Crank it up (with key)... "Ding" "Ding" "Ding" "Ding"... Digitally, right thar in fronta me on the dash "WINDSHIELD WASHER FLUID LOW"... It was just damn near as orgasmic as the moment I clicked on Windows2000 after I upgraded from Windows98...
Now whereinthehell did I put that Huey Lewis cassette?
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
The day, the music died......
A long, long time ago I can still remember how my father and sister used to make me smile and I knew if I had my chance that I relive the way those people could dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while…. but February made me shiver - with every truckload I delivered, bad news on the door step, I couldn't take one more step….but something touched me deep inside, the day, the music, died. So...
Twas “Birthday Day” at work. A celebration of all June birthdays. Everyone brings junk, and we all rationalize about our waistlines being able to allow it because the day is special.
So I head to the Piggly Wiggly 15 minutes earlier than I normally head out. Damn, it’s raining. Hard. Uh oh. Flat tire in driveway. Enter “shit” here. So I waller on the ground, shorts on - got nifty brown stains on ma knees.. Good ole blackened hands from the lug nuts, carrying the tires. I even got up on the right side of the bed. (I never understood that saying.)
The tire I put on had a ‘valley’ in it, which made car vibrate so bad, if I’da been a chicky and had a Bob, it wouldn’t evena needed batteries. So, weaving from lane to lane, up and down, I went probably 35 miles down my 33 and ½ mile path.
I know, lunchtime I’ll go get another tire. I highly recommend Mr. Tire. It’s a used tire (I know I know) place.. They’ve got jackstands waiting for you outside, you pull up, they guide you in, then the worker ants attack, and presto - you still got time on your lunch hour to drive thru Wendies.
Today they were packed full. So, I found a nifty pole that was downhill - remember RNDL, no P. Decided where I was someone might back into me - so figured I’d better move it. Tried to put it in R for Race. Enter “oh shit” here. Huh uh. Gearshift had about the same “I wanna work for you” as Maynard. And that ain’t much. Actually, it’s none. No P. No R. Probably had N. No D. No L. (Enter “gotdandruff, someofititches” here.)
Walked to Auto fixup joint. “Can I buy a cana tranny fluid?” HUH? (ten minute explanation.) Walked back (block anda half). Filled it. This time, the gearshift moves freely, like a lady on ice - but it doesn’t do anything to propel the car in either direction. My thoughts went to: Victor, you just got paid, but mosta that goes for the house payment. There is some left. I know you love this car, but at 213,784 miles is it really worth sinking another penny in? NO, DON’T SAY THAT.. THIS WAS MY SISTER’S CAR.. And THEN MY DAD’S CAR. It really is/has been special. (Enter “why hell” here) I even named my GD (gosh darn works) blog [checkenginelight] after the trials and tribulations of the car, in comparison to the same in life. Checkengine light would come on, go off.. Same with brake light. Same with life.
Sooooo… I walk back to the auto fixemup place… 15 minute explanation about “gotta be towed, ain’t much in bank balance, call me first before spending any dough, and can I borrow your phone to call a co-worker to pick me up.” (Oh, and it doesn’t have park.. Oh, and the key is broke off in the ignition - but there’s a stubby screwdriver on the dash that’ll start it every time.) I think they musta thought a looney had escaped from the nearby shelter.
So… I can’t get aholda anyone at work… Owner says “I’ll giveya a ride.” So he does. We talk. He’s gotta car for sale. I ain’t gots that much, but I liked it. Said “thanks, and we’ll see.”
Back at cubicle at 1pm. Fixemup place closes at 5, doesn’t reopen until Monday morning. “Eh, not real sure we can get to it today, we’re kinda backed up.”
Fix it? Get ridda it? Fix it? Get ridda it?… So….. In a matter of 45 minutes, I had enough bones in my pocket thanks to our financial dude and a note on my 401K to go purchase another tanker, 1995 Lincoln Continental. Hey, it looks better than it sounds. It has Park. A key that you can insert. A complete - allthewayacross bumper in front. Four matching hubcaps. The headliner ain’t falling down. You don’t have to put it in neutral at stop signs to keep it running. THE AC WORKS. It doesn’t overheat. The emergency brake ain’t stuck.
And it has the snazziest cassette tape player you ever seen (Enter “LMAO” here.)
So I bought it. And I welled up as I transferred all the personal junk from checkenginelight to the “"Son, you're gonna drive me t' drinkin', If you don't quit drivin' that - Hot ... Rod ... Lincoln!"
The very last trinket outta the trunk that I’d been storing in there “for just awhile’ (’Twas the coffee mug my son gave me on birthday forty that said “40 isn’t old… if you’re a tree.”) So the complete transition was made. From my sister - to my father - to cleaning it out with current memories of my son… to it’s final resting place - whoever the American Cancer Society takes it to. Fitting. Even though sister gone from breast cancer 8 years now, today simply added to our key phrase “Beat the Bastard.” Maybe, just maybe this will be the dollar to help make miracles happen.
I be stylin’ now. Hell, I just may yet go after me onea them Leawood blonde divorcees.
They were singin... Bye, bye Miss Checkenginelight, drove my Taurus to the Tire joint but the gearshift was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that it dies. This will be the day that it dies.
Toodles. Going to go write the book of love and yes I have faith in God above…. Love you Vanda. Love you dad. It served us well. Love, Victurd.
Twas “Birthday Day” at work. A celebration of all June birthdays. Everyone brings junk, and we all rationalize about our waistlines being able to allow it because the day is special.
So I head to the Piggly Wiggly 15 minutes earlier than I normally head out. Damn, it’s raining. Hard. Uh oh. Flat tire in driveway. Enter “shit” here. So I waller on the ground, shorts on - got nifty brown stains on ma knees.. Good ole blackened hands from the lug nuts, carrying the tires. I even got up on the right side of the bed. (I never understood that saying.)
The tire I put on had a ‘valley’ in it, which made car vibrate so bad, if I’da been a chicky and had a Bob, it wouldn’t evena needed batteries. So, weaving from lane to lane, up and down, I went probably 35 miles down my 33 and ½ mile path.
I know, lunchtime I’ll go get another tire. I highly recommend Mr. Tire. It’s a used tire (I know I know) place.. They’ve got jackstands waiting for you outside, you pull up, they guide you in, then the worker ants attack, and presto - you still got time on your lunch hour to drive thru Wendies.
Today they were packed full. So, I found a nifty pole that was downhill - remember RNDL, no P. Decided where I was someone might back into me - so figured I’d better move it. Tried to put it in R for Race. Enter “oh shit” here. Huh uh. Gearshift had about the same “I wanna work for you” as Maynard. And that ain’t much. Actually, it’s none. No P. No R. Probably had N. No D. No L. (Enter “gotdandruff, someofititches” here.)
Walked to Auto fixup joint. “Can I buy a cana tranny fluid?” HUH? (ten minute explanation.) Walked back (block anda half). Filled it. This time, the gearshift moves freely, like a lady on ice - but it doesn’t do anything to propel the car in either direction. My thoughts went to: Victor, you just got paid, but mosta that goes for the house payment. There is some left. I know you love this car, but at 213,784 miles is it really worth sinking another penny in? NO, DON’T SAY THAT.. THIS WAS MY SISTER’S CAR.. And THEN MY DAD’S CAR. It really is/has been special. (Enter “why hell” here) I even named my GD (gosh darn works) blog [checkenginelight] after the trials and tribulations of the car, in comparison to the same in life. Checkengine light would come on, go off.. Same with brake light. Same with life.
Sooooo… I walk back to the auto fixemup place… 15 minute explanation about “gotta be towed, ain’t much in bank balance, call me first before spending any dough, and can I borrow your phone to call a co-worker to pick me up.” (Oh, and it doesn’t have park.. Oh, and the key is broke off in the ignition - but there’s a stubby screwdriver on the dash that’ll start it every time.) I think they musta thought a looney had escaped from the nearby shelter.
So… I can’t get aholda anyone at work… Owner says “I’ll giveya a ride.” So he does. We talk. He’s gotta car for sale. I ain’t gots that much, but I liked it. Said “thanks, and we’ll see.”
Back at cubicle at 1pm. Fixemup place closes at 5, doesn’t reopen until Monday morning. “Eh, not real sure we can get to it today, we’re kinda backed up.”
Fix it? Get ridda it? Fix it? Get ridda it?… So….. In a matter of 45 minutes, I had enough bones in my pocket thanks to our financial dude and a note on my 401K to go purchase another tanker, 1995 Lincoln Continental. Hey, it looks better than it sounds. It has Park. A key that you can insert. A complete - allthewayacross bumper in front. Four matching hubcaps. The headliner ain’t falling down. You don’t have to put it in neutral at stop signs to keep it running. THE AC WORKS. It doesn’t overheat. The emergency brake ain’t stuck.
And it has the snazziest cassette tape player you ever seen (Enter “LMAO” here.)
So I bought it. And I welled up as I transferred all the personal junk from checkenginelight to the “"Son, you're gonna drive me t' drinkin', If you don't quit drivin' that - Hot ... Rod ... Lincoln!"
The very last trinket outta the trunk that I’d been storing in there “for just awhile’ (’Twas the coffee mug my son gave me on birthday forty that said “40 isn’t old… if you’re a tree.”) So the complete transition was made. From my sister - to my father - to cleaning it out with current memories of my son… to it’s final resting place - whoever the American Cancer Society takes it to. Fitting. Even though sister gone from breast cancer 8 years now, today simply added to our key phrase “Beat the Bastard.” Maybe, just maybe this will be the dollar to help make miracles happen.
I be stylin’ now. Hell, I just may yet go after me onea them Leawood blonde divorcees.
They were singin... Bye, bye Miss Checkenginelight, drove my Taurus to the Tire joint but the gearshift was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that it dies. This will be the day that it dies.
Toodles. Going to go write the book of love and yes I have faith in God above…. Love you Vanda. Love you dad. It served us well. Love, Victurd.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Seasons’ Greetings… or… Less is more…
Ya gotta love summer…
We Midwesterners cuss, shiver, slip/slide, wring our shirts out, cringe when the mailman delivers our gas bill, drag the light jackets, down jackets, flannel sheets, down comforters - etc - JUST to enable ourselves to finally, FINALLY, get to this timea year….
Our eyes are perked by things of beauty…. Wouldya rather go see a movie with The Rock in it or with Lyle Lovette?… Cameron Diaz or Rosie O’Donnell?
Summer brings out beauty. Put frankly, winter/spring/fall - bods are covered. Sure, brings out the element of curiosity - but summer leaves no doubt.
Tan is associated with healthy. 90 degrees is associated with “Ahm, honey, I’ve gotta run to WalMart… we’re down to three extra light bulbs.”
Less is more. Let’s greet the season. (My goofy - I LOVED HER - Elementary Principal where I tought was writing a letter one day… she was mid brain-fart.. Looked up.. The PE teacher happened by.. .she looked (at me) and said… “I’m having a brain-freeze (I called it brain-fart).. I’m trying to spell greet.. It’s G-R-E-A-T isn’t it?” My idol, my hero, my adolation asking ME this? I giggled, said “well… that’s a GREAT way to spell it.. But no.. it’s G-R-E-E-T.”
Summer means float trips, little league games, flying bugs, water, water, water, water. Attention paid to sunsets. Mowers roaring, orange barrels on Interstate, way more daylight, activity, the “want” to get out, plain ole general excitement.
As much as I bitch, moan, groan, sulk, say “BRRRR”, gripe, complain, about every time of year besides now - and as many times as I’ve threatened to pack all, get the hell outta Dodge, not look back and go get wrinkles in Florida -- I love the Midwest - especially summertime. Like life, so goes the Midwest. If ya didn’t have the sucky, the yummy wouldn’t taste quite so good.
There’s a bigass rock at work next to the curb. Sometimes on break I sit on the curb and use the rock kinda like a dentist’s chair. (I hate the dentist, love the little headrest things and the gas.. Why don’t they use gas any more? Was kinda like legally getting high.) And from this rock I am euphoric. I feel the rays, I close my eyes, and it feels damn near as good as a massage.
Today, mid-rain… Chicky on break says “Oh I wish I was on my screened in porch right now. It’s heavenly in a summer rain.” Even rain doesn’t piss one off in the summer.
Moods are generally better. People don’t drag their feet as the workday ends - they kinda skip to their cars in anticipation of “what’s on the docket out-and-about tonight?”
I don’t have a good end to this. (Victor, did anyone say the beginning or middle was good?) No, as a matterafact they didn’t. Where were we? Oh yeah, ends. Summer is synonymous with ends. Women wear spandex to the Piggly Wiggly. Don’t scoff at me - I’m certain you pigettes stare at the the Wranglers walking in the Farm and Home store.. Or at the baggy cargo shorts and the booties insidea them.
Pack your days full. Get nexta/into water. Try some crap ya ain’t tried in ten years. Rent something. I dunno, hell a 4-wheeler, a pontoon, a tent camper, a bouncy thing for the kids. Just live it. Do it.
Were you aware some even go ‘commando’ in the summer? Sorry, the bouncy thing reminded me of that one. (We gots this “You might be a redneck if” daily calendar at work.. Todays was “If your granny goes braless in her tube top.” Hehe.) Again, onea my alltime favorite stories.. Worlds of Fun, hell maybe 15 years ago. With kid on the Centrifugal ride. You know, it’s a circular thingy, you get 30 people in there up agin’ the wall, they start spinning it faster, and faster, and FASTER, and FASTER… You’re glued up agin’ the wall.. You can’t move your hands…The air into your open mouth makes your lips contorted, uneven… AND THEN.. You focus on the gal directly across from you (True Story).. And her tank top had fallen down. Uh huh, there they were, “lefty and righty” a starin’ right atme. She couldn’t raise her arms to fix. Glued they were to the wall by the force of the ride. I couldn’t unfix my eyes offa ‘them’. Musta been the force of the ride. I definitely got my money’s worth that day.
Enjoy you’re summer. I am. (Speakin’ o’ renting. Ain’t found me that rental car yet. I was semi-kinda-sorta-real serious about that. At this age, seems there’s more realism as to “how much longer is left?” and usage of same. Oh well, least I can enjoy people watching at the Piggly Wiggly, work, WalMart, The Royals, Little League games, etc.
Hope it’s a tantastic summer for you. May you wear less and do more. May you have “Ohhhh my God” moments behind the eyeballs whilst you’re out and about. Even if “with another” - let urself go to have piggish thoughts. (It’s the acting upon them that sucks!).. Feast, examine, observe, enjoy, partake (in your own dress.) A summertime.. And livin’ is easy… so hush pretty baby… dooooo’ooon’t you cry… Loveya, Victurd.
We Midwesterners cuss, shiver, slip/slide, wring our shirts out, cringe when the mailman delivers our gas bill, drag the light jackets, down jackets, flannel sheets, down comforters - etc - JUST to enable ourselves to finally, FINALLY, get to this timea year….
Our eyes are perked by things of beauty…. Wouldya rather go see a movie with The Rock in it or with Lyle Lovette?… Cameron Diaz or Rosie O’Donnell?
Summer brings out beauty. Put frankly, winter/spring/fall - bods are covered. Sure, brings out the element of curiosity - but summer leaves no doubt.
Tan is associated with healthy. 90 degrees is associated with “Ahm, honey, I’ve gotta run to WalMart… we’re down to three extra light bulbs.”
Less is more. Let’s greet the season. (My goofy - I LOVED HER - Elementary Principal where I tought was writing a letter one day… she was mid brain-fart.. Looked up.. The PE teacher happened by.. .she looked (at me) and said… “I’m having a brain-freeze (I called it brain-fart).. I’m trying to spell greet.. It’s G-R-E-A-T isn’t it?” My idol, my hero, my adolation asking ME this? I giggled, said “well… that’s a GREAT way to spell it.. But no.. it’s G-R-E-E-T.”
Summer means float trips, little league games, flying bugs, water, water, water, water. Attention paid to sunsets. Mowers roaring, orange barrels on Interstate, way more daylight, activity, the “want” to get out, plain ole general excitement.
As much as I bitch, moan, groan, sulk, say “BRRRR”, gripe, complain, about every time of year besides now - and as many times as I’ve threatened to pack all, get the hell outta Dodge, not look back and go get wrinkles in Florida -- I love the Midwest - especially summertime. Like life, so goes the Midwest. If ya didn’t have the sucky, the yummy wouldn’t taste quite so good.
There’s a bigass rock at work next to the curb. Sometimes on break I sit on the curb and use the rock kinda like a dentist’s chair. (I hate the dentist, love the little headrest things and the gas.. Why don’t they use gas any more? Was kinda like legally getting high.) And from this rock I am euphoric. I feel the rays, I close my eyes, and it feels damn near as good as a massage.
Today, mid-rain… Chicky on break says “Oh I wish I was on my screened in porch right now. It’s heavenly in a summer rain.” Even rain doesn’t piss one off in the summer.
Moods are generally better. People don’t drag their feet as the workday ends - they kinda skip to their cars in anticipation of “what’s on the docket out-and-about tonight?”
I don’t have a good end to this. (Victor, did anyone say the beginning or middle was good?) No, as a matterafact they didn’t. Where were we? Oh yeah, ends. Summer is synonymous with ends. Women wear spandex to the Piggly Wiggly. Don’t scoff at me - I’m certain you pigettes stare at the the Wranglers walking in the Farm and Home store.. Or at the baggy cargo shorts and the booties insidea them.
Pack your days full. Get nexta/into water. Try some crap ya ain’t tried in ten years. Rent something. I dunno, hell a 4-wheeler, a pontoon, a tent camper, a bouncy thing for the kids. Just live it. Do it.
Were you aware some even go ‘commando’ in the summer? Sorry, the bouncy thing reminded me of that one. (We gots this “You might be a redneck if” daily calendar at work.. Todays was “If your granny goes braless in her tube top.” Hehe.) Again, onea my alltime favorite stories.. Worlds of Fun, hell maybe 15 years ago. With kid on the Centrifugal ride. You know, it’s a circular thingy, you get 30 people in there up agin’ the wall, they start spinning it faster, and faster, and FASTER, and FASTER… You’re glued up agin’ the wall.. You can’t move your hands…The air into your open mouth makes your lips contorted, uneven… AND THEN.. You focus on the gal directly across from you (True Story).. And her tank top had fallen down. Uh huh, there they were, “lefty and righty” a starin’ right atme. She couldn’t raise her arms to fix. Glued they were to the wall by the force of the ride. I couldn’t unfix my eyes offa ‘them’. Musta been the force of the ride. I definitely got my money’s worth that day.
Enjoy you’re summer. I am. (Speakin’ o’ renting. Ain’t found me that rental car yet. I was semi-kinda-sorta-real serious about that. At this age, seems there’s more realism as to “how much longer is left?” and usage of same. Oh well, least I can enjoy people watching at the Piggly Wiggly, work, WalMart, The Royals, Little League games, etc.
Hope it’s a tantastic summer for you. May you wear less and do more. May you have “Ohhhh my God” moments behind the eyeballs whilst you’re out and about. Even if “with another” - let urself go to have piggish thoughts. (It’s the acting upon them that sucks!).. Feast, examine, observe, enjoy, partake (in your own dress.) A summertime.. And livin’ is easy… so hush pretty baby… dooooo’ooon’t you cry… Loveya, Victurd.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Life infronta the monitor.......
I knew you’d be here… you shit you… (Ok, I ain’t talkin’ to you all… but to “the ones”, you know of what I speak.)
Times, they area changing’.
I literally, hate being home alone. So, I come here - the place Al invented - to find my solace. To entertain me, to educate me (I’m lying about this, but shit I gotta make it look/sound good.), to propel my lackluster dating life into 2nd gear…
I could write someone I “had eyes for” a 53 page email - but, for me to gain the courage to walk up to that same person at the Piggly Wiggly, at the Corner Bar, at church - NO WAY JOSE.
Church - first off. Yes, I’m aware I should spend more Sundays there insteada at the HyVee having my two eggs, hash browns, sausage (patties) and toast (white). But - Victor, you learned in English you can’t start a sentence with ‘but’ - YES, I remember, but this is a friggin’ blog so why don’t you go invade a life that needs invading~! Where was I? Oh yeah. But. But, I dunno if I could bring myself to go on a Sunday morning, what with the hymnal all there up infronta me - knowing full well I’m basically there to see who’s wearing the nicest sundress, who ain’t wearing a ring on their wedding finger, who ain’t being escorted in/out by the opposite sex… I’d just feel guilty. I’d know He’s watching. So I don’t go. Sad, yes. True, yes.
So - Match.com. You can “wink” at people, and they can “wink” back. But that’s it. If you’re creative (Victor - are you gonna start this shit again? - YES, yes, I am)… if you’re creative, you can include in your “profile” somehow - a means for the opposite sex to get aholda of you without forking over $39.87 a month for their fee to email, instant message, wink (with kiss), yada yada. I have met a few offa Match. I guess, in a “fishing correlation” I’ve been under the length limit - thus, they’ve thrown me back. Damn, you REALLY gotta gutter mind don’tya?
Matchdoctor.com…. This one ain’t bad - but it’s kinda obsolete - as in no one does it any more - and I don’t really understand. You can email for free - and easily avoid their fees. I’ve driven to Biloxi, MS, Spencer, IA, Auxvausse, MO, and other places to meet matchdoctor friends - but again, either they threw me back - or vice versa.
Plain ole’ Yahoo. IM’ing unsuspecting Yahoo-ites has taken me to: St. Louie, Kingdom City, MO, Lawrence, KS, Topeka, KS, Carrolton, MO, Olathe, KS, Kansas City, MO - and probably 6 or 8 I forget.
Singlesnet.com.. This one is new to me. I find it pretty goofy. Either you join (and are able to communicate) or you don’t (and you might as well be playing the air-guitar infronta the band.)
