Ah Keep your eyes on the road,

Your hands upon the wheel.
Keep your eyes on the road
Your hands upon the wheel.
Yeah, we're going to the roadhouse,
Gonna have a real good-time.

I was driving home from work the other day - and this came on. It was written in 1970 - ah what a time. Senior year. Notta care in the world. Well, that’s not totally correct, but cares back then weren’t about “house, home, occupation, 401K’s, backbone plans.” Cares were “where we going this weekend.. Two more hours and school’s out.. Did u see that dress Suzie has on?”… Anyways, back to the future. As I was driving home that day - yes, I had this cranked. It’s a ‘crank’ kinda song. Then I realized, I was driving with my thighs on the wheel. I didn’t have “your hands upon the wheel.” Usedta bug the watoosie outta “whatshername.” Mebbe why I continued to drive that way that day home. Hehe.

Let it roll, baby, roll.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
Let it roll, all night long.

Ashen lady. Don’t laugh, I hadta google ‘ashen’. Pale huh. Hmmm. Mickey D’s this morning, older lady. Ashen. Spirited, but ashen. Young chicky. Had I been her poppa, I mighta been ashen. She wore onea them micro skirts, and when she sat down.. Well.. There just wasn’t much left to the imagination. The six snotnoses waiting on folks behind the counter were stymied, baffled, aroused, distracted, and assuredly putta egg mcmuffin or two in a sack that should been hotcakes.

Then I Yahooed ‘ashen lady‘.. They told me “The Ashen Lady is a reference to the fact that the woman who was driving her car to go to this "fantastic, sex party" dies on her way to the party. (Ashen is referring to the state of her upon death). He's warning her to be careful driving

Ashen-Lady.
Ashen-Lady.
Give up your vows.
Give up your vows.
Save our city.
Save our city.
Ah, right now.

S’more Yahoo “The vows may be a reference to her commitment to drive when she was drinking (indicated later). "Save our city" refers to the "orgie" or "group sex party", their own little world (or city).”

Well, I woke up this morning
And I got myself a beer.
Well, I woke up this morning
And I got myself a beer.

Now I don’t do that. Have done that, but don’t. I actually did go with friends last night. Best friend, his wife, another good friend, me. We had a truly wonderful time. Kinda 1970’s time. Forget the minute. Forget the mortgage. Forget “did I feed the cats?” Forget my cubicle. Forget 401K’s. Forget the GD (gosh darn): auto-dingers reminding me “checkenginelight, low washer fluid, driver’s door ajar, check ride control” yada yada.

The future's uncertain
And the end is always near.

And even more Yahoo “This is indicates how fragile life is and for whoever is listening to him sing the story, should take his message to be careful and don't take the danger of partying irresponsibly lightly or you'll never make it to the party itself.”

I kinda took it another way. That sentence bears hella weight. The future’s uncertain and the end is always near. WHADDA reminder. WHADDA perspective. Yes, the future is uncertain. We friends had many laughs last night. Good use of the time. Tis what life is all about. People I love, being with them. I usedta have as much trouble using the word “love” as I did saying “I’m sorry” in a visitation line. No longer. The end is always near. Spout love out. It’s a feel good.

Let it roll, baby, roll.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
Let it roll, all night long.

Joe Namath, yeah him, another 1970’s guy. He usedta say “I can’t wait until tomorrow ‘cause I get better looking every day.” Hell, I gotta mirror at home, I know that ain’t true for me. I’d rearrange it a tad and say “I can’t wait for tomorrow ‘cause the days look better every day.” I know I know, Pollyanna. Can’t help it. I’m loving life. Am. Truly. Can’t wait for tomorrow, yet still LOVE the day.

The future's uncertain
And the end is always near.

Let it roll, baby, roll. Go. Do. Love. Feel. Hug. Drive with your thighs if you wanna (although not after drinking alcohol - give up your vows then.) Love our city. Right now.

I love all things saturated in passion. Morrison exudes passion in this song. Our future is uncertain. The end is always near. I, for one, am gonna try not to forget that.

Thanks Sanford, Claudia, Clay. I hadda blast.

Yeah, we're going to the roadhouse,
Gonna have a real good-time.

Diary for 6/28/08 marked off “damn good fun.” Hope urs was too. Love, Victurd.

One-hunnerd grand… 867-5309...

My problems are solved.

Fresh off four, count ‘em four cupsa fitty-four cent Senior coffee at McDonalds (so that’s why you’re all hyped up.. And curious… did they make you pay… lemme see.. Four times four equals sixteen.. Four times fitty = two dollar.. Did u have to pay $2.16?) Yes, that’s one reason I’m all hyped up, and no, they have a refill pot - all you want. I cringe whenever I see someone ‘eat in’ and order a large coffee. I’m like “why?”

