She said.....

"Victor... You said to read you 'blog' and see into your heart.....well I see a very lonely person who is doing his best to keep his sunny side up. We've all known lonely Vic....I mean really known lonely. It sucks. We're all looking for Utopia in the opposite sex but I guess we have to find our Utopia in us first.”

He said…. Yeah, mebbe lonely.. but I’m in love with life.. so not totally lonely… Honest, I can be driving my car – as I was about ten minutes ago, and this bigass ole smile flashes as I think of a moment in my life… I’ve been lucky enough to have lived an incredible life..

Utopia? I’m too self deprecating for that.. I’m too keen to the fact we’re human, I’m human.

Gotta sign on my desk… “Transportation is like umpiring… you should start out perfect… and then get better.” (It’s just Northa a my sign that says “A clean desk is the sign of a blank mind”  thank you Kendra)… And kinda Northeast of my sign that says “When Kendra has flatulence, it’s impossible to sit here and type.”.. and a little Westa my note from Kendra with a smiley face and the word “Dork!” written on it.)

I know this person meant well.. and that perhaps the intent was to be happy, like one’s self. That I am. That I do. I get mad at myself, but I likes me.

Sunny side up? You’re damn tootin’. (Although when you’re talking eggs, I’m a scrambled fan.) Life is all about choices. If you work with me, and you don’t know me, there’s a reason. If I see you out in public frequently, but we don’t know each other, there’s a reason. I try to immerse myself with good. Upbeat. Happy. Non-cruel. Light. Loyal. Smiley. Reasonable. Human.

Yes. Lonely. Physically lonely – and I don’t just mean the “oh baby oh baby.” Touch. Big on touch. Sure, ain’t fun to not be able to. But it’s kinda like pullin’ your car into the BBQ joint – you know – sometime – hopefully soon, you’ll be lickin’ your chops.

“Gloom despair and agony on me” until then? Not no’s, but hells no’s. The older I get, the more I appreciate the day, the hour, the minute. I’d like to think I finally “get it.”

However, if you are of the opposite sex… and your name happens to be Utopia… 867-5309. Can call collect if ya wanna.

May your life be sunny side up, and your eggs of your own choosing. Love, Victurd.

A real phone call some years ago......

"Hello."

"Hi, my name is Mrs. Smith, and I'm Denton's first grade teacher." (Gulp, what's the kid done? Must be pretty severe for her to call us at home.")

"Well hi Mrs. Smith, I'm Vic, Denton's stepfather.... Denton talks awfully nice about you, and he loves going to school.. so I add that up to the fact you must be doing a very nice job."

"Hey thanks... I appreciate that... the reason I'm calling today...."

"Yes? Yes?"

"Is Denton got put in time out today, and I just felt you should know about it."
(We'll murder the bum... what'd he do? Is anyone hurt? Was there pencil lead involved?)

"Ouch, sorry to hear that... what happened?"

"Well... we were discussing planets."

"Ok"...

"And right in the middle of our discussion he raised his hand."
(Did he ask to go pee right there infronta God and all? Did he cuss? IF SO HE LEARNED IT FROM MOM, NOT ME!!)..

"Yes ma'am.. and what'd he ask?"

"He stood up... and said 'Girls are from Jupiter, that's why they're stupider.' "

I can't remember what I said... but I know it was a good three minutes of covering the phone whilst I laughed and peed my pants a bit..

Ya just gotta love children. And I could see Denton's bright smiley face as he proclaimed this. Handsome kid, but reckon I'm a tad biased. A few weeks later, this first year teacher dialed us up again... seems this time Denton was chasing girls on the playground.. "oh yeah.. how come he was??"... "because they were hitting him."

As the year went on, Denton adjusted to life with the first year teacher, and they grew pretty nicely together.

Whew... long day today... short blog.. I'm scooting to find the nearest napping spot... May life be nice to you.. May you be nice back.. love, Victurd.

Writer’s block….

Before you EVEN start in on me, I never professed to be a writer. This blog has come about because of an email exchange from a co-worker. It’s a lady that pisses me off, because, the more creative, more animated I try to be, she easily one up’s me.

Finally, I gave in. I sent her an email. “My brain is plain ole plain ole gray matter… yours is like a rainbow, vibrant, colorful, passionate, decorative, descriptive, outtaleftfieldive, whydidn’tIthinkathative..”

She emailed back. Basically saying I’m the funny one, she’s tried blogging.. And she gets infronta the monitor and sits. Writer’s block. TWB, or TBW, or Tcougar-Mellencamp, whatever your name is, I find this hard to believe.

As I was contemplating “writer’s block” on the way home, an affliction that every would be blogger experiences… I decided whatthehell… why not a blog on ‘block’…

Block me if you want. Holy shit there’s a lotta definitions for block. Wikipedia mentions the first block we think of… building blocks… I had ‘em.. My kids had ‘em… certain probably same for you.. I was so excited on my 3rd birthday when momma finally bought a 2nd seta blocks.. Allowin’ me enough L’s and T’s to spellout “I W-A-N-T A B-A-S-E-B-A-L-L.”
Quite impressed they were.

Building blocks. A very generic term, meaning anything from “keep them little bastards occupied at LaPetite” to “we’re gonna turn ole’ wet-behind-the-ears’ into a veteran - soon. A progression.

When you grew up… your street.. it was “your block.” The friends you ran with, played, experienced, explored, there’s NEVER another time in your life like that. It will always be special. No matter how many years later it is you run onta someone from ‘your block’ you see them as they were. You smile. You thinka the good times, ne’er to be replicated, ne’er to be forgotten. Your block.

Around the block. This can be misleading. There’s an old sumbitch at work, I love him, I hate him. He’s always right. He always leaves me thinking “why didn’t I thinka that.” He makes the right ethical choices, the right economic choices, etc.. . You attribute it to “well…he’s been around the block.”

Then…. There’s the HS Senior… or the College Sophomore chickie.. And the term ‘been around the block’ kinda takes on a negative connotation.

There’s the block in football. Fundamental, yet seemingly hard for so many. I’ll never forget, in HS as I watched game film dreaming of my date the upcoming weekend with the girl that “had been around the block” - there was an interception. We had this Big’n on our team. A transfer from Arkansas. Nice enough guy, kinda timid. Anyways, Bill (the Arkansas kid) had gone out for a pass… It was intercepted by the guy guarding him… Bill turned, and literally ran stride for stride next to the guy that intercepted it for forty yards. Within grasp of the dude. Finally, as we sat watching the film, “Ole Ron” (the more vocal of all of our coaches) said “Hell Bill, why didn’t you throw a block for him?” I guess maybe you’da had to been there… I peed my pants a bit I think….

Block. Gang nowadays. Suckers got tats with their block tatted on ‘em.

Block. In basketball… More commonly referred to nowadays as “git that shit outta here.”

Block…like the main part of an internal combustion engine.

Blockhead. As in Charlie Brown.. But he’s got a cool take on it all…

Block, as in Muhammad Ali had it down. Rope a dope.

Chopping is done upon a butcher’s block.

In medicine, an obstruction.

Wouldn’t ya know the psychologists paint it perfectly “A sudden cessation of speech or a thought process without an immediate observable cause, sometimes considered a consequence of repression. Also called mental block . “

Go on the block: for sale.

Out of the blocks: the starting position for a race…

TWB, don’t let a little ole thing like writer’s block strap you down. You rock girl, as does your writing. If you should ever attempt to start blogging again, PLEASE don’t let writer’s block catchup to you.. . You’re much too wise, above that. Please keep on keepin’ on.

I don’t have a clever ending here. Very sorry. My mind is blocked. I do love those that have read. My sense of humor vein must be blocked. Thinking back to ‘passing out’ blogs, I gotta block that shit out… could be a real blockage…

I reckon the main point here… thinka life/your brain, as filter… allow in what u want.. Block what you don’t…Life, inspitea an occasional roadblock, it be good. Race urass around the block? Love, Victurd.

Is it prostitution if you list “penis for sale”?

Pervert. I knew you’d look.

I read the news today oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph……………….

Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late.

Today, at the I.M. Chait Gallery natural history auction, lot No. 127. A mummified baculum, or penis bone, from a species of walrus that went extinct 12,000 years ago. The ‘piece’ is more than 4 foot long, curves to a point, and is covered with weathered skin and dry muscle tissue. Bidding starts at $16,000. Holy crap.. At $333.33 per inch, I could get $1833.32.………..

Perverts. You got your calculators out didn’t you. Now, this penis above. Holy shit. Do you think momma walrus would run away fast if he wasa coming…. Or… run TO fast? That’s what I call BIG BOB. I am the walrus Goo goo g' joob

Talk about roller coasters…. Catch the Parade Magazine article on Kelsey Grammar? Age 12, grandfather died suddenly. Year later, father shot to death. Age 21, his 18 year old sister was adbucted, raped, and left abandoned to bleed to death - which she did. Damn.

The next long portion of his life would be a combination of successes, shot down by failures (drug - Ecstacy, Valium, cocaine, etc.. alcohol… 1982 - 2 yr marriage.. Another short one… long love affair… a nine month marriage… a two year engagement…. THEN, he met “her”. Camille Donatacci. He’s clean, he’s sober, he’s happy, he’s a live in parent -- all since “love at first sight” in 1996.

His take: It takes a lot of courage to love. Isn’t that why we’re here - to love regardless of the cost? She decided to give me love. I’m a very lucky man. Somehow, love just came out of the world toward me, and with it, a sense of fulfillment and joy.” Way cool.

The KC Star’s story of a triple amputee (local soldier, has his right arm left) and his statement “Everbody keeps calling me a hero. I have a hard time hearing that. I was just a soldier doing his job. The heroes are the men and women still over there… I got to come back. I didn’t die. That’s a blessing. God Bless this young man for not only his service - but for his wisdom, his heart, and his recovery.

Remember the blog about “I think I can tell” - and we really can’t ever be sure about people, life, jobs, family, situations etc? Remember the article about Jackson hiding? (Lisa I know you do, Kendra said you read it and were bummed.) Happy to report - I think maybe I was wrong. He comes out a lot now. His voice ain’t booming like it was - but I don’t think he’s ready for the kitty nursing home either. He rubbed up agin’ my leg eight, count ‘em, eight consecutive times the other day. I can just never tell - and I’m so glad I’ve possibly been off on his remaining time.

