks... got caught laying on each other's shoulders for some Kodak moments... and they basically each enhanced the other's life. (Editor's note... Whilst I loved Scruffy, my opine is somewhat biased. Have you ever had a dog that any time you bent to pull a weed, turn on a faucet, pickup a newspaper BURIED his nose in your butt? Nuff said)

All men are pigs, or so I've heard. Scruffy was no exception. After Scruffy had reached "the comfort zone" with Sadie... (The HELL's "the comfort zone?... is that like four dates?... Two months?.... WHAT? THE SECOND DATE? <- SHAME ON YOU!...)

Anyways, they tried. Actually, Scruffy tried. Sadie, at first, obliged. Roughly six hours per day in our back yard there was this Terrier dinger thing sticking out, some 9" off the ground, trying to hook up with this mostly willing female's 'thingy', some 18" off the ground. It simply wasn't gonna happen.

(Close your ears)..... Scruffy would hump away as if he was "there"... Sadie, mostly startled, would behave like the wife of the 50's and try to appease her 'man'. It was disgusting, comical, and I spose kinda sad.

As the years went on, Sadie (Substitute the name Mary, Sally, Jessica, Suzie, Deb, etc here) would snarl whenever Scruffy (Substitute Ben, Art, Charlie, Luther, Dominic, etc.) would want to "get friendly." She would snap at Scruffy and give him those looks like "You've ignored me all day... and NOW you want my attention?" Hehe.

Undaunted, Scruffy tried like hell. It simply never worked. They are both in doggie heaven now..

I ain't all that sure I understand heaven. I've always wondered how Freda, widowed three times, would make it with all her good men in heaven. (Hubby #3 was particularly jealous of her memories of hubby #2.) "Things just have a way of working out in heaven" I was told.

Eh, I hope Scruffy and Sadie are united in heaven. Yes, perhaps play on words intended.

Just your normal Monday....... oh, but I am getting divorced.

She very nicely called me tonight with congenial details... "Paperwork on the visor of Dru's (our son)car.

Suddenly the urge is here to formalize a campaign on my behalf - but that is one of the more sillier ideas I've had these last four years, and believe me, I've had some weird ones.

Even after I paid off all the thousands of dollars of credit cards we owed with money transferred to me on the death of my father - there was still money left to pay a lawyer to divorce.

Why didn't I? Did you ever believe in Santa? Did a change in your life occur that you had zilcho control over yet your brain was "stubbornly" combatting with NO. Did you ever lose someone, KNOWING FULL WELL THAT PERSON WOULD NEVER EVER BE AROUND and you didn't wanna face the music?

My marriage had cancer as early as 1999. On 5/31/01 it literally died.

Since then I've dated some very nice people... several more than a few times... had some wonderful, romantic, fulfilling times... been told nicely to get lost a time or two... given the dreaded silence to another a time or two....

I suppose this should be a happy day. So many many good memories, maybe this woulda all been easier had I not suddenly swerved to not cross the I-435 medium that time I reached to grab my dropped cigarette on I-435.

To put it in musical terms... I flip-flop between Bob's "Thanks for the memories" to Carlos's "Evil Ways"... Louis's "Wonderful World"... to whoever those guys were "Don't worry, Be happy"...

So here I am, at an age where the term resume' is repugnant. To intermix with relatives begs the thoughts "I wonder whatinthehell happened."... To see those inlaws you loved/adored for so many years - called at the drop of a hat, BBQ'ed, partied with, shared good/bad with....... DIFFERENT.

I once heard a disc jockey talking about a high school friend of his continually calling into his show to boast upon the jock and his team-mates and their state championship his senior year. The disc jockey finally said, "Yes, we were quite good... but get over it."

Somehow that rings true. I'll be Ok... I'll be the first to offer a smile tomorrow. I'm playing golf again after work tomorrow, and I know I'll have a blast - and am frankly looking forward to it.

I dream of the day I get within a silly millimeter of those wondrous eyes that feel my eyes are equally as wondrous.

I reckon I'd like to close by thanking my partner in marriage for so many years. Many, many were good. I respect you and I want good for you. You have a lot to offer the world.

Life's all about stages. Just when you feel you've cornered the market on one, it's time to roll into another.

Sorry if this ain't been funny..... I can relate some jokes if you wanna... The running theme at work was "My wife rode off on a Harley in May of 2001."...... or, "There's a lotta sex in my marriage, I just ain't getting any!"... It's life, and I know I'm fortunate compared to many. I will relate back to my wonderful Aunt's comment "There are two sides to every board."

There are demons within us all....... There's a good ego and an alter ego within us all... There's happy and sad within us all...

Like someone might say after the cubicles have been rearragned over the weekend... "Shit, I ain't sure I'm gonna like this."....... Months later we forget how our life was arranged.

Forge on.

Talking aloud at the computer........

It's been in excess of 95 degrees for what seems like a month. I hate the heat.

I've noticed women wear less clothing in the heat. Maybe I can stand it.

Summer's almost over... I've had someone to pal around with each of the last two summers... I've missed that this summer. Ya wonder, at 52, how many are left.
(WAAH... WAAAH!)

I can't wait to live alone. Don't get me wrong, I love my son, but there are buttcheek imprints on my sofa.... And 'sides, except for about thirty days of living in Lawson, Missouri when I opened a Sonic Drive In there - I've NEVER lived alone.

I've learned the difference between alone and being lonely. I've tried occupying my time... I don't always make the wisest choices - but I never hurt anyone.. (with intent that is.)

Some things I miss from the 60's:

Kid's in front yard playing wiffleball or touch football.

Seeing a car drive down the road and knowing what year model it is.

Movie stars with natural boobs.

Andy, Barney, Marshall Dillon

Some things I miss from the 70's:

Long hair. Even the old dudes had it.

Muhammad Ali floating like a butterfly. Watching him at the Olympics was sad.
Ipray his insides are happy and without pain.

Mary Tyler Moore, Happy Days.

Some things I miss from the 80's:

The pay I was making at Eastern Airlines slinging suitcases. Perhaps that's why
they bit the dust.

My 34' waist.

Being in love.

My mother.

Some things I miss from the 90's:

All the fun I had coaching,watching, interacting with the little shits I coached.

My sister.

Some things I'd like to change in the 00's (that how you say it?)

My address.

The occupancy in my bed at night.

The innards FINALLY catching up with the outtards in happiness.

I am thankful for:

A working, thinking body.

My son's physical health.

Fritos.

My job, coworkers and boss. (Probably THE biggest "YES! in my life today.)

The ability to poop with regularity. (Wellllll... I been reading this one chick's
blog, and she has difficulties so I guess it ain't something to take for granted!)

Little kids that run with smiles on their faces.

The 83 year old lady I watched "fast dance" last night to my favorite band.

All my friends/family that reach out and 'touch' me. (AKA emails, IM's, phone,
etc.)

Victor - you're getting boring, go to bed.

Ok.

Why don't people care about Oscar?

After several consecutive months of noticing there were more bills than there was money to pay them, I sought a 2nd job. (Boredom was a reason as well.) I typed up a little diddy, called all the area hotel/motels asking for their fax number. Got ten numbers, started buzzing them thru the fax - and before I got all ten sent, phone was ringing... "Soo-per 8 here, I need someone right away." Hired. $7 an hour, front desk. No, it ain't much - but when you're not out spending (working instead) it helps.

I love Liberty (yes freedom, but in this specific case I'm speaking of the town I live in.) Landed here in 1961, there was one flashing red light, and entrance sign indicated "Population 8,909."

Soo-per 8 (Owner is Indian... and I ain't makin' fun, just kinda like the way he says it) sets on the Western doorstep of Liberty. It sits in the dreaded Liberty Triangle - a half mile by one mile by one mile triangle of property that has lonnnnng been the topic of city planners. "It's our entry-way, we've got to dress up Liberty."

Who cares if Don's Muffler Shop and Miller's Camp Park have been there for thirty years?... we want stuff like Lowe's, and chain restaurants, more uppity/aesthetically pleasing stuff. (The idiots [said with love] spent $150,000 of taxpayers money on a study of what to do and how to do it... meanwhile, as this study went on 63 taxpaying business's opened across the highway - Kansas City city limits.. Home Depot, Applebees, Kohls, Bob Evans, bigass WalMart, etc, etc.