MySpace. I likes MySpace. You can be creative (Victor, do we need to rehash this?).. No, we don’t. We can ATTEMPT to be creative in our profiles - and we can send emails and instant messages gratis. As in free. (Note to all potentials: RUN if you meet a man on MySpace, he’s a tightwad!)…
So what has all this crap gotten me? Have I found the friend that will love me when I eventually pee my pants and forget my name? Am I cohabitating with one whose daily highlight is a nice, swift walk around the block? Has “Goldielocks” discovered the one that is “jussssst right”…
Nah.
But thru all this crap:
Seen New Orleans.
Cried.
Had onea the most incredible times of my life in St. Louie.
Had The Best meal in Carrolton.
Was ROCKED in Iowa.
Spit at giggle in Olathe to “tee hee, my pic is 8 yrs old.. Tee hee”
Camped next to the Missouri River.
Stayed in the snazziest Bed and Breakfast Room I’ll ever stay in. (Can I add “blue light Jacuzzi here?)
Laughed.
Thought I was in love.
Finally given in to ride a GD horse. Bastard led me to corner of arena. There we stayed for 45 minutes. I was laughing stock.
Ridden to the road behind the Apple Market to dump the week’s trash in their dumpster.
Gotten all hyped up 47 times.
Seen “Stomp”.
Bought beers, drinks, dinner, breakfasts, lunches, ice cream, hotels, motels, flowers, candy, trinkets, specialized gifts, money for slots, money for blackjack, outfits, loaned.
Gotten naked. (But I dead bolted the door so she couldn’t come in and see.)
Made out in a car, at a restaurant, at a casino, in a canoe, in a motel (scroll to the one above), @ her house, @ my house, at a campground, on a bench, in a train car -mebbe one or ten other places. (Don’t hate me.. They say the average chicky kisses 89 men on average before she picks “the one.”)
Gotten heartbroken.
Broken a heart.
Given the silent treatment.
Been given the silent treatment.
Sat in baited anticipation of “The Email.”
Laughed heartily when it finally came.
Cried mightily when it finally came.
Said “hello” approximately 33 times.
Said “sweet dreams” approximately 84 times.
Spent maybe about 1 yr, 5 months, 7 days, 22 hours of my life Instant Messaging.
Spent maybe about 7 months, 26 days, 12 hours, 9 minutes emailing.
Spent maybe one-half of one year logging onto MSN, Yahoo, Match.com, Matchdoctor.com, Singlesnet.com, MySpace.com awaiting THE WORD, from THE ONE.
I ain’t seen it yet. Will it happen? Eh, who knows.
Regrets? Notta one. All of the above has been wonderful. Sure, trying, but wonderful.
Victor, that’s a lotta shit up above there, a lotta sites, and seemingly a lotta women.
Yes…. Yes, it is.
So why would anyone who might read this even have the remotest thought of connecting with you?
It’s very simple actually. All it takes is one. I see the clock ticking - but I (and she) won’t “settle” just to “settle”..
Honest, I’ve come close - several times. (Are you saying there’s a correlation between aging and “pickiness”? Yes, yes I am. And unfortunately, it works both ways.
So do you have a one line salvation to all this crap? And “end all”?
Fancy you should ask….
Borrowing a quote from “Shaft”:
“Write on.”
So I do. And will. And am.
So.. Where are you? Would you like drive to say, Lindsborg, KS this weekend if you thought there was the remostest chance? Abso-friggin-lutely I would.
So Victor. Say a miracle happens. You meet “her”. Then what? What about the internet?
Well, it’s a parta me now. With apologies to Whitney: And I, will always ‘blog’ (to) you..
Even if one finds “her” - there’s still the chance the checkenginelight will alight.
Whatever, however, with whomever, your treks of life have taken you - please appreciate every step. Lord knows I do. Lessen’ I’m barefooted and the cat just hada hairball.
So happy Match/Matchdoctor/Singlesnet/Yahoo/MSN/MySpace to you. May one day the left index finger of your right hand touch your mates lips - insteada the mouse.
Love, Victurd.
Times, they area changing’.
I literally, hate being home alone. So, I come here - the place Al invented - to find my solace. To entertain me, to educate me (I’m lying about this, but shit I gotta make it look/sound good.), to propel my lackluster dating life into 2nd gear…
I could write someone I “had eyes for” a 53 page email - but, for me to gain the courage to walk up to that same person at the Piggly Wiggly, at the Corner Bar, at church - NO WAY JOSE.
Church - first off. Yes, I’m aware I should spend more Sundays there insteada at the HyVee having my two eggs, hash browns, sausage (patties) and toast (white). But - Victor, you learned in English you can’t start a sentence with ‘but’ - YES, I remember, but this is a friggin’ blog so why don’t you go invade a life that needs invading~! Where was I? Oh yeah. But. But, I dunno if I could bring myself to go on a Sunday morning, what with the hymnal all there up infronta me - knowing full well I’m basically there to see who’s wearing the nicest sundress, who ain’t wearing a ring on their wedding finger, who ain’t being escorted in/out by the opposite sex… I’d just feel guilty. I’d know He’s watching. So I don’t go. Sad, yes. True, yes.
So - Match.com. You can “wink” at people, and they can “wink” back. But that’s it. If you’re creative (Victor - are you gonna start this shit again? - YES, yes, I am)… if you’re creative, you can include in your “profile” somehow - a means for the opposite sex to get aholda of you without forking over $39.87 a month for their fee to email, instant message, wink (with kiss), yada yada. I have met a few offa Match. I guess, in a “fishing correlation” I’ve been under the length limit - thus, they’ve thrown me back. Damn, you REALLY gotta gutter mind don’tya?
Matchdoctor.com…. This one ain’t bad - but it’s kinda obsolete - as in no one does it any more - and I don’t really understand. You can email for free - and easily avoid their fees. I’ve driven to Biloxi, MS, Spencer, IA, Auxvausse, MO, and other places to meet matchdoctor friends - but again, either they threw me back - or vice versa.
Plain ole’ Yahoo. IM’ing unsuspecting Yahoo-ites has taken me to: St. Louie, Kingdom City, MO, Lawrence, KS, Topeka, KS, Carrolton, MO, Olathe, KS, Kansas City, MO - and probably 6 or 8 I forget.
Singlesnet.com.. This one is new to me. I find it pretty goofy. Either you join (and are able to communicate) or you don’t (and you might as well be playing the air-guitar infronta the band.)
MySpace. I likes MySpace. You can be creative (Victor, do we need to rehash this?).. No, we don’t. We can ATTEMPT to be creative in our profiles - and we can send emails and instant messages gratis. As in free. (Note to all potentials: RUN if you meet a man on MySpace, he’s a tightwad!)…
So what has all this crap gotten me? Have I found the friend that will love me when I eventually pee my pants and forget my name? Am I cohabitating with one whose daily highlight is a nice, swift walk around the block? Has “Goldielocks” discovered the one that is “jussssst right”…
Nah.
But thru all this crap:
Seen New Orleans.
Cried.
Had onea the most incredible times of my life in St. Louie.
Had The Best meal in Carrolton.
Was ROCKED in Iowa.
Spit at giggle in Olathe to “tee hee, my pic is 8 yrs old.. Tee hee”
Camped next to the Missouri River.
Stayed in the snazziest Bed and Breakfast Room I’ll ever stay in. (Can I add “blue light Jacuzzi here?)
Laughed.
Thought I was in love.
Finally given in to ride a GD horse. Bastard led me to corner of arena. There we stayed for 45 minutes. I was laughing stock.
Ridden to the road behind the Apple Market to dump the week’s trash in their dumpster.
Gotten all hyped up 47 times.
Seen “Stomp”.
Bought beers, drinks, dinner, breakfasts, lunches, ice cream, hotels, motels, flowers, candy, trinkets, specialized gifts, money for slots, money for blackjack, outfits, loaned.
Gotten naked. (But I dead bolted the door so she couldn’t come in and see.)
Made out in a car, at a restaurant, at a casino, in a canoe, in a motel (scroll to the one above), @ her house, @ my house, at a campground, on a bench, in a train car -mebbe one or ten other places. (Don’t hate me.. They say the average chicky kisses 89 men on average before she picks “the one.”)
Gotten heartbroken.
Broken a heart.
Given the silent treatment.
Been given the silent treatment.
Sat in baited anticipation of “The Email.”
Laughed heartily when it finally came.
Cried mightily when it finally came.
Said “hello” approximately 33 times.
Said “sweet dreams” approximately 84 times.
Spent maybe about 1 yr, 5 months, 7 days, 22 hours of my life Instant Messaging.
Spent maybe about 7 months, 26 days, 12 hours, 9 minutes emailing.
Spent maybe one-half of one year logging onto MSN, Yahoo, Match.com, Matchdoctor.com, Singlesnet.com, MySpace.com awaiting THE WORD, from THE ONE.
I ain’t seen it yet. Will it happen? Eh, who knows.
Regrets? Notta one. All of the above has been wonderful. Sure, trying, but wonderful.
Victor, that’s a lotta shit up above there, a lotta sites, and seemingly a lotta women.
Yes…. Yes, it is.
So why would anyone who might read this even have the remotest thought of connecting with you?
It’s very simple actually. All it takes is one. I see the clock ticking - but I (and she) won’t “settle” just to “settle”..
Honest, I’ve come close - several times. (Are you saying there’s a correlation between aging and “pickiness”? Yes, yes I am. And unfortunately, it works both ways.
So do you have a one line salvation to all this crap? And “end all”?
Fancy you should ask….
Borrowing a quote from “Shaft”:
“Write on.”
So I do. And will. And am.
So.. Where are you? Would you like drive to say, Lindsborg, KS this weekend if you thought there was the remostest chance? Abso-friggin-lutely I would.
So Victor. Say a miracle happens. You meet “her”. Then what? What about the internet?
Well, it’s a parta me now. With apologies to Whitney: And I, will always ‘blog’ (to) you..
Even if one finds “her” - there’s still the chance the checkenginelight will alight.
Whatever, however, with whomever, your treks of life have taken you - please appreciate every step. Lord knows I do. Lessen’ I’m barefooted and the cat just hada hairball.
So happy Match/Matchdoctor/Singlesnet/Yahoo/MSN/MySpace to you. May one day the left index finger of your right hand touch your mates lips - insteada the mouse.
Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Room 222... and "I'll never forget April 22nd"
Huh? The hell’s he talking about?
Eh, we’ll get there… More hustle bustle from the day… Good frienda mine was supposed to get divorced today… learned late in day (after six plus hours in court) “we’ll notify you in two weeks.” Imagine the emotions…
Our little group at work… 50-some of us.. “You can’t time in early.. You can’t be late.” So, there’s this time clock thingy we must punch (actually there are three) but can you imagine the nailbitingness of 50-some people trying to make sure it ain’t 7:59 or 8:01 when they clock in? Ridiculous.. And stress…
Drive to work. I’m doing 67 in a 65, biotch behind me is talking on cell, and has the halfa car-length thing going. I turn up Sportstalk to “get ridda her” in my brain - but my GD (gosh darn) implants won’t allow me to.
Finally set down at desk… message waiting light on… blinking…. “You have four messages.” GD (gosh darn) haven’t even had that first cup’o coffee and I gotta deal with these idiots from other time zones? Yes Victor, you do. Besides, your coffee cup appears to have grown some nasty crap since yesterday… there are somea those ‘wipe’ thingies in the corner… use them (and then wash) before you fill up…
Now that I can’t peruse the internet, GD I can ALMOST keep up. ALMOST. Tis frustrating as hell to do one’s job to the best of one’s capabilities AND STILL set yourself up for “why didn’t that deliver?”… :”Where’s this one at? And why is it taking so long to get there?”
(This shit is all interspersed between “well, I gotta apologize, we gave Box A that was supposed to go Virginia via Carrier 1 to Carrier 2, who thought it was going to Guam. Sorry. “ Or, “Oh yeah, that one we thought was gonna pickup last Thursday? Well, his truck broke down in New Mexico… and we’re still trying to get this picked up and to Florida by Friday..”
"Hey Vic... That shipment from Korea to Poway, CA.. today they opened the boxes that were supposed to be for Weimer and they were for Schultze. Can you get to the botton of this?"
Lunchtime. Our group who has been accused of sitting around and bitching about everything, was sitting around bitching about everything. “My GD feet are sweating” (we’d recently been handed down the “NO OPEN TOE” policy…) “My GD boobs needa breatha fresh air.. Do you mind?” (Said a former cleavage-showing one to the new “No crack showing” by cracky rule.)… “I HATE it (THE JOB) soooo much.. But how am I to peruse Monster.com when the sonsabitches have spy thingies on our computers to trace/track our every step?”
Post lunch… “Victor, has XYZ made it to destination yet?”… “I see the vessel for ABC is due in today.. Any chance of getting this to Mascoutah, IL: by Friday?”… “The computer indicates this delivered to Columbus, OH on 6/18, but they’re saying they don’t have it… can you get-me a proof of delivery?”
HEY WAIT!!!!! I got all this normal, everyday shit I GOTTA do, and you guys are bugging me about this stuff… I can’t do it all within the 8-5 framework….
“Victor, could you get me a quote for 2,000, 3,000, 4,000 lbs from Garden Grove, CA to the Bronx, NY at your earliest convenience?”…
“Hey Vic… Our Baltimore Port Agent delivered this shipment in March of this year, and they charged us $17.34 more than what we shoulda paid ‘em… can you look into it and get back to me ASAP?”
It’s now 2:14, we’ve been put on “No you don’t… there’s no friggin way you’ll smoke a cigarette outsida your given 15 minute break between 2:30 and 3:30pm….
Ringggg… Ringgggg…. “Dad… I think some kid stole my ID and my Hotmail addy.. I really think he’s got access to my account… and I’m afraid he’s charging things to me… and that he’s fictitiously sending emails to people pretending to be me… what can you do to help me out?” But son, I got myass in trouble for being on non-work related internet sites… you’ll haveta wait until 5pm.” WHAT???? HE COULD BE OUT THERE RIGHT NOW DOING THIS! ALL MY LIFE I’VE TAKEN CARE OF MY FAMILY.. THE ONE TIME WHEN I NEED YOU, YOU’RE NOT THERE FOR ME.
(All is good, we’re talking about 12 minutes now until I getta suck on a cig.)
I was in love with Karen Valentine. Hey, I bet she still looks great… Anyways, on their TV show… Room 222... The ole principal was having a day like the above… he kinda turned his head.. Whispered “I’ll never forget April 22nd.” Bewildered, his staff almost unitarily offered “WHY? What happened Aprill 22nd?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Life’s happenings are a good thing. There’s some shit, for sure. It ain’t always like we paint it. In spitea sweet dreams, crap happens the next day. We deal with it… We take care of it. We’re all faced with crap. For every fresh strawberry off the vine, there’s the walking into the restroom to saddle up to the GD toilet that didn’t completely flush from the squatter before. I hate when that shit happens.
I reckon, what would life be if it wasn’t trying…. No challenges, no financial woes, no pratfalls, married to Ms/Mr. Perfect. The 5-star Horiscope thingamabob ACTUALLY playing out.
Life ain’t like that. May you have fun jumping the ditches. Climbing the walls. Cussing out the assholes (after they’ve hungup)..Talking about your (usedta couldn’t spell s-u-p-e-r-v-i-s-o-r now I are one) bosses… The traffic.. The kids… The spouse… The checking balance, lack thereof.. The “ouches” and “oopsies” of the human bod.
It’s a decent ride. It has it’s ups and downs. (Of course, don’t forget, sex does too.) Of course, don’t forget, so does your 401K. Whatever. Enjoy the view. The ride. The stress. The stress relievers. The beer. The off time. The weekends.: The “Fuck you world, I am going to the Mall to completely spoil ME.”
Life, it be good. April 22nd included. Loveya, Victurd.
Eh, we’ll get there… More hustle bustle from the day… Good frienda mine was supposed to get divorced today… learned late in day (after six plus hours in court) “we’ll notify you in two weeks.” Imagine the emotions…
Our little group at work… 50-some of us.. “You can’t time in early.. You can’t be late.” So, there’s this time clock thingy we must punch (actually there are three) but can you imagine the nailbitingness of 50-some people trying to make sure it ain’t 7:59 or 8:01 when they clock in? Ridiculous.. And stress…
Drive to work. I’m doing 67 in a 65, biotch behind me is talking on cell, and has the halfa car-length thing going. I turn up Sportstalk to “get ridda her” in my brain - but my GD (gosh darn) implants won’t allow me to.
Finally set down at desk… message waiting light on… blinking…. “You have four messages.” GD (gosh darn) haven’t even had that first cup’o coffee and I gotta deal with these idiots from other time zones? Yes Victor, you do. Besides, your coffee cup appears to have grown some nasty crap since yesterday… there are somea those ‘wipe’ thingies in the corner… use them (and then wash) before you fill up…
Now that I can’t peruse the internet, GD I can ALMOST keep up. ALMOST. Tis frustrating as hell to do one’s job to the best of one’s capabilities AND STILL set yourself up for “why didn’t that deliver?”… :”Where’s this one at? And why is it taking so long to get there?”
(This shit is all interspersed between “well, I gotta apologize, we gave Box A that was supposed to go Virginia via Carrier 1 to Carrier 2, who thought it was going to Guam. Sorry. “ Or, “Oh yeah, that one we thought was gonna pickup last Thursday? Well, his truck broke down in New Mexico… and we’re still trying to get this picked up and to Florida by Friday..”
"Hey Vic... That shipment from Korea to Poway, CA.. today they opened the boxes that were supposed to be for Weimer and they were for Schultze. Can you get to the botton of this?"
Lunchtime. Our group who has been accused of sitting around and bitching about everything, was sitting around bitching about everything. “My GD feet are sweating” (we’d recently been handed down the “NO OPEN TOE” policy…) “My GD boobs needa breatha fresh air.. Do you mind?” (Said a former cleavage-showing one to the new “No crack showing” by cracky rule.)… “I HATE it (THE JOB) soooo much.. But how am I to peruse Monster.com when the sonsabitches have spy thingies on our computers to trace/track our every step?”
Post lunch… “Victor, has XYZ made it to destination yet?”… “I see the vessel for ABC is due in today.. Any chance of getting this to Mascoutah, IL: by Friday?”… “The computer indicates this delivered to Columbus, OH on 6/18, but they’re saying they don’t have it… can you get-me a proof of delivery?”
HEY WAIT!!!!! I got all this normal, everyday shit I GOTTA do, and you guys are bugging me about this stuff… I can’t do it all within the 8-5 framework….
“Victor, could you get me a quote for 2,000, 3,000, 4,000 lbs from Garden Grove, CA to the Bronx, NY at your earliest convenience?”…
“Hey Vic… Our Baltimore Port Agent delivered this shipment in March of this year, and they charged us $17.34 more than what we shoulda paid ‘em… can you look into it and get back to me ASAP?”
It’s now 2:14, we’ve been put on “No you don’t… there’s no friggin way you’ll smoke a cigarette outsida your given 15 minute break between 2:30 and 3:30pm….
Ringggg… Ringgggg…. “Dad… I think some kid stole my ID and my Hotmail addy.. I really think he’s got access to my account… and I’m afraid he’s charging things to me… and that he’s fictitiously sending emails to people pretending to be me… what can you do to help me out?” But son, I got myass in trouble for being on non-work related internet sites… you’ll haveta wait until 5pm.” WHAT???? HE COULD BE OUT THERE RIGHT NOW DOING THIS! ALL MY LIFE I’VE TAKEN CARE OF MY FAMILY.. THE ONE TIME WHEN I NEED YOU, YOU’RE NOT THERE FOR ME.
(All is good, we’re talking about 12 minutes now until I getta suck on a cig.)
I was in love with Karen Valentine. Hey, I bet she still looks great… Anyways, on their TV show… Room 222... The ole principal was having a day like the above… he kinda turned his head.. Whispered “I’ll never forget April 22nd.” Bewildered, his staff almost unitarily offered “WHY? What happened Aprill 22nd?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Life’s happenings are a good thing. There’s some shit, for sure. It ain’t always like we paint it. In spitea sweet dreams, crap happens the next day. We deal with it… We take care of it. We’re all faced with crap. For every fresh strawberry off the vine, there’s the walking into the restroom to saddle up to the GD toilet that didn’t completely flush from the squatter before. I hate when that shit happens.
I reckon, what would life be if it wasn’t trying…. No challenges, no financial woes, no pratfalls, married to Ms/Mr. Perfect. The 5-star Horiscope thingamabob ACTUALLY playing out.
Life ain’t like that. May you have fun jumping the ditches. Climbing the walls. Cussing out the assholes (after they’ve hungup)..Talking about your (usedta couldn’t spell s-u-p-e-r-v-i-s-o-r now I are one) bosses… The traffic.. The kids… The spouse… The checking balance, lack thereof.. The “ouches” and “oopsies” of the human bod.
It’s a decent ride. It has it’s ups and downs. (Of course, don’t forget, sex does too.) Of course, don’t forget, so does your 401K. Whatever. Enjoy the view. The ride. The stress. The stress relievers. The beer. The off time. The weekends.: The “Fuck you world, I am going to the Mall to completely spoil ME.”
Life, it be good. April 22nd included. Loveya, Victurd.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Touch.....
Touch is a wonderful thing. Why you little kinkster there - maybe that wasn’t the touch I was referring to! Ok, it’s one kinda touch… Touch says “I like you.” “I’m happy to be with you.” “You’re not chopped liver.” Yes, I spose it can mean “oh baby oh baby oh baby.” Touch explores. Touch excites. To be touched is a good thing. To touch, mebbe even better.
A wide receiver has a touch-down… Airplanes, safely home as they touch-down…
Kid at a zoo… The ‘petting’ or touching zoo. Different creatures, different coats. Different reactions. Intrepid touching. Trepedation touching. Touch of all kinds.
Touch is the eyesight to the blind… The cane touches ahead for obstacles. The hands touch the curvature of the face to “draw” it… In a game of tag, a touch changes who’s “it.” Touched by a paintball ends your game. Touch football.