Eh, that about wraps it up for today - I’ve bugged you enough of late. Special note to “M” who’s been strapped in and trapped on the downslope of the roller coaster for sometime. You go girl. There’s too much damn livin’ left in that soul of yours.

I read the news today oh boy
Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire
And though the holes were rather small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.
I'd love to turn you on.

I am the walrus Goo goo g' joob. 4’ long? Curved? $16,000? Koo koo ka choo… Love, Victurd.

Razz butt…….

Dear diary. Why are those people here? Why do they care? It’s me, Mr. Not So Much Self Confidence. Mr. Average. Mr. Too-white-a skin (nothing racial intended AT ALL, just wish I could get killer tan.). Mr. Make a Few Bucks, very few. What are they doing hanging around here?

Diary, my car spent from Wednesday morning until Friday evening in the car hospital. Fuggers were nice, but wow do they have expensive tastes. “This and this and this and that, and oh yeah down here this” is all wrong with my Hot….. Rod…. Lincoln… So I asked the Service Manager what are we talking about for this and this and this and that, and oh yeah, that down there?”… I could hear cha-ching going thru his brain, with each hunnerd, he added up his own commission..."Let's see, one-hunnerd (whispered $17).. two hunnerd (whispered $34).. Three hunnerd ($fitty-one)" and so forth.. finally, “oh, somewhere between $900 and $1000.” My gut instinct was to say “u sonsabitches… sold me the (“wonderful…runs good… should lastya a long time”) car for not hella much more than that less than two months ago… and now u tell me it’s a piecea crap?

So, I called CitiBank, told ‘em I’d skip a montha mortgage, wished em a Happy Labor Day.. AT&T next. “Please… I can’t mail the check until sometime in late October, but could you keep my phone line going so I can still have DSL and mebbe, just mebbe, get laid onea these days?” (Computerized voice said “I did not understand that”. You wouldn’t, you’d haveta been in my shoes the last six years to understand. Or my undies. Hell, been dark there, ceptin for puttin’ new ones on when I bathe. Or when I flip ‘em. Hehe.

“Son, see them there 12 jars a fine, fine Skippy Peanut Butter?.. Yep, September & October. Shit, it’s good stuff!”

“Hi boss.. This is Vic… remember me? I sit in that cubicle kinda cattycorner to the International 2 printer…kinda redheaded, always gotta shit-eatin grin on my face? I was wonderin’, ain’t had a raise in quite some time. Bastards want like a grand to fix my Hot…. Rod…. Lincoln.. Ya reckon you could gimme an extra thou this month since I’ve really been workin’ hard for you the last five years.” Click. Bastard.

Soooooooooooooooooo… I told the dude at the auto hospital to do this, but skip that, and that, oh and that down there… that should get it running… not overheatin’….

So they did that… And the owner of the place, I reckon feeling some guilt for selling me the car and having all that crap go wrong shortly after said “you can even make one payment this pay period ($337.64) and one the next ($337.64). But… lemme tell you, the checkenginelight is on, and we probably oughta check that while it’s in here.”

Holy shit. There it is again. The roller coaster. The exhilaration. The pensiveness. The “what next”.. Eh, in a way, it’s comfy. It’s lifelike. Bumps in the road no matter what you drive, even if you drive onea them rollers that presses down asphalt. Even if you’re George Clooney. Selma Hyatt. Hugh Hefner (not many, but I’m sure he deals with bumps. Yes, pun intended.)

Soooooooooooooooooooo………….. I trudge on in my quest for ‘her’. For ‘right’. For ‘oh baby oh baby.’ For receiving that smile. For watching her get outta bed and simply admiring the view as she walks away. For that handhold. The caress. Falling asleep tucked against one another.

Checkenginelight. Rollercoasters. Ups, downs. YES. No. Wrong turns, GPS “turn left ½ mile, you’ve arrived at your destination.” The weeding the narrowing. The hurt, the unintended giving of hurt. Not yet been ‘for sure’. Want to be. If there is sucha thing.

I better go now. Lotta traffic down by the air show at the old downtown airport. Gotta cutup that cardboard box… find the magic marker. makes me my sign… “Friggin broke… can you spare some change in case I need gas money to go meet someone for the potential of “oh baby oh baby?” Shit, I’d pitcha nickel if the holy shoe was on the other foot.

Actually, life is good. Somehow it worked out there’s going to be an extra paycheck there between now and next CitiBank payment. Rollercoaster back up. YES. Oh baby, oh baby.

Until the day we pee our pants and forget our name…. Whether that be in a 4500 square foot house, or, under the 12th street bridge… love, Victurd.

PS: The hell is “Razz butt?” I was trying to thinka whatinthehell I was gonna write about. Razz butt is what my friend Sam says when he misses an easy pool shot. Sam smiles a lot, even though he just got laid off three weeks ago. He hops with joy when he hit’s a good shot. He’s fun. He’s light. He’s life. He’s going thru his own ‘checkenginelight’ and he sets a good example of how to deal with it. Razz butt.

Exhaustion……

Can u think of the times in your life when you’ve been exhausted?

Sure, it can be the evening you weeded the flower garden, mowed the entire yard on a 98 degree day… Cleaned the house - every inch of it - with CD’s blaring in the background to motivate your old butt. (sorry!)…

Could be work has gotten you stressy… The boss wants more, you’ve already given the max, and you’re like Ralphie when he dropped the lugnuts…”FUUUUUUUUUUUdge”…. On edge, spent, needing a rest, wanting a tiny pat on the back…

Could be anything that gets your psychy… A concert you’ve organized for ten friends - an counted the days leading up to… A special coming event for a child.. .a sibling.. A parent.. A loved one… a great friend.. When it’s finally past (although you enjoyed the whole damn ride) the combination of nerves, want to do good, physical work, and perhaps playing host or hostess - has left you drained. Exhausted.

A loved one in a sick way. Visits. Moral support in low times. Painting a chipper face to combat not-so-good prognosis. Draining. Tiring. Spent. You fall into bed.

Christmas. December 26th has go to be the biggest “PHEW” day there is. Did I buy enough? Were the gifts right? Was the meal enjoyed by all? Did Uncle Tom and Cousin Eddy get along ok?… Did we spoil the little ones that need to be spoiled enough?

Then new job. First day. You try to fit in, stay behind the scenes. FINALLY time to go home. You made it. You feel like collapsing. They never knew. You were on edge. You smiled amidst the I HATE THIS. The whole day you thought about your living room, plopped down infronta the TV - and how much safer you’d feel. But you can’t.. You hadta. You made it. Sleep by 8pm. Exhausted. Drained.

There is a gist to all this. Ok, I won’t keep it a secret. I have been down this exhaustion road so many damn times… You meet someone… it’s incredible… You wait for their next phone call.. Their next touch.. Their next email… You check yahoo/hotmail every seven minutes… I don’t have a cell.. .but those that do… I’m sure you hold and peek, just to make sure you haven’t missed THE CALL.

Wonder is incredible. Dreams of a gorgeous tomorrow can makeya feel like you just finished the Boston Marathon… in a wheelchair…

Your mind aches because it can’t focus on work. It’s dangerous to drive because your view of the road is skewed… You are SO up, it’s gotten you physically, mentally spent.

I’ve been down this path before. I accept the fact for all times it didn’t quite workout. I understand sometimes it just ain’t meant to be. I can handle Goldilocks saying “you’re just too - whatever.”

The exhilaration for the potential of tomorrow sucks the livin’ bajeebies outta ya. Is it worth it to get this excited, walk around like an idiot with a smile on your face, visualizing one, two years down the road if all is good?

Fuckin’ A Ray it is.

Looking at the weeded flower garden, even though you’re too tired to untie your GD tennis.. Is it worth it? Of course.

Arriving in your driveway, eyelids fighting to close. You’ve left your friend/loved one at the hospital, covering your worry with smiles/feel goods. Do it again tomorrow? You’re GD right you will.

Christmas AGAIN at your place next year? Sure.. You’ve visions of all that happened stuck in your brain forever. Photos/video capture the good. Celebrate those that are there - you just never know from one year to the next.

Pulling in the drive after day one on new job, a smile HASTA friggin’ creep out. “Tomorrow, I won’t be the center of attention. I WILL fit in. I WILL be onea them.” Of course.

As an old fart, communicating with one whom you really really enjoy the communication. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Tiring. Fun. Scary. Been down this lane before. Guarded, yet yippee kai yai. Thoughts turn to tomorrow whilst your body/mind hurt from today. They’ve given their all. You’re too damn old to carve the intials VS + RK into a tree, yet you’d love to.

Hope is very tiring. To yearn is to run a marathon. To fast forward the video tape of life will make your eyes go bad, and perhaps cause hurt.

Sorry to have gotten so personal. All I know is I’m one tired/exhausted mo-fo. I’m reminded of eating at El Sombrero, my favorite Mexican joint. Each and every time I depart there after a meal, I spout out “I hurt good.”

If you’ve been here the entire GD time I’ve written, first thought that comes to mind is WHY? Second thought is you thinking “ohhhhh, here we go again.”

I’ve probably sent 46 goofy THIS IS IT emails to friends/relatives over the past years…Each and every one fun, exhilarating, exhausting.

In sales, every “no” puts you that much closer to “yes.” I don’t know if this is a “yes” but I’m enthralled/excited/exhausted/inspired about the potential.

Of course, to get hopes up, only to be letdown is even perhaps more tiring. I suppose I could live life away swinging on the porch swing, never venturing into ‘gamble.’

Can’t. I’ve got to believe (and it’s what keeps me going) “I’ve yet to be in the best relationship I’ve ever been in.” Those of you that are in relationships - make ‘em even deeper. Think of what you can do to show your appreciation for your man/woman. PLEASE borrow from usn’s that ain’t gotta better half - WE’RE ENVIOUS BECAUSE YOU DO! (and happy for you.) So, let that person know how lucky you feel.

If you’re looking/waiting, and there ain’t no exhausting times… ya just never know. What’d Allen Funt say? “When you least expect it.”

