Oh this may piss somea you off…
Figuring out women. I don’t think, there is sucha E = MC2 formula for gals.
Unique. NOT like a Doris Day movie. Fragile, the porcelain doll.
Stubborn (just shoot me). Fickle.
Men live. They go, they do. They poop, they pee. They exist. They fart. They work. They come home from work. They fix the doorbell. They mend the fence. They mow the yard. They check the fluids in both cars. They go, go, go, and finally their bodies tell them “hungry.”
Women. I can’t wear these shoes. I can’t think from these feet. I ain’t real sure what they think.
Men think in Times New Roman size 14 type. Women are all Arial, #8. There’s so much difference in cave man versus “Sex in the City” it’s truly pathetic.
We (the ones with “thingy’s”) don’t go thru life with blinders - but we do pretty much basically go thru life with Eat, Sleep, Be Nice.
Women are more “I’ll do this really really special for them… and see if he notices”… “I’ve spent over two hours infronta the mirror, let’s see what he says”… “I saw this, it reminded me of ‘us’, I’m gonna set it out, not say anything - and when he notices, yeah baby, I’ll JUMP HIM.”
We men, again, we eat, we sleep, we try to be nice. So we mighta skipped over one or two’o those things. “Twas not with intent, ‘twas not because we don’t appreciate you/what you do.
So, tears set in, shoulders are slapped, and whilst she crawls into an 18 hour “leave me alone” tirade, we’re stuck with trying to relive the day, the events, exactly whatinthehell just happened, and why it turned things so topsy-turvy.
I just spent the last two days with a woman - and it was admittedly very nice. No, not “that”. Pervert, figured you’d ask.
We spent roughly 10+ hours together in the last two days on her porch swing - and there ain’t no betta place to get to know one-another. Yes, “the younger one.” After the initial trip to pee - I actually didn’t look in the mirror and ask “what are you doing here you dumbass” - it was all good. Comfy, natural.
I didn’t take chemistry in High School, nor college. As far-fetched as it might sound that someone born in the fitties, could be so comfy with someone born in the seventies - it was actually not even noticed. Two people, not two ages. I was myself (even though en route I took ice and tried to ‘puff up’ the bags under my eyes)..
7-10:30pm last night, very nice BBQ…
1pm today… beers and the porch swing… for several hours… it was all good.. Laughter.. Fun.. Yes, even touch…
She’s a good mom, who happens to be in extreme financial distress. (Scroll to yesterday’s blog “I can’t be no sugar daddy”)….
When finances were ultimately discussed - I was basically told it was time for me to leave. GD the preacher man.
So there are people out there who look solely for bucks? I rectum so. Didn’t we just like kiss and it was really kinda-very nice? It’s just a second date, and neither of us is even certain if a third is warranted - but ain’t it a little premature to add up “not very much” with “not very much” to decipher “this shit ain’t gonna work?”
I’m glad actually, this happened so early. If u read the blog yesterday, I wasn’t sure if I was turning into “heaven ever after”, “a dead end”, or perhaps “an illusion.”
We’re all shallow on certain things I rectum. Leave I did, but not huffy. Hell, I even wrote off a 12-pack of beer on the whole deal.
As I was leaving, she said something to the effect of “Good bye Victor, I had a REALLY nice time”.. I didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge..
Left me wondering. Why, when eyeballs line up, when hearts apparently are congruent, when this smile affords/propels that smile - it turns to shit.
I take the positive of all this. Yes, it is possible for me to look another in the eyes and be smitten. Yes, I still will melt upon a smile. Yes, they still “fit” up under the arm.
But I’m back at square one as to figuring out women. There be any kinda manual on that?
Men are men. Women are unique. Dammit. May not sound fun, but it’s the friggin truth.
Undaunted, I go to tomorrow carrying the hopes (the “what keeps me going”) that “I’ve yet to be in the best relationship I’ve ever been in.” Don’t mean anything personal by that Perijo and Marilyn - just parta figuring out the female psyche.
Softball tomorrow, yippee. In a way, I’m glad it ain’t coed. Leaving now. Going to eat, sleep and be nice. It’s all I know. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Of clay and turns…
I enjoy Mr. Tom Cochrane’s “Life is a Highway.” I’m onea them “half-hearted” listeners. It’s always been too strenuous to capture/record/recite words of songs exactly as they come outta the mouths of the artists. Until three minutes ago, I had no idea whointhehell wrote this song. Until two minutes ago, I had no idea the exact lyrics.
What I thought I heard was “Life is a highway… I did it my way - all night long.” Now I can’t read music - but, like scanning the headlines of the newspaper - I gets a general drift of whatinthehell’s going on - and I never know exactly whatinthehell is said - I just know music makes me ‘feel.’
At conception, we start in the belly - formulation. For nine months - we combine halfa this and halfa that to become us. Soon after, the ‘potters’ bend us, shape us, anyway you want us. Long as you love me, it’s alright.
One day, the two primary points of this triangle lose their pull - and it’s our job to REALLY become who we is. This age varies a lot - and sometimes, it ain’t even a triangle that’s formed us - as perhaps one parent never was there.. There sporadically.. Even worse, simply gone.
One would think - there’d be a certain point, a certain age - where the gosh darn “piece of art” is completed - you know exactly what it is, what it stands for, where it’s going, and what it’s gonna do.
We pick routes. Sometimes they lead us to heaven on earth - and sometimes we reach dead ends. Some even drive up to illusions, settle in - and one day fall off the shelf and the clay is shattered.
It’s back to that day of separation. Whothehell am I, what do I stand for, where am I going, and what am I gonna do. Time, the sun, wind, rain, conditions strengthened us - and allofasudden it’s “ruh roh.”
I tremendously enjoy this highway of life. I look thru the windshield so much more in wonder than I usedta. I usedta just go, do, not think about it. Whatever happened, happened. I was pretty much molded by others.
Now I’m the potter, and the subject is me. Kinda skeery, kinda cool, I’m in charge. What usedta be run, dive, splash - is now tip-toe, dip the foot in the water.. Is it ok? Do I want this? Is it an oasis or an illusion? Dead end mebbe?
Sometimes it’s like being in a Haunted House - vision don’t help - u just feel your way along. Sometimes it’s like a go-cart with a governor and walls that enclose. Sometimes it’s like a Golden Retriever in an open field.
I never was artsy. Like Rainman, I’m an excellent driver - but as I age, there’s more car lengths inbetween on purpose. It ain’t so much about the gettin’ there as it is “the goin.”
We have our Creator. We have our parents. We’re temporarily led by friends as youths. We then either coexist, compromise, build - or, scrap the project and start anew.
Papa was a rolling stone. Wherever he laid his hat was his home. I ain’t so sure I’ll ever finish “the project.” I do, however, love the feel of fresh, wettened clay in my hands. I enjoy, inspitea $4 a gallon gas, making whichever turn whenever I wanna. Who knows if the day will come we’ll pull our easels closer in attempt to coexist, compromise, build together. Is this the right person riding shotgun, or do I hit the eject button?
How for art thou? I dunno, I ain’t finished. Life is a highway, I did it my way all night long.
Eggs, triangles, mimicking, molding, emulating, tippy-toeing, walking out on the diving board, diving in, turning around, being knocked off the shelf, fresh clay, better - more concentrated vision/thoughts - it’s all a pop quiz as we go.
One day, I’ll know what I wanna be when I grow up. Mebbe not steadfastly, but I’ll get there. Don’t know about you, but I’m enjoying the hell outta the ride - inspitea the occasional potholes, detours, one-way streets, car troubles and fender benders.
It’s all about clay and turns. Art you in agreeance? Love, Victurd.
I enjoy Mr. Tom Cochrane’s “Life is a Highway.” I’m onea them “half-hearted” listeners. It’s always been too strenuous to capture/record/recite words of songs exactly as they come outta the mouths of the artists. Until three minutes ago, I had no idea whointhehell wrote this song. Until two minutes ago, I had no idea the exact lyrics.
What I thought I heard was “Life is a highway… I did it my way - all night long.” Now I can’t read music - but, like scanning the headlines of the newspaper - I gets a general drift of whatinthehell’s going on - and I never know exactly whatinthehell is said - I just know music makes me ‘feel.’
At conception, we start in the belly - formulation. For nine months - we combine halfa this and halfa that to become us. Soon after, the ‘potters’ bend us, shape us, anyway you want us. Long as you love me, it’s alright.
One day, the two primary points of this triangle lose their pull - and it’s our job to REALLY become who we is. This age varies a lot - and sometimes, it ain’t even a triangle that’s formed us - as perhaps one parent never was there.. There sporadically.. Even worse, simply gone.
One would think - there’d be a certain point, a certain age - where the gosh darn “piece of art” is completed - you know exactly what it is, what it stands for, where it’s going, and what it’s gonna do.
We pick routes. Sometimes they lead us to heaven on earth - and sometimes we reach dead ends. Some even drive up to illusions, settle in - and one day fall off the shelf and the clay is shattered.
It’s back to that day of separation. Whothehell am I, what do I stand for, where am I going, and what am I gonna do. Time, the sun, wind, rain, conditions strengthened us - and allofasudden it’s “ruh roh.”
I tremendously enjoy this highway of life. I look thru the windshield so much more in wonder than I usedta. I usedta just go, do, not think about it. Whatever happened, happened. I was pretty much molded by others.
Now I’m the potter, and the subject is me. Kinda skeery, kinda cool, I’m in charge. What usedta be run, dive, splash - is now tip-toe, dip the foot in the water.. Is it ok? Do I want this? Is it an oasis or an illusion? Dead end mebbe?
Sometimes it’s like being in a Haunted House - vision don’t help - u just feel your way along. Sometimes it’s like a go-cart with a governor and walls that enclose. Sometimes it’s like a Golden Retriever in an open field.
I never was artsy. Like Rainman, I’m an excellent driver - but as I age, there’s more car lengths inbetween on purpose. It ain’t so much about the gettin’ there as it is “the goin.”
We have our Creator. We have our parents. We’re temporarily led by friends as youths. We then either coexist, compromise, build - or, scrap the project and start anew.
Papa was a rolling stone. Wherever he laid his hat was his home. I ain’t so sure I’ll ever finish “the project.” I do, however, love the feel of fresh, wettened clay in my hands. I enjoy, inspitea $4 a gallon gas, making whichever turn whenever I wanna. Who knows if the day will come we’ll pull our easels closer in attempt to coexist, compromise, build together. Is this the right person riding shotgun, or do I hit the eject button?
How for art thou? I dunno, I ain’t finished. Life is a highway, I did it my way all night long.
Eggs, triangles, mimicking, molding, emulating, tippy-toeing, walking out on the diving board, diving in, turning around, being knocked off the shelf, fresh clay, better - more concentrated vision/thoughts - it’s all a pop quiz as we go.
One day, I’ll know what I wanna be when I grow up. Mebbe not steadfastly, but I’ll get there. Don’t know about you, but I’m enjoying the hell outta the ride - inspitea the occasional potholes, detours, one-way streets, car troubles and fender benders.
It’s all about clay and turns. Art you in agreeance? Love, Victurd.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Intergenerational….
My sister called - said “whenya coming over?”… Eh, I dunno ,why… what’s going on?
“Gotta new book I think you’ll find interesting.”
She knew the hatred librarians have for me. I awaken in the middle of the night with them wielding axes, chasing me, ranting “YOU’RE THREE WEEKS OVERDUE SONNY!” So, figured, this must be some book.
Got there. Hugged. Yapped. Then she brought out this nifty, Liberty Bluejay blue - book. Was a compilation of whoever in the hell they could find (from our High School) from over the years.. Where they lived… who they married… what their careers were.. And any accomplishments they’d cared to mention…
“Let’s see who (from our High School) now lives in Hawaii?”.. k….
What about California? Can u imagine living in California after growing up in Hicksville?
Hey, can I peek at the chapter where they specifically list people from my class?
We had fun. Names from yesteryear. “Do you remember so-and-so?.. I can’t believe so-and-so and so-and-so aren’t married any longer.. Wasn’t she Homecoming Queen and he the King back in such-n-sucha year?”
So… after an hour of turning the pages in anticipation - learning of those from her class, and my class… it dawned on me.. I’d recently switched jobs… So.. I said “Hey Vanda, look me up and see what it says!”…
She thumbed to the page.. And in her wonderfully dramatic way… silently looked up at me, smiled… back down at the page… eyes again up at me.. And with a gleam (and the biggest chit-eatin’ grin ever) “Cradle Robber.”
Dammit. She got me. YES, YES. I was married to someone 7 years younger. OK OK, yes, there were about five months of the year I was EIGHT years older. It was fun, and it was hell - waking up every morning, staring in the mirror “hey, I wonder how many years older than her I look today?… I’m getting lines… She’ll never ‘catch me.’ I did that for 20+ years - and with the exception of mebbe some music differences - it was all good.
Attended my stepson’s wedding in Florida a few years back. Marrying a wonderful gal. Now this gal’s mom and dad happened to have divorced. Dad, a professor at a local college - had now fancied up with onea his students. Yes, the same age as his daughter. Weird. But, they were nice, she was nice, stepson’s bride wasn’t affected by it all - and life/wedding was wonderful.
Katie Couric, God Bless her at 50, is dating a 33 year old man. On the arm of fitty-nine year old James Woods is his 20 year old girlfriend. Jack Nicholson ages, but the age of his companions remains the same.
A little bit ago - I had a one day date with someone hella younger than me. Yes, we’ve discussed it ain’t an illegal thing. She’s got kids in High School so I’m not THAT bad. And, it wasn’t a love at first sight kinda thing - but ya know, we each were lonely and we each enjoyed each other’s company. After maybe some initial grumpiness of "uh oh, another man" she was nice to me. Very nice in fact.
I’d lost her phone number.. Was in her town recently.. Decided to drive by her house… Didn’t have the watoosies to get outta my car and say “hey, howya doin?”…Did get her addy. Went home, snail mail. “Ya know, I know I’m too old for you.. But… we had fun.. Even you said it.. We don’t have to ever think longterm.. It is what it is… two people, presently lonely, who had a good time… call me sometime if you wanna.”
A couple of weeks went by… Message on the answering machine… “Victor, this is so-and-so.” I don’t have caller ID. Damn daddy.
Yesterday at work. Ring, ring. “Transpo” ß dat be where I work. “Victor, this is so-and-so, and I’m having a BBQ tomorrow night and wondered if you wanted to come over?”
Just shoot me. Make funa me. Laugh at me. One time, long ago, she just mighta gotten outta band camp. The ex that sister was referring I’d been the “cradle robber” - and I owned a small business. One treat to this business was going monthly to this crotchety ole accountant who chastised me each and every month about taxes, this, that - and I felt like dog poop each and every time I walked outta his door. Worse, I’d cut him a check each time right before I left.
So I thought.. “I know, I’ll take whatshername… maybe he’ll be nicer to me.”… So we went. Same ole questions.. He was a little nicer.. Fifteen minutes into it “Well… aren’t you gonna introduce me to your daughter?” Bastard. Cradle robber. Guilty. Here come dreams of (nuns this time) wielding axes, chasing me… “CRADLE ROBBER - CRADLE ROBBER!”..
A BBQ huh? “Wow, you sound so sexy on the phone.” NO! PLEASE, PLEASE don’t do that to me, the “I can drink coffee for fitty-four cents at Mickey D’s one.” I ain’t deserving! In twenty years you could still be hot, and I’d be in Depends!
“Ahm, sure, I’d love that - what can I bring?”… “Just yourself.”
So I’m going. I’ll feel strange. At some point in the evening I’ll go pee, there will be a mirror there - I’ll peek at it and think “you dumbass, what are you doing here.”
It’s ok. It’s life. It’s today. It ain’t tomorrow. It beats the hell outta flipping between Yahoo and Hotmail and MySpace to see if by chance anyone has touched the keyboard and sent me a note. I’m “doing”. I ain’t “done” in a long time.
Bottomline, it was a feel good. Yes, see how I arranged them words: feel good. Not the other way around. Yes, all men are pigs - but too, sometimes life happens. Tonight I will live. Just a day, not an eternity. She’s nice. She’s pretty, she’s today, not tomorrow. I’m old, we had fun, I wasn’t in the dishwater, it’s one night. Seeing my bank balance, I sureashell ain’t no sugar daddy.
I don’t seek younger women, I live. This one, actually, initiated the first conversation. Knowing it's actually just 'life' insteada a 'future life' helps. Normally, on date two I've fast-forwaded everything in my brain down to "where we'll live, what we'll do, how will they be around so-and-so, and 'til death do us part." Not this time. One day. Just one day. "Doing." "Being." "Living."
Victor, it’s ok. Relax. Life is for living. Yeah, I rectum. Going now. Have a great weekend.
Now whereinthehell did I put my cane?…. Love, Victurd.
“Gotta new book I think you’ll find interesting.”
She knew the hatred librarians have for me. I awaken in the middle of the night with them wielding axes, chasing me, ranting “YOU’RE THREE WEEKS OVERDUE SONNY!” So, figured, this must be some book.
Got there. Hugged. Yapped. Then she brought out this nifty, Liberty Bluejay blue - book. Was a compilation of whoever in the hell they could find (from our High School) from over the years.. Where they lived… who they married… what their careers were.. And any accomplishments they’d cared to mention…
“Let’s see who (from our High School) now lives in Hawaii?”.. k….
What about California? Can u imagine living in California after growing up in Hicksville?
Hey, can I peek at the chapter where they specifically list people from my class?
We had fun. Names from yesteryear. “Do you remember so-and-so?.. I can’t believe so-and-so and so-and-so aren’t married any longer.. Wasn’t she Homecoming Queen and he the King back in such-n-sucha year?”
So… after an hour of turning the pages in anticipation - learning of those from her class, and my class… it dawned on me.. I’d recently switched jobs… So.. I said “Hey Vanda, look me up and see what it says!”…
She thumbed to the page.. And in her wonderfully dramatic way… silently looked up at me, smiled… back down at the page… eyes again up at me.. And with a gleam (and the biggest chit-eatin’ grin ever) “Cradle Robber.”
Dammit. She got me. YES, YES. I was married to someone 7 years younger. OK OK, yes, there were about five months of the year I was EIGHT years older. It was fun, and it was hell - waking up every morning, staring in the mirror “hey, I wonder how many years older than her I look today?… I’m getting lines… She’ll never ‘catch me.’ I did that for 20+ years - and with the exception of mebbe some music differences - it was all good.
Attended my stepson’s wedding in Florida a few years back. Marrying a wonderful gal. Now this gal’s mom and dad happened to have divorced. Dad, a professor at a local college - had now fancied up with onea his students. Yes, the same age as his daughter. Weird. But, they were nice, she was nice, stepson’s bride wasn’t affected by it all - and life/wedding was wonderful.
Katie Couric, God Bless her at 50, is dating a 33 year old man. On the arm of fitty-nine year old James Woods is his 20 year old girlfriend. Jack Nicholson ages, but the age of his companions remains the same.
A little bit ago - I had a one day date with someone hella younger than me. Yes, we’ve discussed it ain’t an illegal thing. She’s got kids in High School so I’m not THAT bad. And, it wasn’t a love at first sight kinda thing - but ya know, we each were lonely and we each enjoyed each other’s company. After maybe some initial grumpiness of "uh oh, another man" she was nice to me. Very nice in fact.
I’d lost her phone number.. Was in her town recently.. Decided to drive by her house… Didn’t have the watoosies to get outta my car and say “hey, howya doin?”…Did get her addy. Went home, snail mail. “Ya know, I know I’m too old for you.. But… we had fun.. Even you said it.. We don’t have to ever think longterm.. It is what it is… two people, presently lonely, who had a good time… call me sometime if you wanna.”
A couple of weeks went by… Message on the answering machine… “Victor, this is so-and-so.” I don’t have caller ID. Damn daddy.
Yesterday at work. Ring, ring. “Transpo” ß dat be where I work. “Victor, this is so-and-so, and I’m having a BBQ tomorrow night and wondered if you wanted to come over?”
Just shoot me. Make funa me. Laugh at me. One time, long ago, she just mighta gotten outta band camp. The ex that sister was referring I’d been the “cradle robber” - and I owned a small business. One treat to this business was going monthly to this crotchety ole accountant who chastised me each and every month about taxes, this, that - and I felt like dog poop each and every time I walked outta his door. Worse, I’d cut him a check each time right before I left.
So I thought.. “I know, I’ll take whatshername… maybe he’ll be nicer to me.”… So we went. Same ole questions.. He was a little nicer.. Fifteen minutes into it “Well… aren’t you gonna introduce me to your daughter?” Bastard. Cradle robber. Guilty. Here come dreams of (nuns this time) wielding axes, chasing me… “CRADLE ROBBER - CRADLE ROBBER!”..