So - one night whilst I had no customers to greet at the Soo-per 8, I decided to dump the trash can just outside the door. Dusk. With bag in hand I reached to take the lid off AND THERE WERE TWO EYEBALLS STARING AT ME FROM INSIDE THE TRASH CAN. Shit. Being the soo-per stud-hunter-fisherman I'm not - I ran like hell back into the Soo-per 8.

Broom, that sounds like a good thing to "shoo" whateverinthehell is peering at me from the trash can. I kinda figured it was a racoon, but I wasn't sure. I sure didn't want a guest to walk up and be startled by this creature, but I wasn't real fond about the possibility of rabies, claw scratches, et al, on my measly $7 an hour.

So I tapped the top of the trash can with my broom. Lo and behold I pissed off "Oscar" (the racoon) as he was munching down some dinner.. and he jumped out and RAN RIGHT AT ME. Being the soo-per stud-hunter-fisherman I'm not - I ran like hell back into the Soo-per 8. Half scared, half laughing.

The scenario was repeated again about thirty minutes later, yes, he chased me again... The third time was charm - and he scurried off into a wooded area about the size of a football field in the middle of the $150,000 studied Liberty Triangle uppity entry way into our fine city.

Oscar and I had several more run ins that summer - and I, the soo-per stud-hunter-fisherman, decided to stand my ground... and our skirmishes grew shorter... and Oscar finally just relented every time I'd poke the broom on the trash can - and scurried back into the uppity greenway.

Went to my regular job 8 ta 5 on Wednesday... commuted back home, pulled into Soo-per 8 for my 6 to midnight shift... and there was Oscar's home... bulldozed down from a football sized forest to a 20' by 20' stack of tumbled trees. Yep, gotta make room for the 8th bank in our now 30,000 people town.

Imminent domain. I don't know why but that word reminds me of another 'glossed over' term - euthanasia. They are kinda similar. Whenever someone would mention that term to my dad (euthanasia) he'd always calmly suggested the replacement phrase "you mean kill 'em."

Am I over-reacting? Should I consider running for office within Peta? We pay $150,000 just to see what to do with this land... and we can't pay two conservation guys with ten traps $300 to rescue Oscar and his buddies and relocate them back in the wild.?

I hope Oscar scared the shit outta the bulldozer guy.

Jason, Friday the 13th.....

Jason was a full head taller than all of his first grade classmates. It was fairly obvious, observing his dress, his family didn’t have a lot of money. I ain’t real sure why I said that because it didn’t/doesn’t matter to me, just trying to give you an eyeball of the kid.

Redheaded with freckles. <- Now if you get judgmental on that one I’LL be pissed because I’M READHEADED WITH FRECKLES!

I taught Elementary PE back in the dinosaur days. Twas before the days children were overanalyzed and Ritalin was the answer for everything. “We don’t know, but give him that and he won’t disrupt anymore.”

Many days Jason forgot to take his meds, and he was a holy terror. He’d pick and pull a kid’s shirt/belt/pants/shoestrings just to try to get a rise. The smart kids learned to ignore him - the weak ones were brought to tears.

I was pretty proud to finally have my degree, to follow in the footsteps of many of my life role models and become a teacher/coach. All that money, all that studying (Ok, an ordinate amount of partying too) I’d finally made it. “Mr. ‘substitute-last-name-here‘, we’d like to offer you the position of Elementary PE teacher.” YES, YES, YES. “I have to do WHAT? RECESS DUTY?”

Yes, recess duty. Turned out to be fun. The classroom with it’s stringent rules can stymie folks. There’s learning to be had at recess too. Social interaction, being a teammate, how to be a friend, and how to make a friend.

Then there was Jason. Not a great combination. A kid that got his name called 42 times daily for many degrees of “no-no” types of behavior --- and me, the wet behind the ears “howinthehell do I manage all these kids at once” guy.

Jason had me figured out. I couldn’t ignore his behaviors like his smart classmates for I was responsible for everyone’s behavior and everyone’s safety. I will never forget the time I had allowed Jason to push me to the brink of “whatinthehell was I thinking, I shoulda gone into Horticulture.” The 7th time I’d called his name that day at recess, he refused my demand to
“C-MERE!” Why you little turd….. I’m gonna get you… and I started to chase (NO, you didn’t? Yes, sadly I did) the little bastard.

Jason made it inside the school’s door before I could catch him… He’d managed to grab the long bar across the middle of the door, and there I was on the outside looking in having a tugging match with a first-grader (NO, you really weren’t were you? Yes, sadly I was.) He’d gotten the best of me - and he had done that to me and tons of others fairly routinely.

About my third month in my position, I was finally getting it down. If they didn’t come into my “classroom” (the gym) quietly and in a line, find their little X on the floor to mark their designated seat…… then they’d go back outside the gym and do it allover again - thus taking away precious “run like crazy, have a blast” minutes of PE class.

As I awaited Jason’s class to enter - I’d made up my mind I wasn’t going to penalize this specific entire class for Jason’s antics --- they had suffered through that too many times. Here they come. Nice…. Quiet… in line… now all safely seated on “their spot.” Jason’s spot was right in front of me, Mr-Substitute-Last-Name-Here.

AND, I’d finally learned Jason pretty much just wanted attention. Yes, I read into that his home life wasn’t good - but that too was pretty judgmental, and I hate being that. So, short of burning the damn school down - I WASN’T GOING TO GIVE JASON THE PLEASURE OF ADMONISHMENT. Quiet it was. Seated Indian-style on their little X's they were.

As I stepped up to tell of that day's game plan, all-of-a-sudden I hear this hideous shrieking “AAAARRRRRRRRERRRRRRRR, ARRRRROOWWWWWW.”…. I ignored it. Yes, it was Jason. And again, AAAAARRRREEEEEERRRRAARRRRRROOOOOAAAARRRRR.” and again, and again. I prided myself in continuing to speak to what our class plans were that day.

“ARRRRRREEEEEEEAAAARRRRR, AAAARRRRRROOOOAAARRRRR.” "HA! What, you think I’m stupid? I’ve gotya this time Jason" I thought to myself as I totally ignored Jason/his shrieking.

Finally little Beth, a full head shorter than the kids that were a full head shorter than Jason, raised her hand. Jason’s hideous shrieking was still going on in the foreground.

“Yes Beth?”……. “Ah, Mr-Substitute-Last-Name-Here, you’re stepping on Jason’s finger.” Shit. She was right, I was and I felt like crap. “Jason, I am so-so sorry.” Tears ran down his eyes - he knew I hadn’t done it with intent, and I think he actually kinda enjoyed the fact someone was concerned for him as I doted over his now swollen pinky.

Until the day comes I pee my pants uncontrollably and forget my name, I shall not forget this day.

3 am Class....

I absolutely loved where I lived in 1975. (Shit, is he gonna tell another story from 30 years ago?) Yes, I think he is. It was a special time in my life. There were four fraternities at our small Liberal Art's College. From biased shoes, one was the "Do-gooders"...... One was "the back East element"... Another was the "I won't get my damn fingernails dirty" 'pretty boys"...... and then there was us... Animal House.

I'm sorry, I fit. Studies WERE of importance... but that time came approximately 6pm Sunday night, or, around ten-ish during the week. Somehow, we juggled fun and school, and occasionally a girlfriend.

We lived in a turn of the century brick house with 10 bedrooms that had been converted into 23 bedrooms, or thereabouts. My own particular abode was an angular 45 degree "cranny" underneath the attic, chopped out one summer - maybe 6' by 5', appeared to be a closet with a curtain adorning - and for that very reason I really lived a pretty decent life of seclusion.

I think I mentioned pinhead before. Simpleton. Call me that, it's Ok, I resemble that.

Among my favorite memories of that house: A Friday evening where my buddy "Whale" (6'1", 290) came literally rolling down the steps...... and our 70-something French House Mother came running out, reaching the panic stage of "Tooooo much Al-Kee-Hol!!!"

Normally, things were cool. The 'rats' lived in the basement, they had no windows - so it was tough down there to know when it was time to actually end a party.