Four weeks from now I might not even remember the email address or the phone number, but for now, I’m tired as hell about the possibilities. Tis a good thing, even if it ain’t Goldilocks-like.

May you someday push your bod/your brain/your love/your ‘do good’/your hope for tomorrow - that you will be spent. Exhausted. Asleep two minutes after your buns hit the mattress.

Loveya, Victurd

This sympathy shit………

Some days are yummy… some days are yucky… some days there’s yum in yuck, and vice versa…

Yesterday there was some major yuck, but, I really really really really tried to handle it with nonchalance… to show… iT rEaLlY dIn’T eFfEcT mE. Did I do Ok?

Hey, lemme tellya… Your car breaks down, and four chicks at work (innocently for sure) say “well why didn’t you call me… you coulda stayed at my house.”… I got 12, count ‘em 12 emails about “man, sorry about that.” Someone even bought me a 12” sub from Subway. Shit, this sympathy gig is kinda cool! “Oh you poor thing you!” Fuckin A Ray.

I’m thinking’, tomorrow, I might quickly walk out infronta a car doing… oh… 10-12 MPH.. Yeah, that’s enough.. Just a good enough BUMP, it’d knock me (mostly unscathed) to the ground. “Oh Victor, lemme nurse those wounds… you really shouldn’t stay alone.” Shit, I might even get flowers. Dinner. Monies from being litigious with the driver…

Then… in a few days… I can stand just behind the corner of our L-shaped hallway, and wait until I hear voices… time it right so I head around the corner I get waylaid. Yeah.. To the ground… “Victor? Are you Ok? Can I pay for your laundry bill? Would you like a 7-up for your tummy? I kinda enjoyed where you bumped me, can we do that again?”

I could quit work and do this.. Get meals.. New clothing.. Maybe next time we could even jointly fall to the ground, and then hell, who knows after that!

Ok, seriously. Thanks for your good will. I gotta good Willie outta it. (Victor, remember your niece reads this.) Oh yeah, sorry. And so does my 88 year old Aunt in St. Louie. Remember wet Willie’s Eileen? That’s what I was talkin’ about, uh huh…

Ok, seriously. Victor, you can’t lead with that two paragraphs in a row. Ahm, I did. And this time I was really gonna be serious. I was actually so up yesterday because people put me there. People, in general, are nice. My neice said "is there ANYTHING I can do." And it wasn’t just chickies. Dave, Hammer, Jim helped. Today Mikey followed me to auto shop where they will perform car surgery. Leon even said he’d pray the bottomline from the mechanic was low. I love all. Receiving love like that just makes ya wanna send it out yourself tenfold. Truly.

Lemme rephrase. Yesterday was yummy with a little yuck thrown in. Yuck leads to yummy. Arguing leads to making up. Confrontation leads to better understanding and appreciation of another. Southward passion can lead to Northward passion. Differences can lead to agreements.

Where was I? Oh yeah, sprawled on the floor about to get.. VICTOR! Sorry. Tongue in cheek. (Mine, you pervert.)

So, he who wallowed in the pity of his coworkers has learned great lesson from the muck of yesterday. If you see someone down, pick ‘em up. And, if you’re down, fight the urge and be up. Don’t worry (unless you’re overdrawn) be happy. Don’t worry, be happy - don’t worry be happy (unless the mechanic looks at you over the top of his glasses!)…

The landlord (CitiBank) say your rent is late
He may have to litigate
Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy

In every life we have some trouble (WHAT? BLOWN HEAD GASKET?!!!)
But when you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy now

Ain't got no place to lay your head (Actually, the sofa in the lobby at work was quite comfy)…
Somebody came and took your bed
Don't worry, be happy

Here's a little song I (Bobby McFerin) wrote
You might want to sing it note for note
Don't worry, be happy

Sooooooooooo… lemonade outta lemons? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO…
You cut the lemon in half… eat the yummy stuff.. Then hand the two empty halves to the most endowed one there, and say, “look, I got you a new bikini top!’ (Show them to me… show them to me…right Carrington?)

So, the message (NOT PREACHING, I’m reminding me.) is that bad is always followed by good. Sometimes there’s two bad in a row - but it’s followed threefold by good. So look that bad mother (shut your mouth) right in the eye, and don’t let it get you down.

Lemons/lemonade. Lemons/Pasties.. Yuck/Yummy.. Worry/sympathy.. Ugly events/niceness and concern from those that surround you.

Borrowing from Bruce Willis again…….. YIPPEE KAI YAI MOTHER (shut your mouth)…

Don’t worry, be happy… don’t worry be happy………. Love, Victurd

And then it happened......

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

WHAT’S A MATTER VICTOR? Eh, just hard comin’ up with new crap to write here…
OHHHHH, writer’s block eh? Jane, you ignorant slut, whomever said I professed to being a writer? I see life, I blog it, simple as that.

Oscar. The raccoon. You could write about him s’more. Nah, that fugger, I think, is still in my roof. I wouldn’t want him chuckling as he peers down thru the clear plastic in the ceiling where the sheetrock fell due to my in need of fixing the roof.

K. Then cats. Cats are always popular - you getta lotta comments from both pro and anti cat lovers/haters… Did you like just get here?

Tell a story then. Even CJ once said “Victurd, your stories rival Bobby’s.” Nah… I’m storied out. It’d be like when the ex would roll the eyes when she’d hear a story I’d told 423 times. You’ve heard em all, ‘ceptin’ maybe the ones I’m too embarrassed to tell. You mean like that one time when you were sicky, you’d been to HyVee, you didn’t think you could make it home to the squatter, and you stopped at the City Park, and you ran to the BR, and before you made it to the john you.. SHUTTUP ALREADY. Wtf are you anyways?

Let’s hear a Pollyanna/rose colored glasses story… come on, you always perk me up with that crap… Nah, Pollyanna’d out tonight. It’s kinda a blasé’ old night.

Then retell your frat brother tying his “thingy” in a knot… or… about how Bert (The trash guy) was so damn huge he’d stick his “thingy” out the truck window and say “GD, if it was a snake, it woulda bit you.” Nah, old news all. Besides, fitty-four is too old to be telling penis stories…

Then go back to where it all started.. That shitty car you used to drive. You know, the one that didn’t have Park (only RNDL and how you “couldn’t date a lady that lived on a hill”) and that had halfa bumper, checkenginelight came on, went off, AC didn’t work, radiator leaked, you’d sweat your ass off in line at McDonalds, the headliner was falling down.. Had 2 of 4 hubcaps… Ahm, sorry, think they’ve heard all that crap…

What about getting’ laid. You talk about that A LOT. Yes. Yes, I do. Do you see a pattern here? “Talk about it.” Next idea.

Talk about your hatred of racism, cruelty to animals, “uppity” bastards, bling-bling lifestyles. Bored here. Try again.

You’ve talked about touch, sex, women drivers, old drivers, Chuck Shepherd shit, old folks, and “what is old”, life’s stressors, Mother’s Day, Christmas as a kid, signs, THE SEASONS, “taking pics with your eyeballs”, Louie Armstrong’s Wonderful World…Reid and Soanya, ain’t heard an update of that May-December thing.. Olfactory, Empty Nest, Maynard, Farts, Rivers, hooters, men and urinals, perverts, butts, Sanjaya, The Geese flying - long time no hear that shit, overwhelming, kisses, internet dating.

I’m blogged out…. Sorry. Looking at all that… just the tippa the iceberg, I can see why none of you who started with me are still around!

I remember at one point - we dipped so deep in “searching for stuff to write about” we even talked about time spent in and average lifetime on the squatter. Ya see, I don’t do that. Unless the stall nexta me is occupied and I try to really squeeze it out softly so I ain’t embarrassed, I’m a “wham-bam” kinda pooper.

I hereby promise to jump on the squatter tomorrow… and I WILL NOT get up until I have something, cleaver, worthy, creative - to add. Let’s just call that… a “blog log”. (Victor! Are you talking like that one time when u lived in the frat house.. And you had two squatters in the bathroom… and there was like this silent rule… whomever had “THE KING” wouldn’t flush it.. And you hada “THE KING” sign that you’d tape to that squatter.. And it was Sig-A-Ma-Nu Honor not to move the sign, NOR FLUSH, until a bigger King came along?).. Ahm no, not like that at all. I’m fitty-four now, remember.

Bless you to those that have been here awhile. You’re fucking nuts for doing so. I’d list names, but then I’d miss one and feel like… well… a tiny king..

I’m thinkin’ Mexican for lunch tomorrow. Yeah.. That’ll work… that’ll get me to the squatter.. I’ll sharpen my #2 lead, and hopefully come up with something halfway amusing.

Tune in tomorrow. Same batshit channel. Blog log. Love, Vic-long-turd..

Make mine vanilla please....

Perhaps I rationalize, I dunno..

Going on a trip? I don’t mind the Super 8 or the Day’s Inn… Don’t need the fancied boxed soap.. The exotic toiletries… The Servi-Bar.. 642 channels… I can carry my own luggage, but thank you… I’ll take Vanilla..

House? I’d love 4500 square feet, but know I wouldn’t keep it clean… Got one car, so don’t need the garage for three… I spend however long it takes to pull something offa hanger, put it on, and go.. Walk in for that?… Gimme a room to sleep, a room to compute, a room to stretch and watch TV… a place to cook, and a small shady place to veg out - out back… I’ll take vanilla…

I love to look at silver, gold, diamonds. It’s impressive to see folks dressed as Shaft.. Fingernails with more designs than Good Housekeeping… Brunomagli? Ah, Converse works…Don’t need Eddie Bauer, Nordstrom’s, even the Men’s Warehouse… Kohl’s clearance rack works when money permits, and hell - I like going to thrift stores/garage sales.. I guarantee it… Make mine vanilla…

Hummer? Benz? Corvette? Oh sure, it’d be fun… but my cars always look like shit inbetween rains, and.. If Hazel accidentally lets her grocery cart getaway into the driver’s side door of my Hot… Rod…. Lincoln (1995) it ain’t that bigga deal… It starts.. It goes from point A to point B, and it’s quite comfy/homey.. Make mine vanilla…

Woman? Her wants: “Minimum income $75,000.’ “Must carry no baggage.” ‘I don’t wanna deal with Viagra.” (Victor? Are you admitting?… I didn’t admit to nothin’.. I have just read that on some sites.. And have actually had it said to me as well.” I find that sad. We is what we is.) “I want the finer things in life.” Me too, it’s just that I think we agree to disagree on what tho$e are… Certainly everyone has prerogative, and that’s all good. Gimme the woman who’s stoked talking a walk around Watkin’s Mill.. Who’ll take the $5 ride with me to the top of the Liberty Memorial for an orgasmic view… Who’ll lay beside me on the blanket to watch the Friday night movie outside @ Crown Center… Who doesn’t need 3 different colors of hair.. Who doesn’t spend more in a month for fingernails and nails than clothing for her kid… Make mine vanilla please….