The new thing in athletics is the “knuckle-touch.” Somehow, touch on the butt, moved to the touching handshake, to the touching high-five, to the knuckle thingy. No matter, it’s exuberant touch all the same.
If we see something pretty damn cool, pretty damned emotional, it’s touching. A friend or loved one completely spoils us somehow, we respond by saying “I’m touched.”
Don’t touch a leper. In 5th grade, Jennie’s got cooties, don’t touch her. In HS, “I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole.” I ain’t touchin’ that one. Don’t touch that dial.
We touch up cars. We put our touch in cooking. Our touch in writing. Our touch in our dress. (Our touch in our undress.)
In Mexico we toque. France it’s touche. Russian is прикасаться.
The Midas touch. A touch of gray. Touchscreen electronics. Touch and tell.
Touch me in the morning. Reach out and touch someone.
I can’t imagine a life where touch isn’t enjoyed. Sure, it’s a personal thing - and I know there are people who are truly deathly afraid of germs from others… or.. The simple touch by another is repugnant.
Me, I’m biased. Me likes touch. Yeah, probably too much. Hands that touch. Touching a face. Lips touching. Bodies in full press touching. Other parts touching. (I meant like a butterfly kiss you GD kinkster.)
Don’t touch the soft spot. Pat the toddler on the head. A nice touch to the back to lift spirits or to congratulate. A handshake as a bonding touch. A hug for a nice friend touch. An arm around to say “hey.. I think you’re pretty cool.”
Bout outta touch crap. Gonna end touching keyboard. Touch the mouse in the URH corner to click this blog goodbye. Go touch ma bed. Letma face touch up with the pillow. Be awakened soon by the touch of the GD (gosh darn) hungry cat.
Today was a nice touch day. I’d be touched if tomorrow was too. Touch the comment button if you like to tell me whatinthehell is on your brain. I’d be touched. Promise, I’m leaving now. Gonna go study my eyelids as they touch each other. Please, be a touch extrovert. It’s a good thing. With love and touches, Victurd.
A wide receiver has a touch-down… Airplanes, safely home as they touch-down…
Kid at a zoo… The ‘petting’ or touching zoo. Different creatures, different coats. Different reactions. Intrepid touching. Trepedation touching. Touch of all kinds.
Touch is the eyesight to the blind… The cane touches ahead for obstacles. The hands touch the curvature of the face to “draw” it… In a game of tag, a touch changes who’s “it.” Touched by a paintball ends your game. Touch football.
The new thing in athletics is the “knuckle-touch.” Somehow, touch on the butt, moved to the touching handshake, to the touching high-five, to the knuckle thingy. No matter, it’s exuberant touch all the same.
If we see something pretty damn cool, pretty damned emotional, it’s touching. A friend or loved one completely spoils us somehow, we respond by saying “I’m touched.”
Don’t touch a leper. In 5th grade, Jennie’s got cooties, don’t touch her. In HS, “I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole.” I ain’t touchin’ that one. Don’t touch that dial.
We touch up cars. We put our touch in cooking. Our touch in writing. Our touch in our dress. (Our touch in our undress.)
In Mexico we toque. France it’s touche. Russian is прикасаться.
The Midas touch. A touch of gray. Touchscreen electronics. Touch and tell.
Touch me in the morning. Reach out and touch someone.
I can’t imagine a life where touch isn’t enjoyed. Sure, it’s a personal thing - and I know there are people who are truly deathly afraid of germs from others… or.. The simple touch by another is repugnant.
Me, I’m biased. Me likes touch. Yeah, probably too much. Hands that touch. Touching a face. Lips touching. Bodies in full press touching. Other parts touching. (I meant like a butterfly kiss you GD kinkster.)
Don’t touch the soft spot. Pat the toddler on the head. A nice touch to the back to lift spirits or to congratulate. A handshake as a bonding touch. A hug for a nice friend touch. An arm around to say “hey.. I think you’re pretty cool.”
Bout outta touch crap. Gonna end touching keyboard. Touch the mouse in the URH corner to click this blog goodbye. Go touch ma bed. Letma face touch up with the pillow. Be awakened soon by the touch of the GD (gosh darn) hungry cat.
Today was a nice touch day. I’d be touched if tomorrow was too. Touch the comment button if you like to tell me whatinthehell is on your brain. I’d be touched. Promise, I’m leaving now. Gonna go study my eyelids as they touch each other. Please, be a touch extrovert. It’s a good thing. With love and touches, Victurd.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Ramblin' man........
Sometimes just rambling is good. Sometimes I’m too GD (gosh darn) lazy to research, read, write down stats.. And to parlay it into an interesting blog. (Victor, exactly WHO said your blogs were interesting?)… Well, good point - but, if you have a printer, you could print them, and use them insteada the Sears catolog. There, how’s that you scratchy anus you!
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Oh baby did I have a good cry the other day. Friday, woulda been my sister’s 60th birthday. If you don’t know - she passed of breast cancer in 1999. It literally tears me up that I’m now older (54) than she ever got to be (51). She was way way more deserving of a long life than I. She, the giver, me, the “I ain’t sent a birthday card in 12 years” kinda guy.
Anyways, there are three in our office that are beating breast cancer… and one who has ovarian cancer who’s really really just gotten back to work after months of hell….I sent them an email (explaining “today woulda been my sister’s 60th”)… and I just simply thanked them for being here.. And I told them the saying my sister and I had “beat the bastard” and I asked them each if they’d officially consider being my unofficial sister. All responded in kind. One said “I always wanted a brother to pick on.” Another, very religious, said “I won’t say your saying, but I like it, and I’d be honored to be your brother.”:
After I sent it, I bawled for like fifteen minutes in my cubicle - and I hoped no one would enter. (They didn’t)… Self pity I reckon - but - to me, while it ain’t fun DURING those moments - I am so so thankful I have them - for to me it means I feel. There ain’t nothing like feel.
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My “Haveaheart” $40 ‘catch a GD raccoon trap’ I bought.. You know, the kind that keeps them alive.. Then you wear gloves.. Hope the little bastards don’t scratch you and you get rabies as you drive them to their new abode in the country… anyways, it’s sprung each of the last three nights, no critter inside… Me, the wimpy, bleeding heart liberal - is leaning (not there, but leaning) toward a nice bologna and anti freeze sandwich for the little bastards.. Or maybe an introduction to Winchester. (Was it Moe or Curly that said “I can’ts be no’s doctor ‘cause I ain’t gots any patience.”)
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Saw a gal this morning I usedta date in High School I hadn’t seen since… at HyVee… eating breakfast of course… seeing her change reminded me how fucking old I am too… (Close your ears. I did close my eyes and recall seeing her boobies. She had nice boobies. Hehe.)
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I did fall in love again though there this morning. Gorgeous chicky. She smiled the entire time. Never fails - she went back to her table.. Hubby there.. (dammit)… and, a young urchin.. Victor, please read the one just above this. You’re an old sonofabitch now. Look for wrinkled chickies. I know I know - I just have a hard time judging age. Victor, look for wrinkled chicies. NO! Quoting my beloved Eric Burden, “it’s my life and I’ll do what I want.”
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HEY. And ANOTHER THING. That GD (gosh darn) Reid is doing the May-December thingy. Victor, who the F is Reid. You know, Reid (55) and Soanya (23).. The ones on the website 1000days.net. (They’re attempting to break the world’s record for non-stop continuous sailing.. They’re on day 62. They’ve already inadvertently sailed into a Naval firing range, had a wreck during the night with a freighter - goofed up their boat - but Reid’s fixing it.. Forgot to remember to pack Reid’s Viagra, and been having mast problems. Ok, I only lied about one of those… it’s for you to figure out which I lied about!).. Anyways, they’re making it. (Of course the average May-December relationship lasts barely over a year.. So I’m waiting for the goodstuff… They’re attempting a THREE+ year sail.. Good luck mates.)
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Ok, yesterdays blog was about “oil changes” in life (stuff that’s pertinent personally.. rejuvenating).. And “complete engine overhauls” (a new partner.)… I’ve decided, hell, maybe I just needs me a rental car. (ahm, friend with benefits)… After two pretty nice, long marriages (6+ and 20+) I just can’t seem to get the ‘tick’ noise outta the engine after each overhaul.
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Victor, yesterday you said “I hate boring stuff” and sorry, but this is getting boring… Ok asswipe on 2nd thought, take that Sears catalog and shove it --- oh never mind.
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Quoting Alvin “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”. GD you are old aren’t you Victor?
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BRB, going to get lighter fluid and lighter for the Sears catolog. Have a happy day. Have fun with your oil changes. If you don’t need an overhaul - Bless you and your mate… If you just want a friend with beni’s.. call me… 867-5309. Hehe. Love, Victurd.
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Oh baby did I have a good cry the other day. Friday, woulda been my sister’s 60th birthday. If you don’t know - she passed of breast cancer in 1999. It literally tears me up that I’m now older (54) than she ever got to be (51). She was way way more deserving of a long life than I. She, the giver, me, the “I ain’t sent a birthday card in 12 years” kinda guy.
Anyways, there are three in our office that are beating breast cancer… and one who has ovarian cancer who’s really really just gotten back to work after months of hell….I sent them an email (explaining “today woulda been my sister’s 60th”)… and I just simply thanked them for being here.. And I told them the saying my sister and I had “beat the bastard” and I asked them each if they’d officially consider being my unofficial sister. All responded in kind. One said “I always wanted a brother to pick on.” Another, very religious, said “I won’t say your saying, but I like it, and I’d be honored to be your brother.”:
After I sent it, I bawled for like fifteen minutes in my cubicle - and I hoped no one would enter. (They didn’t)… Self pity I reckon - but - to me, while it ain’t fun DURING those moments - I am so so thankful I have them - for to me it means I feel. There ain’t nothing like feel.
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My “Haveaheart” $40 ‘catch a GD raccoon trap’ I bought.. You know, the kind that keeps them alive.. Then you wear gloves.. Hope the little bastards don’t scratch you and you get rabies as you drive them to their new abode in the country… anyways, it’s sprung each of the last three nights, no critter inside… Me, the wimpy, bleeding heart liberal - is leaning (not there, but leaning) toward a nice bologna and anti freeze sandwich for the little bastards.. Or maybe an introduction to Winchester. (Was it Moe or Curly that said “I can’ts be no’s doctor ‘cause I ain’t gots any patience.”)
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Saw a gal this morning I usedta date in High School I hadn’t seen since… at HyVee… eating breakfast of course… seeing her change reminded me how fucking old I am too… (Close your ears. I did close my eyes and recall seeing her boobies. She had nice boobies. Hehe.)
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I did fall in love again though there this morning. Gorgeous chicky. She smiled the entire time. Never fails - she went back to her table.. Hubby there.. (dammit)… and, a young urchin.. Victor, please read the one just above this. You’re an old sonofabitch now. Look for wrinkled chickies. I know I know - I just have a hard time judging age. Victor, look for wrinkled chicies. NO! Quoting my beloved Eric Burden, “it’s my life and I’ll do what I want.”
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HEY. And ANOTHER THING. That GD (gosh darn) Reid is doing the May-December thingy. Victor, who the F is Reid. You know, Reid (55) and Soanya (23).. The ones on the website 1000days.net. (They’re attempting to break the world’s record for non-stop continuous sailing.. They’re on day 62. They’ve already inadvertently sailed into a Naval firing range, had a wreck during the night with a freighter - goofed up their boat - but Reid’s fixing it.. Forgot to remember to pack Reid’s Viagra, and been having mast problems. Ok, I only lied about one of those… it’s for you to figure out which I lied about!).. Anyways, they’re making it. (Of course the average May-December relationship lasts barely over a year.. So I’m waiting for the goodstuff… They’re attempting a THREE+ year sail.. Good luck mates.)
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Ok, yesterdays blog was about “oil changes” in life (stuff that’s pertinent personally.. rejuvenating).. And “complete engine overhauls” (a new partner.)… I’ve decided, hell, maybe I just needs me a rental car. (ahm, friend with benefits)… After two pretty nice, long marriages (6+ and 20+) I just can’t seem to get the ‘tick’ noise outta the engine after each overhaul.
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Victor, yesterday you said “I hate boring stuff” and sorry, but this is getting boring… Ok asswipe on 2nd thought, take that Sears catalog and shove it --- oh never mind.
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Quoting Alvin “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”. GD you are old aren’t you Victor?
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BRB, going to get lighter fluid and lighter for the Sears catolog. Have a happy day. Have fun with your oil changes. If you don’t need an overhaul - Bless you and your mate… If you just want a friend with beni’s.. call me… 867-5309. Hehe. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Changing the oil in life......
I ain’t one of those that has a calendar book to track/list important dates, goals, etc. The Jiffy Lube sticker on my checkenginelight windshield reminds me I’ll need an oil change when the odometer reads 86,374 miles…. (I’m at 209,741... Dammit I forgot)…
Oil change = rejuvenation. My oil changes are: An occasional “I can’t wait to get there” trip to the casino. (Score from last night: Victor $457, Ameristar Casino $0. Haha. Bastards, I got ‘em!… ahm, they’re still ahead for the year)… A slaba ribs..
A nap in the shade on a hammock… A walk around the City Market to people watch.. Listening to someone sing who’s awesome yet doesn’t emit any of the “look at me” shit.
I do change my oil.. Truth is, it’s gets about 2 ½, 3 quarts low - then I put more in. That’s kinda like changing it all… I wait til I hear the ticking.. Fuck wives tales - you get more than 210,000 miles on yours then come diss me! (Oh, and I wash my car every time Brian Busby calls for umbrellas.)
Writing rejuvenates me. Your comments rejuvenate me. Something as simple as a smile can “change my oil.” Oh sure, sex too - but the sticker on the windshield for that says I am way way way overdue. Too bad they don’t have Jiffy Sex places. A whole new meaning to "Trust the Midas touch."
Giving a coworker a nice (earned) teasing rejuvenates me. Finding ways to save money at work rejuvenates me.
Sitting down with friends/loved ones where there ain’t no threat of getting up soon is heaven. Watching a triple does. A diving catch in the outfield. Yes, even seeing a raccoon up close does too…
Nice butts, Victor, you forgot nice butts. NO I DIDN’T! I truly go “Mmm” to myself when I see one. Piggish?? Probably.. But I think plain ole human too. At present, there is one in particular I cherish staring at - but there ain’t no way in hell - so that’s all I do is stare.
Being around water is an oil change of life. Be it a river, creek, waterfall, lake, ocean. There’s just sumpin serine about it. The casual dress… the sound… the freshness.. The peacefulness of those around water..
Morning coffee, newspaper and cigs rejuvenates me. The sauna. Being at a park. Watching birds fly… ‘specially them big’ns that hold their wings still and just coast/soar…
Hell, I can fall in love at the grocery store. Fell in love with four the other night at the Piggly Wiggly. Ya stop, ya look, ya wonder. Are they happy? Are they lonely? Does the items in their cart tell me “no fucking way Jose is she for me.” (There’s gotta be something completely selfish, having way too many GD calories, and YUMMY in the cart.) How old is she? Is she grumpy? Does she like… well… “you know”.. All those thoughts, questions asked.. The wonder… rejuvenates me.
Evaluating people is a perk. What makes them tick? What makes them blow up? What makes them so happy? So sad? So grumpy? So giving? So smart?
A codger showing his ‘57 Chevy at the car show - reliving his childhood rejuvenates me. A long-term couple showing individual sacrifice for the other perks me.
There’s a lot out there to get psyched, refocused, rejuvenated - having an oil change in life - about.
Simple. Simple is an oil change. I hate complications. I hate long, boring stuff. I hate “have to’s”. I hate dress codes. I hate City Codes. If I wanna burn outta a fitty-five galloon barrel, by golly I feel I oughta be able to. If I wanna let the grass grow (just on the side where Gladys Kravits lives) I should be able to!
I should be able to get the paper in my undies. I would upcheck if Gladys got the paper in her undies.
Oil changes are great things in life between complete engine overhauls. I’ve had several engine overhauls (a new woman in my life.) Sticker on the windshield tells me it’s about time for an engine overhaul. Brb, going to notate that in my calendar book. Oh shit, forgot. I ain’t got one. But I do need a few things from the Piggly Wiggly. Back soon. Hey, is it out of line to talk about melons in the produce aisle? Is it improper to say “wow, you look great chilled” when she emerges from a frozen food door? Are you a “white or wheat” kinda gal? Paper or plastic? Top or bottom (just kidding)..
Change your oil every 3,000 miles - or, when life’s wonderful little diddies provide that opportunity… Loveya, Victurd.
Oil change = rejuvenation. My oil changes are: An occasional “I can’t wait to get there” trip to the casino. (Score from last night: Victor $457, Ameristar Casino $0. Haha. Bastards, I got ‘em!… ahm, they’re still ahead for the year)… A slaba ribs..
A nap in the shade on a hammock… A walk around the City Market to people watch.. Listening to someone sing who’s awesome yet doesn’t emit any of the “look at me” shit.
I do change my oil.. Truth is, it’s gets about 2 ½, 3 quarts low - then I put more in. That’s kinda like changing it all… I wait til I hear the ticking.. Fuck wives tales - you get more than 210,000 miles on yours then come diss me! (Oh, and I wash my car every time Brian Busby calls for umbrellas.)
Writing rejuvenates me. Your comments rejuvenate me. Something as simple as a smile can “change my oil.” Oh sure, sex too - but the sticker on the windshield for that says I am way way way overdue. Too bad they don’t have Jiffy Sex places. A whole new meaning to "Trust the Midas touch."
Giving a coworker a nice (earned) teasing rejuvenates me. Finding ways to save money at work rejuvenates me.
Sitting down with friends/loved ones where there ain’t no threat of getting up soon is heaven. Watching a triple does. A diving catch in the outfield. Yes, even seeing a raccoon up close does too…
Nice butts, Victor, you forgot nice butts. NO I DIDN’T! I truly go “Mmm” to myself when I see one. Piggish?? Probably.. But I think plain ole human too. At present, there is one in particular I cherish staring at - but there ain’t no way in hell - so that’s all I do is stare.
Being around water is an oil change of life. Be it a river, creek, waterfall, lake, ocean. There’s just sumpin serine about it. The casual dress… the sound… the freshness.. The peacefulness of those around water..
Morning coffee, newspaper and cigs rejuvenates me. The sauna. Being at a park. Watching birds fly… ‘specially them big’ns that hold their wings still and just coast/soar…
Hell, I can fall in love at the grocery store. Fell in love with four the other night at the Piggly Wiggly. Ya stop, ya look, ya wonder. Are they happy? Are they lonely? Does the items in their cart tell me “no fucking way Jose is she for me.” (There’s gotta be something completely selfish, having way too many GD calories, and YUMMY in the cart.) How old is she? Is she grumpy? Does she like… well… “you know”.. All those thoughts, questions asked.. The wonder… rejuvenates me.
Evaluating people is a perk. What makes them tick? What makes them blow up? What makes them so happy? So sad? So grumpy? So giving? So smart?
A codger showing his ‘57 Chevy at the car show - reliving his childhood rejuvenates me. A long-term couple showing individual sacrifice for the other perks me.
There’s a lot out there to get psyched, refocused, rejuvenated - having an oil change in life - about.
Simple. Simple is an oil change. I hate complications. I hate long, boring stuff. I hate “have to’s”. I hate dress codes. I hate City Codes. If I wanna burn outta a fitty-five galloon barrel, by golly I feel I oughta be able to. If I wanna let the grass grow (just on the side where Gladys Kravits lives) I should be able to!
I should be able to get the paper in my undies. I would upcheck if Gladys got the paper in her undies.
Oil changes are great things in life between complete engine overhauls. I’ve had several engine overhauls (a new woman in my life.) Sticker on the windshield tells me it’s about time for an engine overhaul. Brb, going to notate that in my calendar book. Oh shit, forgot. I ain’t got one. But I do need a few things from the Piggly Wiggly. Back soon. Hey, is it out of line to talk about melons in the produce aisle? Is it improper to say “wow, you look great chilled” when she emerges from a frozen food door? Are you a “white or wheat” kinda gal? Paper or plastic? Top or bottom (just kidding)..
Change your oil every 3,000 miles - or, when life’s wonderful little diddies provide that opportunity… Loveya, Victurd.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
A Mid-Summer Night's Dream....
Ok, I know. The very first day of summer ain’t until tomorrow… Believe me I remember.. I got married on June 21st long ago… (Victor, how long ago?)… Ok dammit, it was 1976... A good lady, a good time of my life… Really no regrets…
(So how can you say “Mid-summer night’s dream”?)… “cause everything is pushed up nowadays“… hurry hurry.. .hubba hubba… Cell phones in middle school… Nephew said “yeah, my kid’s ball season will be over mid-July.” WHAT? Mid-July?
Driving to work today. Speed limit 65. I was going 66. Dirty, dirty, dirty looks I got as they whizzed around me…
We’ve forgotten relaxation… we’ve sidestepped the roses… We’re all-centered on our lives and have not placed the mandatory eyeballs on our kids… (Ok, I know, not all of you/us.).. We worry about tomorrow, therefore, we miss the appreciation of today.
Yesterday, keeping up with the Jones’s meant planting your own GD peonies in the corner of the lot… Today it means SUV’s, electronic gadgets that hold more songs than have ever been written, taking (and staying in) jobs that pay well - no matter how shitty it is.. No matter how much you hate it… Gotta have it - to keep up… to stay ahead…
Today I hada friend email me “I resigned from my job, and negotiated with my corp to take back a job I had with them 2 promotions ago... and 2 years ago. I'm relieved, elated and exhausted-all in one. 'Hell of a day.”
Fuckin’ A Ray I say. We think differently at 50-something. Lord knows we drive differently at age 50 than at age 20-something, 30-something, etc… (If you ever head South on Hgwy 71 from Grandview, Missouri at 5pm, WATCHOUT for a maroon Mercury Mountaineer…yes, Kendra… she drives like she just robbed a fucking bank and she’s being pursued…
We’ve gone over this before. But it bears repeating. (Victor, you said “bears”.. does this have anything to do with you being 54 yrs old and playing strip poker the other night?”)… Ya know, maybe it does… I’ve had so much fun relating that story… Sheepish? SURE… Braggadocios? Of course not… Would I do T(it) again? OF COURSE I WOULD!