Big Dix. Dix was a great guy. (We called him Big Dix not due to his parts, but due to the fact he had a younger brother that was our brother as well) Dix was a great singer, as well as a "shirt off my back"/I'll help" kinda feller. Dix lived in the darkened basement - along with 13 other Sigma Nu's... well, maybe 14, but we never figured out where Strobbe lived.

Most of us planned our schedule where the earliest Mon-Wed-Fri class we had was 9:50am.(We generally slept in on Tue-Thur!) Not Dix. Dix had the ability to stay up until 2am, and be worth his salt for Monday thru Friday 8am classes.

What's more, the bastard liked eggs....... Sooooooooooooooooo. His very loud alarm was always set for 6am..... so he'd have plenty of time for the three S's.. (Only in his case, it wasn't Shit-Shower-Shave........ it was Shit-Shower-Serenade) .... and breakfast on the quad at the College.

Not much more disconcerting than to constantly be awakened at 6am by Dix's rendition of Carlos Santana's latest tune, Motown, or Chicago (a song where they actually sang.) Just what we all wanted to wake-up to, a white dude, with a halfass Hispanic Karaoke. Dix's logic said "Well hell, if I'm up, that's all that matters." --- so in effect, "screw you other guys." I really don't think he knew what a pain in the ass his early hours were to us.

We all loved Dix...... but by March, we'd had enough. With his scheming brother at the controls - we had a plan. Due to the darkness of the basement - we decided to (after Dix fell asleep) move his clock up three hours. Sooooooo, when his alarm went off at "SIX", it was really "THREE".

Twas worth staying up one night (morning) to see this. BEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEEP, Dix's alarm went off. In a moment, he was on his feet, shutting the alarm off... grabbing his towel, heading off to the shower singing "You've got to change your evil ways........ BAAAAAYBEEEEE".....

Dix was Dix. He continued to shower... compile his books... dress.... and head out the back steps to take on another day. (Double Take)...... Normally, it's light out.... But this day it ain't...... Insteada 6:15 am, it was actually only 3:15am... but what the hey, he was ready to take on the day.

About all I remember was a plethora of cussing from Dix.... He woke up everyone within sight..... (Hell, we were mostly all still awake anyways.....) BUT, I think, as the clock ticked from 3am until 6am, he mighta gotten a silent message as to why this happened.. Living with Dix the remainder of that semester was a cinch..... I reckon he learned to respect your neighbors that day.

College is a very good teacher.

Tune in tomorrow where the topic will be (either) the night we shaved off one of Chuck's eyebrows while he slept... the time we put powdered sugar in Gibby's bed (undetectable on a white sheet, body heat during sleep turns it into a gooey muck).. or, what Stinger looked like the day he went to class after we'd dumped the Johnson's Baby Shampoo and filled it with Maple Syrup. (Earned, it wasn't his JB Shampoo and he ALWAYS borrowed it without asking).

Everyone is bored with Top Ten's.......

I opened the local paper...... No wait... first, I went to the driveway to fetch the local paper... and there, some 12 feet away was our small municipality's paper... .So, being 52, I kicked the small municipality paper over to the local paper so I could bend down in one fell swoop to grab both. (If you're under 30, you'll understand this one day.)

Upon further examination of the local paper(bigass metropolitan area) I learned bending down only once was probably not the thing to do, but I'm 52, and I'll damn well burn calories when I please.

We have the FYI section, which is light and frugal..... One of today's topics was "How to lead a healthier life"....... and they listed, yes, the Top Ten ways......

1. Drink a cup of tea in the morning.
(I abhor tea so I substituted coffee here.)

2. Walk for 30 minutes a day. (Occasionally, I do go the the HS track and do this, and sometimes I park "uptown" walk a fifteen minute loop thataway, and then fifteen minutes "the other way." Today, however, I had plans after work, so I purposely peed (or tried) 63 times today - and it's a 15 second walk one-way - so all is good.

3 Quit smoking. (I did this several times today... After first break. After lunch.. After afternoon break.. On drive home when I'd smoked my last one. Will again when I retire after this stupid blog.)

4. Have a glass of wine every evening. (Substituted 2 beers with buddies after golf. Eh, alcohol is alcohol.)

5. Take five minutes a day, close your eyes in a quiet room and practice deep breathing. (Scroll to #3, I will do this when I retire after this stupid blog.)

6 Talk to a friend (whether in person on the phone or via e-mail) every day. (Easily accomplished today... hell, I played golf with three co-workers, and here I am on this blog talking to both of you... or to you if you are the only one left... Or to me, since I do reread this to see if it's possibly very damn stupid.)

7. Eat fish twice a week. (Screw this one - I HATE fish, but tomorrow is the Burrito special at Margarita's.. it's a bigass thing, only $3.80, and it does resemble a largemouth bass. Check.)

8 Take a multivitamin with minerals. (Ran to kitchen, I had them in cabinet, but were dated 4/21/02. Perhaps like fine wine. Gulp. Yuck. Check.)

9. Eat whole, natural foods rather than boxed or processed foods. (I'm a PE major, I should know this shit. I'm afraid though, I needs me an escort to the Piggly Wiggly to point out whole, natural foods. Don't laugh, but where else besides the produce section can one find whole, natural foods?)

10. Get a good night's sleep. (Scroll to one of them numbers up there, previously discussed.)

Ok - if you're like a damn kid, you ALWAYS hear. I will admit, I probably knew all of the above - and I seriously considered doing several.. tomorrow. I know I know, life is just too bigga damn hurry to stop and do all this right. Richard Simmons probably does all of the above, but I find it hard to make him a role model. Now if Captain Kangaroo had spouted out these rules, hell yes.. I woulda listened. He was rather large though, I think he couldn't find the whole, natural isle at Piggly Wiggly either.

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Today's Highlight:
I'm a peabrain upon occasion, and sometimes the smallest things excite/perk me. Where I work, we dial internationally alot. You have to dial 9 to get an outside line, then 1.. .then generally 0. Well.... many many times someone slipfingers after the 9 and the 1, and they hit another 1. Forty-two seconds later, an announcement comes over the intercom "Someone just dialed 9-1-1, the local police are on the phone wanting to know if there's an emergency."

It's happened time, and time again. So much, to the point our local police department is now charging us for each errant 9-1-1 call.

So...... They called in the phone installation people (@ probably $200/hr) to change the "get an outside line" from 9, to 7. We've not had any 9-1-1 calls since.

However, we have these reminder 8 and 1/2 sheets of paper posted everywhere that state in size 48 type:

PLEASE

REMEMBERR

TO

DIAL

7

So........... In my best chickenscratch size 48 type writing Iinterjectedd two words.

PLEASE

REMEMBER

TO USE

DIAL SOAP

(And I whited-out the 7's)

One chicky walked up and said (here's the daily highlight) "I recognize your writing, and I LOVE your sense of humor!)......

Three hours later........ they took all the sons-a-bitches down.

Not to worry...... still taped to the coffeemaker in the breakroom is my sign "THIS AREA IS UNDER VIDEO SURVEILLANCE.... WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE IF YOU DON'T MAKE THE NEXT POT OF COFFEE".... Hell, it's worked even as good as the "Dial 7 first thingy."

Pets........

Pets rock. I suppose that's a personal opinion, but I feel it. My life has been enhanced by the moments, days, hours I've spent with/watching present and past pets.

As a kid.. there was Brownie. We lived two houses from a small Liberal Arts College - all the kids there claimed "Jake" (they called him) as theirs... the next door neighbors claimed him - although they never fed him or took him to the vet. Practically everyone in town knew Brownie.

Daily, before leash laws, he'd walk 5 blocks to the gas station where the fellers there always bought him a treat outta the machine. We gotta call one day from the local Safeway - it was scorching, like 95 degrees... Brownie was sitting in the entry way, soaking up their air conditioning, and I suppose welcoming shoppers. He wouldn't budge - so we went and rescued the mutt.

We think a college kid took him home once. Hadn't seen him for two weeks - finally, my father was returning on a sales trip and found him walking toward our home town some 12 miles away.