Flipping thru their free Kansas City Star, ran across two articles that pepped me up. The first, some gal back East I think, went to Ebay, auctioned off “who wants to be my maid of honor in my wedding?”… Bids skyrocketed to $1000, then 2, then finally, $5700.. Won by Dr. Pepper… “We thought it’d be good advertising.” … “Oh Boy!” back East gal exclaimed, “now I can have a DJ with a light show and everything!”… Ahm, ok. Ranks right up there with somea my alltime dreams… travel the Continential US by mobile home/car/tent (see 4 dead guys in granite, Cooperstown, Grand Canyon, Hwy 101).. Go to Maui, take the drive to Hana again.. And yes, a DJ with a light show at my next wedding.

Then there was the 33 yr old chicky, Miami I think, mother of two.. “For sale, my home ($340,000)… includes my companionship.” She’s tried dating, internet dating, just ain’t found “Mr. Right”… “That’s disgusting” said 12 yr old daughter… Eh, why not. She’s had 55 inquiries, to date, no firm takers… and, close your ears, she was very attractive..

So………. Drum roll……

For sale… on VicturdBay… One hunnerd thou… you getta Hot… Rod… Lincoln… a 2-story, potentially 5 bedroom house.. Complete with 18x35 inground pool (pond).. Needing roof, deck, back gutter, fence repair, central air, garage door, and ‘tender loving care.’.. Comes with two aging (yet still vibrant) cats.. One, cross-eyed (Figaro), walks into walls, keeps going.. Like a mutt, he comes to you when you call his name. The other, a “gentle giant” - “a talker”, the Maine coon Jackson, coolest most laid back catya ever did see… and as a bonus, the hand (well both actually) of a fitty-five yr old, sometimes smartass, mosta the time smiley, softball playing sonofabitch. He’s (mostly) gainfully employed, and he gives kickass massages. He karaoke’s (only at home), and he ain’t harda hearing, but he does crank 101.1 when something’ old, to his liking comes on. He’s smarter than a 5th grader, not real mechanical, but he’ll try anything on your behalf.

He’s a weird eater (no seafood, salad dressing, tomatoes, wheat bread, cottage cheese, etc) but u eat anything you want, and if you have patience (and cookbook) he’d fix for you.

This VicturdBay contractual agreement lasts for 21 years (Male life expectancy, 76, minus fitty-five, equals 21) or, until said fitty-five yr old pees pants and forgets name.

Opening bids start (and end) at one hunnerd thou. (Free shipping included!).. Can pay by VicturdPal, or even cash accepted. 867-5309.

There. My problems are solved. I’d get out from underneath this house. Hopefully, underneath someone else (Victor, did you just type that.. Uh huh, but she could have underneath too, I ain’t picky, I likes variety)..

And…. I’d have enough to pay for… mobile home/trek across Uncle Sam’s land.. Fly to Maui, rent Hot.. Rod.. Lincoln.. .takey drive to Hana… and mebbe I’d even have a kickass party and getta DJ with light show included.

Hurry.. Offer good thru (lemme see.. 2008... 8 plus 1 equals 9.. 0 plus two equals 2..) ahm, thru 2029. One-hunnerd grand. A bargain. House, car, man. 867-5309.

My problems are solved. I can’t wait for the light show. Love, Victurd.. Bay.

In the year 2525....

You wanna know the price of a gallon of gasoline ten years ago? I didn’t think so, but it’s my blog, so you’re stuck. $1.07 a gallon. So, it stands to reason, you’re paycheck has gone up four times what it was in 1998 huh? I didn’t think so, but it’s my blog, so you’re stuck.

Wow things can change in ten years eh? Ten years ago, at forty-five, there was a vote in our household as to whether I should continue to play softball or not. Sonsabitches, I lost, 1-1. (We took a recount this year, and voter turnout was somewhat lower, yes, victory, 1-0.)

1998, smoking was banned in all bars and restaurants in California. So that’s where/when they got that reputation.

Monica Lewinsky happened…. A college dropout becomes the first person to be convicted of a hate crime committed in cyberspace. Dale (Senior) won the Daytona 500.. Osama bin Laden publishes a fatwa, declaring jihad against all Jews and Crusaders…

Some things were looking up however… The Food and Drug Administration approves Viagra for use as a treatment for male impotence, the first pill approved for this condition.

The Chicago Bulls win their 6th NBA title in 8 years on a fade away jumper by Michael Jordan. Windows releases Window 98, how catchy…

Google, Inc is founded September 7, 1998. Up until this moment, we searched with flashlights and reading glasses…. Pokemon arrives… Back to the Future Part II, Marty McFly is born.