A BBQ huh? “Wow, you sound so sexy on the phone.” NO! PLEASE, PLEASE don’t do that to me, the “I can drink coffee for fitty-four cents at Mickey D’s one.” I ain’t deserving! In twenty years you could still be hot, and I’d be in Depends!
“Ahm, sure, I’d love that - what can I bring?”… “Just yourself.”
So I’m going. I’ll feel strange. At some point in the evening I’ll go pee, there will be a mirror there - I’ll peek at it and think “you dumbass, what are you doing here.”
It’s ok. It’s life. It’s today. It ain’t tomorrow. It beats the hell outta flipping between Yahoo and Hotmail and MySpace to see if by chance anyone has touched the keyboard and sent me a note. I’m “doing”. I ain’t “done” in a long time.
Bottomline, it was a feel good. Yes, see how I arranged them words: feel good. Not the other way around. Yes, all men are pigs - but too, sometimes life happens. Tonight I will live. Just a day, not an eternity. She’s nice. She’s pretty, she’s today, not tomorrow. I’m old, we had fun, I wasn’t in the dishwater, it’s one night. Seeing my bank balance, I sureashell ain’t no sugar daddy.
I don’t seek younger women, I live. This one, actually, initiated the first conversation. Knowing it's actually just 'life' insteada a 'future life' helps. Normally, on date two I've fast-forwaded everything in my brain down to "where we'll live, what we'll do, how will they be around so-and-so, and 'til death do us part." Not this time. One day. Just one day. "Doing." "Being." "Living."
Victor, it’s ok. Relax. Life is for living. Yeah, I rectum. Going now. Have a great weekend.
Now whereinthehell did I put my cane?…. Love, Victurd.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Hey Victurd, whaddareya gonna write about today?
I dunno, that’s just it, I dunno.
Why? You seem to believe you’re a creative soul, whastup with that? Fooling yourself? Notta ‘has been’ but a ‘never were’?
KMA, I’ve not said I’m creative. Lord knows I have trouble even painting a plain ole room. My hands ain’t meant for saws, chisels, perfection. I’ma baling wire and duct tape kinda person, you know that.
So… write about… ahm.. The Royals? Hehe, funny you should say that.. Ever have them times where – when shit happens – it just ain’t good shit.. remember? The mediocre boxer? Well, he goes thru those times when he repeatedly gets knocked down, time after time. Then mebbe he showers, goes to the parking lot – lo and behold someone’s stolen his car. Ya gotta laugh. The Royals had lost nine in a row.. I’d watched the first 5-6 innings, I think we were leading 6-2, turned it off.. “done deal.. whew, losing streak stopped, atta way guys.” Woke up this morning. We led 8-3 in the 9th. They came back, tied it in the 9th – scored again in the 10th to kick our butt. Ya just gotta laugh.
Reminds me of toward payday. The “GD librarian”-like bank tellers keep telling me “you really needta keepa journal.” Yeah yeah, I know. Anyways – it’s that time when you gots $4.63 left until automatic deposit at midnight – and son says “hey, can I borrow $5, I’ll pay you back tomorrow?”.. ya gotta laugh..
Then, you take measure of the household.. go poop.. GD. Last roll. Cat meows, tries to trip you as you walk to the bedroom. So, like an old married man does with his ole lady, ya give in – walk to the kitchen.. grab the cat food bag, turn it into the food bowl, out drips 6 bits of dry food. Cat gives you onea them looks like an ole lady does to the old married man.
You shower – GD, no more clean towels. You scrape together two 1/2 pieces of the last piecea soap so u can wash ur parts. Get out, spend 3 minutes rolling up the toothpaste so you can get a smidget of paste for your chops.. Wisk the deodorant under your arms – feels kinda raw.. Sumbitch, the gel is gone and you’re disturbing underarm hairs with the plastic of the GD contraption.
You decide “I gotta get outta here.” Crank the car. (The HRL).. “Ding-Ding-Ding” – LOW FUEL. At times ya gotta just stop and laugh.
So you decide to take a walk instead – but first, swing by the mailbox. “If you don’t pay $____ car insurance by 12:01am on such-n-sucha date, your insurance will be cancelled.” Lemme see, they want $____ and I gots $4.63… then I give my kid $5, that leaves me with negative .47 cents. Ya gotta laugh.
Ya decide eh, maybe it ain’t the right time for a walk. So, u goes to the computer. Yeah, that’ll do it. “You’ve got mail.” (I hate AOL, never used it, but was for informational purpose only.) Some singles site. Some really nice looking lading. And she contacted ME.
Then, I gotta laugh. Well, would she object if my pits were a little ‘tangy’? And.. ahm, u think she enjoys walks – and would she drive to my house so we could? If we used my Entertainment book for a ‘buy one get one’ u think I could be the free one? Hehe.
No – this isn’t pity party. Yes – I am – eh, about B- happy in life. Oh, I’m very happy with the moments of life – just going thru a situation where I bought out whatshernames portion of the equity, refinanced – I got enough house for 9 people, only two live here and I wish it were one! So it, like anything in life, is situational.
You know what I’m saying. Rough day at the office, you’re finally off and you hit a pothole going 68 mph. She-it. Dadburnit. Sonofaditch. You decide to spoil yourself with a nice refreshment from a fast food joint and there’s 19 cars in line. You roll thru, go into the gas station for a fountain drink instead – the six people in line eye’s are affixed upon you – and only after you pay – and the cashier’s eyes were distinctly focused downward – you realize. GD, left my zipper down. Which reminds you about the last rolla toilet paper, the pisssed off cat, the gas tank saying “E”, the really cool lady who wants you to contact her – and then u getta whiff of your pits. Ya haveta laugh.
Close your ears. Life ranges from “can’t get it up” to “simultaneous orgasm.” Hills and valleys inbetween, ain’t no pun intended. Everything is situational. Laugh with it, roll with it. (Victor, don’t forget rolls of…) I KNOW I KNOW. And tonight I’ll wear shin guards until I can get the cats food at 12:01am. I needs them on my team, will keep ‘em happy.
I think it’s kinda fun – I really do. Like a board game – can you make it around? Hurdle this twist – dodge this obstacle. Eventually, the mountaintop will come. It too is fleeting – but hey – so is the opposite end.
Every thing is situational, temporary. Well. Cept maybe the Royal’s woes. Brb, gotta poop. “Maynard? You seen the Sunday paper?” Love, Victurd
Why? You seem to believe you’re a creative soul, whastup with that? Fooling yourself? Notta ‘has been’ but a ‘never were’?
KMA, I’ve not said I’m creative. Lord knows I have trouble even painting a plain ole room. My hands ain’t meant for saws, chisels, perfection. I’ma baling wire and duct tape kinda person, you know that.
So… write about… ahm.. The Royals? Hehe, funny you should say that.. Ever have them times where – when shit happens – it just ain’t good shit.. remember? The mediocre boxer? Well, he goes thru those times when he repeatedly gets knocked down, time after time. Then mebbe he showers, goes to the parking lot – lo and behold someone’s stolen his car. Ya gotta laugh. The Royals had lost nine in a row.. I’d watched the first 5-6 innings, I think we were leading 6-2, turned it off.. “done deal.. whew, losing streak stopped, atta way guys.” Woke up this morning. We led 8-3 in the 9th. They came back, tied it in the 9th – scored again in the 10th to kick our butt. Ya just gotta laugh.
Reminds me of toward payday. The “GD librarian”-like bank tellers keep telling me “you really needta keepa journal.” Yeah yeah, I know. Anyways – it’s that time when you gots $4.63 left until automatic deposit at midnight – and son says “hey, can I borrow $5, I’ll pay you back tomorrow?”.. ya gotta laugh..
Then, you take measure of the household.. go poop.. GD. Last roll. Cat meows, tries to trip you as you walk to the bedroom. So, like an old married man does with his ole lady, ya give in – walk to the kitchen.. grab the cat food bag, turn it into the food bowl, out drips 6 bits of dry food. Cat gives you onea them looks like an ole lady does to the old married man.
You shower – GD, no more clean towels. You scrape together two 1/2 pieces of the last piecea soap so u can wash ur parts. Get out, spend 3 minutes rolling up the toothpaste so you can get a smidget of paste for your chops.. Wisk the deodorant under your arms – feels kinda raw.. Sumbitch, the gel is gone and you’re disturbing underarm hairs with the plastic of the GD contraption.
You decide “I gotta get outta here.” Crank the car. (The HRL).. “Ding-Ding-Ding” – LOW FUEL. At times ya gotta just stop and laugh.
So you decide to take a walk instead – but first, swing by the mailbox. “If you don’t pay $____ car insurance by 12:01am on such-n-sucha date, your insurance will be cancelled.” Lemme see, they want $____ and I gots $4.63… then I give my kid $5, that leaves me with negative .47 cents. Ya gotta laugh.
Ya decide eh, maybe it ain’t the right time for a walk. So, u goes to the computer. Yeah, that’ll do it. “You’ve got mail.” (I hate AOL, never used it, but was for informational purpose only.) Some singles site. Some really nice looking lading. And she contacted ME.
Then, I gotta laugh. Well, would she object if my pits were a little ‘tangy’? And.. ahm, u think she enjoys walks – and would she drive to my house so we could? If we used my Entertainment book for a ‘buy one get one’ u think I could be the free one? Hehe.
No – this isn’t pity party. Yes – I am – eh, about B- happy in life. Oh, I’m very happy with the moments of life – just going thru a situation where I bought out whatshernames portion of the equity, refinanced – I got enough house for 9 people, only two live here and I wish it were one! So it, like anything in life, is situational.
You know what I’m saying. Rough day at the office, you’re finally off and you hit a pothole going 68 mph. She-it. Dadburnit. Sonofaditch. You decide to spoil yourself with a nice refreshment from a fast food joint and there’s 19 cars in line. You roll thru, go into the gas station for a fountain drink instead – the six people in line eye’s are affixed upon you – and only after you pay – and the cashier’s eyes were distinctly focused downward – you realize. GD, left my zipper down. Which reminds you about the last rolla toilet paper, the pisssed off cat, the gas tank saying “E”, the really cool lady who wants you to contact her – and then u getta whiff of your pits. Ya haveta laugh.
Close your ears. Life ranges from “can’t get it up” to “simultaneous orgasm.” Hills and valleys inbetween, ain’t no pun intended. Everything is situational. Laugh with it, roll with it. (Victor, don’t forget rolls of…) I KNOW I KNOW. And tonight I’ll wear shin guards until I can get the cats food at 12:01am. I needs them on my team, will keep ‘em happy.
I think it’s kinda fun – I really do. Like a board game – can you make it around? Hurdle this twist – dodge this obstacle. Eventually, the mountaintop will come. It too is fleeting – but hey – so is the opposite end.
Every thing is situational, temporary. Well. Cept maybe the Royal’s woes. Brb, gotta poop. “Maynard? You seen the Sunday paper?” Love, Victurd
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Hi….
How the hell are you?
Me? Eh, bouta B-. Not bad. Same ole same ole ya know.
Sometimes just dream about kickin’ back, doing somea the things I’ve always wanted to do.. you know, like havea vehicle that combined – is big enough to pull a small sleeper kinda trailer, AND is good on gas mileage – and just getting the hell outta here.
Victor, does that mean you ain’t happy with status quo? Oh, I rectum happy enough. Just wanta break. A change. Excitement. You know.
What keeps us from our dreams?
Money, numero uno. I rectum, had I done it the other way (sacrificed “woo hoo” times for “nose to the grindstone, climb that ladder bebbe”) I’d be able to do the dreamin’ kinda stuff I’d like to…. but… then I think I may be a different person, and “woo hoo” would be more “cha-ching” and focus might be lost on the precious minutes ticking by. Oh, I know there are bastas out there (I’m envious!) who have the best of both worlds – and still “woo hoo” along the way.. I just ain’t been able to…
Doable. If we set our dreams… focus on them.. not lose tracka them.. save for them.. then mebbe we can have ‘em..
I’d truly love to do this. Jump in the car/truck, no set game plan – and go. See the good ole US of A – people watching along the way. To me, that be hella more fun to blog about than scraping the bottom of the brain barrel to hopefully provide a smile.
Money? (Said like Doc Brown said “Roads?”) We don’t need roads… You mean Doc - We don’t need money?… Yes, just go. Travel. Find friggin’ Labor Ready’s if ya runned outta money. Have enough peanut butter/bread/crackers to keepya poopin’, peein’, energized for the whole trip.. and then cotton down in a town where work was available… enough gas for a few tanks, money enough for s’more campground nights, food… and keep on truckin’.
I’d liketa see if them East Coasters are as ‘short’ as perceived. I’d loveta go to Cooperstown for the nostalgia of it all. Kinda be a kid again. Niagara Falls. (Slowly I turn, step by step, inch by inch. Right Moe?)
I mean seriously – this is our land, but oh so little do we know about it. We people are our people – but we’ll ne’er know that many unless we get out and ‘do’.
Feller that taught at local Liberal Arts College. Diagnosed, late fitties, with MS. He had my dream as well.. So.. to say “haha MS, catch me!” he took off on his bike. NO money. Went thru all fitty states. Wanted to demonstrate the goodness of all people – as well as “don’t thwart your own dreams.”
Now I ain’t askin’ to live offa others – but I rectum I wouldn’t turn down a rich daddy’s girl whose poppa said “What? That’s nuts… but here’s $10,000, have a nice trip.” Hehe.
The sequoias.. The 4 dead guys in granite. Mountain chains. All of ‘em. The Grand Canyon. The Atlantic, the Pacific – the Rio Grande. I’d liketa see old people, young people, people of various ethnicity, socio-economics, size, shape, attitude, smiles, grumpiness – just see what makes our nation click.
I’M GETTING SOOOOOOOOOOOOO EXCITED. Then I lookout and see the smashed in door and the “gone, completely gone” grill of the Hot… Rod… 14MPG Lincoln.” She-it. Dreamsmasher. Naysayer. Poo-poo’er. Razzbutt.
I won’t give up on dream. May come time the bod simply won’t physically allow it – but I wanna go. Do. See. Watch. Write.
And it could all be wrapped up heading Eastbound on I-70 thru the wonderful state of Kansas. You know, a happy ending, like “that was flat cool.” Final pit stop, the Chickenhawks delightful “largest ball of twine in the universe.” GD, that might even top their recent National Championship. Hehe. (Sorry Lisa, just seein’ if ur awake.)
Bottomline. (REMEMBER I TALK TO ME HERE).. Don’t give up on your dreams. Try to figure out which’n’way and howto make ‘em happen. For if we have no hope, then what’s our stay worth? Spoil one’s self along the way. Take time for you. Me. Stop and smell the oceans, rivers, streams, pastures, mountain creeks, steel mills, wineries, forests, red clay…. whatever your dream is – don’t leggo.
So ifn’s u are rich daddy’s girl. Ifn’s u wanna share this dream. Ifn’s u likes peanut butter. Ifn’s u don’t mind getting nails dirty (preferably them non-Asian-decorated ones), if you can keep your cell phone off – say every other day, ifn’s u don’t mind camping. If you wanna go, do, see, write, tell. Holler. 867-5309. Love, Victurd.
Me? Eh, bouta B-. Not bad. Same ole same ole ya know.
Sometimes just dream about kickin’ back, doing somea the things I’ve always wanted to do.. you know, like havea vehicle that combined – is big enough to pull a small sleeper kinda trailer, AND is good on gas mileage – and just getting the hell outta here.
Victor, does that mean you ain’t happy with status quo? Oh, I rectum happy enough. Just wanta break. A change. Excitement. You know.
What keeps us from our dreams?
Money, numero uno. I rectum, had I done it the other way (sacrificed “woo hoo” times for “nose to the grindstone, climb that ladder bebbe”) I’d be able to do the dreamin’ kinda stuff I’d like to…. but… then I think I may be a different person, and “woo hoo” would be more “cha-ching” and focus might be lost on the precious minutes ticking by. Oh, I know there are bastas out there (I’m envious!) who have the best of both worlds – and still “woo hoo” along the way.. I just ain’t been able to…
Doable. If we set our dreams… focus on them.. not lose tracka them.. save for them.. then mebbe we can have ‘em..
I’d truly love to do this. Jump in the car/truck, no set game plan – and go. See the good ole US of A – people watching along the way. To me, that be hella more fun to blog about than scraping the bottom of the brain barrel to hopefully provide a smile.
Money? (Said like Doc Brown said “Roads?”) We don’t need roads… You mean Doc - We don’t need money?… Yes, just go. Travel. Find friggin’ Labor Ready’s if ya runned outta money. Have enough peanut butter/bread/crackers to keepya poopin’, peein’, energized for the whole trip.. and then cotton down in a town where work was available… enough gas for a few tanks, money enough for s’more campground nights, food… and keep on truckin’.
I’d liketa see if them East Coasters are as ‘short’ as perceived. I’d loveta go to Cooperstown for the nostalgia of it all. Kinda be a kid again. Niagara Falls. (Slowly I turn, step by step, inch by inch. Right Moe?)
I mean seriously – this is our land, but oh so little do we know about it. We people are our people – but we’ll ne’er know that many unless we get out and ‘do’.
Feller that taught at local Liberal Arts College. Diagnosed, late fitties, with MS. He had my dream as well.. So.. to say “haha MS, catch me!” he took off on his bike. NO money. Went thru all fitty states. Wanted to demonstrate the goodness of all people – as well as “don’t thwart your own dreams.”
Now I ain’t askin’ to live offa others – but I rectum I wouldn’t turn down a rich daddy’s girl whose poppa said “What? That’s nuts… but here’s $10,000, have a nice trip.” Hehe.
The sequoias.. The 4 dead guys in granite. Mountain chains. All of ‘em. The Grand Canyon. The Atlantic, the Pacific – the Rio Grande. I’d liketa see old people, young people, people of various ethnicity, socio-economics, size, shape, attitude, smiles, grumpiness – just see what makes our nation click.
I’M GETTING SOOOOOOOOOOOOO EXCITED. Then I lookout and see the smashed in door and the “gone, completely gone” grill of the Hot… Rod… 14MPG Lincoln.” She-it. Dreamsmasher. Naysayer. Poo-poo’er. Razzbutt.
I won’t give up on dream. May come time the bod simply won’t physically allow it – but I wanna go. Do. See. Watch. Write.
And it could all be wrapped up heading Eastbound on I-70 thru the wonderful state of Kansas. You know, a happy ending, like “that was flat cool.” Final pit stop, the Chickenhawks delightful “largest ball of twine in the universe.” GD, that might even top their recent National Championship. Hehe. (Sorry Lisa, just seein’ if ur awake.)
Bottomline. (REMEMBER I TALK TO ME HERE).. Don’t give up on your dreams. Try to figure out which’n’way and howto make ‘em happen. For if we have no hope, then what’s our stay worth? Spoil one’s self along the way. Take time for you. Me. Stop and smell the oceans, rivers, streams, pastures, mountain creeks, steel mills, wineries, forests, red clay…. whatever your dream is – don’t leggo.
So ifn’s u are rich daddy’s girl. Ifn’s u wanna share this dream. Ifn’s u likes peanut butter. Ifn’s u don’t mind getting nails dirty (preferably them non-Asian-decorated ones), if you can keep your cell phone off – say every other day, ifn’s u don’t mind camping. If you wanna go, do, see, write, tell. Holler. 867-5309. Love, Victurd.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Of cemeteries and brains…..
One theory as to the origin of Memorial Day.. A historic race track in Charleston, South Carolina was a former Confederate prison camp - as well as a mass grave for Union soldiers who had died while held captive. In 1865, recently liberated slaves reinterred the dead Union soldiers from the mass grave to individual grace - fenced it and built an entry arch, picked/placed flowers, and declared it a Union graveyard.. A daring thing to do in the South shortly after the North’s victory. Pretty cool.
Decoration Day, as it was originally called - gave way for our country to honor those who had perished while in military service for our country.
We expanded this as a designated time to visit our own loved ones/special people.. And further, as a “just take a break from regularness” with picnics, barbeques, family gatherings - and an extra day off.
I offer apologies to my mother, father and sister that I didn’t attend their gravesites this weekend - but believe me, they’re always in attendance of my brain. Notta day goes by I don’t think of/miss each.
My mother was an honest, law-abiding, moral - fun person. She had a gift for writing things that made readers glue themselves to. Mebbe had her day been the day of the computer - she’d be allover Barnes and Noble’s website.