The Kansas City Chiefs Football team trained in our home town... Brownie was fairly passive - but when the team lined up to hit the blocking sled - on more than one occasion he was biting the butts of the linemen as they too growled at the sled.

Parades? Yes, he was always there - and I'll be damned if he wasn't always in FRONT of the police car. It was fun when I was littler - but as I entered High School I cringed when I heard "HEY VIC, THERE'S YOUR DOG!"

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Magic. Magic was a cockapoo (I think). Coal black. Magic scooted out the front door one day... probably a robin invading our territory... he ran into the street - got bonked pretty decently by a car.... so we rushed him to the vet. We had to put him in this box thingy for like 5 weeks - not allowing him to walk so his leg could heal. We did so. He healed pretty nicely.

When we moved into a house with a pool - occasionally we'd throw our mutts into the water. First time we threw Magic in - like a rock he went to the bottom. He walked fine, but something happened in the dog/car wreck, he couldn't swim at all. I tend not to joke around, hehe, but I can remember getting in trouble when folks would come visit/swim.... I'd fetch Magic, hold him in my arms and say "Hey Smitty, WATCH THIS" - letting him go... yep, to the bottom. Yes, I teased him - but he had it pretty damn good.

----------

Stripe. I'd never owned a cat until I met wife #2. Gosh, there's been quite a few since. Stripe was from a litter my sister inlaw's damn cat had - so we begrudgingly gave in to "I've only got ONE left to get ridda."

Stripe was loving, and loud. He really really thought he lived in Vietnam though. Pensive, always watching the coast. Marty Feldman eyeballs he had. At times I felt sorry for him and wondered if they had cat valium. Again, it's rare for me to be in a teasing mood... but upon occasion I'd sneak around the corner... muster up a loud "INCOMING" and Stripe would be up the steps safely under the back bedroom bed in 4 seconds.

Stripe was "Dollar General" of the four cats. Bobby (she, pristine) was "Saks 5th", Figaro (cross-eyed tabby) was "KMart"... and Jackson (Maine Coon, the gentle giant) was "WalMart."

Stripe's no longer in Vietnam today... Hopefully he's in a much nicer, peaceful place. He passed about 10am this morning.

Soooooooooo..... I suppose if there's a moral, go pet your pet. When you come back from getting the mail and Bowser thinks you've returned from the Bahamas, show him your appreciation. Water. Electricity. Relationships. Pets. Things we occasionally take for granted until they're gone.

Stand up for Birth Control.........

Early 80's. (Does that tell you how boring my life's been of late? Every story is from like 25-30 years ago! Eh, it was a fun time in my life)...

Skip Berger was a transplant at our work from Des Moines - and he fit in nicely - within days he was comfortably joining the conversation at our break table...

He'd listen to a story and with a calculated, almost "thrown" voice he'd often almost finish stories once you were into one. Done in an agreement kinda way, not condescending...

Father of three, he and momma had reached the decision to end all possibilities of more kids... Since she'd taken on the role of childbearing, it was an easy decision for him to agree to a vasectomy...

He'd gone to his physician to learn of the procedure - answered "no" when the Doc asked if he had any more questions.. As he departed, the Doc offered "Oh, and if your wife wants to come observe - that is absolutely fine with us."

(Editor's note: Why would you women actually want to see that? Some type of "haha" get-back kinda thing? A Lesbian tendency?)

Skip's wife did go observe in support of her hubby. Skip was actually fairly calm that day - knowing it had to be done - and knowing it's considered a minor procedure. He had shaved earlier that day per the Doc's instructions - but when he was placed on the table stripped down - there were some areas on the testicle where they'd be working on that he'd missed.....

So..... Doc summons nurse to finish shaving... I'm sorry - but you don't have one woman play with a man's testicles when his "main woman" is virtually arm's length away.. Yes, nature overcame Mr. Skip and he embarrassingly became aroused...

Of course nothing was said...The procedure was carried out.. and Mrs. Skip helped him to the car, drove him home. HOWEVER... Her jealous side soon emerged and she didn't sleep with, nor talk to Mr. Skip for one entire month.

This is a true story we learned one day, a month or so later at the break table. I ain't real certain I woulda told that one, for who knows, someday there may be this mass-communication outlet where the entire world could also find out. Not to worry, my lips are sealed.

Writer's Block.......

Now wait just a dadburn minute mister... Whothehell called you a writer anyways?.... Eh, yeah, you're right... lemme rephrase.... "blog block." Eww, that sounds kinda like constipation.... No, no, that's not the problem... it's just that I want this to be good - and I'm at a point where I'm stuck without anything to write... So........ you're stuck with ten tidbits.

Some maybe boring junk my eyeballs have witnessed in my lifetime.....

1. I've been up the courthouse steps in a Jeep. (Innocent, I was riding shotgun)

2. Three of us high school punks drove from Kansas City to Branson... Once we got our room, we drove to Rockaway Beach (A fifteen minute ride)... 4th of July time... merrily throwing out cherry bombs along the way.. Upon our return to Branson a couple of hours later, there was a line of 40+ people passing buckets of water to put out a growing roadside fire. Shit.

3. Smoking a cigarette one early morning (eh, 1-ish).. for the 12th time that night our colicky infant had awakened, and in turn was roaring loud enough the Wentz's could hear four doors down. Wit's end is where we were at - unofficially alternating going to grab the little man outta bed. I glanced toward my wife, who was also smoking and said "my cigarette's longer."

4. I usedta get teasing revenge during her pregnancy... After 7 or so months, she could not singlehandedly get out of the waterbed by herself. "Tradeoffs, let's talk tradeoffs" I'd reply upon her request for assistance in getting out of bed.

5. In High Schoool, I watched Jim Boyle successfully plant a poo-poo cushion in Naomi Johnson's chair. (History teacher, retirement age, BIG lady). Jim also did the ole Playboy Pinup taped to the rolled up map thing in that class. Was more fun than South America was anyways, probably more mountainous too.

6. I'll never forget my first sexual experience. Early 60's... April 13th.. Stormy night... lightning flashing.. curtains open... the breeze occasionally blowing in a mist of rain... Motown in the background.. I was alone.

7. There's a guy I work with... He's really a good guy, but upon occasion he can be a little arrogant-overbearing, and he pushes the envelope. Twice..... ON TWO DIFFERENT OCCASIONS, as our throng congregated outside at breaktime, a bird crapped right in the middle of his head. I started going back to church shortly thereafter. "OK! I BELIEVE!"

8. Aloneness, singleness, whatever you wanna call it has "learnt me" women are just as bigga pigs as men... sometimes moreso.

9. I was a gate agent for the Friendly Sky Airline. A professional baseball player had gotten caught transporting marijuana across the Canadian Border earlier that year. (He played for Toronto.).. This man was like 6'4", as large horizontally as he was vertically.. and his voice made James Earl Jones sound like a soprano... Anyways... his team came to KC to play... it coincided with his hearing with the commissioner in New York... so..... he had to fly from KC to New York... and THERE HE WAS... his head tilted down 45 degrees to meet my eyes tilting up 45 degrees. Me,he was waiting on ME to give him is seat selection. IT was front page news that day, and everyone was staring and they knew why he was flying out. Crap. I had to ask. It was before smoking was banned on airplanes. "ahm... smoking or non-smoking sir?" I closed my eyes, prayed for my soul.. and he replied in an earth-shattering tone "NONSMOKING!" Thankfully, I'm still here!

10. Royals had won the World Series earlier that night in 1985. This city went completely bonkers. We were downtown partying shortly thereafter amongst a throng of 20,000 people... Suddenly I found myself standing next to a cop on my right. On my left, a reveler was actually facing the same way we were taking a leak. Without a word, I turned back to my right to watch the cop as he suredly was hustling to get out his handcuffs. Instead, his eyes stayed straight ahead, and he deadpanned "Captain said 'Anything short of murder, let it go'"

Thank goodness for weekends. May yours bring smiles.

Happily Married? I DARE your ass to comment!

Again, we talk so damn much about divorce.... The 'whys' and the 'wha-happened's"... We never talk of marital glue...

I am an admitted rookie to blogging, and someone pointed out I had my settings all screwed up and only "team members" could comment. Fixed now, so, both of you that read this may now leave comments at any time!