I’d rather have popcorn and coke watching a two overtime High School basketball game than having a nifty, seven utensil dinner on the Plaza… I’d rather take a three hour Sunday spin in the country than to worry about how to extend my pinkie at a wine tasting event… I’m vanilla…

Vanilla precludes me from many things.. Sure there are some things above, I quite frankly would like - but again, I am vanilla.. And I see nothing wrong with vanilla.. It’s me, it’s who I am.. And (Talking to me) ‘deal with it.’…

For whatever reason, I’ve always been attracted to those that don’t need much assistance in their quest for beauty.. Into the shower, outta the shower, combing the hair out - presto.. I guess I’ve heard it called “the natural look.” Lotta things ex and I disagree on in life - but she very definitely had natural beauty. A makeup look with no makeup. A natural twinkle in the eye. But she extracted me! I guess that’s vanilla huh?…

Winning the lottery would be nice. Owning the company would be rather cool. I wouldn’t enjoy dealing with the IRS, and I couldn’t look the 20+ year employee I just let go in the eyes. I’ll take vanilla.

The following, to me, are some of the vanilla joys of life: a baby’s laugh.. The passionate look of a kid in a sporting event.. Lovers holding hands walking.. A gentle rain.. Sitting in the shade beneath a breeze on a hot day… Water, anywhere… Any kinda nice old room to seek shelter in from a storm… Hearing the good deeds of whomever has been selected to sit in the Buck O’Neill Legacy seat at Royal’s stadium… seeing folks having a good time.. Diversity… a forwarded email joke from a friend… a family dinner… coffee, newspaper, and a cig… beers with friends…

I’m a simpleton. A vanilla one. Love, Victurd

I heard "You’re only as happy as…..

Your unhappiest child.”

Heard that the other day. Damn is their truth there. I ain’t wantin’ to shirk my duties here, but, I’m thinkin’ this is mebbe a forever thing eh?

I can just tell........

Do you have that sixth sense about people? I’d always thought I had… Of life, I’ve noticed if I see someone in a knowingly uncomfy position - I try to break the ice, bring in some levity. A new coworker - say. Ya just know their tummy is churning inside - no one likes ‘starting over’ in a new environment - that feel of having all eyeballs placed squarely on you…

But that really ain’t the “I can just tell” kinda thing I meant. One, two, four, twelve trips to a local establishment in our fine old hometown - onea the ‘regulars’ blurts out ‘HI VIC!”.. “Hey Dennis, howya doin?”…

So we sit by each other…. He started talking about people…. In general… and soon he winged a compliment at me.. “Dennis… you don’t even know me and the kinda person I am.”
“I can just tell, and I’m usually right on.”

You?

If there’s someone I don’t know… or am still (dammit) in the judgmental mode - I stand back, afar - and observe. Listening is one of life’s great teachers.

Love. I’ve said it before, I can fall in love in the aisle at Piggly Wiggly. Shit, just this morning, happened to be behind some knockout (wonderful wonderful smile.. Oh and never-ending legs in a short SHORT black dress)- walked out to the car behind her - and I really think I’m goofy enough I’da jumped in with her - and ridden off into Happyland for ‘er and ‘er…

We don’t know… do we?

Love/living, to me, is like exiting the high dive. There ain’t no goin’ back. Only if you video tape it, rewind it - can you go from the water back up to the board. We jump/dive in - and we’re at the mercy of not knowing. I can’t just tell. I think I can, but I really can’t.

Stealing from Mother Teresa: People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered,
LOVE THEM ANYWAY….

A marriage covenant. Broken. What you spent years building
may be destroyed overnight, BUILD ANYWAY

Work two hours overtime a night, every night for an entire summer. Come in on at least one, if not two of your weekend days. Then get called into the ‘principal’s office’ for that extra cig - or, for checking one’s Hotmail. The good you do will
be forgotten tomorrow, DO GOOD ANYWAY

It’s really really hard to just know. We, people, are selfish, will upon occasion take for our own taking, spin things to our own advantage. People really need help but
may attack you if you help them, HELP PEOPLE ANYWAY.

To dive in the water, not knowing, not being able to tell - can make water murky. If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives, If you are successful, you win
false friends and true enemies, DO GOOD ANYWAY, SUCCEED ANYWAY.

We are human, all of us. We get hurt, we hurt. You can’t “just tell” about someone. I’ve learned that lesson in marriage - and sheepishly, have had occasions where I’ve learned about me. Them ALL CAP ones ARE from Mother Teresa. Next one’s mine.

If you do dive in… into friendship… into marriage… into family events… into nuclear families.. into dating… into employment… into life… you’re bound to be dumped, bid adieu, hurt, have a bridge burnt, find out your date is Goldilocks and you’re just “too” something.. Sit back and wonder (in the down times) about life and it’s worth. DIVE IN ANYWAY.

Happy swimming, love, Victurd.

Justa lap around life............

It always amazes me the range of a single word. Kinda like that chit that was going around in the 90’s the Six degrees of Kevin Bacon….

Lap is sucha word. In the last couplea decades, laptops have changed our ways. Feller can sit in a chair at the airport, avoid the line of fitty infronta him, logon to the airline’s website, and hustle up a nifty bulkhead aisle seat in a few clicks.


The lap is technically defined as the area, when sitting, between the belly and the knees. (You might be a Redneck if… you paid $20 for the first kiss of your future wife.) Uh huh, lap dances. I always hated ‘em when I danced. The pennies got too GD cold.

Ex sister inlaw hasa yappie lap dog. Fugger’s jealous if another critter or human comes within a few feet of threatening the lap he’s sitting in. Other dogs ain’t quite as anxious, so they go lap up some water.

Lyle Lovette landed in the lap-a luxury when he wedded Julia Roberts. Again, WHAT was she thinking?

De Plane! De Plane! Kevin Bacon was in Only When I Laugh (1981) with Kristy McNichol. Kristy McNichol was in Two Moon Junction (1988) with Herves Villechaize.

Ralphie. Poor Ralphie. And thousands, millions, kajillions of screaming snotnoses who are pushed to sit on Santa’s lap to tell Santa of their wishes…

Dunlap. My belly done lapped over my belt, but I ain’t friggin’ givin’ in. I’ll stretch this 36” for eighteen years until I get real old and skinny before I’ll buy me a 38.

Laps. Swimming. Track and Field. Jimmy, Jeff, Dale, Tony, Richard (The King), AJ, Danika… Waylon and Willie and the boys..

Lapped. That’s when either you're old and working out with kids. Or, you really suck and you shoulda picked another sport.

I was married twice, and I ain’t gonna ‘kiss and tell’ on this. Was in onea the exercise binges I was on. Ex hitchhiked along with me. Raining. So, we went inside to the track at the local college. “How big is this track?”.. “It’s a tenth of a mile.” “Yeah? So how many laps does it take to walk a mile?” (Hint, gym/track was built after #1 and I were history!)

“Why don’t you drop me off at the High School track so I can run a few laps whilst your at the grocery store?”… K… so she did. Thirty minutes later I’m laying in the grass alongside the track. I couldn’t move. Torn meniscus. Several walked by. “You ok?”… “Ohhh yeah… .I’m just resting until my wife gets here.”

Overlap. Could be paint on a place you don’t want paint on. Our paths overlapped. My bigass belly overlapped the lap baby to shade him whilst I piddled on the laptop - lapping several in computerized blackjack. Lap dog was pissed, wanted up. “Go lap up some water you little lap-yap.”

Life’s overlaps. For me, this era is the parta life without the resta my nuclear family. It’s sad - but ya go on, and you go on for them. You carry them with you. You wonder what life in the overlap for them was before you? Dad married a Collin’s gal. One of three sisters. Feller asked him “Did you marry the pretty one or the smart one?”… ‘Both” I think was his answer! Pretty and smart overlapped in my mother.

We go on to different laps. Jobs. Adding friends. Not seeing/talking to friends in a long time - ne’er forgotten. We remember the ‘lap’ of our life when we could actually run. Get by on four hours of sleep. Planned like hell for our occupational future. Now we worry like hell on how much longer we’ve got, and whereinthehell is the closest door to finally end this lap of work.

Passion. Lap it up. Friends, lap ‘em up. Weather, lap it up. Family, lap ‘em up. Memories, lap at them often.

The laps of a roller coaster. The laps of life. Life is generally a lap of luxury. And we can’t forget the Far East catching on and buying into Fitty-Cent, Emenim, Tupac… ah.. “Lap Music.” (So solly)..

All this lap crap has made me a tired sap. Think I’ll wrap the lap up, trap me up sumpin like a Julia Roberts. Wonder if I did, what degree I’d be to Kevin?

Love, Victurd

Peanut Butter and Bananas…..

Some people think I’m weird. I say, try it. It served as many a meal for this young turd growing up eons ago……

About all my brain thought of tonight: two things….

1) Kids…

2) Memorial Day….