My father. Thanks to two xanax handed me by my ex about two hours before his funeral service, I got to give his eulogy. The very bottom line about my father - when his name is conjured up, people smile. He was light, fun, funny, inventive, came from leftfield, and never terse. If only we all could live life so “up” to the point when we expire - the realization of “he/she created many a smile” would happen.
My sister. She was the most wonderful blend of the above. She took the written humor from her/my mother - and translated it verbally throughout life. She took the “always up” from my father - had an everpresent smile - and she always had an umbrella for life’s parade. She packed more into 51 years than I will in a lifetime. She was a giver, our extended family’s cog, and she brightened up any room she walked into.
Sorry that this got personal. Wasn’t my intent as I started. My intent was, every day is a memorial day. We carry cemeteries in our brains. Think back, in addition to lost loved ones - there are so many who’ve departed our lives and we recall them often, and with fondness. Their faces, stories, actions, are etched in the granite of our memory. As we remember, we smile, as if to place a flower on their grave.
I am human hear me roar. We are all human. We err. We make others upset, even perhaps if not with intent. We don’t always make all the right moves. But if we try, if we give, if we smile, if we live each day with the understanding “life’s a pretty good place” - perhaps when our turn for the circulation to end… we too will invoke smiles to those continuing on.
(Again, I write for me… to me… hitchhikers welcome) Decorate other’s faces. Pump up their self image. Do something, even if only as piddly as making a monkey-face to draw their smile. GD I’ve earned these crevices betweengst my cheeks and my lips/nose - thanks in large part to the wonderful human beings I’ve encountered along the way. When I look in the mirror - oh sure - I’d love to snap my fingers and have that 1960’s baby face allover again… but the lines don’t bother me. It’s how life has Decorated me with smiles aplenty.
It’s ironic we lost Dick Martin (TV’s Laugh In) yesterday at age 86. No, life shouldn’t always be about laughter, but GD it helps. It’s ok if it’s always about smiles isn’t it?
Why can’t life be a Laugh In? Sock it to me bebbe. Love, Victurd.
Decoration Day, as it was originally called - gave way for our country to honor those who had perished while in military service for our country.
We expanded this as a designated time to visit our own loved ones/special people.. And further, as a “just take a break from regularness” with picnics, barbeques, family gatherings - and an extra day off.
I offer apologies to my mother, father and sister that I didn’t attend their gravesites this weekend - but believe me, they’re always in attendance of my brain. Notta day goes by I don’t think of/miss each.
My mother was an honest, law-abiding, moral - fun person. She had a gift for writing things that made readers glue themselves to. Mebbe had her day been the day of the computer - she’d be allover Barnes and Noble’s website.
My father. Thanks to two xanax handed me by my ex about two hours before his funeral service, I got to give his eulogy. The very bottom line about my father - when his name is conjured up, people smile. He was light, fun, funny, inventive, came from leftfield, and never terse. If only we all could live life so “up” to the point when we expire - the realization of “he/she created many a smile” would happen.
My sister. She was the most wonderful blend of the above. She took the written humor from her/my mother - and translated it verbally throughout life. She took the “always up” from my father - had an everpresent smile - and she always had an umbrella for life’s parade. She packed more into 51 years than I will in a lifetime. She was a giver, our extended family’s cog, and she brightened up any room she walked into.
Sorry that this got personal. Wasn’t my intent as I started. My intent was, every day is a memorial day. We carry cemeteries in our brains. Think back, in addition to lost loved ones - there are so many who’ve departed our lives and we recall them often, and with fondness. Their faces, stories, actions, are etched in the granite of our memory. As we remember, we smile, as if to place a flower on their grave.
I am human hear me roar. We are all human. We err. We make others upset, even perhaps if not with intent. We don’t always make all the right moves. But if we try, if we give, if we smile, if we live each day with the understanding “life’s a pretty good place” - perhaps when our turn for the circulation to end… we too will invoke smiles to those continuing on.
(Again, I write for me… to me… hitchhikers welcome) Decorate other’s faces. Pump up their self image. Do something, even if only as piddly as making a monkey-face to draw their smile. GD I’ve earned these crevices betweengst my cheeks and my lips/nose - thanks in large part to the wonderful human beings I’ve encountered along the way. When I look in the mirror - oh sure - I’d love to snap my fingers and have that 1960’s baby face allover again… but the lines don’t bother me. It’s how life has Decorated me with smiles aplenty.
It’s ironic we lost Dick Martin (TV’s Laugh In) yesterday at age 86. No, life shouldn’t always be about laughter, but GD it helps. It’s ok if it’s always about smiles isn’t it?
Why can’t life be a Laugh In? Sock it to me bebbe. Love, Victurd.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Compilation….
When I look back - it’s been an interesting trip these last 7 years. I ain’t dated all that many - but it’s kinda like hearing Bobby Knight talk about setting the record for the most wins as a college basketball coach.. When asked how he felt, he said “Well… two things.. One, I’m thankful to have lived this long.. And two, it’s (the # of wins) is all about longevity.
So I’ve ‘been on the market’ awhile. I’ve dated from 90 to 200+ lbs. From “sliding around seat-belted in,” to “can’t get the seatbelt all the way around me.“ A cups to DDD cups. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, hate that gray wash it aways. 5’ to 5’11. Po, to do-fairly-well. Green eyes, blue, gray, hazel.
I can pee my name in the snow, I hate cats, I love cats, I love horses, I love my grandkids, “Do you want more children” (that was a one date kinda-thing, “Victor, you’re too GD old for her”), Granny panties, bikini’s, thongs, commando. (I ain’t saying I had sex in those 7 years, I think mebbe I just saw ‘em doing laundry.)
Virtually each and every one had a nicer car than I. Ladies with 0 to 7 children. Some still at home, some raising their grandkids. Ladies from 27 (VICTOR!) to 64 (VICTOR!)… with some 30’s, 40’s, fitties mixed in.
Women with striking eyes, legs, derrieres, skin tone, facial structure, SMILES. Shy, quiet women. Domineering women (uh oh, been there, nope), extroverts. Laughers, laugh til they cryed’ers, “don’t find the humor in that”ers.
Liberty, Kearney, Excelsior Springs, Newton, IA, Tampa, FL, St. Louis, Olathe, Raytown, Independence, Shawnee, Topeka, Lathrop, St. Joseph, Holt, Clinton, Overland Park, New Bloomfield, Waverly, Lawson, Wellsville, Kansas City, Breckinridge, Gladstone, Platte City, Lenexa, Parkville. I’m sure I’ve missed one or two, but holy guacamole that’s a lotta dinners, lotta gas. Me thinks at $4/gallon I’d mebbe better narrow this to like 12 blocks from home.
Good kissers, not so good kissers, “I like touch”, “Please, I’m not big on touch,” “I want you to know upfront I’m not easy” (I certainly wouldn’t know, but I’ve heard men say this really means “I can’t wait until we’re in full, nekked embrace.”).. “Let’s _____” (OMG.)
Beer drinkers, wine drinkers, hard stuff drinker, non-drinkers… cigs, no cigs, an occasional cigar..
Some that hurt me (no, not punches you goofball), some I hurt. Some, with mutual ends. Fond memories, some not so fond memories. Two I’d never seen even a pic in advance, several where we’d gone thru months of the procedure of IM’s, phone calls - meeting at safe place. Some I went to school with, some I grew up in the same town with (younger), some I met at an establishment, and yes, several online.
I’ve (we’ve) been to Worlds of Fun, New Orleans, Biloxi, Columbia, Boonville, St. Louie, State Fair, Outdoor concerts, Arena concerts, dives, Olive Garden, Chili’s, Fitty-fourth Street, Jackstack, Smokestack, Corner Café, McDonalds, Burger King, Wendy’s, Arby’s, Sonic, Backyard Burgers, Dairy Queen, mom and pop breakfast places, Texas Tom’s, Texas Roadhouse, Mongolian BBQ, Arthur Byrants, Bob Evans, Waffle House (I was flat broke, she ordered HELLA breakfast, and then on the hash browns “smothered ” (cha ching) “covered” (cha ching) “topped” (cha ching) “diced” (cha ching) and “chunked” (cha ching.) I think the hash browns ended up costing $12. Ameripub Brewery, Ponaks, El Sombrero, The Hereford House, The Dish, Pizza (Pizza Hut, Godfathers, Minskys, Kelso‘s), Starbucks, Border’s, Jo Jo’s, The Pub House, the Landing, The Flamingo, The Corner, The Levee, Hotel continental breakfasts (Victor, no, say it ain’t so), miniature golf, go karts, real golf, volleyball, basketball, catch, swimming, canoeing, water slides, camping, horseback riding (well, mine didn’t like me, I sat in the corner of the arena for 43 minutes, gave up,)
Grilled out, cooked in, leftovers, watched TV, a movie, home movies, little kid’s ballgames, Royals, Chiefs, American Idol, Arena football.
OK Victor, STOP. Yeah, mebbe I should. My friends (married) see me and they’re envious. Some might feel this is braggadocios. Huh uh. Other way around. All of the above was/sounds like, fun. Longevity. I’m just glad to be alive.
For whatever reasons, there’s always been a fork in the road, one went one way, one the other.
In a heartbeat, I’d trade all of the above for a plain ole plain ole call at work - having caller ID, and it was “her”. THE one. Ne’er having the uncomfyness of date one again. Accept me, my ways, who I am. And vice versa. Humans, with good things, and with fault. Good moods, not so good moods.
In a weird sorta way I’ve loved each and every person I’ve gone out with. I’m very very grateful for time dedicated to me. Two-ness is unique. Two-ness always ends. I’d just liketa keep one around (and be kept around) for a little longer period than the tops of one year above.
This AIN’T a pity party. It’s me, it’s who I am, it’s where I’ve been. Tons of good memories. Tons. That’s May 31st, 2001 (Girl’s night out, her fanciest pair of undies) to May, the hell’s the date today? May 25, that’s it, 2008. The best part? I’ma thinkin’ it’s what happens from May 25, 2008 until the day I pee my pants and forget my name. I just hope she doesn’t like potatoes. Love, Victurd.
So I’ve ‘been on the market’ awhile. I’ve dated from 90 to 200+ lbs. From “sliding around seat-belted in,” to “can’t get the seatbelt all the way around me.“ A cups to DDD cups. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, hate that gray wash it aways. 5’ to 5’11. Po, to do-fairly-well. Green eyes, blue, gray, hazel.
I can pee my name in the snow, I hate cats, I love cats, I love horses, I love my grandkids, “Do you want more children” (that was a one date kinda-thing, “Victor, you’re too GD old for her”), Granny panties, bikini’s, thongs, commando. (I ain’t saying I had sex in those 7 years, I think mebbe I just saw ‘em doing laundry.)
Virtually each and every one had a nicer car than I. Ladies with 0 to 7 children. Some still at home, some raising their grandkids. Ladies from 27 (VICTOR!) to 64 (VICTOR!)… with some 30’s, 40’s, fitties mixed in.
Women with striking eyes, legs, derrieres, skin tone, facial structure, SMILES. Shy, quiet women. Domineering women (uh oh, been there, nope), extroverts. Laughers, laugh til they cryed’ers, “don’t find the humor in that”ers.
Liberty, Kearney, Excelsior Springs, Newton, IA, Tampa, FL, St. Louis, Olathe, Raytown, Independence, Shawnee, Topeka, Lathrop, St. Joseph, Holt, Clinton, Overland Park, New Bloomfield, Waverly, Lawson, Wellsville, Kansas City, Breckinridge, Gladstone, Platte City, Lenexa, Parkville. I’m sure I’ve missed one or two, but holy guacamole that’s a lotta dinners, lotta gas. Me thinks at $4/gallon I’d mebbe better narrow this to like 12 blocks from home.
Good kissers, not so good kissers, “I like touch”, “Please, I’m not big on touch,” “I want you to know upfront I’m not easy” (I certainly wouldn’t know, but I’ve heard men say this really means “I can’t wait until we’re in full, nekked embrace.”).. “Let’s _____” (OMG.)
Beer drinkers, wine drinkers, hard stuff drinker, non-drinkers… cigs, no cigs, an occasional cigar..
Some that hurt me (no, not punches you goofball), some I hurt. Some, with mutual ends. Fond memories, some not so fond memories. Two I’d never seen even a pic in advance, several where we’d gone thru months of the procedure of IM’s, phone calls - meeting at safe place. Some I went to school with, some I grew up in the same town with (younger), some I met at an establishment, and yes, several online.
I’ve (we’ve) been to Worlds of Fun, New Orleans, Biloxi, Columbia, Boonville, St. Louie, State Fair, Outdoor concerts, Arena concerts, dives, Olive Garden, Chili’s, Fitty-fourth Street, Jackstack, Smokestack, Corner Café, McDonalds, Burger King, Wendy’s, Arby’s, Sonic, Backyard Burgers, Dairy Queen, mom and pop breakfast places, Texas Tom’s, Texas Roadhouse, Mongolian BBQ, Arthur Byrants, Bob Evans, Waffle House (I was flat broke, she ordered HELLA breakfast, and then on the hash browns “smothered ” (cha ching) “covered” (cha ching) “topped” (cha ching) “diced” (cha ching) and “chunked” (cha ching.) I think the hash browns ended up costing $12. Ameripub Brewery, Ponaks, El Sombrero, The Hereford House, The Dish, Pizza (Pizza Hut, Godfathers, Minskys, Kelso‘s), Starbucks, Border’s, Jo Jo’s, The Pub House, the Landing, The Flamingo, The Corner, The Levee, Hotel continental breakfasts (Victor, no, say it ain’t so), miniature golf, go karts, real golf, volleyball, basketball, catch, swimming, canoeing, water slides, camping, horseback riding (well, mine didn’t like me, I sat in the corner of the arena for 43 minutes, gave up,)
Grilled out, cooked in, leftovers, watched TV, a movie, home movies, little kid’s ballgames, Royals, Chiefs, American Idol, Arena football.
OK Victor, STOP. Yeah, mebbe I should. My friends (married) see me and they’re envious. Some might feel this is braggadocios. Huh uh. Other way around. All of the above was/sounds like, fun. Longevity. I’m just glad to be alive.
For whatever reasons, there’s always been a fork in the road, one went one way, one the other.
In a heartbeat, I’d trade all of the above for a plain ole plain ole call at work - having caller ID, and it was “her”. THE one. Ne’er having the uncomfyness of date one again. Accept me, my ways, who I am. And vice versa. Humans, with good things, and with fault. Good moods, not so good moods.
In a weird sorta way I’ve loved each and every person I’ve gone out with. I’m very very grateful for time dedicated to me. Two-ness is unique. Two-ness always ends. I’d just liketa keep one around (and be kept around) for a little longer period than the tops of one year above.
This AIN’T a pity party. It’s me, it’s who I am, it’s where I’ve been. Tons of good memories. Tons. That’s May 31st, 2001 (Girl’s night out, her fanciest pair of undies) to May, the hell’s the date today? May 25, that’s it, 2008. The best part? I’ma thinkin’ it’s what happens from May 25, 2008 until the day I pee my pants and forget my name. I just hope she doesn’t like potatoes. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Maynard… Honey Do’s… and the two-lane personality test…..
Maynard is 22. Maynard ain’t got no car. Maynard must eat to subsist, so, his father routinely bootscoots to Mickey D’s for “a large French Frie, two PLAIN double-cheeseburgers, with a lotta ketchup.”
Victor, he’s 22, get on with it. Tell him to fend for himself. Ahm, I know, there’s hella more to story. One, his dad’s a big whimp. Two, he’s currently involved in a $3500 obligation, so there just ain’t enough funds there to buy car, drive himself. Three, you’d have to know him.
Four, momma is absent, scroll to #1. Five, I got’s one car, I ain’t insuring him. Six, he pays for his own food (and rent.)
There are MANY nights “please mister custer, I don’t wanna go-oh-ohhhh, oh ohhhhhhh.” But I do. Usually, when I’m in a hurry, 17 other residents have decided to occupy the two drive up “test your personality” lanes too. She-it. Damnit Jim.
Today, ‘twasn’t so bad. In fact, I had free reign to the speaker. Just then, this little snotnose entered the “do not enter” exit from Mickey D's, cranked a hairpin turn right infronta me to be first on the outer lane. His little bitty 40 mile per gallon car had the the turning radius of an ant. Bastard.
I considered backing up, going to the inside lane - woulda been a sonofabitch if another car came, then I’d be 3rd when I was really 1st. Car coming in rear view mirror. Didn’t. He went around, guess he’d already gotten food, and I forgot about inside lane thingy again.
Snotnose finishes order, bootscoots up. I pullup. Jim Hendrix is playing. Loud. We usedta, Victor you’re weird, go over to Weagley’s house as kids and take turns listening to Hendrix with one paira headphones. Sacrificing turning Jimi down plays big, but I did. GD it (gosh darn it) it’s raining.
Uh huh, into the inside lane comes heap big Lincoln Navigator. GD it (gosh darnit) I'M SUPPOSED TO BE SECOND! We had a discussion at work the other day. Bigass Lincoln Navigator drives up, typical sales-looking dude gets out, we all think aloud “whatverinthehell he’s selling, don’t buy it, there’s obviously too mucha markup." Back to the potential of being third at Mickey D’s.
Obviously, whomever completes their order first has “I was done before you were” right away to pull up next after snotnose turn on a dime 40mpg kid. As the rain pelted my forearm, and got the left sidea my body drenched, in my best (worst) “Biff” (Back to the Future) impersonation (“I’ll be damned if that rich bitch orders before me”) said “HELLOOO?”… Silence (is not golden).. Further proving my idiocy “IT’S RAINING!”… again Simon, The Sounds of Silence. I hear the Lincoln ordering. GD it (gosh darn it.)
Finally, this friendly Mickey D probably 17-ish little girl says very nicely “Hi! May I take your order please?” I’m reasonably calm. Human, but reasonably calm. If I, the mostly reasonably calm one, “Biff-ed” out at her… I’m certain she’d been “Biff-ed” out many times in her “Oh boy I gotta job” term at Mickey D’s. She stays upbeat, me, the mostly calm one, had shown my ass. Sorry. So sorry.
About this time, Lincoln edges up, snotnose 40mpg illegal turn sumbitch still in the way. So I says “Hi, I’d like a large French Fry and two double cheeseburgers plain.” My folks were theatric. In fact, formed the local Civic Theater Group whilst chit-chatting with a friend on the porch swing of our house. I loved sports. They never pushed me in sports, but I hella heard “come… be in onea our plays.” No way Jose. After being asked this 76 times over a four year span, when asked the 77th time, in my best Alvin impersonation said “OOOOOOKKKKKKKKK”. So I was. Hehe. A deaf mute. For real. True. Deathly afeareda not memorizing lines, I pleased both worlds. Mine, theirs. But I was in it GD it (gosh darn it). Point being here, I could go on stage with no fear and recite “yes, I’d like a large French fry and two plain double-cheeseburgers please.” If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 683 times.
Done. Inched up. Rich bitch and I still awaiting snotnose to pull up. Finally he does. Reason sat in. I was third, “drive-thru honor.” Now,rich bitch, who wasn’t a bitch at all I learn - doesn’t pull forward - knowing full well I was “the real 2nd place” (GD it, [gosh darn it] little does she know I was really FIRST.).. She waits, nicely, to allow me to pull up.
Again, returning to reasoned calmness, I waived “nah, it’s ok, you finished ordering before I did, please go ahead.” I was the Biff at the enda the movie. (Scroll WAY up to #1, Maynard’s dad is a "whimp.”)
As I rolled up my window, I cranked the volume back up to listen to the remainder of All Along the Watchtower… ‘ceptin by now it was a seamless siding commercial. She-it. Oh well.
Perky 17 yr old who for sure had been talked to rottenly by chums such as me (and worse) smiles - and says “that’ll be $4.07 please.” I had the exact change awaiting.
Get to window number two. Nuther little chicky smiles, and I say “AND I WANT” (and before I could finish - it was as if I’d walked into the ‘joint’ and my Miller Lite was poured awaiting me before my butt hit the stool) she interrupted (nicely) and finished my sentence “a LOT of ketchup please.” Yes. She smiled, I smiled. Déjà vu.
So Victor. You really go thru this (often) on behalfa your no car having son? Yes, yes I do.
Is he thankful when you hand him his food? Yeah… he really is.. Always says “thanks pops.”
And always says “they NEVER fill up my Large French Fry box.” Hey, it’s 7 blocks to Mickey D’s, imagine that. It’s (scroll to #1) just my little way to “get back” kinda-sorta.