Why still married, and why haven't you yielded to the temptation to take a quick hop in the sack to checkout a 'nicer butt', perhaps an appendage that is longer, smaller, more girthier (eh, you know), maybe you'd like to peak in blue eyes for once (or hazel, green, etc).. Maybe you wanted to just once test a blonde.. or a brunette... or lo and behold - a redhead... An "A" cup... DD?.. Taller/shorter/lighter/heavier/younger/older...

Maybe you have jumped in the sack with another - and reality slapped you in the face with "grass appears to be greener over there... but that's because of the horse shit on it"....

You've seen him/her at their best....... at their worst..... You HATE when he/she does this or that... "By God, if I could change one thing......"

You've seen em pee, poop, naked, in nice dress, in not so nice dress... You've smelled them at their best... and weathered thru their worst odors... You've passed the underwear skidmark/Biz Bag test.....

You perhaps argued about childraising... You've maybe taken time away to be with friends... family... or just to be by your lonesome...

You maybe would like it better if he/she worked more/less hours... made more money.. Would clean their goddam car out once in awhile... Would not be so nitpicky about their goddam car...

You've maybe been sent off to the sofa for a night.... Maybe you sent him/her off to the sofa...

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh and we haven't even gotten to that GREAT BIG MF-in' DAGGER - the VERBAL WORD. It can knock one down faster than a 2 by 4. And it lingers, and lasts... and occasionally resurfaces... sometimes never heals... "I will never forget when you said _____________".

I hate your mother/father/brother/sister/stepson/stepdaughter/ex/coworkers/friends/boss....

I wish we had sex more/less/in different ways/with others (huh?.. ah hell, it's a new millenium, gotta include all possibilities).. facing each other, facing the same direction, during the daytime, outside, in the car like we used to, after a day when we really 'clicked', WHEN I WANT IT....

I want a bigger/smaller house... I want a condo, I fucking hate mowing.. I wanna live in the country/city/burbs...

I wish you weren't Irish/Black/Protestant...

How do you get past the stage where it gets so bad you've got to grab the son(or daughter)ofabitch by the collars and say "you better fucking listen, because I am serious as hell about this."?

We grew apart/we were always together... we stay home to much/we're never at home...
All you do is pay attention to the kids/you never pay attention to the kids.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT DAMMIT. Before those of you who list 'still married after 27 years' and want to lay it on us as to why.... DON'T FORGET, I asked for HAPPILY MARRIED. Ouch, what do you feel the percent is there? If half of us don't make it, ya know there's a good portion that stay together for the kids/tax purposes/it's easier/I'd be lost/He'd be lost/I'm too old to startout again/Eh, I've got a nice house and a good job, why change now......... I wanna hear from HAPPILY MARRIED PEOPLE.

No...... Not perfect people, Happily married people.

Sooooooooooooooooooooo... Comment away, I'd love to hear your thoughts. AND IF YOU HAVE THE BALLS/BOOBIES TO WRITE...... HAVE THE BALLS/BOOBIES to talk about everything..... money, kids, sex, relatives, housekeeping, cooking, goals, philosophy, differences, independence within marriage, dependency, etc, etc.

No Harm in Henry.........

We spend every day on this earth trying to figure life out... then all-of-a-sudden sometimes we're briskly slapped on the face by a wonderful brain that bee-bops in and puts it all so succinctly in place.

I happened to share this blog address with a 2nd cousin I admire very much - she is "oh so" a giver in life... Probably received tenfold because she's always concerned about everyone else. Bottomline, she ranks up there, very high. (Huh? Huh? Wasn't that GOOD? Can we have another cousin's weekend at your place next year? hehe)

Of course, since my sis' has passed, 2nd cousin occasionally has slipped into that role and proclaimed something - as if it'd been sent down from my sister in heaven - "read your blog, I LOVE it.... and I think it's a wonderful idea." She's right --- no, not that the fingers here have any magic - but she brought out something I'd never thunk of...

"I've often thought of doing my own blog.... and I have a deep fear of dementia or Alzheimers because my life has been so filled with great funny, sad, exciting, life changing experiences and iced with the most amazing people that I have much to loose in the way of memory/memories. I think blogging calls to me as a way to share and remember so much of life."

I loved that 'slap.' I needed that. How correct she is. I did stay over tonight at work - for the 14th straight night (our busy season)... All-of-a-sudden I got the urge to send an email to two guys in Oakland I work with daily... Last summer a whole lotta crap happened (not good) and I had their email addy's on speed-dial to find out "why and when".... I sent them an email tonight with the subject "Too often we forget"..... and the meat of the email continued "to say thanks when things are going so wonderfully right. Thanks. We really appreciate the work you do for us." Brb, going to get a hanky.......... ok, I fibbed.

We do seldom stop to ackowledge good times. I was thinking today driving home about a blog about "Why people get divorced." It's a popular topic- I mean hell with a 50% ratio, virtually everyone has been touched. We've all heard the "reasons." We all stop and think "Hmmm, I wonder what the view from 'the other's shoes' sounds like. Then I thought........."no one ever talks about 'why you're still married'". I guess that's boring... not to me... I'd love to hear. We can all learn from that answer.

Anyways, No Harm in Henry. Roughly January of 2003 I rolled my father from his wheelchair at the local hospital out into the lobby. Dad was 81 by then, and Parkinsons was eating at not only his body - but his brain too. Sometimes you have to laugh... Earlier that day he'd bragged to the nurses "My son is a bellhop in this hotel." I don't care, I loved that. He was proud. The memory was working, but it had a hitch in it's get-a-long. That day I started talking about my mother and my sister (of course, his wife and his daughter) and I was suddenly met with this glazed stare - followed by absolutely no comment. Perhaps the saddest day of my life.

If dad could blog, he'd blog about Burt McGinness, Doodle Burton and Henry Harmon. Little guys, at least from society's shoes. Not so. At least from this view.

Burt McGinness... the feller, who happened to be black, was a trash hauler in town. Burt, by his late 60's, early 70's fell victim to the progression of our fine city - and the new idea "We have too many independent haulers... we need just one... so we'll have a bid... and the winner will get the contract of the entire city." So, stacked up against the State Senator's company, doest thou think Burt had a chance? Of course not.

For years my father paid the mandatory contractual rate to the city for "State Senator's Trash Company" AND, paid Burt to continue to swing by and grab his trash. Burt's face never knew a frown - and the pace of his step screamed out 'happy.' Imagine that, a man who couldn't pee, sleep, eat, swim at the same places many could for so many years HAPPY? How dare he!

Well he was.... I will never forget dad leaving a cool six-pack on top of the week's trash... or a ten-dollar bill... Where we lived had the coldest waterspout in the town. Burt would always jump out of his truck (Jump being the key/true word at age 73) and run up to the garden hose to get that "coldest drink of water in town." Dad would hustle to the back step and yell "HEYYYYYY, I TOLD you we don't like YOUR KIND around here!"... Burt could do nothing but smile - and stick around for a 45 minute conversation about life in general with dad.

Doodle Burton didn't talk much... but his massive frame was always adorned with a smile. Doodle and my father split an old rickety unairconditioned 15,000 sq ft warehouse. Doodle refinished furniture, and dad spiffed up used Fords, Chevys and Buicks. I don't remember much about Doodle other than the fact my father spoke highly of him... which translates to "he always laughs at my jokes."

Henry Harmon - another story. Rumors were aplenty about his character. Henry had a wonderful mind - and for a time was fairly high up in the Missouri Department of Transportation - an engineer without a degree. A wealth of knowledge. Henry wore pretty grubby overalls... had a persistent cough... and hadn't shaved since Roosevelt was in office. For this, the townfolk hated him. My father had keen eyes, and looked thru to the man, and he liked what he saw and heard. Henry and my father worked on many projects together - and oft-times it was Henry helping dad help someone in need, and sometimes that happened to be our house. Ne'er a fee, and ne'er a terse word for those who cussed him.

The city, with growing disdain for Henry's "character" sought to tear his house down due to some back taxes not being paid. The amount was more than a collective group of "This ain't right" folks could muster- but they did manage to hire a lawyer to work in Henry's defense. Their efforts failed... and it was local-papers front page story the day the cameras flashed as they wheeled Henry's 90-something year old mother out of the house moments before demolition. Geez, they must have been proud.