Was watching the Royal’s game on TV… foul ball into the stands.. Many stretched, leaped, tried.. The ball landed in the outstretched arms of a 30-something dad, and in a millisecond, you could read his exhilaration, and as his arms came down - the ball went straight into the hands of his 9-ish year old son… Notta second thought.. .The ball belonged to the kid…

So I felt sheepish…

Somewhere around the day I kinda-sorta officially (was forced to) retire from softball at the ripe old age of 45, was just about the day I quit fetching my glove to Major League games… I’ve beenta plenty.. Front row, last row, Right Field, Left Field, 1st base side, 3rd base side, upper deck, Club level, aisle, in the middle, you name it, I’ve sat there. I’ve been wedged inbetween 40,000 other souls, I’ve been to games where the announced attendance of 8,979 SURELY was about 6,000 too high…

And I’d never gotten a foul ball. (I ‘stole’ one from under the fence in Fort Myers, FL during Spring Training once - but please don’t tell no one ‘cause I dida blog where the last thing I ever stole was a bottle of cologne for my cousin after ma had given me five bucks to buy a Christmas present for him - I bowled 4 games with the five, and kiped the cologne. I said that was the last time I stole. Again, don’t tell no one. Was that a double negative?)

Sooooooooo… Royals vs. Indians… Midway through the 6th, raining cats and dogs… Drenched already, my 12 yr old niece and I decided to stay in our seat and await the rain delay… Rick Dempsey (the official MR FUN of Major League Baseball) comes out to entertain us diehards along the left field line. He was famous for his “tarp slides” during rain delays - but he was well along in his career - and, think his tarp sliding days were over…..

Nonetheless, he performs this vaudevillian/clown/act - and gets those of us sitting on one sidea the foul pole cheering against them folks on the others idea the foul pole. Whichever side, as deemed by Mr. Dempsey, was the loudest - got the prize in his hand.. A Major League Baseball. Age 30-something, I was frothing for the ball. IT’S MINE I thought….

Lo and behold, our side was the loudest - so he starts this goofy windup, has his hat tucked way sideways on his head, wheels his arm around seven times.. Wheels it back the other way eight times ---- wings his arm over as if to release the ball…. Doesn’t…. but he does flip it up into the crowd from behind his back. 1200 eyeballs watch. 200 hands held out.

My lap. The fugger lands in my lap. A Major League Baseball, bonified genuine cowhide… Very friggin’ legible signature of Commissioner Bowie Kuhn raht there upon it… Mine. All mine. What a wait. To think of all the near calls. All the (probably drunken) dives into benches.. All the “damn, if it’da JUST bounced this way.”

My lap. I have it. I feel it. I’m in heaven……………… Then, them baby browns sittin’ next to me lookup at me. Shit. The 1200 eyeballs that watched as ole Rick let loose peering in as if to say “do the right thing.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! IT’S MINE!!!! DON’T YOU REALIZE HOW MANY GD (GOSH DARN) THROWS AGAINST THE HOUSE WITH THE RUBBER BALL, FOR THE LOVE OF BASEBALL, I’VE GONE THRU TO EARN THIS? Do you have ANY idea how many GD (gosh darn) miles I put on my Schwinn traveling to and fro the City Park with my glove affixed to the handle bars?

NOOOOO!!! It’s NOT my firstborn, it’s my NIECE!!! She’ll forget by the time I drop her off at her house….. The baby browns looked up again…

Dammit. I’ma wimp. I can still see the little three pronged gold baseball holder trophy I envisioned for it. I’d have parties, and retell how I “knocked seven BIG dudes over to make my way to the ball.” I’d smell it. (You’da have to have played baseball to understand that one.)

But I gave it to her. It was probably lost when she moved six houses ago. Dammit. But, the kid won out.

So tonight… when that A-hole (said with love) within milliseconds handed his kid the ball… I felt guilt…

So… I stare at the reserved (empty) spot on toppa the Entertainment Center… and vow to carry on this 54 year quest for a Major League baseball. Nuh uh, even if I take my son now, he’s 22.. It’s dog eat dog, MINE.

(Victor, I admonish you frequently enough.. Today, I needta pat you on the back. For you've got two tickets (to Paradise) to the Chief's game Thursday night, and there were THREE, count 'em, THREE you considered inviting - but you came home and asked your son to go because he'd never been.... I toldya I felt guilty watching that dude hand the ball to his kid.... Please stop.. 'Cause having a spare Chief's ticket is almost like halfway to getting laid.)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Memorial Day. I know it’s past. I know in rear view mirror. Tell me, waddayou think of when you think of Memorial Day? I mostly think of us selfish people who say “WOO-WHO” a 3-day weekend.. The beginnin’ of summer. Let’s rip. Let’s go. Let’s celebrate. Of course, I do think of older folks - and the cemetery. I think, due to the confusion of all this, we need to declare an “I Miss You” day.

Oft times, it’s virtually geographically impossible to visit all the graves of loved ones in a weekend, albeit a three-day weekend. I think we think too of what kinda flower to buy, how the ‘site’ looks, who else we remember that’s there…

An official “I Miss You” day. No graves to visit. No flowers to buy. We just stop, for one day - and we reminisce… we remember… we cry.. We visualize… we’re ‘with them’… there is no 3 day weekend - so we concentrate like hell upon those we miss. Nothing entrepreneurial about it. Nothing to spend. Only thoughts. Focused thoughts. We could even share those thoughts with those who we know miss them too…. We’d make phone calls.. Reconnect… Remember yesterday… Keep them ‘alive.’

Memorial Day started in 1860-something in Petersburg, VA due to a significant Civil War battle held nearby. It’s worthy. It should continue. Keep it. ‘Celebrate’ it. I, though, vote for the addition of “I Miss You” day.

All this passion, buildup has left me famished. I’m going to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich. Care for one? Oh, and raht after, goin’ to try to find my glove… Got 4 Royals tickets for next week. I ain’t too old for that am I?

Love, Victurd.

Tis the season to be jolly…..

Change. We don’t really like it - but it keeps us on our toes, and continually makes us adjust to life - which is always changing. Don’t believe change happens? Go to WalMart and try to find a waterbed heater. Go to Best Buy and try to find rabbit ears if ya ain’t got cable. Gee Wally, did those two things really happen? Yes, and screw you Eddy for laughing.

Late summer, and the livin’ is easy, kinda-sorta. If ya gotta hammock in the shade - ya pray for a breeze. Ya wear stuff that hopefully doesn’t show sweat when you’re sweaty. Ya get out and do, ‘cause ya know change is around the corner.

Shortsleeve crap is on sale in the stores, Pro football has already cranked up - and youth everywhere are readying themselves for a fall of football. Your favorite baseball team by now is either outta it, or in the thicka it.

As miserable as the intense heat can be, by God it’s summertime, and we’re gonna get out there. One more trip to the Lake. One more dip in the pool. Perhaps a last float trip. Water on the grass to extend it’s perennial life. Hack away now before the dust settles in on the golf clubs until late March…

Transition. Seasons. Life. Relationships. Work. Family. Friends. Neighborhoods. Neighbors. Plans. Goals. Plan B’s, Plan C’s. Defeats. Victories.

To repeat what momma said, “the secret to success is how you deal with Plan B.” Change. Adaptation. Gas, $2.65 a gallon. Gas, $3.19 a gallon. Milk/eggs, holy shit. Breakfast at HyVee up 150%. Holy shit.

Millions of Eskimos are saying “what change?”.. Reid and Soayna look out at the ocean blue, the waves, and say “what change?.. The 19 year old in Bagdad, asleep with his uni on, hugging his gun - wants change.

The married guy on the internet on the dating site for “friends with beni’s” wants change, but he ain’t got a good Plan B. The guy or gal in the wheelchair would love change - but they adapt instead.

The guy who transferred his family of six to Toledo, OH for $15K more a year - deals with the fact he’s changed his entire family’s life. The 51 year old guy who, just one week before was studying his 401K online, gets his walking papers, climbs into his $350 a month car, drives home to his $1300 a month house - and must deal with change.

The pair who were lost, and found one another at a ripe old age. The change of waking up with a smile, quenched, lost in love - a good change. Fielding that call “we’d like to offer you the position of…….”… Change. Good change.

John the penny man - his loop around the city to scarf up change.

Peeking in the undie drawer, no change. Shit. Time for laundry. Now where’d I put that change?

Changing a behavior, very difficult. Trying to get a son, daughter, sibling, parent to change a behavior - even tougher.

I love summer. Changes everything. As I age, and perhaps change, fall has just about become my fav. Repeating, Bill Cosby says “October is my favorite time of year… cause the flies get slow.” Fall likens life. There’s increased admiration for the day because you know shit is ahead.

Somehow, please try to make it through the remainder of the summer wouldya? I know it’ll be tough when you’re behind that lady in the tank top at the Piggly Wiggly and she must bend down to get the items outta her basket. Or, you chickies at WalMart who are forced to be behind the stallion in line in his gym shorts, tanned, and muscles stickin’ out allover.

Change is wonderful. Change sucks. We never have enough change. There’s always too much change. Don’t stand in the way of progress. Please don’t rain on my parade. I like the heat. I like the cool. I hate the shit. I love to sweat. Sweating is gross.

May you love life and it’s wonderful changes. Change the sheets often wouldya? If they’re ‘decorated’, I hate your guts you lucky bastard. Change someone’s face to a smile. Give yours so maybe it’ll change theirs.

Fastballs, curveballs, knucklers, splitters…. Change ups… Life, in the batter’s box, is grand.
Loveya, Victurd.

A little bit’a Monica in my life….

A little bit of Erica by my side
A little bit of Rita is all I need
A little bit of Tina is what I see
A little bit of Sandra in the sun
A little bit of Mary all night long
A little bit of Jessica here I am
A little bit of you makes me your man

Mambo Jambo - or Jumbo:

Big Ben has stopped. Oh shit. Ah, but it’s planned. They’re cleaning, repairing for ‘his’ One-hundred-fiftieth anniversary in 2009.

Idle thoughts: Was in Blockbuster today. Wonder whatinthehell they did with all the old VHS tapes?

What if, one day we run out of bar codes?

Reid and Soanya update: (This is the pair, he 55, she 23, sailing around the globe, thrice is goal, in attempt to pass the continuous world record of 600+ days, in their effort to go 1000 days… thus, their website 1000days.net. To refresh, they’ve already sailed thru a Naval Target Range, ran into a freighter in the dark, and have had mast problems.).. Day 109 Reid was “working up the mast” and “roasting nuts.” (I just copy and paste!)… Soanya was reading about the more esoteric aspects of yoga (huh??)… they’ve been admiring rainbows… Psyching up for their trip across the Southern Ocean (a supposed hellish sailing region).. Day 105 found them restocking certain food items, among them white beans, one of cut ziti pasta, one of fat medjool dates, one of make the morning oats good dried apricots, one of our staple lentils, one of can't go without goat's milk, and one of the delicious dessert halva. (By Day 2 I think I’da been screaming CHEEEEEEEESEBURGER PLLLLLLEEEEEEASSSEEEE! Goat’s milk? Fat medjood dates? Patooey!)