We are of the age of NOW. Not the next minute. Not tomorrow. Not the bank balance of two years from now. We are in the age of “who gives a fuck about the Jones’s and what they have.” They can’t replicate happiness.
Screw their three car garage. I personally only have one car and a two car garage, therefore, I’ve placed a full sized bed in the other stall to have wonderful, spontaneous, outrageous, orgasmic sex. (Victor, is that true?)… Well, you know me… and my house… and my ‘luck’.. No, it ain’t true. My GD garage door is broken, I can’t even raise it.. But it’s the pointa the matter. Perspective.
It’s really a great age. Tonight I saw a friend (for years I thought she had the nicest booty I’d ever seen…) I hadn’t seen in twenty years. I was a happy/sad moment to meet up again, and compare wrinkles… but it was a slow reacquantance, a good meeting… no hurry.. Howya been.. Whereya been… whadareya doing now.. Howsurkids… what sup next? (Oh, and the booty is still pretty nice - I DIDN’T hurry past that analysis!)…
The point to this blog? I dunno. Live life as if you’re in the passenger seat I guess… Don’t worry about who’s passing, who’s in that lane.. How fast that Lexus goes… take time to observe all the good around… (All the shitty too… but let that help you make choices.. Life is about choices.)
(I’m at the library.. And in the upper right hand corner I’m reminded to hurry.. I have 2 minutes and 53 seconds left to type.) PSYCHE!… I’m at home.. It’s 10:35 pm, and I’ll go to bed whenever I GD well please.
I’ve decided to replace “hurry” with :”decide”. I’ll decide how fast I wanna go. I’ll decide what I’m gonna do. I’ll decide what’s important - and I’ll be damned if I’ll let others decide that. I’ll be damned I’ll switch lanes as the GD idiot behind me is within inches, and I’m doing the maximum speed limit.
I’ll be GD if I’m gonna hurry thru a phone call from my kid… I’m gonna stop, listen, and highlight the goodstuff of what’s said. I promise not to judge, or say “whenya gonna do this.. Whenya gonna do that?”
I guess I’m just stopping (or going slower and observing) to enjoy. Inspitea not getting laid on a regular basis, or even on a semi-annual basis.. Life, it be good.
Hurry up and get to the next website… or… take a moment and think about what is REALLY important to you. I try. (Blog updates: Yes, Oscar still lives here… I guess there’s no hurry.. Yes, Reid and Soanya are doing fine..[long story if ya ain’t been here… checkout 1000days.net]…
Life ain’t like chuggin’ a beer….. it’s more like sipping the wine… No matter which path you choose… pleasant hiccups to you… Love, Victurd.
(So how can you say “Mid-summer night’s dream”?)… “cause everything is pushed up nowadays“… hurry hurry.. .hubba hubba… Cell phones in middle school… Nephew said “yeah, my kid’s ball season will be over mid-July.” WHAT? Mid-July?
Driving to work today. Speed limit 65. I was going 66. Dirty, dirty, dirty looks I got as they whizzed around me…
We’ve forgotten relaxation… we’ve sidestepped the roses… We’re all-centered on our lives and have not placed the mandatory eyeballs on our kids… (Ok, I know, not all of you/us.).. We worry about tomorrow, therefore, we miss the appreciation of today.
Yesterday, keeping up with the Jones’s meant planting your own GD peonies in the corner of the lot… Today it means SUV’s, electronic gadgets that hold more songs than have ever been written, taking (and staying in) jobs that pay well - no matter how shitty it is.. No matter how much you hate it… Gotta have it - to keep up… to stay ahead…
Today I hada friend email me “I resigned from my job, and negotiated with my corp to take back a job I had with them 2 promotions ago... and 2 years ago. I'm relieved, elated and exhausted-all in one. 'Hell of a day.”
Fuckin’ A Ray I say. We think differently at 50-something. Lord knows we drive differently at age 50 than at age 20-something, 30-something, etc… (If you ever head South on Hgwy 71 from Grandview, Missouri at 5pm, WATCHOUT for a maroon Mercury Mountaineer…yes, Kendra… she drives like she just robbed a fucking bank and she’s being pursued…
We’ve gone over this before. But it bears repeating. (Victor, you said “bears”.. does this have anything to do with you being 54 yrs old and playing strip poker the other night?”)… Ya know, maybe it does… I’ve had so much fun relating that story… Sheepish? SURE… Braggadocios? Of course not… Would I do T(it) again? OF COURSE I WOULD!
We are of the age of NOW. Not the next minute. Not tomorrow. Not the bank balance of two years from now. We are in the age of “who gives a fuck about the Jones’s and what they have.” They can’t replicate happiness.
Screw their three car garage. I personally only have one car and a two car garage, therefore, I’ve placed a full sized bed in the other stall to have wonderful, spontaneous, outrageous, orgasmic sex. (Victor, is that true?)… Well, you know me… and my house… and my ‘luck’.. No, it ain’t true. My GD garage door is broken, I can’t even raise it.. But it’s the pointa the matter. Perspective.
It’s really a great age. Tonight I saw a friend (for years I thought she had the nicest booty I’d ever seen…) I hadn’t seen in twenty years. I was a happy/sad moment to meet up again, and compare wrinkles… but it was a slow reacquantance, a good meeting… no hurry.. Howya been.. Whereya been… whadareya doing now.. Howsurkids… what sup next? (Oh, and the booty is still pretty nice - I DIDN’T hurry past that analysis!)…
The point to this blog? I dunno. Live life as if you’re in the passenger seat I guess… Don’t worry about who’s passing, who’s in that lane.. How fast that Lexus goes… take time to observe all the good around… (All the shitty too… but let that help you make choices.. Life is about choices.)
(I’m at the library.. And in the upper right hand corner I’m reminded to hurry.. I have 2 minutes and 53 seconds left to type.) PSYCHE!… I’m at home.. It’s 10:35 pm, and I’ll go to bed whenever I GD well please.
I’ve decided to replace “hurry” with :”decide”. I’ll decide how fast I wanna go. I’ll decide what I’m gonna do. I’ll decide what’s important - and I’ll be damned if I’ll let others decide that. I’ll be damned I’ll switch lanes as the GD idiot behind me is within inches, and I’m doing the maximum speed limit.
I’ll be GD if I’m gonna hurry thru a phone call from my kid… I’m gonna stop, listen, and highlight the goodstuff of what’s said. I promise not to judge, or say “whenya gonna do this.. Whenya gonna do that?”
I guess I’m just stopping (or going slower and observing) to enjoy. Inspitea not getting laid on a regular basis, or even on a semi-annual basis.. Life, it be good.
Hurry up and get to the next website… or… take a moment and think about what is REALLY important to you. I try. (Blog updates: Yes, Oscar still lives here… I guess there’s no hurry.. Yes, Reid and Soanya are doing fine..[long story if ya ain’t been here… checkout 1000days.net]…
Life ain’t like chuggin’ a beer….. it’s more like sipping the wine… No matter which path you choose… pleasant hiccups to you… Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Oscar's back!!!!
Whointhehell is Oscar you ask?…. Well… Oscar is a raccoon I “did battle with” a few years back when I worked at the “Soop-er 8” in my part time 2nd job.. Oscar hid in the trash can… Attacked (ok, approached) me a time or two… I wavered back and forth between laughing my ass off, and worrying I’d get scratched and mebbe get rabies.. Oscar and I were equally hardheaded.
One night I drove from my 8 hr job to my 6 hr part time job at Soo-per 8, and they’d plowed Oscar’s home… a football sized treed greenery area, into a pile maybe 20 by 20. Progress. We’ve GOT to have that 12th bank in this town. Fuck Oscar, we’re talking the gateway entrance to our city.
Fast forward to Sunday, this year. My house is 25 years old or so. The siding ain’t quite what it usedta be. There are cracks, crevices. (Yes Teresa, I’m rationalizing for sitting on my duff and not fixing what needed to be fixed. So I confess, profess, regress, and admit - everything hereafter coulda been avoided had I done proper/timely maintenance…
The knee bone’s connected to the leg bone…Roof going bad. Leaked. Uh oh. Bought tar. Patched that. In meantime, since roof was leaking, ceiling had yellow spots, then cracks, then pieces decided to come visit the floor (and my shoulder as I sat writing a GD blog.)
K…The roof is repaired… Kinda… There’s still a small leak WAY UP top that my ladder won’t get me to.. And onea these days I’m gonna have to pull car in front yard… tie rope to bumper.. Wing it over the toppa the house… and tie it around my size 36 inch waist. Ok, fuck you (said with love), around my 38 inch waist.
Had been out and about Sunday… Whistled my way into the house.. Said my “hello’s” to those currently living with me.. And meandered into the bedroom. Peeked up (where the sheetrock had fallen. AND THERE WAS OSCAR. Staring down at me. SONOFABITCH, G*DDA%MMUTH#RDUBBER…. Yes, not only did I have two non-paying residents, now I have the coon family as guests in my attic.
So…… I google… “Oh shit, I’ve got raccoons in my attic”:… nothing came up… so I cut out the “Oh shit” part… and I found that I ain’t alone. March thru June is “baby season” for raccoons… they will often seek better shelter to birth their young… their faces are around 3 inches.. And if there’s a 3 inch crack.. They can get their entire body thru it.”
As I read the above, in the background… well… in the ‘upper ground’ I hear this chirp chirp yip yip that sounded just like a clan of mice. Reading on “if you hear this chirp chirp yip yip that sounds just like a clan of mice, congratulations, you have a litter of raccoons.” GOT DANDRUFF, SOMEOFITITCHES!
I need sheetrock, but I ain’t gotta truck. So, I buy plastic, heavy plastic (Like that’s gonna stop Oscar) and I patch the holes… The story o’ my life, patching holes. Duct tape and baling wire.
Google told me: “Don’t try to remove these critters yourself…” (Damn, and I was all set to go rassle ‘em.)… They don’t like loud music.. Get a radio and tune it to a Rock Station.. Crank it… (I’d already done that.).. They don’t like light. Put a bright light in the attic. Again, one step ahead.. Floodlight already fixed on the little bastards… er, I mean Oscar and guests…
“If you do get rid of the adults… you’ll have a litter of babies in there left to die.. The stench won’t go away for two years.. Your house value will go down..” Yippee!
Sunday afternoon… At $2.89 a gallon, I drove 113 miles until I found a fireworks stand that was open. From Liberty, to Independence, back to Liberty, East to Excelsior, back West to Liberty.. Southeast to Riverside… I finally found, and bought, a gross of smoke bombs. That’ll get the little bastards.
PCV pipe with a small dish under… I smoked ‘em with 42 smoke balls. Chirp chirp yip yip.
Googling further “Home Depot sells these “live catch” traps - where you can set the trap and release the varmint in a safer place.” $42 and ¾’s mile of walking up down aisles, I have a nifty “live catch” trap.
Ever since the days of putting wooden square blocks in the appropriate holes, my mechanical skills have been bad, very bad. Twice I’ve changed the two-screw thingy around the light switch.. And I once was so exotic I pulled the burners on the stove and cleaned ‘em. My mechanical background in a nutshell.
Three hours, twelve minutes, and 7 pounds of sweat later, the trap is ready to go.
I wake up at midnight. Nope, no varmint. GD cranked radio awakens me at 2am.. Nope, no varmit… 4am, Credence Clearwater’s Midnight Special awakens me.. Nope, no varmint. I give in, I bathe, I go to Waffle House. (GD, no KC Star yet…. I drive to gas station.. Buy paper.. Back to Waffle House..)
Worked. One eye on the computer, the other napping. Gave in at 4pm, took an hour of vacation… I know, I’ll buy a charcoal grill.. Some stove pipe.. And try that… Again, up/down the aisles of Home Depot… over to Sutherland Lumber… and to Price Chopper for briquettes and lighter fluid… To date, Oscar and family has cost me $93..
Walking in, I read the sidea the Matchlight bag “DO NOT USE INDOORS. CARBON MONOXIDE CAN KILL.’ I shoulda known that, but scroll to not mechanical.
So… thinking positively, I’ve got a new BBQ grill… I take the stove pipe.. Rig it up into the attic.. Place it atop the BBQ grill… and feed Oscar and guests another steady diet of smoke bombs…
We are now up to date… up to the minute… Since I started this blog, I’ve lit 17 smoke bombs… and listened to six innings of the ballgame.. And looked at seven 65+something messages on singlesnet.com that are interested in me… Ya gotta love it. If ya can’t laugh, life ain’t fun.
The trap is again set out back.. I haven’t heard chirp chirp yip yip in awhile (but I ain’t convinced the smoke bombs have done their job yet…
Maynard announced “hey dad, I’m going to a friend’s house for a few days until you get ridda Oscar..”.. ‘but if you want me too.. I can stay and when they are caught in the trap, I can take out my 22 and git ridda ‘em.”
No. Even though the very first time Oscar came at me at the motel I admit to thinking “if only I had a gun now”.. .I could never do that. Yes, I’ll risk (if they get in my trap) taking them to the country, risking rabies.. To let them run free. (If by chance this blog ends here.. They’ve chewed thru the electrical lines. I hear they do that.)…
So, like sands thru the hourglass… so go the days of checkenginelight… if nothing else, it ain’t ever boring…
Tune in next week. One never knows… It could be a frothing, rabid German Shepherd has made his way thru Smokey’s tiny doggie door…. Mebbe Piranha in the 18X35 foot pond (in ground pool) out back… Who knows.
Good night Oscar. Sleep tight, you little shit… Love, Victurd.
One night I drove from my 8 hr job to my 6 hr part time job at Soo-per 8, and they’d plowed Oscar’s home… a football sized treed greenery area, into a pile maybe 20 by 20. Progress. We’ve GOT to have that 12th bank in this town. Fuck Oscar, we’re talking the gateway entrance to our city.
Fast forward to Sunday, this year. My house is 25 years old or so. The siding ain’t quite what it usedta be. There are cracks, crevices. (Yes Teresa, I’m rationalizing for sitting on my duff and not fixing what needed to be fixed. So I confess, profess, regress, and admit - everything hereafter coulda been avoided had I done proper/timely maintenance…
The knee bone’s connected to the leg bone…Roof going bad. Leaked. Uh oh. Bought tar. Patched that. In meantime, since roof was leaking, ceiling had yellow spots, then cracks, then pieces decided to come visit the floor (and my shoulder as I sat writing a GD blog.)
K…The roof is repaired… Kinda… There’s still a small leak WAY UP top that my ladder won’t get me to.. And onea these days I’m gonna have to pull car in front yard… tie rope to bumper.. Wing it over the toppa the house… and tie it around my size 36 inch waist. Ok, fuck you (said with love), around my 38 inch waist.
Had been out and about Sunday… Whistled my way into the house.. Said my “hello’s” to those currently living with me.. And meandered into the bedroom. Peeked up (where the sheetrock had fallen. AND THERE WAS OSCAR. Staring down at me. SONOFABITCH, G*DDA%MMUTH#RDUBBER…. Yes, not only did I have two non-paying residents, now I have the coon family as guests in my attic.
So…… I google… “Oh shit, I’ve got raccoons in my attic”:… nothing came up… so I cut out the “Oh shit” part… and I found that I ain’t alone. March thru June is “baby season” for raccoons… they will often seek better shelter to birth their young… their faces are around 3 inches.. And if there’s a 3 inch crack.. They can get their entire body thru it.”
As I read the above, in the background… well… in the ‘upper ground’ I hear this chirp chirp yip yip that sounded just like a clan of mice. Reading on “if you hear this chirp chirp yip yip that sounds just like a clan of mice, congratulations, you have a litter of raccoons.” GOT DANDRUFF, SOMEOFITITCHES!
I need sheetrock, but I ain’t gotta truck. So, I buy plastic, heavy plastic (Like that’s gonna stop Oscar) and I patch the holes… The story o’ my life, patching holes. Duct tape and baling wire.
Google told me: “Don’t try to remove these critters yourself…” (Damn, and I was all set to go rassle ‘em.)… They don’t like loud music.. Get a radio and tune it to a Rock Station.. Crank it… (I’d already done that.).. They don’t like light. Put a bright light in the attic. Again, one step ahead.. Floodlight already fixed on the little bastards… er, I mean Oscar and guests…
“If you do get rid of the adults… you’ll have a litter of babies in there left to die.. The stench won’t go away for two years.. Your house value will go down..” Yippee!
Sunday afternoon… At $2.89 a gallon, I drove 113 miles until I found a fireworks stand that was open. From Liberty, to Independence, back to Liberty, East to Excelsior, back West to Liberty.. Southeast to Riverside… I finally found, and bought, a gross of smoke bombs. That’ll get the little bastards.
PCV pipe with a small dish under… I smoked ‘em with 42 smoke balls. Chirp chirp yip yip.
Googling further “Home Depot sells these “live catch” traps - where you can set the trap and release the varmint in a safer place.” $42 and ¾’s mile of walking up down aisles, I have a nifty “live catch” trap.
Ever since the days of putting wooden square blocks in the appropriate holes, my mechanical skills have been bad, very bad. Twice I’ve changed the two-screw thingy around the light switch.. And I once was so exotic I pulled the burners on the stove and cleaned ‘em. My mechanical background in a nutshell.
Three hours, twelve minutes, and 7 pounds of sweat later, the trap is ready to go.
I wake up at midnight. Nope, no varmint. GD cranked radio awakens me at 2am.. Nope, no varmit… 4am, Credence Clearwater’s Midnight Special awakens me.. Nope, no varmint. I give in, I bathe, I go to Waffle House. (GD, no KC Star yet…. I drive to gas station.. Buy paper.. Back to Waffle House..)
Worked. One eye on the computer, the other napping. Gave in at 4pm, took an hour of vacation… I know, I’ll buy a charcoal grill.. Some stove pipe.. And try that… Again, up/down the aisles of Home Depot… over to Sutherland Lumber… and to Price Chopper for briquettes and lighter fluid… To date, Oscar and family has cost me $93..
Walking in, I read the sidea the Matchlight bag “DO NOT USE INDOORS. CARBON MONOXIDE CAN KILL.’ I shoulda known that, but scroll to not mechanical.
So… thinking positively, I’ve got a new BBQ grill… I take the stove pipe.. Rig it up into the attic.. Place it atop the BBQ grill… and feed Oscar and guests another steady diet of smoke bombs…
We are now up to date… up to the minute… Since I started this blog, I’ve lit 17 smoke bombs… and listened to six innings of the ballgame.. And looked at seven 65+something messages on singlesnet.com that are interested in me… Ya gotta love it. If ya can’t laugh, life ain’t fun.
The trap is again set out back.. I haven’t heard chirp chirp yip yip in awhile (but I ain’t convinced the smoke bombs have done their job yet…
Maynard announced “hey dad, I’m going to a friend’s house for a few days until you get ridda Oscar..”.. ‘but if you want me too.. I can stay and when they are caught in the trap, I can take out my 22 and git ridda ‘em.”
No. Even though the very first time Oscar came at me at the motel I admit to thinking “if only I had a gun now”.. .I could never do that. Yes, I’ll risk (if they get in my trap) taking them to the country, risking rabies.. To let them run free. (If by chance this blog ends here.. They’ve chewed thru the electrical lines. I hear they do that.)…
So, like sands thru the hourglass… so go the days of checkenginelight… if nothing else, it ain’t ever boring…
Tune in next week. One never knows… It could be a frothing, rabid German Shepherd has made his way thru Smokey’s tiny doggie door…. Mebbe Piranha in the 18X35 foot pond (in ground pool) out back… Who knows.
Good night Oscar. Sleep tight, you little shit… Love, Victurd.
Monday, June 18, 2007
I'm in love with.........
With all the negativity that runs thru our brains (or mine at least)… thought I’d stop for a sec and jot down reminders of what I AM in love with… Got any to add?
A door held open by a stranger…..
Winter’s first snow…
Harvest moons…
Louie Armstrong’s passion…
Tim Conway’s antics…
Elisabeth Shue…
Peanut M & M’s…
5pm on Friday…
Bills paid, balance left….
4th quarter of a tight basketball game…
Watching a baseball game, any age playing (T-Ball thru the Majors)
An awesome bod….
A person who wears their smile all day…
Elvis dancing freestyle in his youth…
Peanut Buster Parfaits…
BBQ ribs…
Watching a snotnose at Christmas present opening time…
That cig when I’ve been cooped up forever and a day…
An elderly couple seated on the same side in a booth…
Releasing the ball in bowling and you know it’s a strike before it ever gets close…
Being at the airport and watching a soldier get off the plane to meet his/her loved ones….
Athletic teams sincerely congratulating their opponents after a hard fought battle…
Any person’s excitement accentuated by quick arm movements….
A person demonstrating their faith…
Mom/dad ogling over their toddler…
That feeling after brushing the chops…
That point of a kiss where you think “I could get lost here forever”..
An unexpected meeting with an old friend..
Falling asleep in the spoon position…
Going to a family function - and truly appreciating the fact an elderly loved one is around for it…
A full gas tank…
A unopened carton of cigs…:
Laughter outta control that produces tears…
The sauna…
A sundress…
Seeing a friend/loved one who’d been in a pickle finally enjoying a laugh…
Any critter excited to seeya…
A smiley, appreciative cashier…
Thanksgiving…
A run down the slope just after a fallen snow…
The exhilaration feel on the plane after landing safely….
Kramer’s entrance….
Snagglepuss’s exit…
Beav as a kid…
Barney getting his bullet out…
The hand in the hand at the movie theater…
Weather in the 70’s….
The beautification an ice storm provides…
An email in the inbox you’ve been awaiting…
Receiving snail mail…
Those eyes and that smile that friggin talk when the feeling is mutual…
Watching friends have a good time… appreciating their laughs….