Anyways, that day I wheeled dad out into the hospital lobby - all those stories were embedded somewhere in his brain. Today I let them out.

Zeke, you're an asshole

I never had the courage to say that, but I wanted to. Our ground equipment at the Friendly Sky airline sucked...... really sucked. Oh the airline had plenty of money back then - it's just no one wanted to "placard" a piece of ground equipment and notify Zeke it was in mechanical disrepair. Zeke was our ground mechanic - he fixed tugs, belt loaders, carts, whatever whenever they went down.

We drove those puppies until they literally puked because it was so unpleasant to walk up face to face to Zeke and tell him "Hi Zeke, belt loader R51 - the belt on it seems to be slipping and it like takes forever for the bags to move up to the cargo bin."... Zeke, in his own mode of life would reply "WELL JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I JUST FIXED THAT BASTARD TWO WEEKS AGO, WHATINTHEFUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING TO MY EQUIPMENT?????." .... "Ahm, sorry Zeke, I dunno, but it's slipping."

Zeke had this ritual. After he'd eaten his thermos'd lunch in the corner by his lonesome, formally put in his 8 hours, taken off his Fly the Friendly Skies overalls - he'd approach the calendar... take his magic marker and with two fell swoops he'd obliterate the day's date with an "X"... pretty much saying "THERE, I'M GLAD THAT BASTARD IS OVER."

I actually kinda felt sorry for Zeke. Life should be about pleasantries.

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Sharon arrives at work every day at the same time, backs into the same spot every day - like clockwork. And like clockwork, you can count on a minimum of three passings in the hallway with her daily, and each and every time she's focused on the carpet fibers below. She never meets your eyes eyeball to eyeball - and I'm sorry, it ain't bashful, it's bitchy. We. those of us newly ordained fraternal pledges in college were lovingly referred to as "lower than white whale shit in the deepest part of the ocean." That's how Sharon makes one feel. Carpet fibers are pretty low.

I usedta say "Hi" when I first started working there. Never a response. For awhile, I'd be damned if I said "Hi" again...... Then after a few months I'd say "HI" real jovial-like on purpose JUST to try to get a response. Nope, pissy and comatose. I even got to the point after no answer I'd spout in my most obnoxious voice "Sharon, have a great day." No matter.

Sharon's glass is neither half-full nor half-empty... "the son-of-a-bitch LEAKS." Thank goodness I worked 12 cubicles away from her - but those in the know said she bitched about everything - usually aloud to herself - treated her 3-4 time daily personal callers as if they were "f-in idiots" - and in general, had no interest in purchasing stock in the Coleman company to become a happy camper.

One idiot I work with....... OK dammit, ME....... said... "I bet, once a month at night she goes home and tells her boyfriend "Ok, put it in... BUT HURRY DAMMIT!" (Hehe, a note of apology to all relatives I've shared this blog address with.)

In some weird sense, Zeke and Sharon have helped me combat this rollercoaster called life. Ohhh I soak up the highs... but when I succumb to the depths - I try to remember Zeke and Sharon - and how they unknowingly spread "ugly".

I've been blessed to experience happy tears on many occasions in my lifetime. Ok, 'bout all I have to say on that topic.......

"X"

Victor

Parent's rules broken............

"Normal" Midwest kid in the 50's, 60's... Mostly well behaved... Probably leaned toward the "a tad wild side" from 18 to 22...

Folks had very few rules... Their strategy was simple... If I wanted to do something, they deducted "if we can afford it... if it seems safe... if it's not going hurt anyone... then we Ok it." Not really rules, just their logic.

My father half tongue in cheek had the rule "wait until you're 35 to get married.... and only then if you're sure!" I broke that one....... twice....

Mother, again perhaps tongue in cheek - her thing was "Finish everything you start.... excepting sex." I broke that one too.. Ahm, I think I dropped Astrology my sophomore year in college.

With grandparents in mid-Missouri (we live on the western end) weekends frequently found my parents gone for a couple of days... leaving me, Junior, at home to "don't burn the house down." That rule I upheld - but on one occasion they won out with humor.

It had become pretty obvious from previous weekends they had left this high school senior at home - small knick knacks got broken, more food than any ten starving men could eat outta the fridge was gone... and the next door neighbor met them with a sly grin upon their return. ie, something was usually up - and that was an old fashioned "beer blast" whilst they were gone. Not being the lecturing/grounding/swatting type - they schemed in other ways.

I remember the Friday well.... after school... laying around on the couch as they prepared to head for the Lake of the Ozarks for a two night stay.... "What's on your agenda tonight Victor?"... "Oh, nothing much... might go down to the City Park and watch a ballgame... might go over to Smitty's house and catch some TV." - "Well - have fun, be safe, and don't burn the house down." "K, thanks - you guys have fun too."

When their car rolled out, I went to the phone to call Robert.. Robert was to call Tom & Danny... Called Claudia, she was to call Betty Lou and Jan. They each in turn called more, and more. Within 30 minutes, there wasn't a parking spot within two blocks of the house.

I am not a very observant person... In fact, once a couple of years back I asked my wife "when did you put that picture up there?"..... "Two years ago." "Oh."

Anyways, my father sold books. He traversed the midwest selling to bookstores and college campus's. Within his publishing company, they carried a book on Homosexual Love, written by John-somebody. About 45 minutes into the party - a load roar happened - so deafening it even carried over "Louie Louie"... Seems my father had left the Homosexual Love book out on his desk... and signed a small note "To Victor, with love, John-somebody." Fortunately, my friends were mostly aware of my father's sense of humor - and I was not burdened to be dateless for the remainder of my life as I first thought I would.

Sunday afternoon the neighbor met my folks with that sly grin. Dad grinned back equally as slyly.

The $50 cab ride..........

I love, simply love, little kid's sports. My stepson was 9 when my own son was born - so it was kinda like having two only children... Years and years of baseball, basketball, soccer with the first - followed by years and years of the same with the second. I coached each and every game - which isn't "news" - but something I was very proud of - and I'd never ever missed a single game. I ain't good at much, but I was pretty darn good at making sure all the kids I coached learned - and that they walked away with a positive self image. I'd seen too much of the wrong kind of coach - therefore I volunteered each and every season/sport.

One of the many occupational jugglings I did was part-time cargo sales for a major airline. The airline had just opened a station in Kansas City - and I signed on to help get them off the ground, pun perhaps intended. Maybe they felt sorry for me - as, I was formerly a cargo sale's rep for another carrier that went belly up - on THE very day I was hosting a customer appreciation golf tournament for all our cargo customers. (Yes, first prize was roundtrip anywhere the airline "usedta" go. Folks at the tourney were understanding as they realized I was losing my job. The four beers I quickly downed after hearing "Chapter 11... ALL planes are grounded" helped too.)

Back to sports - kid sports. A cargo sales meeting in Washington DC was to be held only hours before my own flesh and blood's very first soccer game (Kindergarten). Begrudgingly I consented to go - explaining how important this game was to me to my boss... "Yeah yeah, it's ok, we'll get you out of the meeting early."

I flew. We met. It went on monotonously long. And longer. Thrice I looked at my boss with raised eyebrows from across the room. Thrice he looked back with that "it's only a damned kid's soccer game" look. I literally had minutes to make the last flight outta DCA to Kansas City. I finally gained the nod of approval to hightail it - and that I did. A white OJ running thru the airport to gate 67, minutes to spare. Twas back in the day when I could run and still legibly talk right after........

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm sorry sir, this flight is full - and even though your 'pass' is positive space, revenue customers still come first. "........ "Shit" I thought to myself..... "Is there any possible way to make it back to Kansas City by 4pm?"......... She peeked thru the computer for all possibilities...... "Ya know, there is a flight leaving in one hour from Baltimore."...... "Yeah? How long's it take to get to Baltimore?"........ "Ouch, well, it's about an hour drive."