Thanks to a law pushed some time ago into action by the Alabama State Teachers Union, Alvin Penez Taylor (accused of raping a student - hasn’t taught in over two years) has received in excess of $100,000 in pay, and two raises. That ain’t right.

(Thanks Chuck Shepherd!) The representative from Boulder, Colo., in the National Spelling Bee in Washington, D.C., in May was 14-year-old Miss "Maithreyi Gopalakrishnan" (Put THAT on your Big Chief tablet!)

And you’re impressed by fake boobies? “Scientists at Italy's La Sapienza University announced in May that they had, for apparently the first time, surgically grafted a vagina (built with stem cells) onto a woman who had been born without one due to a rare condition.”

Headlines:

Man Texting While Driving Hits Man Texting While Walking

New Dad Thinks Baby May Be Gay…

Swimming Pool and Water Stolen From Yard

I have an 18x35 inground pool in my backyard. I’d love to sell this house. Can’t. Pool ain’t got liner, and I ain’t got the extra $5K to buy new liner. Why couldn’t they’ve picked my house?

Wow… You made it here. You oughta get some kinda award. This was some pretty boring crap. Tune in tomorrow when the topic will be: How Victurd went the entire 100+ degree weekend without shaving or showering, mowed yard, cleaned house, cut down trees - and the reactions from Piggly Wiggly customers putrefied by walking past this stinky/smelly man down the aisles late Sunday night.. Hehe. A ripe topic I think.

Mambo No.5
Jump up and down go and move it all around
Shake your head to the sound
Put your hand on the ground
Take one step left
And one step right
One to the front and one to the side
Clap your hands once
And clap your hands twice
And if it looks like this
Then you are doing it right

A little bit of Monica in my life
A little bit of Erica by my side
A little bit of Rita is all I need
A little bit of Tina is what I see
A little bit of Sandra in the sun
A little bit of Mary all night long
A little bit of Jessica here I am
A little bit of you makes me your man


Mambo No.5
I do all
To fall in love with a girl like you
You can't run and you can't hide
You and me gonna touch the sky

Happy Saturday night. Go. Hopeya get laid. Hope ya seeya soul mate. Hopeya get a wonderful email. Hopeya hug. Hopeya smile. Enough already Victor, just go. Poof. Love, Victurd.

The gentle giant....

Jackson. He’s our Maine Coon cat. Ok, I know there are cat haters here, we’ve had this discussion before. So run along if you like, I certainly won’t be offended.

Many many years ago I’d never been around cats. When I married, I dunno, 1982 or so, it’s was a friggin’ package deal with her, a 5 yr old son (I dearly love), and two teenage Maine Coon cats. It didn’t take long to really really love the entire package.

Muppet and Dylan - of course being teenagers in 1982, are no longer here - only in memories and pics.. Muppet’s demise came from a car tire (never let another cat outside after that) and Dylan died simply from aging. I was there. It weren’t fun to see. At this point I’d like to say God Bless my ex and her sister for being with my sister when she expired - or any of you who’ve been there - I can’t imagine how tough it would be…

Dylan, in the waning times, would act like he was playing hide and seek - and not ever having watched a cat in those final years, months, days - I wasn’t aware this was his way to say “just let me go.”

Roughly 1994, my ex sister inlaw was onea the spearheaders for the Tri Lakes Area Humane Society. For you non-Baldknobber sonsabitches, that’s the Branson area… Having had two wonderful Maine Coons - wanted another. She watched and watched and watched for one…

Finally… I’ll never forget the day she brought him. Jackson. No idea how old he was. Caged for the 5 hours ride. Plopped the cage in the floor - opened the door, he took three steps out, laid down as if he’d lived there his entire life, and simply kicked back.

That’s Jackson. Maine Coons are longhairs, gorgeous (I know, I’m biased), they ‘talk’, and it’s like they live life on valium. Nothing bothers ‘em. Well, almost nothing. Jackson is quite fond of the same ole same ole 9 Lives (special blend to stave off urinary tract infection) cat food. I mean I love love peanut butter. But every day since 1994? I don’t think so. Hell I couldn’t even keep a woman that long!

So…….. When I arise in the morning. Having to pee so bad I’m literally doing the pee pee dance - the entry to the bathroom is blocked. Uh huh, Jackson. Tail is up straight. (Pissed, wanting fed.) Scratch that. DEMANDING to be fed. In and out of my feet guiding me into the kitchen to his bowl, the wonderful since 1994 bag of 9 lives. Then, he’s cool.

He loves play, I think. He digs on strings and shoelaces, and the fugger never found a box he couldn’t fit in. He’s slept in boxes from purchases of microwaves, toasters, washers/dryers, shoes, Christmas/Birthday presents, yada yada yada. “Where’s Jackson?” In the box, he’s in the box.

During play, he’ll grabya hard, but the claws don’t come out. Amazing how he controls that. If you’ve over extended play time, or perhaps to match the roughness of your play, every once in awhile the claws remind you who’s in charge.

He greets you in the morning. Kindofa turned head, kinda-sorta meow (“rheow”) - noise.. And you hear it again upon entering from work day done - and of course when saying nighty nights.

Jackson is playing hide and seek. Who knows the year, months, days left. He’s impacted me - for the good. I’ve learned from him. He’s my buddy. He’s given me more smiles than Jerry Seinfeld. He’s taught me calm in dealing with my son. He demonstrates life is for play, for living.

Yes, it’s been a good long life - and it happens to all of us. The hide and seek thing makes one stop and think about life. This is the cats way - and I think perhaps it’s presented to us as a reminder on how not to live out our remaining years.

Let’s go. Do. Be. Have. Give. Wish. Dream. Play. Get along. Run. Walk. Talk. Compliment. Thank. Smile. Find a box to get in, a slide to go down, a swing to swing. Ole Jackson would want it that way.

Damn. Not long ago we had four. Bobbie, pristine - Saks…. Stripe, kinda cool, but like irregular clothing - Kmart… Figgie (still got, he and Jax) - the Fig is cross-eyed, runs into walls, fridges, cabinets and keeps going - Dollar General…

And Jackson. Cool. Calm. Everyone loves him - WalMart.

I hereby promise to double up on the pets/attention whilst I can.

Love, Victurd.

Hey?... Can I put you on hold a sec?

So Victor, you haven’t mentioned the gym of late, whatsup with that?… I’m sorry, just got outta the shower…water in my ear… now what’d you say?

How are those work projects coming around the house? Was that the doorbell? Brb…

I remember you were living week to ‘weak’… did you ever go online and find that budget thingy you were gonna do?… Geez, wait a sec, it’s the toppa the 7th, two outs, Royals got runners on first and third…

That linoleum lady… ever ask her out again? OH OH OH, gotta Charlie horse - gonna walk/stretch justa minute - hold that thought…

So… have you gotten laid? I CAN’T HEAAAAAR YOUUUUUU….

It sucks to be me. ‘Cept, I’m fitty-four, eh, prolly selfish.. Prolly NOT Victor Mature…It’s like I tell me son - whenever he asks (which is virtually any time I move) “where you going pops?” AnyGDwhere I want. I’m fitty four.

I actually am enjoying life now. (Victor, you pathetic Pollyanna bastard you.) No, really I am. You know what I did at lunch today? I emailed 7 co-workers to see if they wanted to go get fast food for lunch, go to the park and be festive… And, with this heat we’re having, did they like block your future emails? No, KMA, they didn’t. Five of us went - we damn near hada wreck en route to Arby’s 5 for $5.95.. We cranked the radio, as if we were 20-something.. We told stupid jokes/stories.. And somehow every lunchtime conversation gets back to sphincters.. Why is that?

THEN.. Picnic table was in shade… was breeze (FU to those that didn’t bite on offer).. We laughed s’more and s’more… we went down the circular slide thingy (after we shooed the GD snotnoses away).. We actually swung on the swings.. (The last time you did that huh huh?) We cranked the music even MORE… and as we pulled back into the prison - The Eagles 7 Bridges came on… WE CRANKED IT EVEN MORE.. Victor, you’re 54... My friggin’ point exactly.

A special hour, amongst five friends… mean age, prolly early 40’s, being kids again.

Did you ever order a new $4000 pool liner for your 18 x 35 inground pool? Oh SHIT, I think I left my smokes at the park… back in a sec….

THE RACOONS? I’M DYING TO FIND OUT ABOUT THE RACOONS? Say, did you see those PITA dudes hangin’ out at Michael Vicks over his reported cruel and inhumane treatment of those dogs?

You’ll never change Victor, will you? Well.. I once heard the only time to change a man is when he’s a baby….

Your behavior is revolting Victor… YES, and sometimes kinky… sometimes perverted… sometimes LOUD… mostly teasingly… almost always fun… never too GD deep… oft reflective of life of old…. Happy…. Smiley… Non-stop go go go… living life with a shit-eatin’ grin, I’ve found - rocks….

Just what I thought… avoidance behavior… HEY WAIT!.. I SEE THE JEHOVAH'S!!!! THEY'RE COMING UP MY WALK!!! YIPPEEE!!!

To everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
A time to build up, a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
A time to gain, a time to lose

A time to rend, a time to sew
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of peace, I swear it’s not too late

Ok, Terry’s off the slide now… my turn… hold that thought… I’ll brb….

Love, Victurd

Tattoo's...........

I don’t have one. I’ve always joked, if I ever were to get one, I’d get an eentsie-teentsie one “down there” that said “morticians suck” - ‘cause ya gotta go down makin’ em laugh.

Tattoo’s are indelible. Ya can’t change them. Oh sure, you can go back and have something written over, try to wipe it out - but it’s there……. Forever.