As u travel thru the two lanes of personality tests in life, don’t fuckup like I did. Be a better person. On the way home, I’d remembered I’d read about a soldier honored posthumulously with The Medal of Honor (Military’s Highest Honor) after he’d jumped ontoppa a grenade in Iraq to save his four buddies from same fate. And I’d behaved as Biff in the two lane personality test because of snotnose, rich bitch, rain, and not hearing Jimi. (I can hear him, but do I listen… and yes, I’m white, can’t jump)…
Life’s (really not) a bitch, and thenya pee ur pants and forget your name. Man, they put just the right amount of salt on those fries. Happy day, love, Victurd.
Victor, he’s 22, get on with it. Tell him to fend for himself. Ahm, I know, there’s hella more to story. One, his dad’s a big whimp. Two, he’s currently involved in a $3500 obligation, so there just ain’t enough funds there to buy car, drive himself. Three, you’d have to know him.
Four, momma is absent, scroll to #1. Five, I got’s one car, I ain’t insuring him. Six, he pays for his own food (and rent.)
There are MANY nights “please mister custer, I don’t wanna go-oh-ohhhh, oh ohhhhhhh.” But I do. Usually, when I’m in a hurry, 17 other residents have decided to occupy the two drive up “test your personality” lanes too. She-it. Damnit Jim.
Today, ‘twasn’t so bad. In fact, I had free reign to the speaker. Just then, this little snotnose entered the “do not enter” exit from Mickey D's, cranked a hairpin turn right infronta me to be first on the outer lane. His little bitty 40 mile per gallon car had the the turning radius of an ant. Bastard.
I considered backing up, going to the inside lane - woulda been a sonofabitch if another car came, then I’d be 3rd when I was really 1st. Car coming in rear view mirror. Didn’t. He went around, guess he’d already gotten food, and I forgot about inside lane thingy again.
Snotnose finishes order, bootscoots up. I pullup. Jim Hendrix is playing. Loud. We usedta, Victor you’re weird, go over to Weagley’s house as kids and take turns listening to Hendrix with one paira headphones. Sacrificing turning Jimi down plays big, but I did. GD it (gosh darn it) it’s raining.
Uh huh, into the inside lane comes heap big Lincoln Navigator. GD it (gosh darnit) I'M SUPPOSED TO BE SECOND! We had a discussion at work the other day. Bigass Lincoln Navigator drives up, typical sales-looking dude gets out, we all think aloud “whatverinthehell he’s selling, don’t buy it, there’s obviously too mucha markup." Back to the potential of being third at Mickey D’s.
Obviously, whomever completes their order first has “I was done before you were” right away to pull up next after snotnose turn on a dime 40mpg kid. As the rain pelted my forearm, and got the left sidea my body drenched, in my best (worst) “Biff” (Back to the Future) impersonation (“I’ll be damned if that rich bitch orders before me”) said “HELLOOO?”… Silence (is not golden).. Further proving my idiocy “IT’S RAINING!”… again Simon, The Sounds of Silence. I hear the Lincoln ordering. GD it (gosh darn it.)
Finally, this friendly Mickey D probably 17-ish little girl says very nicely “Hi! May I take your order please?” I’m reasonably calm. Human, but reasonably calm. If I, the mostly reasonably calm one, “Biff-ed” out at her… I’m certain she’d been “Biff-ed” out many times in her “Oh boy I gotta job” term at Mickey D’s. She stays upbeat, me, the mostly calm one, had shown my ass. Sorry. So sorry.
About this time, Lincoln edges up, snotnose 40mpg illegal turn sumbitch still in the way. So I says “Hi, I’d like a large French Fry and two double cheeseburgers plain.” My folks were theatric. In fact, formed the local Civic Theater Group whilst chit-chatting with a friend on the porch swing of our house. I loved sports. They never pushed me in sports, but I hella heard “come… be in onea our plays.” No way Jose. After being asked this 76 times over a four year span, when asked the 77th time, in my best Alvin impersonation said “OOOOOOKKKKKKKKK”. So I was. Hehe. A deaf mute. For real. True. Deathly afeareda not memorizing lines, I pleased both worlds. Mine, theirs. But I was in it GD it (gosh darn it). Point being here, I could go on stage with no fear and recite “yes, I’d like a large French fry and two plain double-cheeseburgers please.” If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 683 times.
Done. Inched up. Rich bitch and I still awaiting snotnose to pull up. Finally he does. Reason sat in. I was third, “drive-thru honor.” Now,rich bitch, who wasn’t a bitch at all I learn - doesn’t pull forward - knowing full well I was “the real 2nd place” (GD it, [gosh darn it] little does she know I was really FIRST.).. She waits, nicely, to allow me to pull up.
Again, returning to reasoned calmness, I waived “nah, it’s ok, you finished ordering before I did, please go ahead.” I was the Biff at the enda the movie. (Scroll WAY up to #1, Maynard’s dad is a "whimp.”)
As I rolled up my window, I cranked the volume back up to listen to the remainder of All Along the Watchtower… ‘ceptin by now it was a seamless siding commercial. She-it. Oh well.
Perky 17 yr old who for sure had been talked to rottenly by chums such as me (and worse) smiles - and says “that’ll be $4.07 please.” I had the exact change awaiting.
Get to window number two. Nuther little chicky smiles, and I say “AND I WANT” (and before I could finish - it was as if I’d walked into the ‘joint’ and my Miller Lite was poured awaiting me before my butt hit the stool) she interrupted (nicely) and finished my sentence “a LOT of ketchup please.” Yes. She smiled, I smiled. Déjà vu.
So Victor. You really go thru this (often) on behalfa your no car having son? Yes, yes I do.
Is he thankful when you hand him his food? Yeah… he really is.. Always says “thanks pops.”
And always says “they NEVER fill up my Large French Fry box.” Hey, it’s 7 blocks to Mickey D’s, imagine that. It’s (scroll to #1) just my little way to “get back” kinda-sorta.
As u travel thru the two lanes of personality tests in life, don’t fuckup like I did. Be a better person. On the way home, I’d remembered I’d read about a soldier honored posthumulously with The Medal of Honor (Military’s Highest Honor) after he’d jumped ontoppa a grenade in Iraq to save his four buddies from same fate. And I’d behaved as Biff in the two lane personality test because of snotnose, rich bitch, rain, and not hearing Jimi. (I can hear him, but do I listen… and yes, I’m white, can’t jump)…
Life’s (really not) a bitch, and thenya pee ur pants and forget your name. Man, they put just the right amount of salt on those fries. Happy day, love, Victurd.
This’n that about sumpin……..
San Diego. Stepson gallivanted to San Diego to spread his wings a few years back. Whilst there, on and off again for about four years - I monitored the temps out there. Holy crockadoodle. Ne’er waivered ten degrees from 70. Sumbitch. Perfect. THAT, is what we witnessed last week (except for a few fitty’s mornings).. El glorioso. The best, perfect, relaxing, comfy, moodlifting.
1000days.net. Ruh roh. U remember Reid and Soanya? Uh huh, them two. He 58-ish, she 24-ish. Set sail over a year ago from NY in their homemade schooner in attempt to sail 1000 days continuous without ever stopping on land (the record is 600-something days.) Well, they broke the record for continuous man/woman sailing - but Soanya could never kick the seasickedness… and an Aussie crew came and rescued her after 300-some days. Now, reports in NY papers - seems Mr. Reid owes back child support in excess of $10,000. Damn daddy. They may be waiting for him upon his return. Could mebbe seize his boat. Could mebbe give him “another 1000 days.”
Excelsior. The one day of my life spent with someone way too young for me (no, not teenager u preverts, she was 36.) Anyways, inspitea her (after a few martinis) telling me “you’re not what I want” and “what are you __ “ (a guess of ten years older than I actually am. Damnit Jim) Anyways, in the end, she said “Actually, I had a very nice time” and there was even a goodbye kiss with ‘baby feel.’.. Dummy me, left without phone number. Drove by her house two weeks ago. Got addy. Mailed letter. “Don’t haveta think longterm, we had fun, let’s go out again and simply live.” She just left a “hello Victor, this is ____” message on my answering machine. No caller ID. Damnit Jim. Criminy, did u hear the stamp went from .41 to 42? I know there ain’t no ‘tomorrow’ here, but hey, just her even calling back was almost as mucha ‘feel good’ as the past week’s weather.
Arms. Victor, you’re weird. I knew that. Mickey D’s, you know the routine (fitty-four cent “Senior Coffee please”/their newspaper/people watching.) Looked up, seen this lady sitting at counter. Noticed her arms. Pretty arms. See, told you you were weird Victor. I know, but they were defined. Not masculine. Defined. I likes that. I never knew or realized that was a ‘perk to me’ until I thought it this morning. No, I ain’t no arm-prevert like there are foot-fetish preverts - it was simply a pleasant realization, and a getting to know me better kinda thing.
The Love Boat. I oh so love (as a person) my friend “Sum”. She just returned from her first ever cruise. Compliments of her friend’s father for her friend’s birthday (which included ‘daddy’ getting Mastercard out for their $1500 (uh huh $1500) bar tab. I feel sorry for her kinda-sorta though - cause when this 25 yr old stepped foot on the boat - they realized there was an entire college fraternity (sans sorority girls).. And if that weren’t enough, a couple handfuls of Marines. Poor Sum, what’s a girl to do? Within minutes of arrival onboard (and after a few preboard cocktails.) dude says “hey, we’re playing a game, wanna play?” “SURE!”.. So, dude set two gallon buckets ‘down yonder’. Gave them each a golf ball. Asked them to place between their knees, takeoff, and race (waddle) to the bucket, first one in wins. They did. (Picture here two 25 yr old chicks waddling with golf balls between knees, a giggly kinda thing.) Can’t remember who won. But. There were TV’s plastered allover ship. Dining hall. Rec room. Casino. Etc. Turns out, this was a commercial for the steamlines, and there they were, each and ever hour of the entire however many days (5 I think?) cruise, waddling to the delight of all. “Sum” has many pics plastered on her MySpace page, we recently had lunch and I said “Sum, I counted like pics of you with 17 different guys.” “Uh huh, that pretty much describes the cruise.” GodBless her. I honestly don’t think I know anyone who sucks up each and every second of life more than her. I love that about her. (My sister was like that -sucking up each and every second. Different technique, but I know they woulda loved each other had they met. Victor, that’s too GD longa paragraph. This is a blog you idiot, I’ll do as I please.
Recent “ups”: churchgoingVeryNiceLady at work. Whenever she hangs up phone (I ain’t never seen/heard her mad, talk stern) I almost always say “quit being so disgustingly nice Travis.” Other day, she happened to be walking by my cubicle as I signed off a phone call “thank you sir, we appreciate your good work.” Turned table on me. “quit being so disgustingly nice VICTOR.” Ok, one point for her.
“Up” part II. Closing my bedroom door (my “Maynard shield”) and youtube’ing Carly/James “Mockingbird”,Fatbottom Girl”, “Oh Well Part II”, “Another brick in the wall”, “Low rider”, and any ole damn tune I wanna that just kinda-sorta helps to “feel” during this wonderful thing called life.
That was this’n that about sumpin. Tis my hopes u take ur life highlights and replay ‘em in your brain. Or to friends. Or write about ‘em, even if u never share. We get old, we forget. I’ll have this blog forever, so, one day - after I’ve peed my pants and forgotten my name. I can look back, think, that was one weird sumbitch. I’m glad I ain’t him. Love, Victurd
1000days.net. Ruh roh. U remember Reid and Soanya? Uh huh, them two. He 58-ish, she 24-ish. Set sail over a year ago from NY in their homemade schooner in attempt to sail 1000 days continuous without ever stopping on land (the record is 600-something days.) Well, they broke the record for continuous man/woman sailing - but Soanya could never kick the seasickedness… and an Aussie crew came and rescued her after 300-some days. Now, reports in NY papers - seems Mr. Reid owes back child support in excess of $10,000. Damn daddy. They may be waiting for him upon his return. Could mebbe seize his boat. Could mebbe give him “another 1000 days.”
Excelsior. The one day of my life spent with someone way too young for me (no, not teenager u preverts, she was 36.) Anyways, inspitea her (after a few martinis) telling me “you’re not what I want” and “what are you __ “ (a guess of ten years older than I actually am. Damnit Jim) Anyways, in the end, she said “Actually, I had a very nice time” and there was even a goodbye kiss with ‘baby feel.’.. Dummy me, left without phone number. Drove by her house two weeks ago. Got addy. Mailed letter. “Don’t haveta think longterm, we had fun, let’s go out again and simply live.” She just left a “hello Victor, this is ____” message on my answering machine. No caller ID. Damnit Jim. Criminy, did u hear the stamp went from .41 to 42? I know there ain’t no ‘tomorrow’ here, but hey, just her even calling back was almost as mucha ‘feel good’ as the past week’s weather.
Arms. Victor, you’re weird. I knew that. Mickey D’s, you know the routine (fitty-four cent “Senior Coffee please”/their newspaper/people watching.) Looked up, seen this lady sitting at counter. Noticed her arms. Pretty arms. See, told you you were weird Victor. I know, but they were defined. Not masculine. Defined. I likes that. I never knew or realized that was a ‘perk to me’ until I thought it this morning. No, I ain’t no arm-prevert like there are foot-fetish preverts - it was simply a pleasant realization, and a getting to know me better kinda thing.
The Love Boat. I oh so love (as a person) my friend “Sum”. She just returned from her first ever cruise. Compliments of her friend’s father for her friend’s birthday (which included ‘daddy’ getting Mastercard out for their $1500 (uh huh $1500) bar tab. I feel sorry for her kinda-sorta though - cause when this 25 yr old stepped foot on the boat - they realized there was an entire college fraternity (sans sorority girls).. And if that weren’t enough, a couple handfuls of Marines. Poor Sum, what’s a girl to do? Within minutes of arrival onboard (and after a few preboard cocktails.) dude says “hey, we’re playing a game, wanna play?” “SURE!”.. So, dude set two gallon buckets ‘down yonder’. Gave them each a golf ball. Asked them to place between their knees, takeoff, and race (waddle) to the bucket, first one in wins. They did. (Picture here two 25 yr old chicks waddling with golf balls between knees, a giggly kinda thing.) Can’t remember who won. But. There were TV’s plastered allover ship. Dining hall. Rec room. Casino. Etc. Turns out, this was a commercial for the steamlines, and there they were, each and ever hour of the entire however many days (5 I think?) cruise, waddling to the delight of all. “Sum” has many pics plastered on her MySpace page, we recently had lunch and I said “Sum, I counted like pics of you with 17 different guys.” “Uh huh, that pretty much describes the cruise.” GodBless her. I honestly don’t think I know anyone who sucks up each and every second of life more than her. I love that about her. (My sister was like that -sucking up each and every second. Different technique, but I know they woulda loved each other had they met. Victor, that’s too GD longa paragraph. This is a blog you idiot, I’ll do as I please.
Recent “ups”: churchgoingVeryNiceLady at work. Whenever she hangs up phone (I ain’t never seen/heard her mad, talk stern) I almost always say “quit being so disgustingly nice Travis.” Other day, she happened to be walking by my cubicle as I signed off a phone call “thank you sir, we appreciate your good work.” Turned table on me. “quit being so disgustingly nice VICTOR.” Ok, one point for her.
“Up” part II. Closing my bedroom door (my “Maynard shield”) and youtube’ing Carly/James “Mockingbird”,Fatbottom Girl”, “Oh Well Part II”, “Another brick in the wall”, “Low rider”, and any ole damn tune I wanna that just kinda-sorta helps to “feel” during this wonderful thing called life.
That was this’n that about sumpin. Tis my hopes u take ur life highlights and replay ‘em in your brain. Or to friends. Or write about ‘em, even if u never share. We get old, we forget. I’ll have this blog forever, so, one day - after I’ve peed my pants and forgotten my name. I can look back, think, that was one weird sumbitch. I’m glad I ain’t him. Love, Victurd
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Wardrobes……..
Ain’t we different? Oh sure, economics plays a fairly important role in how we dress, but then, I’ve seen some pretty weird well-to-do dudes/dudettes too.
Dated a gal that had a walk in closet. So big u coulda had a pool table, I shit u not. Everything was hung in hues. The kinda reds here.. The mostly purples there.. Pinks.. Greens… Oranges.. Black.. Tan.. White.. Lt. Blue… Navy.. Etc..
Mine? Of course, jumbled. Although.. When someotherlady shared the bed, we of course, shared the closet. Sooooo. Industrial Victurd, decided to put a 2nd pole in the closet.. As in, her on top, mine on the bottom.. With plentya room on the end for her damn dresses to dangle.. HA, she’s gone now, I gots me botha them poles, and I filled ‘em.
Whenever there’s a death or a wedding, I’m like “Oh crap, where’s the nearest Thrift Store?”.. I just don’t have fancy duds.
What is it with you women and shoes? Lady at work, I ain’t seen her in the same pair twice. Oh break, she’s always complimenting someone’s “cool” shoes.. The hellya put ‘em all? I have: a work pair, a paira tenny-boppers, and a lawmowing pair. (Not to worry, I wash/clean them faithfully on even years.)
Friday, casual day. We can wear jeans, kinda-sorta T-shirts at work. It’s the real us. No pretense. All kinda-sorta of the same ilk.
We recently had a group formed at work to help figure out a new, ‘improved’ dress code. Which, is fancy for “tell us what you’d like, and then we’ll tell you what to wear.” I hope you know by now I abhor discrimination. Onea the items on the proposed list was ‘distressed clothing.” I thought “looky here bitch, just because someone ain’t gotta lotta money, you can’t force ‘em to buy new duds. There’s gonna be holes, worn places, missing buttons, tears. Why somea my FINEST has been bought at the Council for the Blind (Thursday is men’s half-price day).” Ahm, she meant that new fad where the manufacturers cuts holes, slits in things like jeans on purpose - nothing to do with fadin’, worn, buttons, tears. “Oh, Ok, sorry.”
Cleavage. I neva understood why women wear that crap, and then if they catchya lookin’ it’s like “HOW DARE YOU.” Cracks me up. Yes, perhaps pun intended.
Have you ever worn something you really, really liked - only to have an acquaintance make funa it? The worst. I have. I let the garment sulk on the hanger for a few months, then I say “Screw ‘em, I like it, I’m wearing it.”
Just gotta email that said something to the effect of “It’s not so much how you dress… it’s how you undress.” Amen Brother Ben to that one.
Socks. Where DO those things go? I have 33 black socks.. And notta pair matches. Wear ‘em to work, lean back on “my rock” - people notice. “Vic, your socks don’t match.” “Uh huh, I know, gotta pair ‘just like ‘em’ at home.”
Waistlines. GD is this different too. We go all the way from the saggers, to the geriatric a-few-inches-above-ma-belly-button types. Come on, tell the truth. When someone bends over - you look don’tya just to see what kinda undies they’re wearing. You GD preverts, I’ve never done that. Hehe. WHY and WHAT is the fascination with undies? Hearda waitress the other night, she got so tickled, spouted out “OMG, I almost peed my thong.” Whoops, didn’t have to wait to see her bendover there. Or, the commando’s. Run up agin’ one or two of ‘em in my day. Ahm, don’t u ever have baby pee-pee squirts? (Don’t worry, won’t mention sharts here.)
Undies. We gots the bikini, the G-string, the Tanga, the Thong, boxer briefs, boxer shorts, briefs, granny panties, cheekies, hip huggers, V-strings, boyshorts, hipsters. It’s all kinda personal ya know. Whatshername had many average pair, and one ‘uhh-la-la” lacy pair. I kinda figured there must’n been sumpin’ up when she wore those on girl’s night out. Me, I’m the plain ole boxer brief type. Can’t do the boxers, feel too dangly.
Dressing in the dark, kinda-sorta. My new eyes, along with a 40 watt bulb that prolly shoulda been a 75 watt bulb, have me showing up at work in interesting combinations. Oh shit, this blue shirt doesn’t really go with these olive slacks. GD why didn’t I wear ma belt today. Wow, the left sock really is brown. Oh my I shoulda ironed this. Hey, whatsup with this…this zipper usedta work.
I hate those that get it/do it right every time. I feel like running up and messing up a collar. Or unbuttoning their shirt and rebuttoning them off one button. Stealing one shoe. Walking up, tripping and saying “oops” as my QT coffee drenches their perfection.
We come into the world naked, and we leave in “our favorite outfit.” (Well, I guess some are cooked.)
The older I get, the less I spend on clothes. Those that know me, “screw you, I know you can tell.” I do get a selfish hair every now and then.. But mainly, I just wanna dress so I ain’t embarrassed - and that it fits the day’s forecast.
I went into a dry cleaners once. Was lost, hadta ask directions. I don’t sort at the GD laundromat. But, reckon I do ok. The way you do the things you do. People watching. Clothes watching. Cleavage watching (you GD preverts.) Bendover watching. Wind-blowing-dress-blowing-watching, GD preverts. You follow the plumber to the sink don’tya?