To the curb I ran - no carryons, no suitcases..... hollering at the first sleeping non-English speaking cabbie I saw. "I've got $50, can you take me to Baltimore to try and catch a flight leaving in one hour"... "I try" he chimed back. "NO, you don't understand, I'm talking ALL I'VE GOT is $50 - tip, fare, included."...... "Come on" (noticing my frantic want to make the flight) "I try."

He took every shortcut he could find... we bounced, rattled, sped, swerved, screeched, passed...... and made it. He smiled proudly as I handed him the $50 - and I again was running thru the airport........ Found the flight.... Jetway was seconds from pulling back..... "WAIT!!! WAIT!!!"............. Whew........ I made it......................

Pulling into the City Park I smiled when I saw the assembled green team - their first ever team experience. I'd made it - I wasn't going to miss a game... specifically my kid's very first game.. Our eyes met - he had no idea whatinthehell I'd gone thru to make it to the game - and his eyes stared back with that "hi... whereinthehell you been... oh, you're here.... no biggie" look. The little rotten shit.

The $50 taxi ride, the running thru two different aiports, the 75 mph ride from the airport to the park were all justified by one event that happened in that game. The event fortifies all that's right with kid's sports.

Eric (not my son) was the only kid on the team that could actually punt the ball - so - by default, jualah, he's our goalee. This kid had the most infectious, wonderful, everpresent smile - I think I tried to actually steal him and take him home with us a few times!... His grin was now highlighted by the recent loss of his two front teeth....

Most of the first quarter was composed of the green team and the red team playing "beehive" around the ball somewhere around midfield. Fiiiiiiiiiiinally a red player broke thru the scrum and actually dribbled toward the goal... He fired from perfect distance - and Eric cleanly fielded the ball just as we had gone over time and time again in practice. Of course - he turned to the 47 screaming, triumphant parents - and yep, there was that damn grin...

"OK ERIC" I thought to myself..."Remember, 1 (step), 2, 3, 4, PUNT!"..... Sucking up this great moment of attention - he too painstakingly planned his 1,2,3,4 Punt.... 1....... 2....... 3....... 4...... PUNT!....................... Uh oh. He actually did the preliminaries quite well - but he got a little screwed up on the angle of his foot and he ultimately ended up flat on his derriere........ the ball went directly back over his head - and perfectly landed in the opponent's goal. ......... Crap!..... Nah, wait, this is kid's sports - who cares......

Would we finally see anger/fervor/hatred/shock/embarrassment from Eric's face? Nope. He turned to the 84 eyeballs upon him, most folks covering their mouths with their hands to keep from laughing.... and there it was...... that big ole grin again. It epitomized all kid's sports are supposed to be about. Eric taught me alot that day about how the will is so much more important than the outcome.

Plane fare to/from KC to DCA/BWI - free. Taxi fare from DC to Baltimore - fifty bucks.... Eric's toothless grin - priceless.

Would you consider it prostitution?

For those of you whom are already in a relationship, you won't have the foggiest idea what I mean. Those of you who are recent high school/college grads - well, hell, you won't be reading this anyways - but you'd be lost too.

I'm talking about internet dating - and specifically THE most popular dating site on the internet(or so Richard Dawson's "Survey SAID"): Match.com.

WHAT? The hell's he talking about "is it prostitution?".. Ya mean they got women on there tryin' to turn an extra buck in their spare time? Hell, what's that address again?

No, no, no, no. I'm talking "criteria". Among many things, one must fill out this stupid form and list: ethnicity, body type, height, Zodiac sign, "about me and who I'd like to date", height, eyes, hair, body art, best feature, for fun, favorite hot spots, exercise habits, smoke, drink, job, income, have kids, want kids, pets, faith, education, how often you shave your armpits (haha, gotcha)... and then the site pretty much asks the same about "About my date."

Well, some of these chickys.... (and I'll be the first to admit, that's pretty damn judgmental/accusational/prejudiced - but hell, I DON'T LOOK AT MEN'S PROFILES)... some of these chicky's kill me...

You'll be strolling along reading a profile... thinking "hey, she really sounds pretty together"... She too likes garage sales... thrift stores... camping... weekend getaways... etc, etc. "Simple things... it's the simple things that are important."

Ok, then you scroll to the point on "about my date" and the income bracket desired:

$75,000 - $100,000.........Holy shit Sherlock. Or, I just read a school teacher's and her date had to make a minimum of $150,000+... Now correct me if I'm wrong. I taught school once back in the dinosaur days. I remember vividly getting paid (not very well) once a month. It was Katy-bar-the-door the first week after payday (Steak, Ribs, dining out at places that actually had metal utensils, shrimp, etc, etc - GOOD STUFF)... Then - by the end of the month - after you'd gone thru the "ground beef mid-month" stage --- it was scraping the nooks/crannies of the Skippy Peanut Butter jar to obtain a makeable meal for supper until payday.

So................ I wants me a man. "Sense of humor a must"... "Must enjoy cuddling on the couch".... "As comfy in jeans as he is in a tux"... "He's gotta be laid back"....

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, FOR ME TO LOVE THE BASTARD HE'S GOTTA MAKE 6-DIGITS A YEAR. I call that "whoring"..... or, Peni$ envy. Or "you ain't quite getting the big picture".... Or I spose, her prerogative.

Am I hearing correctly? So......... if some good-natured, damned hot (Tom Sellick look-alike), nice, laid back, friendly, hung-like-a-horse (sorry... some say that matters.... Shit, wonder why Match.com ain't got into that question yet!)... feller made $68,472 on his last tax year...... "Nope, it's $75K or else"... Don't even consider emailing me.

"Screw your $92,000 a year job... I'm holding out for $150K so I can sit on the couch, eat bon-bons, catchup on Days of Our Lives and order any fucking thing I want off E-Bay. I couldn't care less if you have your culinary degree."

Ok, maybe I'm jealous. Envious. I don't make that much. I'll be damned if I haven't turned the corner to where "climbing the ladder" actually means to get something one simply can't physically reach.

Honestly, I'm pretty liberal. Open to a lot. I would like to think though... should my weekly six Powerball numbers of 10-13-14-35-43-52 EVER come in.... I'd hope I'd run like hell from any chicks who quantify an elite income level. I've never farted thru silk. Tis my belief life can be pretty decently lived from Fruit of the Loom 100% cotton - and that fun, good times, love, devotion, camaraderie, adoration don't come at a minimum income level.

You whores you.

I'm going to tell you something... but you've got to promise not to tell anyone....

SHIT! "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, DON'T DO THIS....... I'M WEAKKKKKKKK... I CAN'T DO IT"........ Ok what, I give you my word.

The itch, the burn, the yearn to hear just whatinthehell is so important that me, akska me, is the only person on the planet that should be privy to this info.... Frankly, it's usually something one wouldn't expect.... And that makes it that much more difficult to refrain from sharing a chat with buddies and standing to say "Hey, I don't repeat gossip... so listen close the first time!"...... Hehe.

I will admit, in past days I've been weak... I've tried to change that - and have been successful in my quest to actually keep my word. Dammit.

This is a blog, and no one (ok, maybe two people) have any idea whointhehell I am. Last summer I got a "you've got to promise not to tell" from the wonderful kiddo that is a temp for our company in the summer. His stepfather is a VP, but his stepson is unassuming, doesn't use his family position - and is just "one of the guys."

Anyways... "Monty" - I'll call him.. .comes to me with the "promise not to tell" thingy... He's a college sophomore, smart, polite, and baby blues the women say "to die for." "Vic < (that's me, shit it slipped).. Melinda has been emailing me saying she'd like to get together sometime... I'm not quite sure what to do... Of course I want to... but I'm nervous."

The little rotten bastard, Melinda is mid-30's, gorgeous, BUILT, and the envy of anyone who's used a urinal within our building. She's got a boyfriend, but no ring. All men are pigs... and... it's oft been the topic 'round the water cooler: "do you think they're real or plastic?"... I dunno, but I think Monty is about to find out...

Melinda writes again...... and again...... and again.... Monty has a longtime girlfriend - but he relates "Vic, she asked me if she was pressuring too much... should she back off? Is it ugly to think of being with a 30-something lady?"... "I wanted to SCREAM back "HELL NO... it's the DREAM of every college punk to be with a gorgeous 30-something lady.. ARE YOU KIDDING?".....