I’m gonna sound old here, but, it’s my take we think differently virtually every decade of our life. What would look cool on our arm at 21, might really suck at age 40. Mebbe, mebbe not.

The kinda tattoo’s I wanted to talk about though.. Are behaviors.. How we behave, react, deal with, follow thru (or not), day-to-day actions - of how we deal with life.

Hearda fable one time about the feller that said HORRIBLE things to a loved one, day after day, year after year… Finally, the loved one said “hey, each time you say something wicked or evil or improper… go hammer a nail in the wooden fence out back.” So, over the course of time, the fence got more decorated, and less and less wood exposed.

“Now” said the older fart, as the young one had aged, “when you do something for the good, say something for the good - please go pull a nail outta the fence.”

So - after some length of time, one by one the nails were pulled - the demeanor/actions/behaviors of the nail feller changed - and he’d finally gotten down to the last nail.

Cheerfully, he spouted “I DID IT! LOOK! THE NAILS ARE ALL GONE!”…. to which the older (and of course wiser) one responded, “sure… but do you see those holes? Those ‘scars’? There’s no repair to those." Indelible. Tattoos.

Jane you ignorant slut, I’m talking to Victor here too. Not preaching, not lecturing… I’m telling - and hopefully I'm listening too.

We can’t take back an oral statement. We can’t take back body language. We can’t take back the years where the bridge has caught on fire… We can’t take back lack of concern about a friend, loved one, by allofasudden, showing love, concern. The scars, the tattoos, they’re their forever.

As we walk toward the end of the day, and head to bed at night - in retrospect, lets us look at the day, the 'scorecard.' If I/you’ve placed a nail in the fence - it’s ok, we’re human. But, please let us all remember tomorrow that the nails leave a scar - a tattoo - indelible.

Believe me, there’ve been many times in my life when I’ve wanted to rent a nail gun and go ratta-tat-tat on an individual… a ‘friend’… a loved one… a co-worker… but it ain’t worth it. Tattoos are forever. The nail in the fence leaves the scar. There’s no repair, no taking back. Irreversible.

Today really really sucked for me. I had my hammer out and I was ready to pound. Loved one did pound some nails - very hard - but I resisted the urge to pound back (but I did have my staple gun out ready for ratta-tat-tat!!!)

THE one and only one I thought had a handle on my job performance and how it relates to our company’s profits - questioned me today. I stood my ground, asked for specifics (was never given any) and basically said I was offended by his actions. Mebbe I tattooed, I dunno - he certainly did.

Yesterday - someone sent me a message, simply of “sweet dreams.” We take that for granted. CJ, when you turnover at night and offer that to Bobby, please know how special it is.

We single turds - having no one to offer ‘sweet dreams’ too - (as well as you married/in a relation folks too) having nothing more to think of when we retire than “did I tattoo anything in life today?”… “Did I hammer a nail in the fence?”… “Have I caused a scar?”… “:Did I do anything indelible?”

Life, really is great - even if the nails are put into our own sole. Lord knows we could setup historical examples on that one.

May you have few scars, and even fewer that you’ve created. Tis ok, we all create them, some, just at a more rapid pace. Long as we’re knowledgeable in doing so - they’re reduced, cutback.

Make a great indelible mark on life. Say no to ratta-tat-tat. Try some kinda filler on the nail holes you have on your person.. Forgive… Calm is good.

Still………. Morticians suck…. Love, Victurd!

But then again..........

I sweat and sweat and wipe it all off… phew, mid-August… but then I thinka the roofer putting tar atop the roof 5 days a week, 8 hours a day…

I look at Pedro (my ahem) and feel sorry for all his inactivity of late (of the past year, of the past six friggin years!) but then I thinka John Bobbit.

I thinka the mundane same ole same ole my life has been of late - then I thinka Reid and Soanya (the 55 yr old dude, 23 yr old dudette attempting to sail continuously for 1000 consecutive days - they’re on day 106) and how they ain’t seen shit different in a long, long time. Newness for them is a fish following the boat.

I thinka my friends as they go from the exhilaration of new relationships - to where they get to the point of “looking at the house they were gonna settle in a second time” and noticing the cracks, the this-n-that that ain’t perfect. But then I think for one to finally enjoy the zest when IT IS right, we’ve got to overcome the hurdles when it ain’t.

I thinka a co-worker who tries their ass off, then they have an oversight and feel like crap about it… but then, there are those in employ who can’t do much more than alphabetize files - and at least the oversight is lessened because at least they ‘get it.’

I remember back to “missionary or nothing” from awhilst back, and feel sorry for myself… then I thinka gay men. Them poor sumbitches never getta face one another. Hehe.

I get depressed when I logon to my bank site and see how much money I don’t have… then I think John The Penny Man in our hometown. He was mentally affected many moons ago when a gun someone was cleaning went off and hit him in the head. He walks, and walks, and walks, miles and miles every day checking each pop machine coin slot, every machine in every Laundromat in our town - and he’s tickled if by 8pm he’s got enough to buy a pop at the Corner Bar. (Thankfully, if it’s been a bad day, suckers like me pitch in.)

The little boy who didn’t have the latest/greatest version of Nike’s felt sorry for himself until he saw the kid with holes in his shoes. That kid felt sorry for himself until he saw the barefooted kid. He bemoaned about that until he saw the kid with no feet.

No matter the turn, no matter how low, no matter how bad it seems to get -we’re fortunate to be here. I SALUTE you all. (MAN am I glad I’m not John Bobbit.) Love, Victurd.

Oh shit.....

Shit here being slang for “stuff.’ Oh stuff..

Oh is a fun word…. It’s said when people realize something. It can be a pronounced observation for the number zero.. It can be the abbreviation for the State of Ohio……

Seinfeld and cast utilized the “oh” word the best… Twas used in placea thoughts, and we knew what thoughts they were thinking….

There’s Sadaharo Oh, the great Japanese home run slugger….

McCartney’s Oh Darling hit the top of the charts… There’s Oh! Oxygen Network, Oh Yeah! Cartoons on Nickelodeon..

We say ‘oh’ mattera factly when learning something…

When someone gossips dirt on another (“I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time”) we’re taken back, hand to our chest, gulp, and spout out “ohhhh.”

When rumors afloat of “why do you think Suzie spends so much time in Arnie’s office?” Ohhh…

A realization. A summation. A response.. Can even be a tad bit judgmental..

Ohhhhhh, I see.

Homer adds a D infronta his.. D’oh! (The boy did it!)….

Oh shit (we get an overdraft in the mail.)

Oh shit (car pulls out infronta us.)

Oh DAMMIT (hammer hits finger insteada nail head.)

Oh oh oh oh ohhhhh ohhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhh OHHHHHHHH OHHHHHHH YES! YES! (well, you know that one.)

Men, I understand, use the oh thingy, but I hear there are ughs and ga’s in there too.. Oh, oh, ohhhh, ugggh, uggggh, ohhhhhhh, gaaaaa, gaaaaa, #$^&*&*#%$%$^&%!!!!

Huck sang “oh ma darling oh ma darling.”

Oh can be used to highlite conviction: "OH YES THEY DO!" "OH YES HE IS!" "OH NO YOU DON'T"

Oh ma’am, you left your purse..

Oh my, I didn’t know that.

Oh’s even in OMG. (fear, disbelief, surprise, anger, pain.)

In Russia, oh is o. Spanish = ah. Norwegian = a (with a dot over it) German = ach

Oh they’re coming to take me away hee hee ha ha ho ho….

Oh thanks, but I’m staying at home tonight…

Ohhh Lucy…

Oh rocks… it allows us to express our feelings without having to get jiggy wit it… it helps us finish in sex… it assists us in learning… it’s like a pinprick into the balloon of frustration whilst driving…. It gives us time to thinka what we wanna say… it comes off as if we at least have some interest in what a boring person is telling us…

Oh, I gotta go. Do you think Sue and Arnie really….. OH MG… (Can’t you just see that BIF nekkie?!!! BIF, btw, is this lady‘s physique… you know.. Butt in front..) Oh my. Oh shit. Oh ma darling. Oh darling.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh, you don’t have to go oh oh oh oh oh… Oh but yes I do. I’m oh’ed out. Oh-ver. Done, finito. Oh-K. Until next time oh wonderful blog reader… Love, Victurd.

Ya think he went just to checkout the melons?

My neighbors happen to be Caucasian, like me. My buddy Dave’s neighbors happen to be African American, like him. I drive through the West side of Kansas City, happens to be predominantly Mexican. Go to the casino, see groups of Asians, all probably happen to live amongst the rest.

I go to happy hour, at an all white bar, wonder what the view is from Dave’s shoes to be the only black man there. I talked to my friend Kathie, who’d gone to an all African American joint, she the only white there - and I wondered the view from her shoes, the other customer’s shoes. (“It was all good once they realized I was there just for a good time like them.”)

My son talks of his co-workers, mostly African American, and them talking about “life in the hood.” “Where do you live ‘Maynard’? “ Liberty. (Suburbia.) “Wow, there’s a buncha prejudice up there ain’t there?”

After I’d done the HyVee breakfast thing - I was so agonizing over the mundane pattern of life of late - and I needed a quick change. I know, to the City Market. It’s 10:30am though.. Probably most are gone.. They’re wrapping up booths… I went. I was wrong, hell, hadta park four blocks away it was so damn crowded.

The City Market is a football field sized place where vendors, all makes and walks - come to sell their fares. Squash, zucchini, melons, cucumbers, beans, tomatoes, parsley sage rosemary and thyme, bitter melons, honey melons, watermelons, sprouts, plants, flowers, jewelry, T-shirts, custom signs, beads, soul food, Italian food, Mexican food, Thai food, Sushi. There was even a baby wading pool filled with soda pop - the mastermind of two twelve year olds. At a buck apiece, if they sold 400 this morning, that’s a $100 apiece profit for them. Beats the hell outta a lemonade stand. (But you could get that there too.)

A rectangle of Ethnic grocery stores, clothing joints, musicians with a donation can in fronta them (today was harpist and violinist.)

Then three long pavilions inbetween where folks trudged to peek at the vendor’s ware. The sellers were Amish, Caucasians, African Americans, Philippians, Japanese, Chinese, Italians, Muslims, Hippies, etc, etc, kids of all of the above - dressed as their clan dressed - hawking the goods. Handwritten signs galore. Hustling service with a smile, and on this 95 degree day, perhaps a drop or two of perspiration.