Our drawers hold the expression of us. Our closets play big in what people thinka us. It’s all kinda silly when u stop and think of it. I’d better go, I’m putting myself to sleep now. Thanks for visiting. Keep ur zipper zipped. Getya a little portable steamer if u hate ironin’ like I do. Purchase onea them 100 Watt bulbs and checkurself out just afore u leave the house. Most of all, don’t worry. It’s what’s inside that counts. Not what’s outside. Loveya, Victurd
Dated a gal that had a walk in closet. So big u coulda had a pool table, I shit u not. Everything was hung in hues. The kinda reds here.. The mostly purples there.. Pinks.. Greens… Oranges.. Black.. Tan.. White.. Lt. Blue… Navy.. Etc..
Mine? Of course, jumbled. Although.. When someotherlady shared the bed, we of course, shared the closet. Sooooo. Industrial Victurd, decided to put a 2nd pole in the closet.. As in, her on top, mine on the bottom.. With plentya room on the end for her damn dresses to dangle.. HA, she’s gone now, I gots me botha them poles, and I filled ‘em.
Whenever there’s a death or a wedding, I’m like “Oh crap, where’s the nearest Thrift Store?”.. I just don’t have fancy duds.
What is it with you women and shoes? Lady at work, I ain’t seen her in the same pair twice. Oh break, she’s always complimenting someone’s “cool” shoes.. The hellya put ‘em all? I have: a work pair, a paira tenny-boppers, and a lawmowing pair. (Not to worry, I wash/clean them faithfully on even years.)
Friday, casual day. We can wear jeans, kinda-sorta T-shirts at work. It’s the real us. No pretense. All kinda-sorta of the same ilk.
We recently had a group formed at work to help figure out a new, ‘improved’ dress code. Which, is fancy for “tell us what you’d like, and then we’ll tell you what to wear.” I hope you know by now I abhor discrimination. Onea the items on the proposed list was ‘distressed clothing.” I thought “looky here bitch, just because someone ain’t gotta lotta money, you can’t force ‘em to buy new duds. There’s gonna be holes, worn places, missing buttons, tears. Why somea my FINEST has been bought at the Council for the Blind (Thursday is men’s half-price day).” Ahm, she meant that new fad where the manufacturers cuts holes, slits in things like jeans on purpose - nothing to do with fadin’, worn, buttons, tears. “Oh, Ok, sorry.”
Cleavage. I neva understood why women wear that crap, and then if they catchya lookin’ it’s like “HOW DARE YOU.” Cracks me up. Yes, perhaps pun intended.
Have you ever worn something you really, really liked - only to have an acquaintance make funa it? The worst. I have. I let the garment sulk on the hanger for a few months, then I say “Screw ‘em, I like it, I’m wearing it.”
Just gotta email that said something to the effect of “It’s not so much how you dress… it’s how you undress.” Amen Brother Ben to that one.
Socks. Where DO those things go? I have 33 black socks.. And notta pair matches. Wear ‘em to work, lean back on “my rock” - people notice. “Vic, your socks don’t match.” “Uh huh, I know, gotta pair ‘just like ‘em’ at home.”
Waistlines. GD is this different too. We go all the way from the saggers, to the geriatric a-few-inches-above-ma-belly-button types. Come on, tell the truth. When someone bends over - you look don’tya just to see what kinda undies they’re wearing. You GD preverts, I’ve never done that. Hehe. WHY and WHAT is the fascination with undies? Hearda waitress the other night, she got so tickled, spouted out “OMG, I almost peed my thong.” Whoops, didn’t have to wait to see her bendover there. Or, the commando’s. Run up agin’ one or two of ‘em in my day. Ahm, don’t u ever have baby pee-pee squirts? (Don’t worry, won’t mention sharts here.)
Undies. We gots the bikini, the G-string, the Tanga, the Thong, boxer briefs, boxer shorts, briefs, granny panties, cheekies, hip huggers, V-strings, boyshorts, hipsters. It’s all kinda personal ya know. Whatshername had many average pair, and one ‘uhh-la-la” lacy pair. I kinda figured there must’n been sumpin’ up when she wore those on girl’s night out. Me, I’m the plain ole boxer brief type. Can’t do the boxers, feel too dangly.
Dressing in the dark, kinda-sorta. My new eyes, along with a 40 watt bulb that prolly shoulda been a 75 watt bulb, have me showing up at work in interesting combinations. Oh shit, this blue shirt doesn’t really go with these olive slacks. GD why didn’t I wear ma belt today. Wow, the left sock really is brown. Oh my I shoulda ironed this. Hey, whatsup with this…this zipper usedta work.
I hate those that get it/do it right every time. I feel like running up and messing up a collar. Or unbuttoning their shirt and rebuttoning them off one button. Stealing one shoe. Walking up, tripping and saying “oops” as my QT coffee drenches their perfection.
We come into the world naked, and we leave in “our favorite outfit.” (Well, I guess some are cooked.)
The older I get, the less I spend on clothes. Those that know me, “screw you, I know you can tell.” I do get a selfish hair every now and then.. But mainly, I just wanna dress so I ain’t embarrassed - and that it fits the day’s forecast.
I went into a dry cleaners once. Was lost, hadta ask directions. I don’t sort at the GD laundromat. But, reckon I do ok. The way you do the things you do. People watching. Clothes watching. Cleavage watching (you GD preverts.) Bendover watching. Wind-blowing-dress-blowing-watching, GD preverts. You follow the plumber to the sink don’tya?
Our drawers hold the expression of us. Our closets play big in what people thinka us. It’s all kinda silly when u stop and think of it. I’d better go, I’m putting myself to sleep now. Thanks for visiting. Keep ur zipper zipped. Getya a little portable steamer if u hate ironin’ like I do. Purchase onea them 100 Watt bulbs and checkurself out just afore u leave the house. Most of all, don’t worry. It’s what’s inside that counts. Not what’s outside. Loveya, Victurd
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Brief one… dumb?
My buddy’s mother is 90. He went to see her in the nursing home where she lives on Mother’s Day. Her brain is remarkable, her body is frail, unwilling – and burdens her to 100% bed rest. My buddy debated verbally with himself as to whether it’s a good thing her mind is so sharp – and that she’s basically awaiting an end.
This morning as I drove into the big city to drop Maynard off at his job… I thought to myself “self, what if this were the last time I’d ever make this drive?... What if tomorrow never comes?”…
Don’t laugh.. do you know how amazing a tree can look? I watched in wonder.. I’m usually ‘in a zone’, a spaced out zone when I drive. Start here, end there, and hope no one backs into me again. (hehe).. No, for real, it was a lesson to me. I focused like I’ve never focused before. Reminded me of when I worked for TG&Y. (Whatever happened to TG&Y?). Gal from Brazil. 25-ish. Snowed one day. She’d never seen it. Walked to the window and simply stared and stared. Tried putting myself in her shoes. Hurt, she only wore like a size 6. JK. I felt like that today. Watching in wonder.
That’s it. That’s the tidbit for the day. On you go, and as you go, hey – give it a whirl.. look around… pretend “this might be the last time I might see this room/town/highway/sign/tree/building/person” etc. Life truly is amazing. Loveya, Victurd.
This morning as I drove into the big city to drop Maynard off at his job… I thought to myself “self, what if this were the last time I’d ever make this drive?... What if tomorrow never comes?”…
Don’t laugh.. do you know how amazing a tree can look? I watched in wonder.. I’m usually ‘in a zone’, a spaced out zone when I drive. Start here, end there, and hope no one backs into me again. (hehe).. No, for real, it was a lesson to me. I focused like I’ve never focused before. Reminded me of when I worked for TG&Y. (Whatever happened to TG&Y?). Gal from Brazil. 25-ish. Snowed one day. She’d never seen it. Walked to the window and simply stared and stared. Tried putting myself in her shoes. Hurt, she only wore like a size 6. JK. I felt like that today. Watching in wonder.
That’s it. That’s the tidbit for the day. On you go, and as you go, hey – give it a whirl.. look around… pretend “this might be the last time I might see this room/town/highway/sign/tree/building/person” etc. Life truly is amazing. Loveya, Victurd.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Victor, you’re too GD old for this….
I am fitty-five… Long about ten years ago, feller about to forfeit a softball tourney due to lackaplayers, dialed me up, said “Vic, please.” So I did. I pitched, did ok. I think we won more than we lost, and at the end, they said (mebbe kinda-sorta as if ‘forced’) “Vic, you’re still playin’ good ball.” Eh, whatever.
Fast forward to last year. Final gamea the season. Same kinda phone call (damn, were they WAY down on the list.). Sure, I’ll play. So I did, and, I still have/left with, two intact cataract implants, and no pee stains from FearOfGoingToTheER after the game.
Their begging, this year, turned to “ahm, I’d like to try it again… may I?”… “Why sure Vic, we’d love to have you on our team.” Wha’d u say sonny? Canardly hear. “WHY SURE VIC, WE’D LOVE TO HAVE YOU ON OUR TEAM.” The lying bastards. They’re in a “youth movement”, but I’d bought one or five of ‘em rounds at ‘The Corner’, so they felt obligated.
Have you ever “set something down” ten years ago, and can’t find it? Uh huh, my glove. Can’t find the bastard. “Hey Vic” beckoned lefthanded Dick “I’ve got two, reach in my bag and grab the other.” K. Did.
So. First practice. Warming up. Let alone that it’s been ten years, but I have new eyeballs too. Simply playing ‘catch’. It’s different. It ain’t me. It ain’t like it was. YES, I can type this GD blog now in Times New Roman 12, and read it no sweat, and YES, I can be on aisle 3 at the Piggly Wiggly and see what’s on aisle 11, but it just ain’t the same. So I butchered a few fly balls, wrote it off to being “fitty-something” and that was that.
Second practice, actually played some young shits in a practice game… about the same. Did Ok, nothing outstanding, nothing to be embarrassed about. That, plays huge.
GAME TIME. The REAL thing. I was an hour early, sorry. Basta’s were on cells dialing and begging “I don’t think we’ll have enough… can u get to the City Park by 5?”.. Time for pitch #1, there were 18 of us accumulated. Twas cool though, all got to bat , and all got to play the field.
My first at bat. Whilst I’d attended both practices (of about seven of us could say the same), it really didn’t matter when the batting order was compiled - and hey, I’m Ok with that. I was like 12th. After Tom. We finally got to where Tom was next up.. And “Vic, you’re in the hole”.. Oh they painted that one correctly. I’d gone to the batting cages before the game, but I was the only one there over 12, so I didn’t partake.
Tom singles. My turn. “Come on Vic, getta hit”. Yeah right. The first pitch wasn’t good, so I took it. Ball 2. (You start with a 1 and 1 count.) The second pitch was perfect, but I foul it outta play. I’m thanking the Gods I didn’t swing-and-miss. Finally, I closed my eyes, swung as hard as these “55 cent coffee at McDonalds” arms would let me, and lo and beholf, single up the middle.
There were two outs, and I was left stranded, but it was a HUGE exhale, as I didn’t embarrass myself.
A couplea more innings at catcher.. One or two in the field.. My turn again.
This was my third turn up. Bottom o’ the 7th, runners on first and second.. We were down by 8. Oh shit. I hate the pressure. So, again, I close my eyes, swing as hard as I can… GD ground ball back to pitcher… he throws to second (one out) and then first (double play).. Sorry.. I tried.
Ok, starting game two. I had a beer, played a couple innings in the field. Then me again to bat. The pitcher had “talked me into” swinging at “shit” pitches in game one. Mebbe, I’d learned.
Boom. Base hit to left field. Line drive over shortstop’s head. I was happy, I was on first, I was worrying about pulling a muscle, life, it was simply good.
We eventually lost both ends of the double header. We played for two hours, and drank for like four after. I hadn’t embarrassed myself. I went “2 for 4”, not bad by ‘fitty-five year old’ standards..
To be honest, I was elated. No scorn pointed at me. I was ‘so-so’ versus ‘you GD so-and-So’/ On my second hit, there was actually a groupa ‘hens’ sitting in the bleachers that went ballistic. Way cool. I was reminded of being 13 again. In fact, they sat damn close to where those did in that day and age. DeJaVictor.
We’re offa week for Memorial Day, then we restart the following Sunday. I’m on Cloud 9 about it. Ya just don’t know how lonely a single dude gets. I pray my new eyeballs keep it up. I am so thankful I’ve once again got the opportunity to do this.
Our team is named “The Raleigh Hills All-Stars”. Well.. Raleigh Hills is an old folk’s home. No, it’s not a legit sponsorship. They/we stole the name. I just hope, next time they announce the batting order, I’m still like 11th. And not a fulltime resident.
Put me in coach. I’m ready to play. Love, Victurd.
Fast forward to last year. Final gamea the season. Same kinda phone call (damn, were they WAY down on the list.). Sure, I’ll play. So I did, and, I still have/left with, two intact cataract implants, and no pee stains from FearOfGoingToTheER after the game.
Their begging, this year, turned to “ahm, I’d like to try it again… may I?”… “Why sure Vic, we’d love to have you on our team.” Wha’d u say sonny? Canardly hear. “WHY SURE VIC, WE’D LOVE TO HAVE YOU ON OUR TEAM.” The lying bastards. They’re in a “youth movement”, but I’d bought one or five of ‘em rounds at ‘The Corner’, so they felt obligated.
Have you ever “set something down” ten years ago, and can’t find it? Uh huh, my glove. Can’t find the bastard. “Hey Vic” beckoned lefthanded Dick “I’ve got two, reach in my bag and grab the other.” K. Did.
So. First practice. Warming up. Let alone that it’s been ten years, but I have new eyeballs too. Simply playing ‘catch’. It’s different. It ain’t me. It ain’t like it was. YES, I can type this GD blog now in Times New Roman 12, and read it no sweat, and YES, I can be on aisle 3 at the Piggly Wiggly and see what’s on aisle 11, but it just ain’t the same. So I butchered a few fly balls, wrote it off to being “fitty-something” and that was that.
Second practice, actually played some young shits in a practice game… about the same. Did Ok, nothing outstanding, nothing to be embarrassed about. That, plays huge.
GAME TIME. The REAL thing. I was an hour early, sorry. Basta’s were on cells dialing and begging “I don’t think we’ll have enough… can u get to the City Park by 5?”.. Time for pitch #1, there were 18 of us accumulated. Twas cool though, all got to bat , and all got to play the field.
My first at bat. Whilst I’d attended both practices (of about seven of us could say the same), it really didn’t matter when the batting order was compiled - and hey, I’m Ok with that. I was like 12th. After Tom. We finally got to where Tom was next up.. And “Vic, you’re in the hole”.. Oh they painted that one correctly. I’d gone to the batting cages before the game, but I was the only one there over 12, so I didn’t partake.
Tom singles. My turn. “Come on Vic, getta hit”. Yeah right. The first pitch wasn’t good, so I took it. Ball 2. (You start with a 1 and 1 count.) The second pitch was perfect, but I foul it outta play. I’m thanking the Gods I didn’t swing-and-miss. Finally, I closed my eyes, swung as hard as these “55 cent coffee at McDonalds” arms would let me, and lo and beholf, single up the middle.
There were two outs, and I was left stranded, but it was a HUGE exhale, as I didn’t embarrass myself.
A couplea more innings at catcher.. One or two in the field.. My turn again.
This was my third turn up. Bottom o’ the 7th, runners on first and second.. We were down by 8. Oh shit. I hate the pressure. So, again, I close my eyes, swing as hard as I can… GD ground ball back to pitcher… he throws to second (one out) and then first (double play).. Sorry.. I tried.
Ok, starting game two. I had a beer, played a couple innings in the field. Then me again to bat. The pitcher had “talked me into” swinging at “shit” pitches in game one. Mebbe, I’d learned.
Boom. Base hit to left field. Line drive over shortstop’s head. I was happy, I was on first, I was worrying about pulling a muscle, life, it was simply good.
We eventually lost both ends of the double header. We played for two hours, and drank for like four after. I hadn’t embarrassed myself. I went “2 for 4”, not bad by ‘fitty-five year old’ standards..
To be honest, I was elated. No scorn pointed at me. I was ‘so-so’ versus ‘you GD so-and-So’/ On my second hit, there was actually a groupa ‘hens’ sitting in the bleachers that went ballistic. Way cool. I was reminded of being 13 again. In fact, they sat damn close to where those did in that day and age. DeJaVictor.
We’re offa week for Memorial Day, then we restart the following Sunday. I’m on Cloud 9 about it. Ya just don’t know how lonely a single dude gets. I pray my new eyeballs keep it up. I am so thankful I’ve once again got the opportunity to do this.
Our team is named “The Raleigh Hills All-Stars”. Well.. Raleigh Hills is an old folk’s home. No, it’s not a legit sponsorship. They/we stole the name. I just hope, next time they announce the batting order, I’m still like 11th. And not a fulltime resident.
Put me in coach. I’m ready to play. Love, Victurd.
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Caribbean Cooler…..
Very very few things in life REALLY relax me… Sleep… Watching a good, fun movie AT the theater.. Laying down, cat level, petting Jackson.. Mebbe watching a baseball game.. That’s pretty much close to it…
We have a theme park here in Kansas City… World’s of Fun with the roller coasters (no thanks, it’s tough enough as is on the roller coaster of life) and Ocean’s of Fun, a swim park. Centered in Oceans of Fun is the Caribbean Cooler. It’s a waist deep, 800 foot mostly-circular lap thingy where they give you rafts - and there are jets, or something, that propel you around and around, again and again.. No effort needed on your part. The pace is PERFECTLY mild.. Relaxing. Hella relaxing, this magical ride of circulation is…
The Hot… Rod… Lincoln.. It’s got oil circulating, it’s life blood. As is the coolant that goes around and about the engine. There are dingers (checkenginelight) that tellya when it’s run afoul.. “Low engine oil”.. “Check temperature’.. Some folks, like can’t-control-their-libido men (and women), give up on the ole circulator when it hits 100,000 miles or so. They trade it in for a new model - one that will allow for continued assurance of proper circulation.
We walk allover the planet, and the circulation of our blood allows us to. It’s critical. It’s mandatory. It’s a must.
I was at the Laundromat the Sunday.. Little kid, maybe 8, with his grandma. I heard grandma say “no, my father’s dead.”.. Soon, the little boy ran up to me and asked “hey mister, is it father’s day?”… “No sir” and about that time the grandma chimed in “Joey, that’s in June.” It was sad I was reminded my father isn’t here any longer - but then I said a prayer of thanks that I am lucky enough to be.
When the HRL overheated (12 times) on the way home that night.. And finally it wouldn’t circulate any longer.. Oh yes, I wanted to trade her in right there for a ‘new model’.. mebbe a 45 yr old, rich, divorced blonde.. Instead I had it towed, fixed, and more tomorrows of circulation.
Pipes at home freeze in the winter time. Cars overheat. Our ownself overheats, perhaps has ticker problems. Ya just never know.
I was coming home tonight. Meeting a friend at 7. I hate being late. I’m never late. Two semi’s in the right 2/3’rds lanes on Interstate going up a hella hill, and I had to pass - and nervously see if I could make it back in the right lane to exit. I was frustrated - but then I realized, it’s Ok, I’m circulatin’.
When I got off the exit.. I was on a one-lane (no possible way to pass due to curbing) road.. And I got behind a nun (I know this because she later turned into the place where nuns stay) and she was doing 23, in a 45 mph zone. She had three, count ‘em three, identical bumper stickers that were actually on her bumper. (By now it’s 6:58pm). “JESUS CHRIST”, JESUS CHRIST”, “JESUS CHRIST.” Ironically, that was kinda what I was saying to myself. Now, I don’t believe I violated that Commandment, because some preacher dude once gave a sermon and said, “Actually, this Commandment is aimed primarily at those who believe but do nothing about it.” I do believe, I have done something about it, yet still I have to admit I kinda laughed when the bumper stickers described my feeling at the moment. The laugh reminded me, it’s all good, I’m still circulating. The water is ok, as is the oil. Blood must be goin’ good too.
Met up with my friend, a couple minutes late - but there we were - both stilla circulating, both smiling, both enjoying life.
There are bumps in the road no matta what u drive. The furnace will break down at some point on some cold winter’s day. The Hot.. Rod.. Lincoln.. will eventually keel… Shit happens. I’m still circulating. If you’re reading this, you’re circulating too.