A spin around town that evokes memories of days gone past….
The excitement of tomorrow…
The thankfulness of the past….
The appreciation of today…
The ability to stop mid-blog whenya gotta pee really really badly…
You.
I love you. Even though you’re a chickenshit, or, there ain’t anyone even here… I challenge you to add a few…
I coulda gone on and on (Victor, you went a little overboard… the hell you talking about?)… Point is.. There’s so GD (gosh darn) much out there to appreciate, to love, to be thankful… tis kinda cool to stop and remind ourselves of same…
Loveya, Happy day, Victurd….
A door held open by a stranger…..
Winter’s first snow…
Harvest moons…
Louie Armstrong’s passion…
Tim Conway’s antics…
Elisabeth Shue…
Peanut M & M’s…
5pm on Friday…
Bills paid, balance left….
4th quarter of a tight basketball game…
Watching a baseball game, any age playing (T-Ball thru the Majors)
An awesome bod….
A person who wears their smile all day…
Elvis dancing freestyle in his youth…
Peanut Buster Parfaits…
BBQ ribs…
Watching a snotnose at Christmas present opening time…
That cig when I’ve been cooped up forever and a day…
An elderly couple seated on the same side in a booth…
Releasing the ball in bowling and you know it’s a strike before it ever gets close…
Being at the airport and watching a soldier get off the plane to meet his/her loved ones….
Athletic teams sincerely congratulating their opponents after a hard fought battle…
Any person’s excitement accentuated by quick arm movements….
A person demonstrating their faith…
Mom/dad ogling over their toddler…
That feeling after brushing the chops…
That point of a kiss where you think “I could get lost here forever”..
An unexpected meeting with an old friend..
Falling asleep in the spoon position…
Going to a family function - and truly appreciating the fact an elderly loved one is around for it…
A full gas tank…
A unopened carton of cigs…:
Laughter outta control that produces tears…
The sauna…
A sundress…
Seeing a friend/loved one who’d been in a pickle finally enjoying a laugh…
Any critter excited to seeya…
A smiley, appreciative cashier…
Thanksgiving…
A run down the slope just after a fallen snow…
The exhilaration feel on the plane after landing safely….
Kramer’s entrance….
Snagglepuss’s exit…
Beav as a kid…
Barney getting his bullet out…
The hand in the hand at the movie theater…
Weather in the 70’s….
The beautification an ice storm provides…
An email in the inbox you’ve been awaiting…
Receiving snail mail…
Those eyes and that smile that friggin talk when the feeling is mutual…
Watching friends have a good time… appreciating their laughs….
A spin around town that evokes memories of days gone past….
The excitement of tomorrow…
The thankfulness of the past….
The appreciation of today…
The ability to stop mid-blog whenya gotta pee really really badly…
You.
I love you. Even though you’re a chickenshit, or, there ain’t anyone even here… I challenge you to add a few…
I coulda gone on and on (Victor, you went a little overboard… the hell you talking about?)… Point is.. There’s so GD (gosh darn) much out there to appreciate, to love, to be thankful… tis kinda cool to stop and remind ourselves of same…
Loveya, Happy day, Victurd….
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Dad's... It's the simple stuff...
I know I already did something on dad’s… Gonna do another… If you’ve happened by here before - you’ve probably already heard some of it…. (I’m reminded of the “eyerolls” in marriage after 20+ years of hearing the same story retold…)
Thought and thought “what can be profound to say about dad, and being a father?”… Then I figured it out pretty simply… It ain’t about me… it’s about my dad, and it’s about my son…
My father.. 5’5” maybe. For being so involved with sports myself, my father didn’t know the difference between a 3-pointer and a hole in one…
A happy man… whistled a lot… sang a lot… smiled a lot… would intently listen to a conversation… and then tie it all together with some smartass (but extremely funny) comment..
I see him in the yard wearing his “PLEASE don’t wear those God-awful things to Safeway” ‘slacks’… They had paint, tar, oil, dirt, sweat, glue, allover ‘em.. The zipper flip thingy had broken and a large (not small, large) paper clip engineered in it’s place.. He was happy in’em, and wasn’t a duty outdoors that they weren’t perfect for…
I can hear him relating a fabricated story of something he was gonna do that was perilous, sneaky, criminal, whatever, JUST to get a rise outta mom. He had no intent of doing so, but that man tugged and tugged lovingly on her leg all his life. He could go on and on in vivid detail making up all kindsa crap… When you conversed with him in a crowd, you felt kinda like raising one eyebrow each time as if “is this one for real”.. Ya just never knew.. Till the enda the story.. He’d literally orate made up crap for ten minutes (the cast, the bobber, the bait) for a five second punch line (snagged you were.)
Sold books. To college campus’s.. One account at KU (figures) had a small gay section of the bookstore.. And onea the publishers he represented so happened to be selling a book for gays.. I was a senior in High School.. .they were going outta town for the weekend… and from previous similar weekends, he understood what was probably gonna happen whilst they were away.. So….. They pull out 4pm-ish… 42 cars filled with my snotnose high school friends pull in around 6-ish.. A great time had by all… until they found “the book.” It was laying opened on toppa the desk in the dining room.. “:Life as a Gay Man”.. by John-somebody… There on page 1, in blue ink “To Victor, with love, John.” That was my father’s humor. Rather than say “hey, don’t do that” - he had another plan up his sleeve… it was “have your fun…. But ya gotta ‘earn’ it too!”
I mentioned when my mother had her stroke.. He did everything.. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, her physical/hygiene care.. And sold cars from the driveway…He’d come home and say “Victor, can you get three of your buddies to come with me to pickup these cars I bought.. I’ll pay ‘em $10 each..” And we would. I could not believe how cheaply he got these cars for.. Then one day I rode with him.. After agreeing to terms of 3 beauties on the back lot, he shook the sale’s managers hand and returned to the car…. Started it up.. Then said “Oops… forgot his tip.”.. Pulled outta envelope with 5 Twenties in it.. Walked in, gave it to the guy and returned with a smirk… WHY YOU LITTLE SHIT!
Again, I was lucky. My father was kind. Never got riled up. Found fun in no matter what he was doing.. And was liked.
The simple thing about my father I will always remember… Whenever I called - he ended each and every phone call with “I’m glad you called Vic.” A simple thing, but a huge thing.
On being a father. I’ll never forget the SONogram… The days leading up to this arrival… THE DAY… The feeling carrying him from the operating room to the nursery - tightly wrapped in his blanket… Watching him crawl… Catching his first steps on video.. The mess around his high chair on birthday number 1.. His colic… His verbal advancement.. Playing “hut ball” in the garage.. (That’s the game where you have a six foot basketball goal.. And you wear your football helmet to play! I dunno how the term ever originated.. But I think he donned it.)
Coming home from 1st grade “Meet the teacher Night” and being told “dad… you’re the oldest dad in my class.” Countless, countless hours playing with army guys, catch, shooting hoops, throwing batting practice, hitting fly balls.. Kicking the soccer ball back and forth..
I can see all the old sport’s uniforms.. All the kids on the teams.. The results.. The games.. The fun times in the games… the fun times together outsida the games.. Myself and 8 of his friends riding around the parking lot of a Middle School somewhere in North Kansas City prior to the tipoff of the 6th Grade Championship Basketball Game - and we had “We Are The Champions” CRANKED.
Always being the youngest, smallest on his team.. Finally, at age 16, coming back to play in our hometown - and he was the oldest… and the success that followed..
His smile. His sense of humor. His good looks (musta been mom)…
The simple thing from my son… There’s not a day go buy where he doesn’t first offer “You have a good day dad.” Thanks son.. A bunch.. And you have a nice day as well.
I took that drive I spoke of.. I went by several houses we’d lived in.. Each with memories of that age and that day.. I drove by where we usedta play ball.. Where we usedta borrow the High School batting cage.. Where we had basketball practice.. Where he was born…
THANKS for “calling”… You have a good day… Love, Victurd
Thought and thought “what can be profound to say about dad, and being a father?”… Then I figured it out pretty simply… It ain’t about me… it’s about my dad, and it’s about my son…
My father.. 5’5” maybe. For being so involved with sports myself, my father didn’t know the difference between a 3-pointer and a hole in one…
A happy man… whistled a lot… sang a lot… smiled a lot… would intently listen to a conversation… and then tie it all together with some smartass (but extremely funny) comment..
I see him in the yard wearing his “PLEASE don’t wear those God-awful things to Safeway” ‘slacks’… They had paint, tar, oil, dirt, sweat, glue, allover ‘em.. The zipper flip thingy had broken and a large (not small, large) paper clip engineered in it’s place.. He was happy in’em, and wasn’t a duty outdoors that they weren’t perfect for…
I can hear him relating a fabricated story of something he was gonna do that was perilous, sneaky, criminal, whatever, JUST to get a rise outta mom. He had no intent of doing so, but that man tugged and tugged lovingly on her leg all his life. He could go on and on in vivid detail making up all kindsa crap… When you conversed with him in a crowd, you felt kinda like raising one eyebrow each time as if “is this one for real”.. Ya just never knew.. Till the enda the story.. He’d literally orate made up crap for ten minutes (the cast, the bobber, the bait) for a five second punch line (snagged you were.)
Sold books. To college campus’s.. One account at KU (figures) had a small gay section of the bookstore.. And onea the publishers he represented so happened to be selling a book for gays.. I was a senior in High School.. .they were going outta town for the weekend… and from previous similar weekends, he understood what was probably gonna happen whilst they were away.. So….. They pull out 4pm-ish… 42 cars filled with my snotnose high school friends pull in around 6-ish.. A great time had by all… until they found “the book.” It was laying opened on toppa the desk in the dining room.. “:Life as a Gay Man”.. by John-somebody… There on page 1, in blue ink “To Victor, with love, John.” That was my father’s humor. Rather than say “hey, don’t do that” - he had another plan up his sleeve… it was “have your fun…. But ya gotta ‘earn’ it too!”
I mentioned when my mother had her stroke.. He did everything.. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, her physical/hygiene care.. And sold cars from the driveway…He’d come home and say “Victor, can you get three of your buddies to come with me to pickup these cars I bought.. I’ll pay ‘em $10 each..” And we would. I could not believe how cheaply he got these cars for.. Then one day I rode with him.. After agreeing to terms of 3 beauties on the back lot, he shook the sale’s managers hand and returned to the car…. Started it up.. Then said “Oops… forgot his tip.”.. Pulled outta envelope with 5 Twenties in it.. Walked in, gave it to the guy and returned with a smirk… WHY YOU LITTLE SHIT!
Again, I was lucky. My father was kind. Never got riled up. Found fun in no matter what he was doing.. And was liked.
The simple thing about my father I will always remember… Whenever I called - he ended each and every phone call with “I’m glad you called Vic.” A simple thing, but a huge thing.
On being a father. I’ll never forget the SONogram… The days leading up to this arrival… THE DAY… The feeling carrying him from the operating room to the nursery - tightly wrapped in his blanket… Watching him crawl… Catching his first steps on video.. The mess around his high chair on birthday number 1.. His colic… His verbal advancement.. Playing “hut ball” in the garage.. (That’s the game where you have a six foot basketball goal.. And you wear your football helmet to play! I dunno how the term ever originated.. But I think he donned it.)
Coming home from 1st grade “Meet the teacher Night” and being told “dad… you’re the oldest dad in my class.” Countless, countless hours playing with army guys, catch, shooting hoops, throwing batting practice, hitting fly balls.. Kicking the soccer ball back and forth..
I can see all the old sport’s uniforms.. All the kids on the teams.. The results.. The games.. The fun times in the games… the fun times together outsida the games.. Myself and 8 of his friends riding around the parking lot of a Middle School somewhere in North Kansas City prior to the tipoff of the 6th Grade Championship Basketball Game - and we had “We Are The Champions” CRANKED.
Always being the youngest, smallest on his team.. Finally, at age 16, coming back to play in our hometown - and he was the oldest… and the success that followed..
His smile. His sense of humor. His good looks (musta been mom)…
The simple thing from my son… There’s not a day go buy where he doesn’t first offer “You have a good day dad.” Thanks son.. A bunch.. And you have a nice day as well.
I took that drive I spoke of.. I went by several houses we’d lived in.. Each with memories of that age and that day.. I drove by where we usedta play ball.. Where we usedta borrow the High School batting cage.. Where we had basketball practice.. Where he was born…
THANKS for “calling”… You have a good day… Love, Victurd
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Sorry ma’am… Ace-high straight, please remove your blouse now….
Good God. I’m fifty-four, and yesterday I lived/partied enough for the next seven or eight years. I’m torn between ‘cipherin’ if this is “sad existence” or “hella fun.“ Maybe a littlea both. Was kinda fun letting hair down - but today I pay.
Payday at work. Yippee. Couldn’t check online to see how much they deposited ‘cause I got written up recently for being on non-work related websites. Dammit Jim! But, knew it was enough I could, today anyways, afford a good time.
Co-workers, 5:03pm, beer at a joint called “The Doghouse.” There was a lotta “did you hear about….”… and “could you believe when he/she….”… and “I don’t think I’ll ever get caught up at work.” The smiles got bigger n’ wider as the beers went down, and the memory of that days work faded… Three beers… been fun… “heading to boat now, have a great weekend.”
Veered into the Ameristar. Finally peeked at ATM balance, and woo - hoo, a little more that I thought in there…. Not necessarily a good thing to discover at a casino. Oh well, what the hell…I ain’t gots me a woman… I got three 20-somethings living with me at home (of which only one is related to me!)… It’d been “a week” - so…. To the blackjack table I went.
Life. Blackjack. Sex. Up/down, up/down. (Victor, did you HAVE to add sex there?… Why hell yes, writing or thinking about it is the only sex time I get. KMA.).. So I got up fitty. Started paying more attention to the upper half of the lady next me than my cards… whittled $150 down to $30. Shit. I mean they were nice and everything, but not worth a hundred and twenty dollars for the ten minutes I stared. Ok, screw you, yes it WAS twenty minutes. (Ten for each!…. Victor, you’re a GD pig…. That, I know.. Do we need to talk about the sex thing again?… Ok, I win!)…
Shirley, a nice older dealer.. Left and came back.. She was the one dealing whilst I was staring, dwindling my stash.) But, I got on a roll. Everything I did turned to gold. I’d add $5 each time, and a tip for Ms. Shirley and the stack grew and grew and grew.
By now I had two black chips (they're $100 each) in my pocket.. And quite a few Christmas ones (Green-$25, Red-$5.).. So, I’m thinking’ “I am SOMEBODY now!”… and off to the $15 table. Boy did they kick my ass. And I didn’t even have any boobs to stare at there.. Sum’bitch!
I’d bought in for $160, left with $242, so… a good night. I’d downed twelve cups of coffee… I'd been with co-workers for a quick happy hour, four hours at the boat..so… home to bed? Yeah… right…
To my wonderful little “Sad existence/Hella fun” bar “where everybody knows your name” (do-doo-doo-doo doo..do doo)… ß that was me karaoke-ing to Cheers btw.
So, what’s a fella do with $82 he didn’t have four hours ago? Uh huh, he buys $126 worth of drinks for the house. The house consisted of 17 folks, and for the first time in eons, I really did know everyone in there. Mostly ex-inlaws. Fellow High School “thought we were” athletes.
“17 Hot Damns Mikki:”… “but I wanted a kamikaze” the gorgeous 22 yr old blonde cried out.”Ok, get her a kamikaze.”… Twice, I did that twice.. And bought ten-twelve beers for others.. But it was a feel good… I gotta crapola car, a house that needs hella attention, duds from early 2000 - for once I felt prosperous, and damn daddy I enjoyed it.
“It’s ONE-THIRTY, now get outta here” Mikki cried out. I can’t imagine why she wanted to leave so bad. I myself find it kind of interesting trying to interpret the words of 17 blithering idiots that timea night. I hadn’t closed down a bar for a long, long time. “Ok Mikki, Ok… we’re going.”
Home, to bed… right? (Happy Hour, Boat time, Bar time.. so.. “Hey Vic, come on over to my place.” My ex-nephew in law hollered. What the hell… I’d been to the boat.. I’d stared at that one lady’s boobies… I’d won $82... I’d bought $126 worth of drinks… Why quit now?..
Ex sister inlaw, the sober one, drove us there. Music, a 30 pack that we didn’t need… and poker… After two hours of five card stud, seven card stud, deuces and one-eyed jacks wild, Dr Pepper (2-4-10) wild, any card with “Hoyle” written on it wild.. My 33 yr old ex nephew in law decided upon strip poker. Five of us.. Three men, two women. So here I am, age 54, in my “sad existence/hella fun” mode… playing strip poker with my ex sister inlaw (50-ish).. Her 40 yr old friend (pretty attractive lady too).. My ex nephew in law, and his best bud..
GD (gosh darn) I wished I’d spent more time than what I have at the gym… this could be embarrassing… It’s summertime.. . There ain’t many items to dispose of… I lost twice, took off both shoes. Thought about my jean shorts, but then I didn’t want the world to know about shortpeckeritis, so I tossed the Converse.
Uh oh, there goes the blouse of the 40 yr old friend that’s pretty attractive. Wow! Pretty “healthy” too I see!.. .Dammit Jim, she didn’t just loose the next hand too did she? She did. Uh huh. Sitting next to me, a gorgeous lady, completely nude from the waist up. What’d James Earl Jones ask in Field of Dreams? “Is this heaven”…. No.. it’s Missouri… So, we blithering idiots played about another thirty minutes… various items came off… but no one approached the nudity of the 40-something fairly attractive boobies exposed one sitting to my left. (I usedta tease the ‘ex with “athletes have good peripheral vision.”… that, and my new eyeballs really helped!
Victor, you’re a pig. WELL, she didn’t HAVETA.. It was fun.. After 15 minutes, it surreal-ly was kinda natural.. Andtit was a night I soon won’t forget. No.. no one doinked anyone.. I slept on the screened porch.. Wonderful sleeping…40-something lady slept in guest bedroom… Nephew in his own bedroom… Dunno what in the hell happened to the other two.. K, maybe someone did get doinked.
So that was my “sad existence/hella fun” night. A long, fairly tedious, fast paced work week - followed by a night of fun. Now that’s what I call tit for tat. (Tat was bad eh? If my 80-something year old aunt in St. Louie is reading this. I offer my apologies. Unless you enjoyed reading it.. Then I’ll try to cook up something again next payday!)…
Happy Father’s Day to all…….. Love, Victurd.
Payday at work. Yippee. Couldn’t check online to see how much they deposited ‘cause I got written up recently for being on non-work related websites. Dammit Jim! But, knew it was enough I could, today anyways, afford a good time.
Co-workers, 5:03pm, beer at a joint called “The Doghouse.” There was a lotta “did you hear about….”… and “could you believe when he/she….”… and “I don’t think I’ll ever get caught up at work.” The smiles got bigger n’ wider as the beers went down, and the memory of that days work faded… Three beers… been fun… “heading to boat now, have a great weekend.”
Veered into the Ameristar. Finally peeked at ATM balance, and woo - hoo, a little more that I thought in there…. Not necessarily a good thing to discover at a casino. Oh well, what the hell…I ain’t gots me a woman… I got three 20-somethings living with me at home (of which only one is related to me!)… It’d been “a week” - so…. To the blackjack table I went.
Life. Blackjack. Sex. Up/down, up/down. (Victor, did you HAVE to add sex there?… Why hell yes, writing or thinking about it is the only sex time I get. KMA.).. So I got up fitty. Started paying more attention to the upper half of the lady next me than my cards… whittled $150 down to $30. Shit. I mean they were nice and everything, but not worth a hundred and twenty dollars for the ten minutes I stared. Ok, screw you, yes it WAS twenty minutes. (Ten for each!…. Victor, you’re a GD pig…. That, I know.. Do we need to talk about the sex thing again?… Ok, I win!)…
Shirley, a nice older dealer.. Left and came back.. She was the one dealing whilst I was staring, dwindling my stash.) But, I got on a roll. Everything I did turned to gold. I’d add $5 each time, and a tip for Ms. Shirley and the stack grew and grew and grew.
By now I had two black chips (they're $100 each) in my pocket.. And quite a few Christmas ones (Green-$25, Red-$5.).. So, I’m thinking’ “I am SOMEBODY now!”… and off to the $15 table. Boy did they kick my ass. And I didn’t even have any boobs to stare at there.. Sum’bitch!
I’d bought in for $160, left with $242, so… a good night. I’d downed twelve cups of coffee… I'd been with co-workers for a quick happy hour, four hours at the boat..so… home to bed? Yeah… right…
To my wonderful little “Sad existence/Hella fun” bar “where everybody knows your name” (do-doo-doo-doo doo..do doo)… ß that was me karaoke-ing to Cheers btw.
So, what’s a fella do with $82 he didn’t have four hours ago? Uh huh, he buys $126 worth of drinks for the house. The house consisted of 17 folks, and for the first time in eons, I really did know everyone in there. Mostly ex-inlaws. Fellow High School “thought we were” athletes.
“17 Hot Damns Mikki:”… “but I wanted a kamikaze” the gorgeous 22 yr old blonde cried out.”Ok, get her a kamikaze.”… Twice, I did that twice.. And bought ten-twelve beers for others.. But it was a feel good… I gotta crapola car, a house that needs hella attention, duds from early 2000 - for once I felt prosperous, and damn daddy I enjoyed it.
“It’s ONE-THIRTY, now get outta here” Mikki cried out. I can’t imagine why she wanted to leave so bad. I myself find it kind of interesting trying to interpret the words of 17 blithering idiots that timea night. I hadn’t closed down a bar for a long, long time. “Ok Mikki, Ok… we’re going.”
Home, to bed… right? (Happy Hour, Boat time, Bar time.. so.. “Hey Vic, come on over to my place.” My ex-nephew in law hollered. What the hell… I’d been to the boat.. I’d stared at that one lady’s boobies… I’d won $82... I’d bought $126 worth of drinks… Why quit now?..