I bumped into, due to the large crowd and the confined quarters, fat people, old people, young people, happy people, stoic people, tall people, pregnant people, gay people, people wearing too much, people barely wearing anything at all, people wearing all kindsa hats, t-shirts, dresses, people that couldn’t speak English, whiney kids, kids having a blast, white people, black people, brown people, yellow people, red people.

And it works. No confrontation. No terse words. Peaceful Coexistence. A thing of beauty. All there are just people, and the labels (unless you’re sucking it all in to perhaps write about it later) are forgotten at the time.

As I was headed to my car, I took one last lap around the joint - and smiled - at least inwardly, as I went. I even pushed the GD Pollyanna envelope as I passed by a middle aged, fairly heavy set African American woman’s booth fulla necklaces… as I passed, she flashed this wonderful, wonderful smile. Still within earshot, I hollered “you gotta great smile!” “THANK YOU” she responded back. I hoped it helped make her day - I know the place help make my day.

Many here are old fart singles, trying to find that forever melon, or forever cucumber…. It was simply fun to people watch, veg out, and take it all in with the eyeballs. Rainbows are beautiful, even if sometimes they’re associated with storms.

Loveya, Victurd

Nine lives?

There could be a hitch in my get along. I did it again. Did what again? I coughed so long, and so continuous, there just wasn’t enough oxygen to keep the old man upright. What?

I’m up to three, count ‘em three of these episodes…

Reprinted with permission from Victurd on the first two… (Was dating Gracie/Debbie at the time.. ‘twas in her car):

I would drive straight from the lake some 2 and 1/2 hours to make it to work... I was going in at noon... Burger King, some 8 miles from work.. I grabbed a French Fry, put it in my mouth as I turned back onto the ramp to the Interstate.. noticed some Type A person within inches of my bumper behind me.. and I choked on the French Fry.. I remember choking, I remember as I tried like crazy to get some oxygen "I can't get any oxygen." Then there was the sensation-like of being underwater (Katy-Bar the door, this sonofabitch HAS flipped out on us) and the next thing I remember, I'm sitting in a grassy knoll (hmmm).. exactly 40' below the ramp where I just was... exactly twelve inches from a humongous concrete ravine... and I was breathing. (I can't remember the French fries ending - whether it went down or ended up somewhere on the floorboard.)... Anyways, I was scared shitless. No, not because I stopped breathing - but because I had gained Debbie's trust and I had just veered off the on-ramp, plummeted 40 some feet STRAIGHT DOWN.. and there I sat. Not a sole stopped to help. I imagined there was some "did you see that fucking old geezer? he just flew off the ramp, down the hill...whyinthefuck do we continue to stamp their plates year after year?"... Victor, this paragraph is too long... start another... Ok.

So, there I was.. Clothes dry (no pee, no completely soaked from the 'underwater' experience.. I got out, looked around the car. This is a nice, newer car. Years from having the checkenginelight come on. Anyways, no visible damage so I pulled it onto the outer road and into a church parking lot to re-inspect... Outta all that, all I found was a few chunks of grass embedded in the front bumper from when the car hit the gully and abruptly went from due South to dead North. Gracie was wonderful about it.. I'd wondered if there were any out there that might notta even mentioned it.. but I knew I had to... A few weeks later, the AC quit working (oh shit).. A month later, Gracie was putting makeup on during her drive from work. (Why do women do that? Also wonder why do women always announce when they go pee?).. Anyways, makeup - so she pulled the visor down.. opened it.. Hot damn... I guess when I hit the gully (due South to dead North) my head musta hit the visor/mirror because it was cracked in about three places. (Hell, that probably coincided with the demise of the French Fry.) Again, she was cool...

My second near death experience... (SCREW YOU... I am NOT ready for assisted living yet!).. New Year's Eve... I had had a total of exactly two beers,ie, not drunk. I'd had bronchitis so I'd been choking and coughing in concert with the '93 Taurus... I remember standing - Gracie was seated - and I remember coughing so hard that I again had trouble getting oxygen and thought to myself "I'm having trouble getting oxygen." It wasn't a classic 'fall'. I kinda went limp (NO, there is no correlation to my sex life here... screw you!).. anyways... limp.. slowly to knees... soon to be followed by laying flat on the floor... I wasn't 'underwater' but I woke up quickly and there staring at me was Gracie and Kent.. She'd hollered for help and it was there in a flash.. I was absolutely fine when my eyes opened... I am 'new' to this group. Whilst I went to high school with several of them - they all have maintained weekly contact since - I hadn't... So.. as I pulled myself up to the barstool Joy asked "Victor... Victor.. are you Ok?... Can we get you ANYTHING?"... My brain musta been still short on oxygen cause I replied "yeah.. a do-over?"...

Then, I started coughing at computer last night.. Next thing I remember - waking up (and I’d looked at the clock not too long prior - so I was out only like a minute) laying on the bedroom floor. My neck hurt like hell… I felt it… Blood… Allover… I had a nifty sized gash.. Got this wicker thingy, roughly a foot and a half tall, three feet long.. The corners have these wonderful brass thingies to give it strength or beauty or sumpin. That’s what my neck musta met. Embarrassed, my son came in not long after.. He helped me clean the wound - and bandage it… All we had was white tape and gauze - so - this morning I hadta swing by Piggly Wiggly to get some bandaids…

Fortunately, it wasn’t bleeding this morning (a couplea dots on the paper towel I’d brought with me to wipe off)… bought some small bandaids, and life was again good. Ceptin’ I answered 42 times at work “what happened” and each and every time I lied and said “was sitting at computer this morning, had bath towel around me, got up, tripped.” Forgive me Father for I told white lie. I coughed so damned hard I passed out.

So… my choices are: A) Go see a doctor and figure this shit out… B) Forget the whole damn thing and carry on… or C) Thank my lucky stars I’m still here - and kinda-sorta keep it in the backa my mind so I’ll remember to live/love every minute.

I’ll take Door C. I know I know. I know it’s a combination of cigs and not eating right, drinking right, irregular sleep - and the cost I pay for living on the edge. Hardheaded. (Soft neck, in fact it hurts like a sonofagun right now). For change to happen, it has to happen within, and I just ain’t quite sure I’m ready for that.

So, if some year you happen by checkenginelight and you look and think “hmmm, that old sonofabitch ain’t written since such-n-sucha date” it’s because I’ve made it through my 9th live.

At that point, please say the prayer “my goodness, I hope he got laid before he keeled.”
(Oh, and sprinkle a small amount of the ashes where the old horse stables were - wink, wink!)
Love, we choke our own chickens, Victurd.

On second thought......

The moments, they be-a precious…

Buddy Bell, the manager of the Kansas City Royals, announced today he was resigning at the end of the season to spend time with family… This is a man, my age roughly (36.…. Ok, FU, 54) who has spent damn near 2/3rds of his life in a baseball uniform… the day he retired as a player - he wouldn’t take his uniform off until 6:30 in the morning because he was sad at the thought…

Buddy is currently in remission from throat cancer… He’s got a host of grandkids he hasn’t spent time with in who-knows-when, and he’s got a 21 year old daughter who has Down’s Syndrome… Buddy specifically listed her as one of the main reasons he was calling it quits from the day-to-day 200+ day continuous grind of life on the road and at the ballpark “working” - even when home…

Tonight, with the bridge tragedy in Minneapolis, they’ve decided to postpone tomorrow’s game between Kansas City and the Minnesota Twins..

On second thought, life is more important than baseball, work, school, what the boss thinks of us, where we are on the ladder, whether we have a garage or not and how many damn doors it has… Bling takes a backseat.. Common sense prevails…

As one walks thru a cemetery - please look for company names on headstones… also peek to see if you find “well… their marriage sacrificed some, but due to his/her persistence, they managed to own a home with 4,750 square feet“…

Whilst my emotional intelligence (eh, you’d have to have read here before) sucks (so they say) I really think I’ve latched on to at least understanding the brevity with which we’re here.

I’m probably too “wussy” (some would say) but I’ve found soooooo rewarding to say things like “WHAT THE HELL’S WRONG WITH YOU, YOU’RE ALWAYS HAPPY?”… or.. Today… was talking to lady in Long Beach, California… she’s the head honcho of a humongous Ocean Port Operation - but she answers the phone as any scribe would -- and you couldn’t smack the upbeatedness off her face/voice with a ball peen hammer. So I told her so. “Patrice, please know how much I enjoy working with you.. And I’m amazed every time we speak how happy and upbeat you are - I love working with you.” (Victor, you GD wussy.) I don’t care, she earned it.

We have choices. I know I know - I bitch about those that bitch - so I’m right in the same GD lane they are when I do… but for the most part - every second is a gift. We choose how to deal with it. We can frown, grow wrinkles, die, and have a sparse crowd at our funeral…. Or we can tell life “go ahead and try to knock the good mood outta me you mother fucker - I simply won’t allow you to do that.”

Buddy Bell chose never to berate his players publicly. Buddy never got too up on the ups, nor too down on the downs. (Passion, he did have passion though - I think he got thrown out of like 55 ball games.) He’s understood how fleeting life is. He’s making changes - and I feel for the good.

The Minnesota Twins, perhaps sacrificing a crowd of 30,000 people that spend on average $50-$80 a person on parking, tickets, hot dogs, soda pops, brewskies, pretzels, bobbleheads, etc - understand life and the value of.

I’ll take wussy. I’ll grit my teeth and hold back when I hear bitching about co-workers, how the restaurant food was cooked, the service, how shitty the mate is, how low the bank balance is… and I’ll try to enjoy. (Victor, are you fucking preaching AGAIN?)

No. Time and again, I’ve said one of the reasons I write is to remind my own damn self - life is good - but I/we have to allow it to be.

Thank you for being here. (If anyone really enjoyed this and would like to jump my buns to further enhance the wonderfulness of life - please call me at 867-5309. You can even have "sexual bunkbed" choice - top/bottom. K?) Or, on second thought, have a (make it) a nice day. Love, Victurd.