Kids will beckon mom off the Caribbean Cooler to go watch them ride the water slides. Horn will sound when it’s time to get the hell offa the ride, the park is closing. People will pull out in fronta ya. Friends could say something really hurtful. There could be more bills than balance. The check to buy food for the resta the week might race payday’s automatic deposit to the wire. Women will run off on a Harley. The Red Sox will throw a no-hitter at the Royals. (Happened tonight.)
Bottomline, we’re still circulating. And it’s something to be thankful for. Borrowing from that little redheaded snotnose, the sun’ll come out, tomorrow.
Is fitty-five too old to go to Ocean’s of Fun just to ride/relax on the Caribbean Cooler? I hopes not, ‘cause I planta do it again one day. Providin’ I’m stilla circulatin’. May your arteries send it one way, and your veins the other for a long, long time. When pitfalls happen, remember, those things are still working, so whatever the problem, it too shall pass. Love, Victurd.
We have a theme park here in Kansas City… World’s of Fun with the roller coasters (no thanks, it’s tough enough as is on the roller coaster of life) and Ocean’s of Fun, a swim park. Centered in Oceans of Fun is the Caribbean Cooler. It’s a waist deep, 800 foot mostly-circular lap thingy where they give you rafts - and there are jets, or something, that propel you around and around, again and again.. No effort needed on your part. The pace is PERFECTLY mild.. Relaxing. Hella relaxing, this magical ride of circulation is…
The Hot… Rod… Lincoln.. It’s got oil circulating, it’s life blood. As is the coolant that goes around and about the engine. There are dingers (checkenginelight) that tellya when it’s run afoul.. “Low engine oil”.. “Check temperature’.. Some folks, like can’t-control-their-libido men (and women), give up on the ole circulator when it hits 100,000 miles or so. They trade it in for a new model - one that will allow for continued assurance of proper circulation.
We walk allover the planet, and the circulation of our blood allows us to. It’s critical. It’s mandatory. It’s a must.
I was at the Laundromat the Sunday.. Little kid, maybe 8, with his grandma. I heard grandma say “no, my father’s dead.”.. Soon, the little boy ran up to me and asked “hey mister, is it father’s day?”… “No sir” and about that time the grandma chimed in “Joey, that’s in June.” It was sad I was reminded my father isn’t here any longer - but then I said a prayer of thanks that I am lucky enough to be.
When the HRL overheated (12 times) on the way home that night.. And finally it wouldn’t circulate any longer.. Oh yes, I wanted to trade her in right there for a ‘new model’.. mebbe a 45 yr old, rich, divorced blonde.. Instead I had it towed, fixed, and more tomorrows of circulation.
Pipes at home freeze in the winter time. Cars overheat. Our ownself overheats, perhaps has ticker problems. Ya just never know.
I was coming home tonight. Meeting a friend at 7. I hate being late. I’m never late. Two semi’s in the right 2/3’rds lanes on Interstate going up a hella hill, and I had to pass - and nervously see if I could make it back in the right lane to exit. I was frustrated - but then I realized, it’s Ok, I’m circulatin’.
When I got off the exit.. I was on a one-lane (no possible way to pass due to curbing) road.. And I got behind a nun (I know this because she later turned into the place where nuns stay) and she was doing 23, in a 45 mph zone. She had three, count ‘em three, identical bumper stickers that were actually on her bumper. (By now it’s 6:58pm). “JESUS CHRIST”, JESUS CHRIST”, “JESUS CHRIST.” Ironically, that was kinda what I was saying to myself. Now, I don’t believe I violated that Commandment, because some preacher dude once gave a sermon and said, “Actually, this Commandment is aimed primarily at those who believe but do nothing about it.” I do believe, I have done something about it, yet still I have to admit I kinda laughed when the bumper stickers described my feeling at the moment. The laugh reminded me, it’s all good, I’m still circulating. The water is ok, as is the oil. Blood must be goin’ good too.
Met up with my friend, a couple minutes late - but there we were - both stilla circulating, both smiling, both enjoying life.
There are bumps in the road no matta what u drive. The furnace will break down at some point on some cold winter’s day. The Hot.. Rod.. Lincoln.. will eventually keel… Shit happens. I’m still circulating. If you’re reading this, you’re circulating too.
Kids will beckon mom off the Caribbean Cooler to go watch them ride the water slides. Horn will sound when it’s time to get the hell offa the ride, the park is closing. People will pull out in fronta ya. Friends could say something really hurtful. There could be more bills than balance. The check to buy food for the resta the week might race payday’s automatic deposit to the wire. Women will run off on a Harley. The Red Sox will throw a no-hitter at the Royals. (Happened tonight.)
Bottomline, we’re still circulating. And it’s something to be thankful for. Borrowing from that little redheaded snotnose, the sun’ll come out, tomorrow.
Is fitty-five too old to go to Ocean’s of Fun just to ride/relax on the Caribbean Cooler? I hopes not, ‘cause I planta do it again one day. Providin’ I’m stilla circulatin’. May your arteries send it one way, and your veins the other for a long, long time. When pitfalls happen, remember, those things are still working, so whatever the problem, it too shall pass. Love, Victurd.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Poopy……… Pleasing… And making the world a better place….
If only. In only I’d place as much importance on pickin’-up-crap as I do on trying to boost folks (mainly me), I perhaps wouldn’t be sucha chocolate mess. My desk at work, my computer desk at home. Both fall victim to “ah, I’ll clean it all up onea these days“, and I eventually do - only to again repeat the mountain building mess - and do it all again, over and over. Trash, I ain’t good with. People, I’m eh, Ok. Driving coworkers to lunch means me going out ten minutes early with a 30 gallon trash bag to clear a swath for them to sit. It’s me. (It’s me it’s Ernest T.) Only you old sumbitches will know that one.
Had an incident the other day. This person walks into my cubicle at 43mph, in a huff, says -with one arm on her waist, the other extending this invoice “VIC, CAN YOU TELL ME EXACTLY WHY YOU PUT THIS ON MY DESK?” as if I had committed a Class A Felony, and I was surely bound for Leavenworth.. Ahm, “Excuse me?” I very much abhor “put your dukes up” kinda people. Well, that behavior anyways. I wish I woulda had the kanumption (dat a word?) to say “Look bitch, we’re civil over here. This is a nice, fun, place to work - and we kinda-sorta enjoy treating people civil, and kinda-sorta expect the same in return. Now please back yourass on outta here, and come back when you’re ready to speak civilly.” Ceptin’ I can’t remember what I said - but, I fell victim to speaking to her just as she did I - and we both pretty much left the place poopy. I have no idea who put that on her desk, and am even more at a loss as to how something as trivial as that can put sucha damper on one’s disposition.
We, me very definitely, need to leave the world a better place - each and every opportunity. I have a friend, and I hope she doesn’t sue me for whatever it is they sue you for when you steal a quote from some written place. Risking perhaps a misdemeanor, she writes “My Daddy taught me as a small child "Always Leave the outdoors, a better place than you found it". He would take us out of school every 2nd friday, to go camping... anywhere, from the mountains in Alaska, to the red clay mountains in Georgia, to the Everglades. The last evening there, we always walked and talked, picking up everyone else's destruction. I've taught my children the same, and I pray they will teach their children as well.”
They walked into “the cubicle of nature”, treated it civilly, and left it a better place. What a cool, cool thing.
I ain’t good at much. (Victor, are you gonna brag here?) No. Just making statements. I usedta teach PE. Elementary and Junior High PE. I’d fortunately learned - not everyone likes/loves PE as I, therefore - I made it a goal to make it fun. Focus on any accomplishment I could, no matter the skill level, or lack thereof. “Catch ‘em doing good” the Principal usedta call it. Assisting in upgrading self-worth. I may have driven home after a long day of professing all this - then had a few cigs and a halfa six-pack, but by God the little critters all loved coming to class - and they had smiles. I honestly think, at least for a short, I left them feeling better about themselves than before they walked in the gym.
I was at Mickey-D’s drinking my fitty-four cent old people’s coffee this morning, reading the Sunday paper, eyes up frequently just to people watch. (Victor, you told us this one last Sunday.) Ahm, please back yourass outta my blog cubicle, and when you’re ready to type civilly to me, then, and only then, may you return.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the Arches. So there was this couple, whatever the age a couple is that has an 18, 19 yr old kid - that coincidentally met up at the food-orderin’ place with friends they hadn’t seen in awhile. I didn’t catch all that was said - but it was obvious, they each liked the other. Come time the overpriced Egg McMuffins were in the sack, drinks in hand, they bid their goodbyes - and onea the whatever age they were ladies said “it was great seeing you guys, and you’re looking sooooo good!”
She left the world a better place. She cleaned up the litter. She hadn’t put her dukes up. She assisted in creating self worth. She brightened the Mickey cubicle. Far out.
Thanks for being here. Gonna back my ass outta this blog cubicle. I see all them empty peanut bags on the desk. I probably should clean them up today, but ya know? When I ain’t gots no toothpicks - the stiffened ends of those bags are decent at getting out sausage biscuit remains from betweengst molars and bicuspids. I’ll get ‘em next Tuesday, yeah, that’ll work One day I’ll leave my desk, cubicle a better place. Right now the challenge is usn’s people.
Here’s a heapin’ helpin’ hopin' we back our ass (Victor, are you gonna preach again?)… ahm, no, remember, I write TO me.. Hitchhikers welcome. Here’s hopin’ we all back ourselves outta the cubicle of life - and leave it a little nicer place than when we found it. Damnit, I’m outta peanuts again. Love, Victurd.
Had an incident the other day. This person walks into my cubicle at 43mph, in a huff, says -with one arm on her waist, the other extending this invoice “VIC, CAN YOU TELL ME EXACTLY WHY YOU PUT THIS ON MY DESK?” as if I had committed a Class A Felony, and I was surely bound for Leavenworth.. Ahm, “Excuse me?” I very much abhor “put your dukes up” kinda people. Well, that behavior anyways. I wish I woulda had the kanumption (dat a word?) to say “Look bitch, we’re civil over here. This is a nice, fun, place to work - and we kinda-sorta enjoy treating people civil, and kinda-sorta expect the same in return. Now please back yourass on outta here, and come back when you’re ready to speak civilly.” Ceptin’ I can’t remember what I said - but, I fell victim to speaking to her just as she did I - and we both pretty much left the place poopy. I have no idea who put that on her desk, and am even more at a loss as to how something as trivial as that can put sucha damper on one’s disposition.
We, me very definitely, need to leave the world a better place - each and every opportunity. I have a friend, and I hope she doesn’t sue me for whatever it is they sue you for when you steal a quote from some written place. Risking perhaps a misdemeanor, she writes “My Daddy taught me as a small child "Always Leave the outdoors, a better place than you found it". He would take us out of school every 2nd friday, to go camping... anywhere, from the mountains in Alaska, to the red clay mountains in Georgia, to the Everglades. The last evening there, we always walked and talked, picking up everyone else's destruction. I've taught my children the same, and I pray they will teach their children as well.”
They walked into “the cubicle of nature”, treated it civilly, and left it a better place. What a cool, cool thing.
I ain’t good at much. (Victor, are you gonna brag here?) No. Just making statements. I usedta teach PE. Elementary and Junior High PE. I’d fortunately learned - not everyone likes/loves PE as I, therefore - I made it a goal to make it fun. Focus on any accomplishment I could, no matter the skill level, or lack thereof. “Catch ‘em doing good” the Principal usedta call it. Assisting in upgrading self-worth. I may have driven home after a long day of professing all this - then had a few cigs and a halfa six-pack, but by God the little critters all loved coming to class - and they had smiles. I honestly think, at least for a short, I left them feeling better about themselves than before they walked in the gym.
I was at Mickey-D’s drinking my fitty-four cent old people’s coffee this morning, reading the Sunday paper, eyes up frequently just to people watch. (Victor, you told us this one last Sunday.) Ahm, please back yourass outta my blog cubicle, and when you’re ready to type civilly to me, then, and only then, may you return.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the Arches. So there was this couple, whatever the age a couple is that has an 18, 19 yr old kid - that coincidentally met up at the food-orderin’ place with friends they hadn’t seen in awhile. I didn’t catch all that was said - but it was obvious, they each liked the other. Come time the overpriced Egg McMuffins were in the sack, drinks in hand, they bid their goodbyes - and onea the whatever age they were ladies said “it was great seeing you guys, and you’re looking sooooo good!”
She left the world a better place. She cleaned up the litter. She hadn’t put her dukes up. She assisted in creating self worth. She brightened the Mickey cubicle. Far out.
Thanks for being here. Gonna back my ass outta this blog cubicle. I see all them empty peanut bags on the desk. I probably should clean them up today, but ya know? When I ain’t gots no toothpicks - the stiffened ends of those bags are decent at getting out sausage biscuit remains from betweengst molars and bicuspids. I’ll get ‘em next Tuesday, yeah, that’ll work One day I’ll leave my desk, cubicle a better place. Right now the challenge is usn’s people.
Here’s a heapin’ helpin’ hopin' we back our ass (Victor, are you gonna preach again?)… ahm, no, remember, I write TO me.. Hitchhikers welcome. Here’s hopin’ we all back ourselves outta the cubicle of life - and leave it a little nicer place than when we found it. Damnit, I’m outta peanuts again. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
A true friend….
Will forever be there if u gots that little itch place on your back, and you juuuuust can’t reach it.
Will loan you $20, u forget about it, remember three months later you allofasudden remember - pay them back and they exclaim “ohm, I’d forgotten about that.”
Will know when you’re down, and will know exactly the life concoction to lift you back up.
Will perhaps never tell you when they’re down - but somehow, you can just sense/tell it.
Never hasta thinka stuff to say to you.. It flows…
Will look at you and yes, think just like you do - and remember many of the trials and tribulations, and perhaps a few drinking parties you’ve attended together.
Will give you something, for no apparent reason, and say “I thought of you when I saw this.”
Will never ever talk about your nextest best friend infronta you.
Will never reflect inwardly “what’s in it for me” - rather “what’s in it for us.’
Will recall events you shared from eons ago in excruciatingly perfect detail, and you won’t have the foggiest idea whatinthehell they’re talking about.
Will remember some stupid number like your locker number in HS, your baseball number, your street address, the size of the engine of your first car.
Will remember six more people than you that shared your sixth grade class.
Knows there are certain boundries/topics/people you never cross/bring up, and neither do they.
Calls you a 9th time, after leaving 8 previously unreturned messages.
Understands you occasionally forget to reply to that email.
Tells something to be kept in confidence, and holds something told in confidence.
When you get together, no matter how long the lapse - it’s just like it ‘was.’
When you do something really fucking stupid will tell you “that was really fucking stupid.”
Understands you are a human being, and human beings aren’t perfect.
Will ask your opinion, and give there’s when you ask.
My best friend is named Sanford. Pretty much always has been, probably always will be. We were inseparable in school, hung together tons for many, many years thereafter.. Then started families.. Wel played softball together for years thereafter. Pretty much all of the above is true. Not that we didn’t have our spats back in the day.
Many friends fit this though, and for that I’m thankful. And, we all try from our ends to be good friends. Sorry there that this wasn’t funny, just felt like writin’ ‘bout it. Have a nifty weekend there friend.. Love, Victurd.
Will loan you $20, u forget about it, remember three months later you allofasudden remember - pay them back and they exclaim “ohm, I’d forgotten about that.”
Will know when you’re down, and will know exactly the life concoction to lift you back up.
Will perhaps never tell you when they’re down - but somehow, you can just sense/tell it.
Never hasta thinka stuff to say to you.. It flows…
Will look at you and yes, think just like you do - and remember many of the trials and tribulations, and perhaps a few drinking parties you’ve attended together.
Will give you something, for no apparent reason, and say “I thought of you when I saw this.”
Will never ever talk about your nextest best friend infronta you.
Will never reflect inwardly “what’s in it for me” - rather “what’s in it for us.’
Will recall events you shared from eons ago in excruciatingly perfect detail, and you won’t have the foggiest idea whatinthehell they’re talking about.
Will remember some stupid number like your locker number in HS, your baseball number, your street address, the size of the engine of your first car.
Will remember six more people than you that shared your sixth grade class.
Knows there are certain boundries/topics/people you never cross/bring up, and neither do they.
Calls you a 9th time, after leaving 8 previously unreturned messages.
Understands you occasionally forget to reply to that email.
Tells something to be kept in confidence, and holds something told in confidence.
When you get together, no matter how long the lapse - it’s just like it ‘was.’
When you do something really fucking stupid will tell you “that was really fucking stupid.”
Understands you are a human being, and human beings aren’t perfect.
Will ask your opinion, and give there’s when you ask.
My best friend is named Sanford. Pretty much always has been, probably always will be. We were inseparable in school, hung together tons for many, many years thereafter.. Then started families.. Wel played softball together for years thereafter. Pretty much all of the above is true. Not that we didn’t have our spats back in the day.
Many friends fit this though, and for that I’m thankful. And, we all try from our ends to be good friends. Sorry there that this wasn’t funny, just felt like writin’ ‘bout it. Have a nifty weekend there friend.. Love, Victurd.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Blogitus interruptus…
I hate when that happens. Last night, slips sliding away here.. all but wrapped up – when allofasudden the GD (gosh darn) mouse froze. Wouldn’t move. Couldn’t save. Crap. My ideas, thoughts, gone. Couldn’t save. The dreaded boot. At work, can retreive ‘recent documents’.. I got the El Cheapo WallyWorld Dell thing at home – lost, gone vaminose.
Twas about my favorite words.
Hi. That’s a big one. Simple, yet touches. Good friends, coworkers, loved ones, strangers. Hi. We’re all selfish – we love eyeballs, thoughts on us. We love languishing same on others. I love ‘hi’.
Love. Like tears, men ain’t supposedta do/say that. Patooey. I love love. I understand others are uncomfy using it – it’s all good. I say it/spray it. What’s wrong with indicating your love for someone? Doesn’t mean ya wanna strap ‘em down, rip their clothes off and doink immediately. Just means, u have some kinda love for them. An appreciation. A “I’m glad you’re in my life” kinda love.
“Get the hell outta the way.” I use this one frequently. To friends, to bosses, to whomever is standing in my way at work. One lady, heap big churchgoer, say to her as well. They know I don’t mean it, but I love saying it, and for whatever backward reason – it draws a smile.. and (Victor your repeat yourself like crazy) I’m big on smiles.
“Got your STD tests back?” My buddy Shelton. Happens to be black. I run into Shelton one or two times a month at my favorite little hole in the wall. It doesn’t matter if there’s 50 people there or 7 – five minutes after Shelton walks in – he’s gabbing with the prettiest lady in the joint. That’s when I move in, ask “Shelton.. got ur STD tests back?” He always one ups me, and I’d never win a debate – but, u see, Shelton’s got a fulltime girlfriend at home (and I’ve never seen him leave with another) – but oh does he love flirtation.. and I say it because I know he does. Shelton’s got a great smile. Mebbe that’s why the GD (gol durn) women gravitate toward him.
“I don’t know.” Remember my KIA (know-it-all) friend at work? JUST ONCE. JUST ONCE I’d love to hear him say “I don’t know.” I, because I worked my booty off, pulled many an allnighter for my heapin’ helpin’ 2.65 GPA say “I don’t know” a lot – cause there’s just a lotta stuff I don’t know about. TG for Al’s internet. Helps me to ‘know’. Remember encyclopedias? Uh huh.
“I’m sorry.” In death, the very right thing to say. It has been very hard for me (and I still have trouble) in facing friends, loved ones after they’ve experienced the death of a loved one. Unfortunately, thru the loss of three of the four in my immediate family – I’ve learned the importance of a simple “I’m sorry.” I’ve struck out on this with a few friends, and I have regrets not stepping up to the plate. I will work on this. It plays huge.
“Crybaby.” It’s mean, it’s fun, it maybe is a bassackward way to awaken. Nuther very good friend at work winged an email, copied in like five others. Was updating a former co-worker on how hot-and-heavy-yucky it is this timea year. “Be glad you’re gone… I stayed until 5:45pm last night listening to this grumpy….”.. .I’d heard enough. One word email (reply to all). .”Crybaby.” She wasn’t really – she was just trying to boost the departed one, and reinforce their decision to leave. But I have fun with the word. Lord knows you all could’ve left it for me here time after time after pity party after pity party.
“Passion.” Uh huh. Is what life is all about. Be it with her/him. Work. Play. Project. Yard. Friends. Loved ones. An area of study. Music. Whatever. Passion. Passion rocks.
Damn. Time for work. GD (gee gads) blogitus interruptus. So hi. Love you. Get the hell outta the way. Get your STD tests back? I don’t know. I’m sorry. Crybaby. Passion. Hehe. Likes that one too, hehe. Just never been an lol kinda guy. Left field. Left field is good.