Ex sister inlaw, the sober one, drove us there. Music, a 30 pack that we didn’t need… and poker… After two hours of five card stud, seven card stud, deuces and one-eyed jacks wild, Dr Pepper (2-4-10) wild, any card with “Hoyle” written on it wild.. My 33 yr old ex nephew in law decided upon strip poker. Five of us.. Three men, two women. So here I am, age 54, in my “sad existence/hella fun” mode… playing strip poker with my ex sister inlaw (50-ish).. Her 40 yr old friend (pretty attractive lady too).. My ex nephew in law, and his best bud..
GD (gosh darn) I wished I’d spent more time than what I have at the gym… this could be embarrassing… It’s summertime.. . There ain’t many items to dispose of… I lost twice, took off both shoes. Thought about my jean shorts, but then I didn’t want the world to know about shortpeckeritis, so I tossed the Converse.
Uh oh, there goes the blouse of the 40 yr old friend that’s pretty attractive. Wow! Pretty “healthy” too I see!.. .Dammit Jim, she didn’t just loose the next hand too did she? She did. Uh huh. Sitting next to me, a gorgeous lady, completely nude from the waist up. What’d James Earl Jones ask in Field of Dreams? “Is this heaven”…. No.. it’s Missouri… So, we blithering idiots played about another thirty minutes… various items came off… but no one approached the nudity of the 40-something fairly attractive boobies exposed one sitting to my left. (I usedta tease the ‘ex with “athletes have good peripheral vision.”… that, and my new eyeballs really helped!
Victor, you’re a pig. WELL, she didn’t HAVETA.. It was fun.. After 15 minutes, it surreal-ly was kinda natural.. Andtit was a night I soon won’t forget. No.. no one doinked anyone.. I slept on the screened porch.. Wonderful sleeping…40-something lady slept in guest bedroom… Nephew in his own bedroom… Dunno what in the hell happened to the other two.. K, maybe someone did get doinked.
So that was my “sad existence/hella fun” night. A long, fairly tedious, fast paced work week - followed by a night of fun. Now that’s what I call tit for tat. (Tat was bad eh? If my 80-something year old aunt in St. Louie is reading this. I offer my apologies. Unless you enjoyed reading it.. Then I’ll try to cook up something again next payday!)…
Happy Father’s Day to all…….. Love, Victurd.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Dear Ole Dad.....
It’s my hope we all have fond relationships with or recollections of our fathers. I certainly do. I know I was lucky. If you didn’t, I’m very very sorry - and the younger person in that situation - you - must not accept any blame for that. Dealing with things in our lives that are out of our control are difficult, to say the least.
The role of father is an ever changing one… Ward Cleaver was never seen at the stove… The Old Man of the day, dealt more with things like the furnace (Witness “A Christmas Story”).. placing a mirror infronta the TV to see exactly which tube had gone haywire to distort the picture… The primary income provider. The hunter. The “final say.” While the role sounds condescending, there were/are many a good one from this era…
Bra’s were burned in the 60’s… “No… I won’t” came out… “No, you can’t do that.” “I am equal.” “I am woman, hear me roar.” Literacy rates soared. Income increased. Little by little prominent roles in professional and political spheres happened… Harper Valley PTA. Erin Brockovich. Women co-anchors. Women’s talk shows. Women with LEAD roles in sitcoms. Women politicians. Women racecar drivers.
Knowing damn everyone here except me is female, gulp, I see the above as a good thing. And please put away that carving knife. Hehe. I’ll help cut the meat. (The meat in the fridge.)
So today… because more moms are out there too in the work environment (and believe me, I know there’s still inequity there) - dads have benefited in that they spend more time with their kids…
The role of designation of work/home duties is no more. The domestic workload is more evenly distributed, and this includes raising the kids… Oh still maybe Junior goes to dad for the “information” questions.. And to mom for the emotional support. OF COURSE I know there is crossover among the sexes on the above too!
Stolen from somewhere on the web: The idea of Father’s Day was conceived by Sonora Dodd of Spokane, Wash., while she listened to a Mother’s Day sermon in 1909. Dodd wanted a special day to honor her father, William Smart, a widowed Civil War veteran who was left to raise his six children on a farm. A day in June was chosen for the first Father’s Day celebration — June 19, 1910, proclaimed by Spokane’s mayor because it was the month of William Smart’s birth. The first presidential proclamation honoring fathers was issued in 1966 when President Lyndon Johnson designated the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. Father’s Day has been celebrated annually since 1972 when President Richard Nixon signed the public law that made it permanent.
Dad, to me, conjures up:
A game of catch.
An accepting nod that meant, so, so much.
The pat on the head in the early years… leading to the pat on the back… to the handshake…
Life and the educational stuff. Know we all learned different. For me: how to drive. How not to drive. How to fish. Tools. Woodworking. Cutting a Christmas tree. Tuning up an old Chevy. Talks on how to get a job. The normal one to meet you first after “Oh shit, I shouldn’ta done that.” The sturdy hand with the gentle touch.
Dads can say things that have a purpose, or a lesson - without ever specifically stating the lesson. Dads influence. Dads challenge. Dads teach aggression the correct way. They role model friendship, parenting, hard work, equality in marriage, teamwork in marriage, all good.
A dad’s hat.
His suit coat.
“His” chair.
His navigational and planning skills (or lack thereof) of the family vacation.
The guy behind the wheel of the boat.
The guy standing up at the barbeque grill.
The guy who smiled at you a little more strangely after a couple of Buds.
A praiser, a consoler, an admonisher.
Just the physical nature of ‘dad’ - plays huge. In protection. In safety. In bad weather. In interaction in public. A good deal of the family leans on dad.
The role model. The one, that when he did cook, used 33 more and different spices than mom did.
The singer of the family.
The whistler.
The joke teller.
The plumber, the electrician, the craftsman, the lawn care man…
Probably the worst dresser of the family.
At times, the fanciest dressed of the family.
The one who generally (not universally, but generally) caved into spending more time with his inlaws than his own flesh and blood.
A good guy.
A good man.
A loved man.
A man who loved.
No, this ain’t about who’s better. This is the time of year for celebrating dad.
I love/loved my dad. His advice was sound. His knowledge was amazing. His reaction of ‘not much reaction’ in so many instances were a lesson I carry today.
My dad, I’m sure, while special to me… is like perhaps your dad. My mother had a massive stroke at age 58. My father quit his job as a traveling salesman, got dealer’s tags and sold cars from the driveway to make ends meet - and so he could keep an eye on his wife, my mom.
When she passed 9 years later… my father had a long alone time… but never a complaint about same… In the late 90’s, he became the primary caregiver to my sister who was dying of cancer… A couple of years later, he did the same with his girlfriend of a few years - and nursed her back to good health..
He developed Parkinsons… at the turn of the century… and for a long, long time, cared for himself.. Ne’er a complaint.
I loved my dad, I learned from my dad. I miss my dad.
I myself have immensely enjoyed the role of father. While it hasn’t been without trial and tribulation - it’s a role I’m proud of. Out of 66.3 million fathers, I am one of 2.3 million single dads living with child. I worry, I fret, I care, I love, I don’t discipline enough.. I have input in the results - probably more than I realize. Like anything, one does the best they can do, and then still second guesses after that.
Hey… Happy Father’s Day… I know some are without dad this year. Let’s go hug another dad. Wing a comp at the role they play. We can also simply close our eyes and remember. Or even open them and remember. If you’re near your childhood home, drive by it. If you usedta go special places, revisit them.. If he sang a certain song, sing it - or listen to it on Youtube. If he wore a certain cologne - test sniff it the next time you’re in that aisle… Memories never (while we’re cognizant) erase - but they do fade…Here’s a toast to keeping them fresh…
Happy Father’s Day… Victurd. ß My father “knighted me” with this title. Funny ha ha. I however, got the last laugh. Baldness skips a generation. (Somehow, that helps me as a dad when things don’t go exactly as planned either!)
The role of father is an ever changing one… Ward Cleaver was never seen at the stove… The Old Man of the day, dealt more with things like the furnace (Witness “A Christmas Story”).. placing a mirror infronta the TV to see exactly which tube had gone haywire to distort the picture… The primary income provider. The hunter. The “final say.” While the role sounds condescending, there were/are many a good one from this era…
Bra’s were burned in the 60’s… “No… I won’t” came out… “No, you can’t do that.” “I am equal.” “I am woman, hear me roar.” Literacy rates soared. Income increased. Little by little prominent roles in professional and political spheres happened… Harper Valley PTA. Erin Brockovich. Women co-anchors. Women’s talk shows. Women with LEAD roles in sitcoms. Women politicians. Women racecar drivers.
Knowing damn everyone here except me is female, gulp, I see the above as a good thing. And please put away that carving knife. Hehe. I’ll help cut the meat. (The meat in the fridge.)
So today… because more moms are out there too in the work environment (and believe me, I know there’s still inequity there) - dads have benefited in that they spend more time with their kids…
The role of designation of work/home duties is no more. The domestic workload is more evenly distributed, and this includes raising the kids… Oh still maybe Junior goes to dad for the “information” questions.. And to mom for the emotional support. OF COURSE I know there is crossover among the sexes on the above too!
Stolen from somewhere on the web: The idea of Father’s Day was conceived by Sonora Dodd of Spokane, Wash., while she listened to a Mother’s Day sermon in 1909. Dodd wanted a special day to honor her father, William Smart, a widowed Civil War veteran who was left to raise his six children on a farm. A day in June was chosen for the first Father’s Day celebration — June 19, 1910, proclaimed by Spokane’s mayor because it was the month of William Smart’s birth. The first presidential proclamation honoring fathers was issued in 1966 when President Lyndon Johnson designated the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. Father’s Day has been celebrated annually since 1972 when President Richard Nixon signed the public law that made it permanent.
Dad, to me, conjures up:
A game of catch.
An accepting nod that meant, so, so much.
The pat on the head in the early years… leading to the pat on the back… to the handshake…
Life and the educational stuff. Know we all learned different. For me: how to drive. How not to drive. How to fish. Tools. Woodworking. Cutting a Christmas tree. Tuning up an old Chevy. Talks on how to get a job. The normal one to meet you first after “Oh shit, I shouldn’ta done that.” The sturdy hand with the gentle touch.
Dads can say things that have a purpose, or a lesson - without ever specifically stating the lesson. Dads influence. Dads challenge. Dads teach aggression the correct way. They role model friendship, parenting, hard work, equality in marriage, teamwork in marriage, all good.
A dad’s hat.
His suit coat.
“His” chair.
His navigational and planning skills (or lack thereof) of the family vacation.
The guy behind the wheel of the boat.
The guy standing up at the barbeque grill.
The guy who smiled at you a little more strangely after a couple of Buds.
A praiser, a consoler, an admonisher.
Just the physical nature of ‘dad’ - plays huge. In protection. In safety. In bad weather. In interaction in public. A good deal of the family leans on dad.
The role model. The one, that when he did cook, used 33 more and different spices than mom did.
The singer of the family.
The whistler.
The joke teller.
The plumber, the electrician, the craftsman, the lawn care man…
Probably the worst dresser of the family.
At times, the fanciest dressed of the family.
The one who generally (not universally, but generally) caved into spending more time with his inlaws than his own flesh and blood.
A good guy.
A good man.
A loved man.
A man who loved.
No, this ain’t about who’s better. This is the time of year for celebrating dad.
I love/loved my dad. His advice was sound. His knowledge was amazing. His reaction of ‘not much reaction’ in so many instances were a lesson I carry today.
My dad, I’m sure, while special to me… is like perhaps your dad. My mother had a massive stroke at age 58. My father quit his job as a traveling salesman, got dealer’s tags and sold cars from the driveway to make ends meet - and so he could keep an eye on his wife, my mom.
When she passed 9 years later… my father had a long alone time… but never a complaint about same… In the late 90’s, he became the primary caregiver to my sister who was dying of cancer… A couple of years later, he did the same with his girlfriend of a few years - and nursed her back to good health..
He developed Parkinsons… at the turn of the century… and for a long, long time, cared for himself.. Ne’er a complaint.
I loved my dad, I learned from my dad. I miss my dad.
I myself have immensely enjoyed the role of father. While it hasn’t been without trial and tribulation - it’s a role I’m proud of. Out of 66.3 million fathers, I am one of 2.3 million single dads living with child. I worry, I fret, I care, I love, I don’t discipline enough.. I have input in the results - probably more than I realize. Like anything, one does the best they can do, and then still second guesses after that.
Hey… Happy Father’s Day… I know some are without dad this year. Let’s go hug another dad. Wing a comp at the role they play. We can also simply close our eyes and remember. Or even open them and remember. If you’re near your childhood home, drive by it. If you usedta go special places, revisit them.. If he sang a certain song, sing it - or listen to it on Youtube. If he wore a certain cologne - test sniff it the next time you’re in that aisle… Memories never (while we’re cognizant) erase - but they do fade…Here’s a toast to keeping them fresh…
Happy Father’s Day… Victurd. ß My father “knighted me” with this title. Funny ha ha. I however, got the last laugh. Baldness skips a generation. (Somehow, that helps me as a dad when things don’t go exactly as planned either!)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I'm walkin', yes indeed and I'm talkin'
Ok dammit… Since my GD (gosh darn) car can’t seem to make it’s way to the Community Center to work out.. I thought I’d let my feet try… So I walked there… How far you ask? (No Victor, we really don’t give a shit, but I bet you’re gonna tell us anyways huh?)… 2 miles, each way.. Uphill… Ok, somewhere between 1 and ½ to 2 miles round trip. No, it ain’t aerobic probably, or orgasmic… but I did see organic - as in chicky with way too low cut top on bending over raking leaves. Of course I turned my head. No dammit, the OTHER way.
I discovered people’s grass, and treatment thereof, is probably a lot like their personalities. There’s the “I don’t give a shit, don’t get too riled up over much” yard (ahm, that was the very first one I saw, hehe.).. There’s the “Going thru the motions, regular oh regular” yard.. Nicely mowed, some clippings still on the walk, a few weeds, bare spots here and there.. And then the meticulous.. Perfect.. Everything in it’s place…deep, deep green… grass around the edges standing so straight and tall just likea.. Ah, never mind…
I discovered the people in these yards, age 2 to 70, treat walkers differently as well… The guy with the van marked electrician/plumbing/heating/cooling - with the Union local sticker on it - was too busy in his yard world inspecting to give a shit about any happenings around.
The two couples, some sorta different language speaking clan, they kinda perked up when I walked by - but no greeting.. And that’s cool… Wouldn’t it be sooooo cool to speak a second language? “specially at work. With a smile you could loudly state (in Portuguese) “I really, really hate that bitch” (smiling even broader) “and I think her taste in clothes is atrocious.”… or, mebbe (in French.. Of course) “my God my God, that chicky there gives me instant boner..what I wouldn’t give for two hours in the sack with her” and finish that all off with a good ole nut scratch for dramatic purposes…
Oh yeah, the Walk. Motorcycle coming. As my brand spanking new eyeballs focused closer.. HUH? THERE’S A LITTLE KID SITTIN’ INFRONTA HIS DAD ON THERE!… and he was… maybe 3.. Cute as hell.. Drove back by,… goggles, helmet.. Bigass smile… dad had him tucked in fairly safely.. I guess… (Is it still legal - or was it ever - to ride in the backa a pickup truck?)
Group out in lawn chairs on the poorest block en route to the Calorie Community Center… “Hey, how you doing” one reached out with.. “Great.. Thanks.. And you guys?”… “Perfect.. Thanks.”… This was on the way home.. And the gal with the too low cut tank top happened to be amongst ‘em.. Again, I turned my head. (Damn she had pretty eyes too!)..
Dad up on porch… Termite and his Big Wheel.. Kid maybe 2 - on the sidewalk.. A LOUD “HI!” followed by killer smile… “Well HI!”… Ain’t it a pitty that kid’s gotta some day learn partsa life suck… all ‘bout those with prejudice around him… how much people think work plain ole sucks.. Having to watch those loved ones around him grow old and eventually fade away.. Eh, parta life I guess.
Remote control airplane in sky doing all kindsa tricks… I looked for a snotnose teen on the ground with the remote controller.. Nope.. Some dude 50-ish… Way cool man, I don’t wanna grow up either…
It was a nice walk. A medium walk for me. Perfect weather. Perfect scenery. Boobies. Blades. Barespots. Bores. Byplanes. Bystanders. Bubbly ones… By cracky, it weren’t bad.
I see me back in them 36’s ohhhh… mebbe Christmas time…. 2008.
I'm walkin', yes indeed and I'm talkin' About you and me…Walk this way… Just walk away Renee…. Under the boardwalk, down by the sea, On a blanket with my baby, that's where I'll be.
Walking is all about dreaming. They say ya need 10,000 steps a day, or sumpin like that.
Speakin’ o 10,000.… one time… no, not the camp thing.. One time.. Two little onere shit brothers (10-ish) were outside at 10:30pm one night.. Tommy? Jeff? The heck you guys doing out at this hour? (Victor, I think you’ve told this…. KMA it’s my blog, if I have, tough!)
Tommy looked up.. Said… “eh, mom and dad told us to go outside and count to 10,000”.. I think they were either really getting on parent’s nerves… or… the house wasa rockin;.. Maybe both.. Hell who knows.
Walk thru life with a smile. I certainly try. It don’t always work, but I’m having fun creating that smile wrinkle on my face. Hell, least when I look in the mirror it’ll be a good reminder.
Loveya, Victurd…
I discovered people’s grass, and treatment thereof, is probably a lot like their personalities. There’s the “I don’t give a shit, don’t get too riled up over much” yard (ahm, that was the very first one I saw, hehe.).. There’s the “Going thru the motions, regular oh regular” yard.. Nicely mowed, some clippings still on the walk, a few weeds, bare spots here and there.. And then the meticulous.. Perfect.. Everything in it’s place…deep, deep green… grass around the edges standing so straight and tall just likea.. Ah, never mind…
I discovered the people in these yards, age 2 to 70, treat walkers differently as well… The guy with the van marked electrician/plumbing/heating/cooling - with the Union local sticker on it - was too busy in his yard world inspecting to give a shit about any happenings around.
The two couples, some sorta different language speaking clan, they kinda perked up when I walked by - but no greeting.. And that’s cool… Wouldn’t it be sooooo cool to speak a second language? “specially at work. With a smile you could loudly state (in Portuguese) “I really, really hate that bitch” (smiling even broader) “and I think her taste in clothes is atrocious.”… or, mebbe (in French.. Of course) “my God my God, that chicky there gives me instant boner..what I wouldn’t give for two hours in the sack with her” and finish that all off with a good ole nut scratch for dramatic purposes…
Oh yeah, the Walk. Motorcycle coming. As my brand spanking new eyeballs focused closer.. HUH? THERE’S A LITTLE KID SITTIN’ INFRONTA HIS DAD ON THERE!… and he was… maybe 3.. Cute as hell.. Drove back by,… goggles, helmet.. Bigass smile… dad had him tucked in fairly safely.. I guess… (Is it still legal - or was it ever - to ride in the backa a pickup truck?)
Group out in lawn chairs on the poorest block en route to the Calorie Community Center… “Hey, how you doing” one reached out with.. “Great.. Thanks.. And you guys?”… “Perfect.. Thanks.”… This was on the way home.. And the gal with the too low cut tank top happened to be amongst ‘em.. Again, I turned my head. (Damn she had pretty eyes too!)..
Dad up on porch… Termite and his Big Wheel.. Kid maybe 2 - on the sidewalk.. A LOUD “HI!” followed by killer smile… “Well HI!”… Ain’t it a pitty that kid’s gotta some day learn partsa life suck… all ‘bout those with prejudice around him… how much people think work plain ole sucks.. Having to watch those loved ones around him grow old and eventually fade away.. Eh, parta life I guess.
Remote control airplane in sky doing all kindsa tricks… I looked for a snotnose teen on the ground with the remote controller.. Nope.. Some dude 50-ish… Way cool man, I don’t wanna grow up either…
It was a nice walk. A medium walk for me. Perfect weather. Perfect scenery. Boobies. Blades. Barespots. Bores. Byplanes. Bystanders. Bubbly ones… By cracky, it weren’t bad.
I see me back in them 36’s ohhhh… mebbe Christmas time…. 2008.
I'm walkin', yes indeed and I'm talkin' About you and me…Walk this way… Just walk away Renee…. Under the boardwalk, down by the sea, On a blanket with my baby, that's where I'll be.
Walking is all about dreaming. They say ya need 10,000 steps a day, or sumpin like that.
Speakin’ o 10,000.… one time… no, not the camp thing.. One time.. Two little onere shit brothers (10-ish) were outside at 10:30pm one night.. Tommy? Jeff? The heck you guys doing out at this hour? (Victor, I think you’ve told this…. KMA it’s my blog, if I have, tough!)
Tommy looked up.. Said… “eh, mom and dad told us to go outside and count to 10,000”.. I think they were either really getting on parent’s nerves… or… the house wasa rockin;.. Maybe both.. Hell who knows.
Walk thru life with a smile. I certainly try. It don’t always work, but I’m having fun creating that smile wrinkle on my face. Hell, least when I look in the mirror it’ll be a good reminder.
Loveya, Victurd…
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
A mid-year look at New Year's Resolutions.....
Ok, I know it ain't exactly mid-year... but the only thing 'tween is the anniversary of my first marriage... and that was on the longest day of the year... but... she's a good woman.. but... it ENDED... so any end sucks! (Ok, I take that back... I've seen some fine, fine ends in my day!)....
They were.. And (The Progress.. Or lack thereof):
I resolve to make a snow angel in 2007. (Oops… snow dammit, snow!)
I resolve to pee my name in the snow in 2007. [First name only.. think the prostrate is swollen, just ain't got the pee staying power I usedta.] (Repeating, SNOW DAMMIT, SNOW!)
I resolve to see my new friend pee her name in snow in 2007. [She said she could and that's double dog dare.] (Well hell… ain’t seen her in awhile. KATHIE can you helps me with this one? SNOW DAMMIT, SNOW!)