Passings… Jack Lord… Sonny Bono.. Carl Perkins… Lloyd Bridges… Tammy Wynette.. Frank Sinatra.. Roy Rogers.. “Flo-Jo”…

The “Euro” is born…. Postage stamp, 32 cents… Titanic highest grossing film ever… Sirloin tip $2.69 a lb… Milk, $2.52 a gallon.. Apples, 94 cents a lb..

Ten years is “forever.” Think of yourself ten years ago. What I thought. Hella difference eh? You didn’t waste it (the last ten) did you? I, sheepishly, wasted it some. Not the next ten, count on that.

In the ten years since - my eyes have been opened to what’s really important about life. Well, at least my opine. It’s the minutes within the day. Pleasure. Should be a pleasure. When I get stressy now I try to remind myself “you dumb sonofabitch, you JUST talked about how you weren’t gonna get upset, about how $hit happens and there ain’t a thing you can do about it… about how believed REALLY big problems are teenie tiny.”

In the last ten years, I’ve lost two from my nuclear family, 5 pets, two jobs, one wife, and checkenginelight (the reason behind all this darn near daily writing.)… Some hard losses - but, some awakenings as well. I kinda-sorta “get it” now. It ain’t all about “making it thru the day’, it’s about “making the day.” Ya start upon waking “THANK YOU LORD FOR ANOTHER ONE!”…

You shave, cut yourself, and think “that hurt, but it happens.” You go to Pour Boy, fill up, cuss, say “hey” to Annette, and totally immerse in that cuppa java and bag’a salted peanuts en route to “the grind.” You get to the grind, you constantly remind yourself “it’s just STUFF.” Crappy stuff happens, good stuff happens, fun stuff happens. Life happens, enjoy it. Ahm Victor, where you preaching this upcoming Sunday? KMA. For three (of the last ten) years, I’ve TOLD YOU, I write for me, to me… hitchhikers welcome.

One whole decade, whoosh. Gone. They kinda do that. The sand goes thru the hourglass, and afore ya know it, you say “Howdy” to the YOUNG WalMart greeter.

I do hereby promise to share the next ten. I do hereby promise to enjoy the next ten. I do hereby promise to get laid in the next ten. Oops. Sorry. GD fingers.

The very very bottomline here. All that crap.. Sonny Bono, Frank, Monica, $1.07 a gallon gas.. Seems so far, far, away. Please enjoy the daily path the next decade. I planta.

Love, Victurd.

I’m smarter than a 5th grader…

No dangit, not that show.. Just who I am now. What the past has done for (to?) me…

Relationships are great teachers.. They are. When they end, of course, it really sucks - but I’ve finally figured out rather than be huffy about this, really bitter about that - mebbe learn from them?

I’ve always thrown my heart out there too early.. That one I dunno if I can overcome…

Ran up agin’ a friend who’s ex pretty much philandered the vast majority of their marriage. Finally said friend had enough, bolted, is starting anew. They’re really decent friends now, to which I replied “wow”, and said friend said (Victor, can you say ‘said friend said’?… Ahm, I just said said friend said.. The hell’s wrong with that?)

Anyways, friend said “nah, why hate? Why use the negative energy? What good’s it do?”
Very true, and admirable.

From #1 I learned “pay attention.” You don’t share linens, showers, sinks, fridges, garages, checking accounts, spit, toilet paper rolls, animals, thermostats, washers, dryers - and not pay attention. She worked nights, I worked days - we saw each other one hour a day for a long (too) long, time. We got lost. We didn’t pay attention. Thank you Perijo, I’ve finally paid attention to the fact I/we didn’t pay attention (said friend said.)..

From #2. Mebbe I paid too much attention. Something, somewhere, sometime, happened after 20+ years it was all-of-a-sudden different. What was a decent novel, somewhere around 5/6th’s of the way through the book soured. I didn’t get those eyes looking at me when we met in the room like I usedta. (Close your ears) Intimacy was “hurried along.” I silently went bonkers and paid attention to her every move as if to learn “the hell’s wrong?”.. I tried to cipher everything. I looked for defining statements in every day events. I too closely scrutinized the last 1/6th of the book. I paid too much attention. There very definitely was something wrong - and I will foreva remember she ultimately road off on a Harley… but I do think I paid too much attention.

I’m now smarter, I think, than a 5th grader. What’s the average male life expectancy now? Somewhere around 76? That’s 21 years. That ain’t a lot.

I am human hear me roar - but, IF I ever meet her, “I pledge allegiance, to the bag (she’s gotta have a sense of humor) and the United State of A marriage.”

I usedta be a coach. Within coaching comes losses. There ain’t a coach I know that never lost. When I usedta coach - I wasn’t a chair thrower or a “Cuss ‘em out make ‘em run” typea coach.. But losing did bug me. For I’d failed - and there were expectations on me. Twas a reflection of me.