May you have a wonderful day. Uuuuhhh la la 80 degrees here today. Yummy. I hope your mouse never freezes, and that if it does u ain’t a crybaby like me about it. Bye, love u. Getting the hell outta the way. No, no STD’s. I do know. I ain’t sorry. I ain’t cryin’. I’m passionate. Hopes u are too. Love, Victurd
Twas about my favorite words.
Hi. That’s a big one. Simple, yet touches. Good friends, coworkers, loved ones, strangers. Hi. We’re all selfish – we love eyeballs, thoughts on us. We love languishing same on others. I love ‘hi’.
Love. Like tears, men ain’t supposedta do/say that. Patooey. I love love. I understand others are uncomfy using it – it’s all good. I say it/spray it. What’s wrong with indicating your love for someone? Doesn’t mean ya wanna strap ‘em down, rip their clothes off and doink immediately. Just means, u have some kinda love for them. An appreciation. A “I’m glad you’re in my life” kinda love.
“Get the hell outta the way.” I use this one frequently. To friends, to bosses, to whomever is standing in my way at work. One lady, heap big churchgoer, say to her as well. They know I don’t mean it, but I love saying it, and for whatever backward reason – it draws a smile.. and (Victor your repeat yourself like crazy) I’m big on smiles.
“Got your STD tests back?” My buddy Shelton. Happens to be black. I run into Shelton one or two times a month at my favorite little hole in the wall. It doesn’t matter if there’s 50 people there or 7 – five minutes after Shelton walks in – he’s gabbing with the prettiest lady in the joint. That’s when I move in, ask “Shelton.. got ur STD tests back?” He always one ups me, and I’d never win a debate – but, u see, Shelton’s got a fulltime girlfriend at home (and I’ve never seen him leave with another) – but oh does he love flirtation.. and I say it because I know he does. Shelton’s got a great smile. Mebbe that’s why the GD (gol durn) women gravitate toward him.
“I don’t know.” Remember my KIA (know-it-all) friend at work? JUST ONCE. JUST ONCE I’d love to hear him say “I don’t know.” I, because I worked my booty off, pulled many an allnighter for my heapin’ helpin’ 2.65 GPA say “I don’t know” a lot – cause there’s just a lotta stuff I don’t know about. TG for Al’s internet. Helps me to ‘know’. Remember encyclopedias? Uh huh.
“I’m sorry.” In death, the very right thing to say. It has been very hard for me (and I still have trouble) in facing friends, loved ones after they’ve experienced the death of a loved one. Unfortunately, thru the loss of three of the four in my immediate family – I’ve learned the importance of a simple “I’m sorry.” I’ve struck out on this with a few friends, and I have regrets not stepping up to the plate. I will work on this. It plays huge.
“Crybaby.” It’s mean, it’s fun, it maybe is a bassackward way to awaken. Nuther very good friend at work winged an email, copied in like five others. Was updating a former co-worker on how hot-and-heavy-yucky it is this timea year. “Be glad you’re gone… I stayed until 5:45pm last night listening to this grumpy….”.. .I’d heard enough. One word email (reply to all). .”Crybaby.” She wasn’t really – she was just trying to boost the departed one, and reinforce their decision to leave. But I have fun with the word. Lord knows you all could’ve left it for me here time after time after pity party after pity party.
“Passion.” Uh huh. Is what life is all about. Be it with her/him. Work. Play. Project. Yard. Friends. Loved ones. An area of study. Music. Whatever. Passion. Passion rocks.
Damn. Time for work. GD (gee gads) blogitus interruptus. So hi. Love you. Get the hell outta the way. Get your STD tests back? I don’t know. I’m sorry. Crybaby. Passion. Hehe. Likes that one too, hehe. Just never been an lol kinda guy. Left field. Left field is good.
May you have a wonderful day. Uuuuhhh la la 80 degrees here today. Yummy. I hope your mouse never freezes, and that if it does u ain’t a crybaby like me about it. Bye, love u. Getting the hell outta the way. No, no STD’s. I do know. I ain’t sorry. I ain’t cryin’. I’m passionate. Hopes u are too. Love, Victurd
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Like a red rubber ball….
Ball. Quite the interesting word.
Was in line at the concession stand at Royal’s Stadium. Struck up a conversation with the dude next to me. Seemed like a normal Joe. Long line, thus, more conversation - soon he introduced himself.. And I caught that his last name was Spalding. Spalding for years has made about every kinda ball imagineable. I stopped him and asked “Not THE Spadling family are you?”.. He giggled, then handed me his business card. Very true. There in black and white, his name, the Spalding Co logo… and at the bottom, in quote marks “No doubt you’ve played with my balls.”
Ball, as in cry. I know I know, this is actually spelled bawl, but it ain’t pronounced thata way, and whenever u hear “the kid was balling” it ain’t baWling.
Baller. This is any thug (or pro player) that has made it big. Jay-Z. Kobe. Garnett. Lebron. T.O. Randy Moss.
“He’s got balls” meant that you did something very stupid (thought to be deemed heroic in high school.) Such as, putting a poo poo cushion in History teacher’s (BIG lady) chair. Or perhaps a Playboy foldout in her rollout map of Antarctica.
“Ballsy” means smartass… pushes the envelope.
Got balled is to suffer embarrassing defeat.
Ball, as in rich people’s dance. Slow music, hors devours u can’t pronounce, full length gowns. Old money.
Ball, as in I Love Lucy. (Close your ears if you don’t wanna lose your ‘idol’ image of her. She usedta fly an airline I worked for all the time. She’d sit in first class (next to her manager).. Flight Attendant would ask “would you like some more?”… She’d turn to her manager, never look FA in eyes and announce “tell her no.” Her ball bounced just a bit too high I think.
Balls, as in those below the peni. Nads. Gonads. Family jewels. “The twins”. To repeat, to repeat, I will never perhaps be so humiliated as when I had surgery on an enlarged testicle.. The doc.. A bit on the limp-wrist side.. Summoned me back in the office 45 days after surgery. Drop trow.. Paces 25 feet back from me… turns.. Put his thumbs together.. Extended index fingers upward (as if looking thru like a movie director would) and proudly exclaimed “Perfect. They’re perfect.” (Don’t forget! 867-5309 for “perfect balls”)…
Friend had a bit’a bad luck? That’s the way the ball bounces.
Debate? Your turn to speak? It’s your turn to act and you must do something. The ball is in your court.
Starting: Play ball.
4 ball. 8 ball. 9 ball. Juiced ball. Microwaved (slow-pitch) balls. Bowling. Golf. Base. Foot. Soccer. Cricket. Volley. Rugby. (It takes leather balls to play rugby.) Tennis. Hand. Racquet. Soft. Super. Juggling. Ping pong. Whiffle. Squash. Cue. Medicine. Paint. Exercise. Cannon. Playground. BenWa (Is that when someone steals Ben’s ball and he cries?)
Sayings.. “I’ve got the crabs and the blue balls too, the crabs don’t hurt but the blue balls do.”
The ball dropping on Times Square.
Curve ball, fast ball, knuckle ball.
A ball of flame. Great balls of fire.
Alert, competent, or efficient (on the ball.)
Baseball. Where the guys kiss the girls on the strikes and the girls kiss the guys on the
Ball of cotton.
Kansan’s claim to fame: The world’s largest ball of twine.
“If people don't want to come out to the ball park, nobody's gonna stop 'em.”
Yogi Berra
“I ain't afraid to tell the world that it don't take school stuff to help a fella play ball.”
Shoeless Joe Jackson
“If you think it's hard to meet new people, try picking up the wrong golf ball.”
Jack Lemmon
K. I’ve made my rounds for the day. (B)All tired out. Life’s a roller coaster - that’s the way the ball bounces. Gonna walk (ball four) to bed now. The twins have had a long day. Work, ball and chain. Enough stupid ball sayings, I can tell you’re getting a bit testi.
And I think it's gonna be all right
Yeah, the worst is over now
The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball.
Gonna take my ball and go home now.
Love, Victurd.
Was in line at the concession stand at Royal’s Stadium. Struck up a conversation with the dude next to me. Seemed like a normal Joe. Long line, thus, more conversation - soon he introduced himself.. And I caught that his last name was Spalding. Spalding for years has made about every kinda ball imagineable. I stopped him and asked “Not THE Spadling family are you?”.. He giggled, then handed me his business card. Very true. There in black and white, his name, the Spalding Co logo… and at the bottom, in quote marks “No doubt you’ve played with my balls.”
Ball, as in cry. I know I know, this is actually spelled bawl, but it ain’t pronounced thata way, and whenever u hear “the kid was balling” it ain’t baWling.
Baller. This is any thug (or pro player) that has made it big. Jay-Z. Kobe. Garnett. Lebron. T.O. Randy Moss.
“He’s got balls” meant that you did something very stupid (thought to be deemed heroic in high school.) Such as, putting a poo poo cushion in History teacher’s (BIG lady) chair. Or perhaps a Playboy foldout in her rollout map of Antarctica.
“Ballsy” means smartass… pushes the envelope.
Got balled is to suffer embarrassing defeat.
Ball, as in rich people’s dance. Slow music, hors devours u can’t pronounce, full length gowns. Old money.
Ball, as in I Love Lucy. (Close your ears if you don’t wanna lose your ‘idol’ image of her. She usedta fly an airline I worked for all the time. She’d sit in first class (next to her manager).. Flight Attendant would ask “would you like some more?”… She’d turn to her manager, never look FA in eyes and announce “tell her no.” Her ball bounced just a bit too high I think.
Balls, as in those below the peni. Nads. Gonads. Family jewels. “The twins”. To repeat, to repeat, I will never perhaps be so humiliated as when I had surgery on an enlarged testicle.. The doc.. A bit on the limp-wrist side.. Summoned me back in the office 45 days after surgery. Drop trow.. Paces 25 feet back from me… turns.. Put his thumbs together.. Extended index fingers upward (as if looking thru like a movie director would) and proudly exclaimed “Perfect. They’re perfect.” (Don’t forget! 867-5309 for “perfect balls”)…
Friend had a bit’a bad luck? That’s the way the ball bounces.
Debate? Your turn to speak? It’s your turn to act and you must do something. The ball is in your court.
Starting: Play ball.
4 ball. 8 ball. 9 ball. Juiced ball. Microwaved (slow-pitch) balls. Bowling. Golf. Base. Foot. Soccer. Cricket. Volley. Rugby. (It takes leather balls to play rugby.) Tennis. Hand. Racquet. Soft. Super. Juggling. Ping pong. Whiffle. Squash. Cue. Medicine. Paint. Exercise. Cannon. Playground. BenWa (Is that when someone steals Ben’s ball and he cries?)
Sayings.. “I’ve got the crabs and the blue balls too, the crabs don’t hurt but the blue balls do.”
The ball dropping on Times Square.
Curve ball, fast ball, knuckle ball.
A ball of flame. Great balls of fire.
Alert, competent, or efficient (on the ball.)
Baseball. Where the guys kiss the girls on the strikes and the girls kiss the guys on the
Ball of cotton.
Kansan’s claim to fame: The world’s largest ball of twine.
“If people don't want to come out to the ball park, nobody's gonna stop 'em.”
Yogi Berra
“I ain't afraid to tell the world that it don't take school stuff to help a fella play ball.”
Shoeless Joe Jackson
“If you think it's hard to meet new people, try picking up the wrong golf ball.”
Jack Lemmon
K. I’ve made my rounds for the day. (B)All tired out. Life’s a roller coaster - that’s the way the ball bounces. Gonna walk (ball four) to bed now. The twins have had a long day. Work, ball and chain. Enough stupid ball sayings, I can tell you’re getting a bit testi.
And I think it's gonna be all right
Yeah, the worst is over now
The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball.
Gonna take my ball and go home now.
Love, Victurd.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Written after "Happy Hour" (read at ur own risk)
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Serenity………
“The state or quality of being serene.” Well shit, that doesn’t tell me anything, helps me out here…
“Unaffected by disturbance; calm and unruffled. See Synonyms at calm.” Now that’s more like it.
When are you serene? When do u reach serenity?
I disagree somewhat with “The American Heritage Dictionary”.. All serenity is disrupted. It, like life, is fleeting. I would caution to write it more like “you don’t wanna be affected by disturbance.”
When are you serene? When do you reach serenity? You know, that feeling of “go away.. I’m where I wanna be… don’t bug me about this… about that… I want this to last FOREVER!”
Of course “the throes”… that’s kinda a given.
Water. There’s something about water. Whether it be a damn tub, shower, pool, lake, pond, river, stream, ocean… “Leave me alone, I’m serene.”
I have serenegasms at 5pm on Fridays. Immediately after I’ve done all of Maynard’s (I’m 22, I have no car) “honey-do’s”…
When “Another brick on the wall” plays… Tracy Chapmans “Gimme one more reason”.. Anytime an Eric (GD I just read the paper he turned 60-something I’m an old sumbitch) Burden song comes on.
A family gathering. “Victor?… Victor?… it’s midnight. Don’t you think you oughta be going home?” Nope. I’m serene. This is good shit. Don’t wanna leave.
You know the feel, surely. Serenity is heaven on earth. We all know it’s temporary. We all know it WILL be affected. We all know “this ain’t lasting’, but I wish it would… but I know ‘regular’, ‘routine’ are just around the corner.
Ok, so smooching, water, music, family. What else?
Ok……… blackjack. There’s titillation there. I once sat at a table in Vegas for 24+ hours consecutively. I did, I really did. Prolly just me, it’s a rush.
Going to Happy Hour with my HS cronies. It’s innocent, we do it probably to GD often, but ya know what? It’s fun. It’s serene. I get to the point “I don’t want this to end. Even though my side hurts from laughing, I’ll take that. Leave me alone. Uninterrupted.”
Christmas. It’s THE one time of year anyone could say anything to another, and it wouldn’t piss us off. “No way, you can’t mess up Christmas. I wish it lasted 72 hours.”
Sitting at the computer. (Unfortunately for you, with me behind the keyboard.)… I’m “into this” so bug off. Go away. Go get the newspaper. Go play in traffic. Go see what the weather’s gonna be like tomorrow. I’m here. I’m enjoying myself. It’s my freedom. I can bounce from this, to that, o’er there. Where I want, when I want. Don’t interrupt me.” Serene. Serenity.
I wonder if there’s continual serenity in heaven? There’s gotta be. Down here, it’s always so cherished, so desired, so enjoyed - but like everything, it always ends. Everlasting. We need that shit. Ain’t in no hurry to pack up and leave, hunt for six good buddies to “carry me over there” - but everlasting serenity would be cool.
So. You no commenting sunsabitches. Yes, you. Misty. Lisa (although you’re WAY ahead of Sumbrum). Notenoughwords? Rae? (Did she like leave? I love her, she couldn’ta)..
Buehler? McFly?
Seriously, when are u serene. “The best”. You don’t want it to end, but you know it’s gotta. To me, it’s a tremendously healthy thing to experience serenity. Of our waking moments, perhaps the best.
K, outta here. Someone told me to “go jump in a lake.” But, I’m thinking more like a 7 inch deep hot, relaxing, serene bath. Ahhhhh yes. “Maynard.. Hold my calls… unless it’s that one chicky.. You know.. I told you… about the throes?.. How serene it was?”… VICTOR! WAKE UP! YOU’RE DREAMING!
Did I mention that sometimes dreams can be serene?
Toodles, enjoy your week, love, Sereneturd.
“Unaffected by disturbance; calm and unruffled. See Synonyms at calm.” Now that’s more like it.
When are you serene? When do u reach serenity?
I disagree somewhat with “The American Heritage Dictionary”.. All serenity is disrupted. It, like life, is fleeting. I would caution to write it more like “you don’t wanna be affected by disturbance.”
When are you serene? When do you reach serenity? You know, that feeling of “go away.. I’m where I wanna be… don’t bug me about this… about that… I want this to last FOREVER!”
Of course “the throes”… that’s kinda a given.
Water. There’s something about water. Whether it be a damn tub, shower, pool, lake, pond, river, stream, ocean… “Leave me alone, I’m serene.”
I have serenegasms at 5pm on Fridays. Immediately after I’ve done all of Maynard’s (I’m 22, I have no car) “honey-do’s”…
When “Another brick on the wall” plays… Tracy Chapmans “Gimme one more reason”.. Anytime an Eric (GD I just read the paper he turned 60-something I’m an old sumbitch) Burden song comes on.
A family gathering. “Victor?… Victor?… it’s midnight. Don’t you think you oughta be going home?” Nope. I’m serene. This is good shit. Don’t wanna leave.
You know the feel, surely. Serenity is heaven on earth. We all know it’s temporary. We all know it WILL be affected. We all know “this ain’t lasting’, but I wish it would… but I know ‘regular’, ‘routine’ are just around the corner.
Ok, so smooching, water, music, family. What else?
Ok……… blackjack. There’s titillation there. I once sat at a table in Vegas for 24+ hours consecutively. I did, I really did. Prolly just me, it’s a rush.
Going to Happy Hour with my HS cronies. It’s innocent, we do it probably to GD often, but ya know what? It’s fun. It’s serene. I get to the point “I don’t want this to end. Even though my side hurts from laughing, I’ll take that. Leave me alone. Uninterrupted.”
Christmas. It’s THE one time of year anyone could say anything to another, and it wouldn’t piss us off. “No way, you can’t mess up Christmas. I wish it lasted 72 hours.”
Sitting at the computer. (Unfortunately for you, with me behind the keyboard.)… I’m “into this” so bug off. Go away. Go get the newspaper. Go play in traffic. Go see what the weather’s gonna be like tomorrow. I’m here. I’m enjoying myself. It’s my freedom. I can bounce from this, to that, o’er there. Where I want, when I want. Don’t interrupt me.” Serene. Serenity.
I wonder if there’s continual serenity in heaven? There’s gotta be. Down here, it’s always so cherished, so desired, so enjoyed - but like everything, it always ends. Everlasting. We need that shit. Ain’t in no hurry to pack up and leave, hunt for six good buddies to “carry me over there” - but everlasting serenity would be cool.
So. You no commenting sunsabitches. Yes, you. Misty. Lisa (although you’re WAY ahead of Sumbrum). Notenoughwords? Rae? (Did she like leave? I love her, she couldn’ta)..
Buehler? McFly?
Seriously, when are u serene. “The best”. You don’t want it to end, but you know it’s gotta. To me, it’s a tremendously healthy thing to experience serenity. Of our waking moments, perhaps the best.
K, outta here. Someone told me to “go jump in a lake.” But, I’m thinking more like a 7 inch deep hot, relaxing, serene bath. Ahhhhh yes. “Maynard.. Hold my calls… unless it’s that one chicky.. You know.. I told you… about the throes?.. How serene it was?”… VICTOR! WAKE UP! YOU’RE DREAMING!
Did I mention that sometimes dreams can be serene?
Toodles, enjoy your week, love, Sereneturd.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord….
In 1861, Julia Ward Howe visited a Union Army camp on the Potomac River. She’d heard the soldiers singing the song “John Brown’s Body” - was so taken with the strong marching beat, she wrote the lyrics to the Battle Hymn of the Republic the very next day. This has been so popular - it’s been sung at the funerals of Churchill, Robert Kennedy, Reagan and Nixon.
“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.” Tenneva Jordan.
In 1872, it was the first year Howe was to hold her Mother’s Day meeting in Boston, MA - something she repeated each year. Anna Jarvis, in 1907, began a campaign to establish a national Mother’s Day. She persuaded her mother’s church in WV to celebrate Mother’s Day on the second anniversary of her mother’s death - the 2nd Sunday in May. In 1910, the Governor of WV proclaimed the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day - and a year later, every state joined in.
There are 82.5 million mothers in the US. This day, Mother’s Day, is widely reported as the peak day of the year for long distance telephone calls. Behind only Christmas, it’s the 2nd biggest gift giving day. The average mother has two children. The almighty dollar/need lends to the fact in 2002, fitty-five % of mothers were in the workforce, compared with 31% in 1976.
“A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s.” Diana, Princess of Wales.
My cousin’s husband just returned from South Africa on a mission. The mission was to simply assist in all the orphanages inland. (In general, the affluent whites live on the coasts, and the poorer blacks live inland, working in diamond mines.) Children are given up for adoption as there is simply not enough money to feed, house them. My cousin told of one family who was raising in excess of 50 children, 20-some of which have Aids.
“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” Oprah Winfrey.
The point above - yes, there are those among us who perhaps didn’t have the ideal mother/child relationship. I was on the lucky end of the spectrum, I could’ve written a letter to God asking for all the qualities I’d want in a mother, and jualah, I had her. Not a day (since she departed in 1987) goes by I don’t think of her.