I resolve to tell onea them impactive folks they were impactive in my lives. [I won't depress them and show them my 401K.. they might feel as if they failed.] (Notch #1. I’ve done this, and it was rewarding, to each… and there are plenty more I’m gonna try to say thanks to.)
I resolve to get laid in 2007. (I’m sorry.. I’m fitty-four… what’d you ask? Speak up sonny!)
I resolve to sleep outside at least once in 2007. (Not done, but does the hole in the fucking ceiling make me come kinda close?)
I resolve to continue writing this stupid blog thru 2007 inspitea you non-commenting cocksuckers [but, said with love.] (So far, so good… well… dunno if good.. But EverReady still going. Oh, and I’m sorry to have called you cocksuckers. You biotches!)
I resolve to write about something OTHER THAN Victor a minimum of once a week. (I’d haveta go back and look.. But probably not… Side note: even if it IS me.. About me… I really really would liketa think this blog is more about life.)
I resolve to have a new address, ie, sell this hunka-junk, by 12/31/2007. (Still here. But… just as soon as I get a $5000 liner for the 18x35 inground pond [pool]… and after I pay the Gonzalez’s $6000 to re-roof.. And McIntrye Carpet $7500 for new carpet throughout… and Acme AC Repair $3000 to fix the Central Air… and, I get Maynard steadily working… I’m outta here. Should be another week or two!)…
I resolve to have a Christmas tree up this year. [You think that's an easy one for a depressed ole fool?]. (Why read this… It’s June for goodness sakes!)
I resolve to contact some very good friends I haven't talked to for quite some time... Especially Herbert & Dale. (25% done. I drove to Dale’s house the day after I wrote this. Sonofabitchin’ neighborhood grew so much, I didn’t recognize his house..Having no cell, I turned back around… went home… I WILL do this one!)
I resolve to get started on this list a tad bit sooner in 2008. (Come see me later… Oh, I did this in late March, 2007)
I resolve to spend a minimum of 4 nights in a hotel or motel in 2007. (This is gonna be a close call… My remaining week of vacation is the week after Christmas… By God, even if I’m alone with two double beds, I’m gonna do it!)
I resolve to spend 24 hours straight some day with someone without a sole knowing where we're at. (Very close. But the friggin blackjack dealer took my last $40 after 18 hrs.)
I resolve to stop and watch a little league game this summer even if I don't know a single snotnose there. (I watched a practice… so getting closer)…
I resolve to get CD player hooked up to bigass speakers I gots sittin' in garage gathering cobwebs. (Not done.)
I resolve to play one kickass prank on someone at work this year. (I’d say I’ve handled this one fairly well. I prank my bud Kendra on a daily basis. She can’t keep up, she’s weak. I AM the cubicle Director!)
I resolve to throw away any skidmarked underwear (Still skidmarked after washing) at the Laundrymat. (Just peeked. Uh huh, done. Still have some holy ones however.)
I resolve to try dancing (sober) at least once in 2007. (Did this, it wasn’t pretty.)
I resolve to go a minimum of 24 hours in a row without a cig in 2007. (Be for real.)
That’s it? Yes, that was it. My list. I challenge you, my friends (biotches) to conjure up your list and compare notes.
GD time flies. Seems like yesterday when I made that list. Since though… I’ve nearly peed my pants laughing… have felt like walking out of my job a time or two, or three… have been out with a grand total of TWO women… gotten brand new eyeballs… taken 219 naps… and put 43,679 more miles on checkenginelight… (we’re up to 212,000 plus).. Wonder what the record is.
Happy mid-year. Happy mid-riff.. Happy middle o the road… Happy midi-player… If you’re preggo, happy mid-term… Life… it ain’t half bad. Love, Victurd.
(Side note... today is the 20th anniversary of my mother's passing... Tis Ok.. she'd love the fact I'm here... blogging... writing... I can still hear "how's my Victor"... can still taste her Spanish Rice... can still see her great arm playing catch with me in the yard... can still see the pallet she made for me to lay and watch TV... my bud... my friend.. my counselor.. my biggest supporter.. my mom... loveya mom... Yes. Not good the early end. However, the days we had, we were lucky. Blessed. I'm so tickled about that. Many can't write that. Some never lived it. Don't feel for me. I loved and was loved. Baby tear. Victor)
They were.. And (The Progress.. Or lack thereof):
I resolve to make a snow angel in 2007. (Oops… snow dammit, snow!)
I resolve to pee my name in the snow in 2007. [First name only.. think the prostrate is swollen, just ain't got the pee staying power I usedta.] (Repeating, SNOW DAMMIT, SNOW!)
I resolve to see my new friend pee her name in snow in 2007. [She said she could and that's double dog dare.] (Well hell… ain’t seen her in awhile. KATHIE can you helps me with this one? SNOW DAMMIT, SNOW!)
I resolve to tell onea them impactive folks they were impactive in my lives. [I won't depress them and show them my 401K.. they might feel as if they failed.] (Notch #1. I’ve done this, and it was rewarding, to each… and there are plenty more I’m gonna try to say thanks to.)
I resolve to get laid in 2007. (I’m sorry.. I’m fitty-four… what’d you ask? Speak up sonny!)
I resolve to sleep outside at least once in 2007. (Not done, but does the hole in the fucking ceiling make me come kinda close?)
I resolve to continue writing this stupid blog thru 2007 inspitea you non-commenting cocksuckers [but, said with love.] (So far, so good… well… dunno if good.. But EverReady still going. Oh, and I’m sorry to have called you cocksuckers. You biotches!)
I resolve to write about something OTHER THAN Victor a minimum of once a week. (I’d haveta go back and look.. But probably not… Side note: even if it IS me.. About me… I really really would liketa think this blog is more about life.)
I resolve to have a new address, ie, sell this hunka-junk, by 12/31/2007. (Still here. But… just as soon as I get a $5000 liner for the 18x35 inground pond [pool]… and after I pay the Gonzalez’s $6000 to re-roof.. And McIntrye Carpet $7500 for new carpet throughout… and Acme AC Repair $3000 to fix the Central Air… and, I get Maynard steadily working… I’m outta here. Should be another week or two!)…
I resolve to have a Christmas tree up this year. [You think that's an easy one for a depressed ole fool?]. (Why read this… It’s June for goodness sakes!)
I resolve to contact some very good friends I haven't talked to for quite some time... Especially Herbert & Dale. (25% done. I drove to Dale’s house the day after I wrote this. Sonofabitchin’ neighborhood grew so much, I didn’t recognize his house..Having no cell, I turned back around… went home… I WILL do this one!)
I resolve to get started on this list a tad bit sooner in 2008. (Come see me later… Oh, I did this in late March, 2007)
I resolve to spend a minimum of 4 nights in a hotel or motel in 2007. (This is gonna be a close call… My remaining week of vacation is the week after Christmas… By God, even if I’m alone with two double beds, I’m gonna do it!)
I resolve to spend 24 hours straight some day with someone without a sole knowing where we're at. (Very close. But the friggin blackjack dealer took my last $40 after 18 hrs.)
I resolve to stop and watch a little league game this summer even if I don't know a single snotnose there. (I watched a practice… so getting closer)…
I resolve to get CD player hooked up to bigass speakers I gots sittin' in garage gathering cobwebs. (Not done.)
I resolve to play one kickass prank on someone at work this year. (I’d say I’ve handled this one fairly well. I prank my bud Kendra on a daily basis. She can’t keep up, she’s weak. I AM the cubicle Director!)
I resolve to throw away any skidmarked underwear (Still skidmarked after washing) at the Laundrymat. (Just peeked. Uh huh, done. Still have some holy ones however.)
I resolve to try dancing (sober) at least once in 2007. (Did this, it wasn’t pretty.)
I resolve to go a minimum of 24 hours in a row without a cig in 2007. (Be for real.)
That’s it? Yes, that was it. My list. I challenge you, my friends (biotches) to conjure up your list and compare notes.
GD time flies. Seems like yesterday when I made that list. Since though… I’ve nearly peed my pants laughing… have felt like walking out of my job a time or two, or three… have been out with a grand total of TWO women… gotten brand new eyeballs… taken 219 naps… and put 43,679 more miles on checkenginelight… (we’re up to 212,000 plus).. Wonder what the record is.
Happy mid-year. Happy mid-riff.. Happy middle o the road… Happy midi-player… If you’re preggo, happy mid-term… Life… it ain’t half bad. Love, Victurd.
(Side note... today is the 20th anniversary of my mother's passing... Tis Ok.. she'd love the fact I'm here... blogging... writing... I can still hear "how's my Victor"... can still taste her Spanish Rice... can still see her great arm playing catch with me in the yard... can still see the pallet she made for me to lay and watch TV... my bud... my friend.. my counselor.. my biggest supporter.. my mom... loveya mom... Yes. Not good the early end. However, the days we had, we were lucky. Blessed. I'm so tickled about that. Many can't write that. Some never lived it. Don't feel for me. I loved and was loved. Baby tear. Victor)
Monday, June 11, 2007
LOVE/HATE
LOVE Peanut Buster Parfaits from Dairy Queen. Only problem is, who goes to Dairy Queen anymore? What? This in-a-hurry world STAND IN LINE?
HATE those GD 48” off the ground headlights from Buford’s Ford F-350 GLARING at me at the stoplight. I’ma thinking Uncle Sam oughta regulate ‘em all the be the same height.
LOVE Sonic Root Beer Floats. Orgasmic. Ok... Does very good work?
HATE standing in line at a fast food joint for 8 minutes (the guy infronta me has been there for six)… Finally he’s to the front.. “May I help you?”… Bastard puts hand on chin and THEN starts pondering over the menu.
LOVE: Listening to/watching the rain from a screened in porch.
HATE: Being caught in the rain.
LOVE: The wag of a dog’s tail, the flick of a cat’s.
HATE: GD Mice and Racoons thinking they are ‘indoor pets’.. I’ve dealt with mice and racoons in the garage this year… GD Oscar! He resurfaced!
LOVE: No hurry.
HATE: Hurry.
LOVE: When seeing a friend, loved one, co-worker uncontrollably having their laugh include a snort.
HATE: Walking down the hallway, and having the person approaching from the other direction miss out on a Hi or a nice smile.
LOVE: Smiles.
HATE: Farts that slip out and you’re fairly certain others heard.
LOVE: The saxophone.
HATE: Bands so loud you can’t hear the singer.
LOVE: Blogging.
HATE: Sitting here not knowing what to write.
LOVE: Boxer briefs.
HATE: Boxers. (If female, try running braless… a decent comparison.)
LOVE: Movie twists I didn’t see coming.
HATE: I’ve watched Mash sooooooo much since whenever, it’s predictable now.
LOVE: Love
HATE: Hate
LOVE: Having the opportunity for a person to open up with their feelings, what’s going on in their lives…
HATE: When I forget to ask.
LOVE: To peruse the internet.
HATE: When you have to register for something… they ask the year you were born in a drop down (UP pops 1973) and you have to scroll, scroll, scroll s’more to finally get to your year.
LOVE: Computerized Bowling Tournaments at my hangout on Monday Nights!
HATE: Not being finished with blog but hitting ‘send’ anyways.
Life’s all about love/hate. We all have moments of each. Sure, hopefully we’re in love moments more than hate…. But we’ve all been in hate. I hate when that happens. But, I love you! Victurd.
HATE those GD 48” off the ground headlights from Buford’s Ford F-350 GLARING at me at the stoplight. I’ma thinking Uncle Sam oughta regulate ‘em all the be the same height.
LOVE Sonic Root Beer Floats. Orgasmic. Ok... Does very good work?
HATE standing in line at a fast food joint for 8 minutes (the guy infronta me has been there for six)… Finally he’s to the front.. “May I help you?”… Bastard puts hand on chin and THEN starts pondering over the menu.
LOVE: Listening to/watching the rain from a screened in porch.
HATE: Being caught in the rain.
LOVE: The wag of a dog’s tail, the flick of a cat’s.
HATE: GD Mice and Racoons thinking they are ‘indoor pets’.. I’ve dealt with mice and racoons in the garage this year… GD Oscar! He resurfaced!
LOVE: No hurry.
HATE: Hurry.
LOVE: When seeing a friend, loved one, co-worker uncontrollably having their laugh include a snort.
HATE: Walking down the hallway, and having the person approaching from the other direction miss out on a Hi or a nice smile.
LOVE: Smiles.
HATE: Farts that slip out and you’re fairly certain others heard.
LOVE: The saxophone.
HATE: Bands so loud you can’t hear the singer.
LOVE: Blogging.
HATE: Sitting here not knowing what to write.
LOVE: Boxer briefs.
HATE: Boxers. (If female, try running braless… a decent comparison.)
LOVE: Movie twists I didn’t see coming.
HATE: I’ve watched Mash sooooooo much since whenever, it’s predictable now.
LOVE: Love
HATE: Hate
LOVE: Having the opportunity for a person to open up with their feelings, what’s going on in their lives…
HATE: When I forget to ask.
LOVE: To peruse the internet.
HATE: When you have to register for something… they ask the year you were born in a drop down (UP pops 1973) and you have to scroll, scroll, scroll s’more to finally get to your year.
LOVE: Computerized Bowling Tournaments at my hangout on Monday Nights!
HATE: Not being finished with blog but hitting ‘send’ anyways.
Life’s all about love/hate. We all have moments of each. Sure, hopefully we’re in love moments more than hate…. But we’ve all been in hate. I hate when that happens. But, I love you! Victurd.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Can't
Cannot, huh uh, nope, nein, nada.
Can’t is onea the most interesting contractions there is… You can’t go home… Well, sure you can… It might not be what it once was… but you can…
You can’t see your deceased loves ones again… Well, mebbe not here on this planet - but I can’t wait to see them again someday… Ok, I guess I haveta wait. (Haveta is another interesting one we might explore someday..)
Can’t brings out vim and vigor. Read a quick article about a kid who got cut from his HS baseball team as a Junior (From my hometown even.) You can’t cut it. You can’t make it here. Turns out the kid said “haha” - played summers, progressed, learned, sweated, toiled - and his Junior College team just won the National title AND he was the number 1 pitcher on the staff…
You can’t beat this cancer. Literally thousands out there that are waking/walking testaments to the contrary.
You can’t fight City Hall. Local gas station, after 50% of their potential traffic was cutoff by some GD engineer who made it impossible for Eastbound traffic to turn into their joint fought. $565,000 later (awarded to them to be paid by the City), they turned ‘can’t’ into ‘can.’
Paris said “you can’t put me in jail.” Funny haha. They can! (And did.) No comparison to a Hilton, yet the nightly rate ain’t bad!
Roger Clemens, you can’t come back. You're 43 for criminy sakes. You’ve got a fatigued groin even. Won the first game he pitched yesterday.
A friend of a friend was a friend to Ewing Kaufman….Ewing tried his best to persuade his buddy to go in fitty-fitty with him as he started his chemical company in the basement of his home. “Too risky.. you can’t make it” the friend said. Now, there’s a bronze statue of Ewing sitting outside of Kaufman Stadium, home to the Kansas City Royals.
You can’t sit there Rosa Parks. Watch me! Can't never did anything.
George Carlin made boo-koo bucks on his 7 dirty words you can’t say on TV. (What the hey, it’s a blog: Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and Tits.) You can’t blog that! Wanna bet?!!!
Can’t is absolute. But really it ain’t. The 72 yr old who sat in Buck O’Neil’s “Legacy Seat” at the Royal’s game last night I’m sure heard can’t. Upon retirement from his regular job, he went backa to school in his late 60’s… got his teaching degree and now works with behaviorally challenged youths. You can’t do that. You’re too old. Ha!
The computer and it’s friggin’ ‘can’t’s’ (wow, that’s a lotta ‘s there!).. Can’t print. Can’t find. Can’t send that email. I am NOT a fucking ‘invalid’!!! You can’t say that!
Predicted by the year 2050 the number of cases of Alzheimers will multiply by four. Can’t remember who predicted this. They can’t predict that. (Beloved grandfather.. In his final years would come visit. We hada white house, porch swing on front porch. Never failed, he’d take a walk… we’d find him six doors down… swinging on the porch swing.. Uh huh, white house of our neighbor. You can’t do that. He did. We laughed, as did neighbors. Harmless.)
Saddest day of my life - wheeled my father into the lobby adjacent to his hospital room. I started telling stories of mom, my sister.. He didn‘t say “I can’t remember” but his glazed stare related that to me. This can’t be so. Where are all those years in his mind. Please say it ain’t so. I was lucky. Dad recognized me until the very day he died. (He did tell the nurses “my son is a bellhop in this hotel.”) Ya haveta laugh. In his fogginess, he was still proud.
You can’t control another’s feelings. One way, you can’t turn there. Kids from the Inter-City can’t make it. (haha, MANY have.) You can’t play in the Major Leagues. Wayta stretch that single into a double Jackie!
Can’t is absolute. It’s inspirational. It’s real. It’s untrue. It’s judgmental. It’s degrading, demoralizing. In most instances, it’s just downright ugly.
I think I can I think I can. Watch me! Screw you! I told you so!
Think I’m quitting now. Can’t thinka nuttin’ else to say. Can’t mow, GD rain. Could do dishes, clean kitchen. Nah, can’t. Needa nap. Can’t blame me canya? Love, until the day I pee my pants and can’t remember my name, Victurd.
Can’t is onea the most interesting contractions there is… You can’t go home… Well, sure you can… It might not be what it once was… but you can…
You can’t see your deceased loves ones again… Well, mebbe not here on this planet - but I can’t wait to see them again someday… Ok, I guess I haveta wait. (Haveta is another interesting one we might explore someday..)
Can’t brings out vim and vigor. Read a quick article about a kid who got cut from his HS baseball team as a Junior (From my hometown even.) You can’t cut it. You can’t make it here. Turns out the kid said “haha” - played summers, progressed, learned, sweated, toiled - and his Junior College team just won the National title AND he was the number 1 pitcher on the staff…
You can’t beat this cancer. Literally thousands out there that are waking/walking testaments to the contrary.
You can’t fight City Hall. Local gas station, after 50% of their potential traffic was cutoff by some GD engineer who made it impossible for Eastbound traffic to turn into their joint fought. $565,000 later (awarded to them to be paid by the City), they turned ‘can’t’ into ‘can.’
Paris said “you can’t put me in jail.” Funny haha. They can! (And did.) No comparison to a Hilton, yet the nightly rate ain’t bad!
Roger Clemens, you can’t come back. You're 43 for criminy sakes. You’ve got a fatigued groin even. Won the first game he pitched yesterday.
A friend of a friend was a friend to Ewing Kaufman….Ewing tried his best to persuade his buddy to go in fitty-fitty with him as he started his chemical company in the basement of his home. “Too risky.. you can’t make it” the friend said. Now, there’s a bronze statue of Ewing sitting outside of Kaufman Stadium, home to the Kansas City Royals.
You can’t sit there Rosa Parks. Watch me! Can't never did anything.
George Carlin made boo-koo bucks on his 7 dirty words you can’t say on TV. (What the hey, it’s a blog: Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and Tits.) You can’t blog that! Wanna bet?!!!
Can’t is absolute. But really it ain’t. The 72 yr old who sat in Buck O’Neil’s “Legacy Seat” at the Royal’s game last night I’m sure heard can’t. Upon retirement from his regular job, he went backa to school in his late 60’s… got his teaching degree and now works with behaviorally challenged youths. You can’t do that. You’re too old. Ha!
The computer and it’s friggin’ ‘can’t’s’ (wow, that’s a lotta ‘s there!).. Can’t print. Can’t find. Can’t send that email. I am NOT a fucking ‘invalid’!!! You can’t say that!
Predicted by the year 2050 the number of cases of Alzheimers will multiply by four. Can’t remember who predicted this. They can’t predict that. (Beloved grandfather.. In his final years would come visit. We hada white house, porch swing on front porch. Never failed, he’d take a walk… we’d find him six doors down… swinging on the porch swing.. Uh huh, white house of our neighbor. You can’t do that. He did. We laughed, as did neighbors. Harmless.)
Saddest day of my life - wheeled my father into the lobby adjacent to his hospital room. I started telling stories of mom, my sister.. He didn‘t say “I can’t remember” but his glazed stare related that to me. This can’t be so. Where are all those years in his mind. Please say it ain’t so. I was lucky. Dad recognized me until the very day he died. (He did tell the nurses “my son is a bellhop in this hotel.”) Ya haveta laugh. In his fogginess, he was still proud.
You can’t control another’s feelings. One way, you can’t turn there. Kids from the Inter-City can’t make it. (haha, MANY have.) You can’t play in the Major Leagues. Wayta stretch that single into a double Jackie!
Can’t is absolute. It’s inspirational. It’s real. It’s untrue. It’s judgmental. It’s degrading, demoralizing. In most instances, it’s just downright ugly.
I think I can I think I can. Watch me! Screw you! I told you so!
Think I’m quitting now. Can’t thinka nuttin’ else to say. Can’t mow, GD rain. Could do dishes, clean kitchen. Nah, can’t. Needa nap. Can’t blame me canya? Love, until the day I pee my pants and can’t remember my name, Victurd.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Yesterday, today and tomorrow...
There are those days where I feel like Mirth from Earth… Remember him? Mork and Mindy’s “kid”… Jonathon Winters I think it was… He came into the world old, and got younger day by day.. In this instance - I don’t necessarily mean this as a good thing… (And no, I don’t expouse “wow, you look GREAT… you look to be ten years younger than you really are.” A. Because I don’t. B. Because I never hear that anyways!)
Today.… Went and did the normal breakfast thingy… Wasn’t finished reading the paper - so - went to a favorite park - pulled in beneath a shade tree - the wondrous June weather coming at me from all four opened windows… Just as I was perusing the ‘ugly’ parta the news - I noticed I was in motion - not knowing whereinthehell I was going. (Remember, car has RNDL - no P).. Uh huh, it was rolling. I slammed on the brake, it slammed back because the engine wasn’t running - and the pedal’s viagra stealth strength kept me from pushing it to the floor. Oh shit.