She wasn't. And.... Dammit... Monty shared all... Down to the last little grip of plastic.. .(oops)....

So, here I am, Monty's three-month a year good friend... surrounded by the creeps (said lovingly) I face all year round... go to lunch with... spend some after hours with... help move... fix cars... golf with... etc... etc... and they say "Hey, have you noticed... Monty and Melinda have been spending a lot of time together... I wonder if... eh, you know?"........"YES YES" I wanna yell... .and Smitty, you were right, they ARE plastic!~............ BUT, I didn't... Instead I wimpily reply "yeah, I've noticed that too.... nah... there's too much age difference... and they've each got a significant other.... nah, I don't think so.." DAMN YOU MONTY, DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!...

I may have blogged to a couple... but I've upheld my promise to Monty. Howabout you? How good is your "I promise, I won't tell a soul"?????? It's hard, I know. Happy Friday, Victor

He pulled the cover off from over her, slowly knelt, kissed her cheek, covered her back up and without a word slowly walked away.

Ends are difficult. Every relationship ends. Of course, the depth and length of time varies - but they all end.

Had an email from a friend last night "Well, Mr. Perfect just pulled out in a U-Haul truck with everything he owns, headed for his three kids on the West Coast. My decision. Bummer."

Ends in dating hurt probably just as much as ends in marriage - but perhaps the length of hurt doesn't last as long. Since this "suddenly almost single" (I'm still separated) thing happened, I've had a few ends of my own. One said I was "too laid back"...... One said "you'll never stop smoking, and you'll never demonstrate enough fortitude with your son"

My own father. My mother had a massive stroke at age 57. Dad, a traveling sale's rep, quit his job... Got "D-tags", a small building to put his cars in (Missouri State law)... stayed at home, cared for my mother - inbetweengst polishing, detailing, pounding-out-dents from wholesalers he fixed up to sell to make ends meet. They made the best of a trying time. I vividly remember two distinct sounds. "Mack the Knife" from my dads lungs, and the little handbell my father provided for my mother when she needed something. It wasn't a picture perfect end for them (mother passed of heart difficulties some 9 years later) - but they were happy - and I learned a lot from their end.

The very first date after she rode off on a Harley (Ok, dammit, I remember, two sides of every board!) was with a chicky much too young for me. Eh, you know, it's kinda like job hunting - you start out applying for jobs $10-20,000 more than you are probably worth, then eventually settle for reality. Anyways, I asked this gal of 34 (me - 48) "what do you want outta the resta your life?"............

She replied........."well..... I'm a nurse... and I work in the ER... Once... there was an 80 yr old couple in... the wife was having extreme difficulties with her heart... she literally died on the ER table twice - we brought her back each time... The doctor would go consult the elderly gentleman in the waiting room each time.... Finally... her heart gave out... She expired... The doctor turned to go tell the 80-something year old gentleman her fate... and when he did, the man rose.. sauntered into the ER... approached her bed...He pulled the cover off from over her, slowly knelt, kissed her cheek, covered her back up and without a word slowly walked away. That. That's what I want."

Wow. Pretty cool. This same 34-yr old chicky told me "you know, you're pretty nice looking for 48." Hehe, I didn't really know how to take that.. The next day I stood shaving in the bathroom. All done, I took that first swipe with my hand to my face wiping off the shaving cream. I noticed there was still an amount of shaving cream left upon my face - neatly tucked in the crevices afforded by 48 years of living. That very moment was the end to the 34-48 yr old thingy. Maybe I did know how to take what she said. Love, Victurd.

I'm raising Maynard G. Crebbs......

"WORK!!!"...... Yes, you're old if you remember. "Maynard" (akska son). akska = "also kinda sorta known as" lives with me. Maynard simply lives. Turned 20 yesterday. He eats, he drinks, he watches TV, and he wakes up and does the same thing over and over. Good Lord I hope he doesn't turn into Norman.

Virtually all my lady-friend plans are on hold until Maynard's brain ripens. Maynard has anger problems (good 99% of the time, hell that 1%). For some reason, he hates doors. There's not a single one in this house that hasn't been introduced to his knuckles. I don't comprehend that. I could see hating Jim Morrison, but not doors. Perhaps it has something to do with the old saying about doors and opportunities.

Maynard lived a wonderful life from age 0 to 13. He had doting relatives, a great mother, and a father who was nutso over him - to the tune of minimumly 2-3 hours one-on-one per night doing a multitude of things. Catch, soccer (basement if soggy out), setting up and knocking down plastic army guys over and over and over. Creative obstacle courses setup at nearby parks. Batting cages, thousands of fly balls/ground balls. Hoops. 4' goals, 6' goals, 8' goals, 10' goals. You name it, we did it. Maynard's pappy (akska - me) coached each and every crummy little league team he played on.

Maynard currently lives in rap "shock" world. Dress to shock, talk to shock. Hey little buddy, you wanna shock me? Get a job!

Maynard shares his father's love of sports. akska/me never really pushed - although I reread a prior paragraph, and it would seem that. akska/me taught PE, and one very minute reason I got out of the fold was I'd play "Duck duck goose" in the morning, kickball all afternoon, coach basketball in the late afternoon/early evening - only to come home to Maynard waiting on the step with our ball gloves and a well worn hardball. I love to play as much as the next guy - but it can be overdone.

I don't know what Maynard's ultimate outcome will be. Ye of little fortitude won't kick his little butt out of the house - and he really doesn't ask for money. He's like a banana that stays green forever. One day, will I wake up and have him be 26 and fully yellow? There is a good heart under there - and each and every time I'm ready to throw my hands up in despair something happens - something like the recent Father's Day card I received: "In your quiet way, you are an example, and you have inspired me many times. You have my respect and my thanks. Thanks for putting up with me Pops, Love Maynard." Shit. He still knows how to tug.

In the back of my mind, I think Maynard wants to follow in Bob Denver's shoes and his next "role" will be living/not working on a deserted island somewhere. Ok, enough on my 'little buddy' today. Stay tuned for another exciting adventure tomorrow. Not decided yet between the roof that leaks over my bed (and over the kitchen table).. the wonderful inground pool whose $4000 liner gave out 5 years ago, of the doublewide garage door whose spring snapped months after I installed the auto-opener. Yipee. Life, akska - Check engine light.

Suddenly, I'm a virgin............ again.

No you perverts, this ain't about sex..... It's about ME! The blog virgine. Lord knows there ain't been no sex as far as I'm concerned for...... well, a long time. There IS a lot of sex in my marriage, I just ain't getting any of it..... (She rode off on a Harley roughly 4 years ago.... I know, I know).

I'm a fitty-two year old white dude.... live in the Bible Belt.... am mostly liberal, probably somewhat sheltered... and alive.

Check Engine Light fits, cause the last four years my traversings have resembled my '93 Ford Taurus (160,000 miles) - and just when ya think things are starting to go grand again... yep, the friggin check engine light comes on. That extra $200 I'd saved? Screw it. That chick I met CLOSEBY online that I'd like to take to a nice dinner? Check Engine.

Don't get me wrong, I love life... I love my '93 Taurus... but..... I trust "her" about as much as I trusted "her" toward the end. (Oh shit, he's a controller... watched her every move I bet.. probably a major contributor to the demise). Eh, mebbe. Two sides to every board my Aunt always says.

Anyways, this is the start. There, I've done it. I seen the chicky's site on Good Morning America (dooce.com
Went to a party tonight... Hosted by my still legal sister-in-law. Some of them still love me! July 3rd, 2005. Fireworks and rain. Scroll to blog title.

Hell, I figure if I ever do get laid again..... at age 52, my own "check engine light" will come on... Then, I'll see a doc... get the V-stuff... and probably go blind. Or so I read.

Like a virgin. Is the "first ever" special forever? My first ever, oh ok, I think I was 16 - and I hooked back up at our ten year HS reunion. "Whatshername" (my legality) - well, the fella she rode off with.. I think it was her first ever. Or so I've heard.

Eh, that's enough crap for tonight. Bless our troups, and all troups before them for our freedom. Let freedom ring. Happy 4th. Celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music... one never knows when it will be our last!