I’ve been scared shitless in baseball facing a “not-knowin’-where-it’s-goin” rag arm lefty. I clinch the steering wheel until there ain’t no blood circulating when there’s 5 inches of snow on the highway. I’ve walked tepidly in the City late at night - praying for safe arrival upon my car.
None of that even comes close to giving birth. Whilst the umbilical cord is cut - it’s emotionally never severed.
“A mother understands what a child does not say.” Jewish Proverb.
Mothers don’t get days off. Mothers are there 24/7. Mothers are the best unpaid psychologists. Mothers never stop giving. Mothers are the best listeners. Mothers make the home what it is.
“A man loves his sweetheart the most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest.” Irish Proverb.
“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” Abraham Lincoln.
If it twerent’ for mothers (inventions), we wouldn’t have alphabet blocks, alternating current, band aids, chocolate chip cookes, the circular saw, dishwasher, electronic hot water heater, engine muffler, globes, ironing boards, life rafts, liquid paper, medical syringe, rotary engine, windshield wipers - and much, much more.
Mother’s birth, nourish, cook, sew, wash, clean, love, guide, listen, prop up, sometimes admonish, assist in helping their children ‘think from their own shoes’, smile, touch.. And again, so much more.
When it came time for the very first child to be born, certainly the right gender was selected to borne it. It’d be a sad state had this responsibility been given to us men, and we know it.
Oh we’re rough and we’re tough when it comes to not showing our emotions.. We turn bolts and hammer nails with the best of ‘em. We hunt, we fish, we rough it. We mow, saw, build, coach, shelter. We’d never make it as moms though.
Blessya all, and Happy Mother’s Day, love, Victurd.
“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.” Tenneva Jordan.
In 1872, it was the first year Howe was to hold her Mother’s Day meeting in Boston, MA - something she repeated each year. Anna Jarvis, in 1907, began a campaign to establish a national Mother’s Day. She persuaded her mother’s church in WV to celebrate Mother’s Day on the second anniversary of her mother’s death - the 2nd Sunday in May. In 1910, the Governor of WV proclaimed the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day - and a year later, every state joined in.
There are 82.5 million mothers in the US. This day, Mother’s Day, is widely reported as the peak day of the year for long distance telephone calls. Behind only Christmas, it’s the 2nd biggest gift giving day. The average mother has two children. The almighty dollar/need lends to the fact in 2002, fitty-five % of mothers were in the workforce, compared with 31% in 1976.
“A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s.” Diana, Princess of Wales.
My cousin’s husband just returned from South Africa on a mission. The mission was to simply assist in all the orphanages inland. (In general, the affluent whites live on the coasts, and the poorer blacks live inland, working in diamond mines.) Children are given up for adoption as there is simply not enough money to feed, house them. My cousin told of one family who was raising in excess of 50 children, 20-some of which have Aids.
“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” Oprah Winfrey.
The point above - yes, there are those among us who perhaps didn’t have the ideal mother/child relationship. I was on the lucky end of the spectrum, I could’ve written a letter to God asking for all the qualities I’d want in a mother, and jualah, I had her. Not a day (since she departed in 1987) goes by I don’t think of her.
I’ve been scared shitless in baseball facing a “not-knowin’-where-it’s-goin” rag arm lefty. I clinch the steering wheel until there ain’t no blood circulating when there’s 5 inches of snow on the highway. I’ve walked tepidly in the City late at night - praying for safe arrival upon my car.
None of that even comes close to giving birth. Whilst the umbilical cord is cut - it’s emotionally never severed.
“A mother understands what a child does not say.” Jewish Proverb.
Mothers don’t get days off. Mothers are there 24/7. Mothers are the best unpaid psychologists. Mothers never stop giving. Mothers are the best listeners. Mothers make the home what it is.
“A man loves his sweetheart the most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest.” Irish Proverb.
“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” Abraham Lincoln.
If it twerent’ for mothers (inventions), we wouldn’t have alphabet blocks, alternating current, band aids, chocolate chip cookes, the circular saw, dishwasher, electronic hot water heater, engine muffler, globes, ironing boards, life rafts, liquid paper, medical syringe, rotary engine, windshield wipers - and much, much more.
Mother’s birth, nourish, cook, sew, wash, clean, love, guide, listen, prop up, sometimes admonish, assist in helping their children ‘think from their own shoes’, smile, touch.. And again, so much more.
When it came time for the very first child to be born, certainly the right gender was selected to borne it. It’d be a sad state had this responsibility been given to us men, and we know it.
Oh we’re rough and we’re tough when it comes to not showing our emotions.. We turn bolts and hammer nails with the best of ‘em. We hunt, we fish, we rough it. We mow, saw, build, coach, shelter. We’d never make it as moms though.
Blessya all, and Happy Mother’s Day, love, Victurd.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Soaring…
Twas outside on smoke break the other day…. Up in the air about a thousand feet… a hawk.. Soaring.. So smooth… so effortlessly.. Gliding.. Ne’er a wing movement.. It was pretty awesome….
“That’s a male hawk,“ said my know-it-all buddy, “it’s tips are colored.” Uh huh, I let on. About then, an 18-wheeler thundered down our road.. He leaned his head back and said “ahhhh, music to my ears… I’ll never tire of that sound.” He’d worked in and around and for and sold, big rigs. “Nomme” I countered.. “it’s the sound of a bat, be it wood or aluminum, hitting a baseball that I’ll never tire of.” We each soared with what we loved. And it’s ok. Different stuff for different folks. Or, as my mother always said after her massive stroke at age 58 “different strokes for different folks.”
Earlier today - I went to a dance recital. I am a great uncle. Well, not what you’re thinking. Don’t mean as in wonderful, I mean it was my great niece and great nephew that did the dancing…It and they were pretty cool. So many different costumes, beats, gyrations, sizes, shapes, ages. Always seemed though, just about one in each group stood out. I’m pretty picky - there were even some groups that didn’t have one. The very best was this little high school aged gal. She wasn’t necessarily ultra-attractive.. She actually even, was a tad on the chunky side.. Ohhh but she rocked.. The music moved thru her.. It actually didn’t appear it was the eyeballs on her that perked her - it was the performing, feeling, moving, gliding, soaring that was it. She was like a hawk 1000 feet up..
Adjacent to this fine stage, there was the football field where the district track meet was going off… It’d been many a moon since I’d been to onea these.. So I wondered over.. Only gotta see one event - the 110 meter hurdles… gun sounded.. Immediately outta the blocks this one kid led.. Smooth.. Effortlessly.. As he glided over each hurdle, his lead lengthened.. Good lookin’ kid, happened to be black.. Broad grin as he soared thru the winning tape… Soaring..
Adjacent to my hometown, this town also happened to be home to a gal I’d soared with one very special day in my life.. So I drove by her house.. I’m a realist, as is she, and we both know I’m hella too old to soar forever.. Nonetheless, I pulled in behind her car.. Never mustered the gumption to get out and knock…Tis ok, mems of soaring..
Turned down the county road home, versus the hustle-bustle way.. Went past the cemetery where my grandfather is buried.. Next to it a pond.. My ex next door neighbor and I once fished there.. My buddy Gene caught a 4+ pound bass.. The look on his face.. He was soaring.. The fish now ‘lives’ mounted on his wall…
Seen ma good friends Tom and Mona the other night.. They’re always, I mean always, happy. Married umpteen years.. He, worked his way up in the huge chemical company he works for, she, recently retired from a career of teaching.. Everyone loves them.. They’re currently doting on their first grandchild.. They’ve soared for a long, long, time. Not long ago, I told Tom all of
the above - and that I thought it was remarkable the happiness they have for life, their friends, for each other. Tom simply replied “I’m blessed, and I know it.” He soars. They’re soaring.
Again, we all soar to different things.. Could be that bigass new house.. Could be a fancified new car.. Could be a lake house.. Making money.. Having fun… reading.. Sewing.. Camping.. Cooking.. Working.. Playing.. Could be Jeff Gordon, Alex Gordon, Luciano Pavoratti, sailing, sometimes, even doing nothing is soaring..
Life truly is a roller coaster.. We all soar at times… Effortlessly. Happily. We glide. We soar. Soaring. Soaring doesn’t really have to be about money. Sex. Of being important. It’s about gliding. Apparently effortlessly. Feeling it. Letting the music of life go thru us.
When we find ourselves laden on the grassy knoll… look for one, something, soaring. Smile about it. Close your eyes and be it. Them. That. Soon, we’ll all be soaring again. Happy skies, love, Victurd.
“That’s a male hawk,“ said my know-it-all buddy, “it’s tips are colored.” Uh huh, I let on. About then, an 18-wheeler thundered down our road.. He leaned his head back and said “ahhhh, music to my ears… I’ll never tire of that sound.” He’d worked in and around and for and sold, big rigs. “Nomme” I countered.. “it’s the sound of a bat, be it wood or aluminum, hitting a baseball that I’ll never tire of.” We each soared with what we loved. And it’s ok. Different stuff for different folks. Or, as my mother always said after her massive stroke at age 58 “different strokes for different folks.”
Earlier today - I went to a dance recital. I am a great uncle. Well, not what you’re thinking. Don’t mean as in wonderful, I mean it was my great niece and great nephew that did the dancing…It and they were pretty cool. So many different costumes, beats, gyrations, sizes, shapes, ages. Always seemed though, just about one in each group stood out. I’m pretty picky - there were even some groups that didn’t have one. The very best was this little high school aged gal. She wasn’t necessarily ultra-attractive.. She actually even, was a tad on the chunky side.. Ohhh but she rocked.. The music moved thru her.. It actually didn’t appear it was the eyeballs on her that perked her - it was the performing, feeling, moving, gliding, soaring that was it. She was like a hawk 1000 feet up..
Adjacent to this fine stage, there was the football field where the district track meet was going off… It’d been many a moon since I’d been to onea these.. So I wondered over.. Only gotta see one event - the 110 meter hurdles… gun sounded.. Immediately outta the blocks this one kid led.. Smooth.. Effortlessly.. As he glided over each hurdle, his lead lengthened.. Good lookin’ kid, happened to be black.. Broad grin as he soared thru the winning tape… Soaring..
Adjacent to my hometown, this town also happened to be home to a gal I’d soared with one very special day in my life.. So I drove by her house.. I’m a realist, as is she, and we both know I’m hella too old to soar forever.. Nonetheless, I pulled in behind her car.. Never mustered the gumption to get out and knock…Tis ok, mems of soaring..
Turned down the county road home, versus the hustle-bustle way.. Went past the cemetery where my grandfather is buried.. Next to it a pond.. My ex next door neighbor and I once fished there.. My buddy Gene caught a 4+ pound bass.. The look on his face.. He was soaring.. The fish now ‘lives’ mounted on his wall…
Seen ma good friends Tom and Mona the other night.. They’re always, I mean always, happy. Married umpteen years.. He, worked his way up in the huge chemical company he works for, she, recently retired from a career of teaching.. Everyone loves them.. They’re currently doting on their first grandchild.. They’ve soared for a long, long, time. Not long ago, I told Tom all of
the above - and that I thought it was remarkable the happiness they have for life, their friends, for each other. Tom simply replied “I’m blessed, and I know it.” He soars. They’re soaring.
Again, we all soar to different things.. Could be that bigass new house.. Could be a fancified new car.. Could be a lake house.. Making money.. Having fun… reading.. Sewing.. Camping.. Cooking.. Working.. Playing.. Could be Jeff Gordon, Alex Gordon, Luciano Pavoratti, sailing, sometimes, even doing nothing is soaring..
Life truly is a roller coaster.. We all soar at times… Effortlessly. Happily. We glide. We soar. Soaring. Soaring doesn’t really have to be about money. Sex. Of being important. It’s about gliding. Apparently effortlessly. Feeling it. Letting the music of life go thru us.
When we find ourselves laden on the grassy knoll… look for one, something, soaring. Smile about it. Close your eyes and be it. Them. That. Soon, we’ll all be soaring again. Happy skies, love, Victurd.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
My heroes have never been cowboys…..
Sorry Willie. But I understand.
You see, once, I was a young turd. Stan Musial… Sandy Koufax.. Willie Mays… Roberto Clemente… Otis Taylor… Bobby Bell.. Jan Stenerud.. Jerrel Wilson.. Lenny Dawson... THEY, were my heroes…
The older I get, the more the definition of hero changes. Why should anyone with God’s given gift to catch a ball, hit a ball, kick a ball, be anointed ‘hero’?
My heroes have never been cowboys. (Chiefs, Royals, Cardinals, yes… but Cowboys, NEVER.)
So just what, Mr. Victor, in your brain, now constitutes a hero?
Well……… The guys I mentioned, they were truly good guys.. And wonderful at what they did, be it kick, pass, punt, throw.. But now, today, some 30 years later… my opine has changed…
I look at heroes as those who think of others before themselves. Now don’t get me wrong.. I’ll go the games and yell like hell for Tony G, Brody, (even LJ), the Tigers, Gordon, Teehan, Greinke, Meche, Dejesus, etc…. but heroes for me are those that thinka others before themselves…
CJ is a hero to me. She prolly doesn’t know it, but she is. She started (I think) as a nurse in the oncology ward at Children’s Mercy Hospital here in Kansas City many moons ago - and she’s now a nurse practitioner after many, many years at the same place. Did you just hear that? She’s my age, 55... She started when she was what, 22? That’s 33 years of coming home night after night - trying to put a smile on her face to enjoy life - when certainly in the back of her mind were the many children there simply wasn’t a whole lot she could do for.
Shit. If you knew CJ, you’d love her too. She gets involved not only with the patient, but the family, the extended family. It becomes her family. She’s a voice of hope for them. Or, sadly, sometimes a voice of reality. Just knowing how to be a voice in those situations makes her a hero. She would downplay any/all of this, and that’s just onea the many reasons I perceive her to be a hero.
Jon Baker is a hero to me. I’m not certain Jon Baker could catch a softball thrown over 15’ in the air. Jon is by now in his 80’s… I knew him mostly in his 70’s… Jon volunteered at a joint where my ex worked that did minor home improvements for the less fortunate. Jon normally beat you to the punch - to the phone call “can you help?”.. he’d show up and say “what can I do?”
Tommy Edwards was a hero to me. He was my boss when I was a kid and worked for the Park Department. Tommy could not add… he couldn’t really read too well… But what Tom lacked in book-stuff, he more than made up in life-smarts. Not that I’ve molded well, but Tom’s a big, big reason for the ideas on life I’ve got today. Right. Wrong. Yes ma’am. Yes sir. Tommy was like a second father, and I never told him so before it was too late.
Grundy Newton. If you’ve been here forever, that’s a name u might remember. 6’4”, rock solid, the girls went ape over him - but it was us guys who learned from him. No matter what kinda life pitch was thrown at Grundy, he never wavered. No screaming. No yelling. No knee-slapping. Rock solid…. Read a story today in the KC paper about a dude that now plays for the San Diego Charges.. Has stuttered all his life.. From the many classes he’s taken to overcome this stuttering - his advice is, “just go slower.. Take your time.” That was Grundy. Grundy didn’t jump. Grundy didn’t rant. Grundy calmly did exactly what he had to do, and there was no arguing that.
I haven’t emulated CJ‘s role - there‘s no way I can. It’s impossible for me to do so - what with what I do for a living. I’ve not volunteered like Jon Baker has - but I pray one day I will be able to. Tommy and Grundy, yes, I’ve tried. The two probably never knew each other - but they were each “oh so” people smart it was incredible. I try. I’m human, but I try.
I make errors like when I showed my ass today, winged an email and in a millisecond I wished I wouldn’ta winged it… but that’s ok.. I’m human. We humans fuck up, and I did. I apologized - but in today’s day and age, once “Send” is hit, it’s allover.
God grant me the stay-withitness of CJ… the glorious heart of Jon Baker… the ‘don’t get too rattled’ of Grundy.. And the ‘streetsmarts’ of Tommy.
These are somea my heroes. Would you take a moment to thinka urs? If CJ reads this, then I’ve let her know she is onea mine. Jon Baker, will probably never know. Grundy - someone is supposed to be getting me his address so I can fulfill onea my New Year’s Resolutions to let those know who were impactive in my life - just that. Tommy is in the ground… . And may he rest in peace…
Heroes are important. Please thnka yours. Tell ‘em, before it’s too late. Love, Victurd.
You see, once, I was a young turd. Stan Musial… Sandy Koufax.. Willie Mays… Roberto Clemente… Otis Taylor… Bobby Bell.. Jan Stenerud.. Jerrel Wilson.. Lenny Dawson... THEY, were my heroes…
The older I get, the more the definition of hero changes. Why should anyone with God’s given gift to catch a ball, hit a ball, kick a ball, be anointed ‘hero’?
My heroes have never been cowboys. (Chiefs, Royals, Cardinals, yes… but Cowboys, NEVER.)
So just what, Mr. Victor, in your brain, now constitutes a hero?
Well……… The guys I mentioned, they were truly good guys.. And wonderful at what they did, be it kick, pass, punt, throw.. But now, today, some 30 years later… my opine has changed…
I look at heroes as those who think of others before themselves. Now don’t get me wrong.. I’ll go the games and yell like hell for Tony G, Brody, (even LJ), the Tigers, Gordon, Teehan, Greinke, Meche, Dejesus, etc…. but heroes for me are those that thinka others before themselves…
CJ is a hero to me. She prolly doesn’t know it, but she is. She started (I think) as a nurse in the oncology ward at Children’s Mercy Hospital here in Kansas City many moons ago - and she’s now a nurse practitioner after many, many years at the same place. Did you just hear that? She’s my age, 55... She started when she was what, 22? That’s 33 years of coming home night after night - trying to put a smile on her face to enjoy life - when certainly in the back of her mind were the many children there simply wasn’t a whole lot she could do for.
Shit. If you knew CJ, you’d love her too. She gets involved not only with the patient, but the family, the extended family. It becomes her family. She’s a voice of hope for them. Or, sadly, sometimes a voice of reality. Just knowing how to be a voice in those situations makes her a hero. She would downplay any/all of this, and that’s just onea the many reasons I perceive her to be a hero.
Jon Baker is a hero to me. I’m not certain Jon Baker could catch a softball thrown over 15’ in the air. Jon is by now in his 80’s… I knew him mostly in his 70’s… Jon volunteered at a joint where my ex worked that did minor home improvements for the less fortunate. Jon normally beat you to the punch - to the phone call “can you help?”.. he’d show up and say “what can I do?”
Tommy Edwards was a hero to me. He was my boss when I was a kid and worked for the Park Department. Tommy could not add… he couldn’t really read too well… But what Tom lacked in book-stuff, he more than made up in life-smarts. Not that I’ve molded well, but Tom’s a big, big reason for the ideas on life I’ve got today. Right. Wrong. Yes ma’am. Yes sir. Tommy was like a second father, and I never told him so before it was too late.
Grundy Newton. If you’ve been here forever, that’s a name u might remember. 6’4”, rock solid, the girls went ape over him - but it was us guys who learned from him. No matter what kinda life pitch was thrown at Grundy, he never wavered. No screaming. No yelling. No knee-slapping. Rock solid…. Read a story today in the KC paper about a dude that now plays for the San Diego Charges.. Has stuttered all his life.. From the many classes he’s taken to overcome this stuttering - his advice is, “just go slower.. Take your time.” That was Grundy. Grundy didn’t jump. Grundy didn’t rant. Grundy calmly did exactly what he had to do, and there was no arguing that.
I haven’t emulated CJ‘s role - there‘s no way I can. It’s impossible for me to do so - what with what I do for a living. I’ve not volunteered like Jon Baker has - but I pray one day I will be able to. Tommy and Grundy, yes, I’ve tried. The two probably never knew each other - but they were each “oh so” people smart it was incredible. I try. I’m human, but I try.
I make errors like when I showed my ass today, winged an email and in a millisecond I wished I wouldn’ta winged it… but that’s ok.. I’m human. We humans fuck up, and I did. I apologized - but in today’s day and age, once “Send” is hit, it’s allover.
God grant me the stay-withitness of CJ… the glorious heart of Jon Baker… the ‘don’t get too rattled’ of Grundy.. And the ‘streetsmarts’ of Tommy.
These are somea my heroes. Would you take a moment to thinka urs? If CJ reads this, then I’ve let her know she is onea mine. Jon Baker, will probably never know. Grundy - someone is supposed to be getting me his address so I can fulfill onea my New Year’s Resolutions to let those know who were impactive in my life - just that. Tommy is in the ground… . And may he rest in peace…
Heroes are important. Please thnka yours. Tell ‘em, before it’s too late. Love, Victurd.
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