Finally I got it stopped, but it was an eerie, eerie feeling… moving… not knowing whereinthehell I was going… funny sensations going thru the bod.
Kinda like life now. Where was I? Oh yeah, today, but with a hint of yesterday.. So I hit up garage sales allover town.. Drove past many many many good ole time places from yesteryear… “Beth lived there.” “The Hoys got married and that was their first house.” “There’s where Gracie stole the Hasta’s”… “Usedta play whiffle ball in that yard.”… “Smoke cigs and listened to Jimmy Hendrix in that basement.”.. “Hey, there’s that old house Kim usedta live in.”.. “Hey, looky there.. Wow, can you believe it? I actually got laid in that house!”.
Today. In motion, no known direction. What goes up must come down,
Spinnin' wheel got to go 'round, Talkin' 'bout your troubles it's a cryin' sin,
Ride a painted pony let the spinnin' wheel spin…
I’d write about tomorrow - but I don’t know tomorrow. Tomorrow continues to kinda sorta be today - and I be needin’ a jumpstart. Impetus. A spank like the doc gives a newborn. A shove off the diving board so as not to go back down the ladder. Jump off the moped you’re riding on I-435. Ride a painted pony. Spin wheel, spin.
I’ve found Newton was correct. For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. But Victurd’s theory is, if y’ain’t taking any action, then you’re moving and ya don’t know where you’re going. In neutral, but moving. Going thru the motions I think they call it.
I wish I was Roger Clemons. Uh huh. Do. For one thing, he’s younger (a little bit.) He’s makin’ hella money. (4.4 million per month.).. And he’s been diagnosed with a “fatigued groin.” Yes, I wrote it correctly. Lucky sonofabitch. I reckon if I made 4.4 mil a month I too would probably have a fatigued groin. I might even go after me onea them JoCo tanned blonde Lexus drivin’ divorced moms.
There. That’s my spank. My impetus. My push, my jumpstart. I gotta find me a painted pony to ride. Victor did you just say that? MIND OUTTA GUTTER, I was talking the a SPINNING WHEEL…. (But, reckon I wouldn’t mind “Ride Captain ride, upon your mystery ship. Be amazed at the friends you have here on your trip. Ride captain ride upon your mystery ship, on your way to a world that others might have missed.”)
Uh huh. I think woman = impetus. Spank. Jumpstart. Push. (Ain’t the words what goes up must come down in spinning wheel?) Sorry!
Victor, you’ve had women. I know dammit, and when I did life was truly more fun… it’s just that either they got ridda me, or for some reason it felt kinda ‘early Goldielocks.” “Too - something.”
Yesterday. I hada blast. I have fond memories. All my troubles seemed so far away.
Today. Motionless. Direction unknown. No “P.” (Mind outta gutter again, that stands for 'Park'.)
Tomorrow. I hope to be diagnosed with fatigued groin. You don’t even have to pay me 4.4 mil a month.
Someone is waiting just for you
Spinnin' wheel, spinnin' true
Drop all your troubles by the riverside
Catch a painted pony on the spinning wheel ride
Ride a painted pony let the spinning wheel fly…
Somwhere, just somewhere ‘tween motionless and the day I pee my pants and forget my name - I pray for groin fatigue. Love, whoever you are, Victurd.
Today.… Went and did the normal breakfast thingy… Wasn’t finished reading the paper - so - went to a favorite park - pulled in beneath a shade tree - the wondrous June weather coming at me from all four opened windows… Just as I was perusing the ‘ugly’ parta the news - I noticed I was in motion - not knowing whereinthehell I was going. (Remember, car has RNDL - no P).. Uh huh, it was rolling. I slammed on the brake, it slammed back because the engine wasn’t running - and the pedal’s viagra stealth strength kept me from pushing it to the floor. Oh shit.
Finally I got it stopped, but it was an eerie, eerie feeling… moving… not knowing whereinthehell I was going… funny sensations going thru the bod.
Kinda like life now. Where was I? Oh yeah, today, but with a hint of yesterday.. So I hit up garage sales allover town.. Drove past many many many good ole time places from yesteryear… “Beth lived there.” “The Hoys got married and that was their first house.” “There’s where Gracie stole the Hasta’s”… “Usedta play whiffle ball in that yard.”… “Smoke cigs and listened to Jimmy Hendrix in that basement.”.. “Hey, there’s that old house Kim usedta live in.”.. “Hey, looky there.. Wow, can you believe it? I actually got laid in that house!”.
Today. In motion, no known direction. What goes up must come down,
Spinnin' wheel got to go 'round, Talkin' 'bout your troubles it's a cryin' sin,
Ride a painted pony let the spinnin' wheel spin…
I’d write about tomorrow - but I don’t know tomorrow. Tomorrow continues to kinda sorta be today - and I be needin’ a jumpstart. Impetus. A spank like the doc gives a newborn. A shove off the diving board so as not to go back down the ladder. Jump off the moped you’re riding on I-435. Ride a painted pony. Spin wheel, spin.
I’ve found Newton was correct. For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. But Victurd’s theory is, if y’ain’t taking any action, then you’re moving and ya don’t know where you’re going. In neutral, but moving. Going thru the motions I think they call it.
I wish I was Roger Clemons. Uh huh. Do. For one thing, he’s younger (a little bit.) He’s makin’ hella money. (4.4 million per month.).. And he’s been diagnosed with a “fatigued groin.” Yes, I wrote it correctly. Lucky sonofabitch. I reckon if I made 4.4 mil a month I too would probably have a fatigued groin. I might even go after me onea them JoCo tanned blonde Lexus drivin’ divorced moms.
There. That’s my spank. My impetus. My push, my jumpstart. I gotta find me a painted pony to ride. Victor did you just say that? MIND OUTTA GUTTER, I was talking the a SPINNING WHEEL…. (But, reckon I wouldn’t mind “Ride Captain ride, upon your mystery ship. Be amazed at the friends you have here on your trip. Ride captain ride upon your mystery ship, on your way to a world that others might have missed.”)
Uh huh. I think woman = impetus. Spank. Jumpstart. Push. (Ain’t the words what goes up must come down in spinning wheel?) Sorry!
Victor, you’ve had women. I know dammit, and when I did life was truly more fun… it’s just that either they got ridda me, or for some reason it felt kinda ‘early Goldielocks.” “Too - something.”
Yesterday. I hada blast. I have fond memories. All my troubles seemed so far away.
Today. Motionless. Direction unknown. No “P.” (Mind outta gutter again, that stands for 'Park'.)
Tomorrow. I hope to be diagnosed with fatigued groin. You don’t even have to pay me 4.4 mil a month.
Someone is waiting just for you
Spinnin' wheel, spinnin' true
Drop all your troubles by the riverside
Catch a painted pony on the spinning wheel ride
Ride a painted pony let the spinning wheel fly…
Somwhere, just somewhere ‘tween motionless and the day I pee my pants and forget my name - I pray for groin fatigue. Love, whoever you are, Victurd.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
INTERVIEW WITH A BLOGGER:
Q) So, borrowing a term from the 60’s (I’ve noticed you refer to the 60’s fairly frequently) you kinda-sorta think you’re “hot shit” you’ve done this for two years now eh?
A) Yes. Perceptive. I would think that by now, if Elisabeth Shue has spent ANY time on the internet, she’s wondered by a time or two.
Q) I’ve noticed, the three or four that occasionally stop by to read are female… are you like some sorta he-she or something?
A) Well… I’m not a hunter. I grew reasonably tired of sports long ago. I’m no so fond of “T&A” talk… I guess that I’ve just found women are more about feelings.. And I find myself, at this time, in this place in my life - more attuned to feelings. Short story long, yes, I’m a he-she.
Q) Wow there went anyone that was seriously considering you on MySpace. So have you dated some that come here? And if so, why are they still hanging around?
A) Good question, and there are times I’ve wondered that as well. Yes, I have dated some that run across this. To be frank, I don’t think I/we (any that come here) have ever had a terse word. They’ll correct me if I’m wrong I’m certain, but I believe that to be true. I truly think they see things similar to I, in that whatever that given time was, it was special - no matter the end.. And there’s some kinda bond there. No matter who the ‘ultimate decider’ is, you can’t erase your past - and thankfully it seems to be mutual that whatever time was spent was special - and time will live for ‘er, and appreciated mutually.
Q) Animals don’t talk, yet, it seems they play big in your life, how come?
A) I beg your pardon, animals DO talk. If people had the giving hearts of animals, the newspapers would be scraping to find stories that didn’t involve war, drive-bys, abductions, molestations, etc… Again, damn straight we can learn from our pets. Their unconditional love is a gift.
Q) Could your fraternity brother really tie his pee pee in a knot?
A) Scout’s honor, he could.
Q) So… Checkenginelight.blogspot.com… If I remember correctly, this all started with a kinda-sorta correlation between life, it’s ups and downs, and you piecea crap ‘93 Ford Taurus. True?
A) Uh huh. My sister proudly purchased the ‘93 Taurus the last years of her life. Late 1990's.. When she passed in early ‘99, she willed it to my dad… He got Parkinsons shortly thereafter and (I don’t really care if he reads this) my sister’s widow said “I’m gonna let your Dad have the car.. But when he starts getting all shaky and shit, I want it back.” With that said, and my dad passing in ‘2003, would you give it to him? Sure, I’d love a nicer car - but there are spirits that ride with me daily - and I don’t take that for granted.
Q) You copy and paste lyrics pretty frequently I’ve noticed. Is that legal and whyinthehell do you do so?
A) I don’t know if it’s legal. Whadda they say? “Can’t get blood out of a turnip.”.. Music is a salvation. For happy people. For sad people. For lonely people.. For people in crowds. It makes our minds wonder and our bodies gyrate, no matter how badly they look gyrating. It’s a feel good for young and old. I love feel goods. (I love good feels too, but it’s been awhile for that.)
Q) So who here has known you the longest?
A) Well.. There are twists to that question. I remember CJ in the 8th grade play the Wizard of Oz.. (I’m 54, so you figure it out.) I remember Gracie when she came to Liberty in HS. Internet-wise, probably Cherryl the longest, followed by Connie, and then Rae. My most recent good friends are Kathie and Teresa.
Q) Do you really have shortpeckeritis and are hard of hearing“……….
A) Huh?
Q) What’s your goal in all this crap?
A) Believe it or not, from friend’s emails, IM’s in drunken stupors, they’ve suggested I should “go write for a magazine”…”you tell it like it is.. Go contact the Pitch”… “Try to find advertisers for this, you could make some money.”… Nice, very nice words to hear (albeit from drunken stupors)… but I’m perked by comments. Many times I’ll go several days ‘tween ‘em, and it’ll bug me - cause I wanna do my best.. I wanna keep people here.. I wanna feel like, but sharing the everyday shit in my life - maybe somehow kinda-sorta I’m relating to everyone’s every day shit in life. (And the good shit too)… So that’s my perk/goal, just to occasionally have eyeballs here.
Q) This is the second 8 and a half by 11 pagea this crap. Whatsay we stop?
A) Works for me. If anyone has stayed awake thru all this crap anyways I might market it up agin’ NoDoze.
Thanks, for two years wortha fun. This has become a parta my life. Thanks for making it a tiny bit of yours. I love all of ya (and no, this isn’t a drunken stupor!).. Love, Victurd.
A) Yes. Perceptive. I would think that by now, if Elisabeth Shue has spent ANY time on the internet, she’s wondered by a time or two.
Q) I’ve noticed, the three or four that occasionally stop by to read are female… are you like some sorta he-she or something?
A) Well… I’m not a hunter. I grew reasonably tired of sports long ago. I’m no so fond of “T&A” talk… I guess that I’ve just found women are more about feelings.. And I find myself, at this time, in this place in my life - more attuned to feelings. Short story long, yes, I’m a he-she.
Q) Wow there went anyone that was seriously considering you on MySpace. So have you dated some that come here? And if so, why are they still hanging around?
A) Good question, and there are times I’ve wondered that as well. Yes, I have dated some that run across this. To be frank, I don’t think I/we (any that come here) have ever had a terse word. They’ll correct me if I’m wrong I’m certain, but I believe that to be true. I truly think they see things similar to I, in that whatever that given time was, it was special - no matter the end.. And there’s some kinda bond there. No matter who the ‘ultimate decider’ is, you can’t erase your past - and thankfully it seems to be mutual that whatever time was spent was special - and time will live for ‘er, and appreciated mutually.
Q) Animals don’t talk, yet, it seems they play big in your life, how come?
A) I beg your pardon, animals DO talk. If people had the giving hearts of animals, the newspapers would be scraping to find stories that didn’t involve war, drive-bys, abductions, molestations, etc… Again, damn straight we can learn from our pets. Their unconditional love is a gift.
Q) Could your fraternity brother really tie his pee pee in a knot?
A) Scout’s honor, he could.
Q) So… Checkenginelight.blogspot.com… If I remember correctly, this all started with a kinda-sorta correlation between life, it’s ups and downs, and you piecea crap ‘93 Ford Taurus. True?
A) Uh huh. My sister proudly purchased the ‘93 Taurus the last years of her life. Late 1990's.. When she passed in early ‘99, she willed it to my dad… He got Parkinsons shortly thereafter and (I don’t really care if he reads this) my sister’s widow said “I’m gonna let your Dad have the car.. But when he starts getting all shaky and shit, I want it back.” With that said, and my dad passing in ‘2003, would you give it to him? Sure, I’d love a nicer car - but there are spirits that ride with me daily - and I don’t take that for granted.
Q) You copy and paste lyrics pretty frequently I’ve noticed. Is that legal and whyinthehell do you do so?
A) I don’t know if it’s legal. Whadda they say? “Can’t get blood out of a turnip.”.. Music is a salvation. For happy people. For sad people. For lonely people.. For people in crowds. It makes our minds wonder and our bodies gyrate, no matter how badly they look gyrating. It’s a feel good for young and old. I love feel goods. (I love good feels too, but it’s been awhile for that.)
Q) So who here has known you the longest?
A) Well.. There are twists to that question. I remember CJ in the 8th grade play the Wizard of Oz.. (I’m 54, so you figure it out.) I remember Gracie when she came to Liberty in HS. Internet-wise, probably Cherryl the longest, followed by Connie, and then Rae. My most recent good friends are Kathie and Teresa.
Q) Do you really have shortpeckeritis and are hard of hearing“……….
A) Huh?
Q) What’s your goal in all this crap?
A) Believe it or not, from friend’s emails, IM’s in drunken stupors, they’ve suggested I should “go write for a magazine”…”you tell it like it is.. Go contact the Pitch”… “Try to find advertisers for this, you could make some money.”… Nice, very nice words to hear (albeit from drunken stupors)… but I’m perked by comments. Many times I’ll go several days ‘tween ‘em, and it’ll bug me - cause I wanna do my best.. I wanna keep people here.. I wanna feel like, but sharing the everyday shit in my life - maybe somehow kinda-sorta I’m relating to everyone’s every day shit in life. (And the good shit too)… So that’s my perk/goal, just to occasionally have eyeballs here.
Q) This is the second 8 and a half by 11 pagea this crap. Whatsay we stop?
A) Works for me. If anyone has stayed awake thru all this crap anyways I might market it up agin’ NoDoze.
Thanks, for two years wortha fun. This has become a parta my life. Thanks for making it a tiny bit of yours. I love all of ya (and no, this isn’t a drunken stupor!).. Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
SSShhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
No, I wasn’t at the library. (Remember, they hate me. They look at me like scourge over their bifocals. I’m reduced to feeling like a 3rd grader with a late book and recess being taken away until I’m a 5th grader.)
The sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh is for listening. I don’t have one GD thing to talk about, so, why not talk about listening?
Listening is more valuable than a GED, HS, College, Grad School… Listening is way more educational than preparing/giving a speech…
Selective hearing. I do that. Quite often. I do it during drive time. I usedta do it some in “her” time.. Not with intent, but I did. In a crowd of friends, when one tells a sixty second story in four minutes - I become selective about the 50 second mark. As you well know (hehe) I’m never a smartass, and I would NEVER interject something like “is this a long story?”… It usually draws a pissy look from the “they’re playing music it’s time to get offa my ‘Oscar’ speech” - but it quells those around, and I’m silently serenaded with “thank you thank you, I was so bored I almost thought about going back in to work early!”…
Kid listening. I was molded at the dining room table of my aunt and uncle. With my kids, if I were to sit at a table visiting, I’d be concerned damn near every second about their whereabouts and what they were into… Not as a kid… I hella learned at that table..I’ve always been enthralled by listening to those longer in tooth, and hope to stay that way forever..
School listening. Depends on a lot. The teacher. The subject, and your angst for it. The inner (or outer) pressure to “do good.”.. or, perhaps the apathy involved…
Work listening.. Most of it is casual. It’s wonderful to listen over cubicle walls and hear how coworkers deal with frustration. Hell yes I’ve lost it a time or two.. I get upset with idiots (sorry, can’t thinka better description) and those that don’t care. I cuss the idiots out internally, and the one’s that don’t care, I usually start with “lemme talk to someone besides you.”
Marital listening. I’ve used the phrase, when you really want one’s attention, you need to grab them by the collars and look ‘em eye to eye from inches away and say “ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”.. That would be a tiny key “this is fucking important.” I think, many a relationship would still be intact if this method were utilized…
Listening is not wholly auditory… We listen in concert with our eyes, our emotions, our brains/thought processes…
Listening leads to deduction. How we think of others. Their tone. Their giving. Their talking of others when they ain’t around. Seeing them at a distance, not knowing whatinthehell they’re saying, but they’re whispering. Can’t be good. Has to be just one side of the board.
We listen to the weather stations in time of emergency… We listen to baseball games so-so, until the intense parts… We listen to the Super Bowl, the State of the Union, Breaking News, a frantic loved one - with very keen senses.
We listen in lovemaking.. And the sounds are surreal to anything else lifewise - but that’s ok.. It’s a special time..
We listen to small kids, grand kids, other people’s rugrats with a smile. Just the fact they’re putting together thought processes is a perk, no matter the outcome.
Lady at work’s five year old was helping with the dishes.. His help was with good intent, but, the results were “two steps back for every one forward.” After the 3rd instruction, he lovingly fired back to his mom “I can tell I’m frustrating you mom.” Kids listen, oh do they ever.
My cousin. Age 5. You’d ask him a question over the phone. He’d listen intently, and then shake his head yes or no.
Listen Victor, do you remember when you talked about the person that told “a sixty second story in four minutes“?
Ok, I get the message. I was listening.
Listen here sonny… Listen up…
Listen, do you want to know a secret Do you promise not to tell, woh, woh, woh
Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain…
I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time…..
Loveya.. DID YOU HEAR THAT? Loveya, Victurd.
The sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh is for listening. I don’t have one GD thing to talk about, so, why not talk about listening?
Listening is more valuable than a GED, HS, College, Grad School… Listening is way more educational than preparing/giving a speech…
Selective hearing. I do that. Quite often. I do it during drive time. I usedta do it some in “her” time.. Not with intent, but I did. In a crowd of friends, when one tells a sixty second story in four minutes - I become selective about the 50 second mark. As you well know (hehe) I’m never a smartass, and I would NEVER interject something like “is this a long story?”… It usually draws a pissy look from the “they’re playing music it’s time to get offa my ‘Oscar’ speech” - but it quells those around, and I’m silently serenaded with “thank you thank you, I was so bored I almost thought about going back in to work early!”…
Kid listening. I was molded at the dining room table of my aunt and uncle. With my kids, if I were to sit at a table visiting, I’d be concerned damn near every second about their whereabouts and what they were into… Not as a kid… I hella learned at that table..I’ve always been enthralled by listening to those longer in tooth, and hope to stay that way forever..
School listening. Depends on a lot. The teacher. The subject, and your angst for it. The inner (or outer) pressure to “do good.”.. or, perhaps the apathy involved…
Work listening.. Most of it is casual. It’s wonderful to listen over cubicle walls and hear how coworkers deal with frustration. Hell yes I’ve lost it a time or two.. I get upset with idiots (sorry, can’t thinka better description) and those that don’t care. I cuss the idiots out internally, and the one’s that don’t care, I usually start with “lemme talk to someone besides you.”
Marital listening. I’ve used the phrase, when you really want one’s attention, you need to grab them by the collars and look ‘em eye to eye from inches away and say “ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”.. That would be a tiny key “this is fucking important.” I think, many a relationship would still be intact if this method were utilized…
Listening is not wholly auditory… We listen in concert with our eyes, our emotions, our brains/thought processes…
Listening leads to deduction. How we think of others. Their tone. Their giving. Their talking of others when they ain’t around. Seeing them at a distance, not knowing whatinthehell they’re saying, but they’re whispering. Can’t be good. Has to be just one side of the board.
We listen to the weather stations in time of emergency… We listen to baseball games so-so, until the intense parts… We listen to the Super Bowl, the State of the Union, Breaking News, a frantic loved one - with very keen senses.
We listen in lovemaking.. And the sounds are surreal to anything else lifewise - but that’s ok.. It’s a special time..
We listen to small kids, grand kids, other people’s rugrats with a smile. Just the fact they’re putting together thought processes is a perk, no matter the outcome.
Lady at work’s five year old was helping with the dishes.. His help was with good intent, but, the results were “two steps back for every one forward.” After the 3rd instruction, he lovingly fired back to his mom “I can tell I’m frustrating you mom.” Kids listen, oh do they ever.
My cousin. Age 5. You’d ask him a question over the phone. He’d listen intently, and then shake his head yes or no.
Listen Victor, do you remember when you talked about the person that told “a sixty second story in four minutes“?
Ok, I get the message. I was listening.
Listen here sonny… Listen up…
Listen, do you want to know a secret Do you promise not to tell, woh, woh, woh
Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain…
I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time…..
Loveya.. DID YOU HEAR THAT? Loveya, Victurd.
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