Marriage, I think I can say now, is like coaching. A coach’s soul path should be to prepare every day to make your team as successful as it can be. In marriage, I rectum we should prepare to make it as successful as it can be. If there’s a loss - it happens. Buckle up, strap in, fight harder. Simply do your best.

Success is the result of overcoming/experiencing failures.

Please don’t interpret this as “hmmmm, he’s fitty-five, I’m 20-something, 30-something, he thinks I don’t know Jack.” Oh no no no. I’m more attuned to that than you think. I’ve met 20-somethings that have hella better heads on their shoulders than some 60-somethings I know.

That said, said friend said, them marriages, them years, them wrong turns, them seeing mates make wrong turns, didn’t go for naught. I just realized, after twice scrutinizing over “losses” - all I needta do is simply try my best (and remember I am human, hear me roar.)

Two sides to every board. One can only control themself. Pay attention, but not too much attention. Prepare yourself the best you can to succeed. Do your best.

I’m officially smarter than a 5th grader. Happy day, love,

Of pity parties and “Woe is me.”

The internet is a nifty place to come “moan and groan.” Heck, I bet even Tom Cruise, David Letterman and Donald Trump have bad, bitchy moany days.

I can snap my fingers at any onea the “moan and groan” thingys… The Power Steering on the Hot… Rod… Lincoln.. That I’ve sunk $1200 in in the last month. (Victor, can you use the word “in” twice in succession?) Screw you, it’s a blog, I’ll do what I want!

I’m pissed at Davis Guggenheim, you see, because HE sleeps 365 days a year with Elisabeth Shue. Damn him, THAT, should be ME.

I’m PO’ed at Matt Blunt and the whole slew’a Statea Missouri workers cause I ain’t got my income tax return yet. I tried for 43 hours to get on the State website to inquire about the return… FINALLY got thru… learned it was mailed 5/2... “Huh? We still got the Pony Express here?” Hadta get a “Stop payment order”… have it notarized, and faxed (Long distance from work… sorry… I won’t do that again).. And now I still wait for my measly $260 that will really help this little “pinch” I’m in.

I’m pissed at my “Dingers” on my car that inform me “Oil Level Low”… I JUST boughta quart!

I get hissy when 22 yr old Maynard is “run allover town”… “can u go to Phillips… Piggly Wiggly… McDonalds… WallyWorld, etc.” Then, he gripes about the (not very much he gives me per month) money he pays to help continue this decrepit place up and going monthly. Additionally, at age 22, he cannot distinguish the difference between a washer and a dryer. This could come in handy if Elisabeth Shue were to one day call and say “Victor, ticket’s in ‘will call’, I dumped Davis.”

I wanna get a GD (gosh darn) camcorder, and run all around the office… taking pictures of (some) coworkers farting mosta their day off… when I can’t friggin’ keep up. I’M UNDERPAID. DID YOU HEAR ME? I’M UNDER PAID!”

Then, I smile (on the outside) when co-workers tell me “Oh I wish I had a friend I could set you up with, you deserve a good woman.”… or… 40-somethings who kinda-sorta flirt (“you look hot today“), uh huh -sure, but they even makes me wanna pump my chest out and shout “MEBBE I AM SOMETHING”… Then I go home and retire in my lil’ twin bed alone. Well, sometimes Jackson let’s me sleep with him. (He’s a cat. Don’t start any’o them rumors.)

I wanna call my mom. Can’t.. I wanna dial up Pops. Can’t.. Ok, I’ll call my sister. Nope. Dammit Jim… it’s ROUGH in this cold cold world.

And then……….

I surf the web and find a couplea articles like I found tonight. If u got the time, a sad read. But, if you’re like me, and u throw these silly, goofy, unwarranted pity parties… it kinda jolts you upright. “Mebbe I ain’t got it so bad.” No, scratch that. “I’m lucky.” Yes, “I’m lucky.”

The first is about an 11 year old boy from Jakarta, Indonesia. There’s a pic of his parents walking him to an orphanage. “Be tough, I’m sorry you have to go.” “I’m not throwing him away.. I just want him to get a proper education.” His parents make $2 to $3 a day, with about half of that going toward their daily rent. There just isn’t enough left over to send him to school, feed him and his two brothers.

If ya wanna… it’s

http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/asiapcf/06/24/indonesia.boy/index.html

So then I felt pretty shitty about my complaints.. But I’d just been to my cousin’s house, and he’d spent a few weeks in South America - relating stories of all the orphanages, all the children given up by their parents so they hopefully would have a chance at life (rather than die of starvation.) So I searched "South African orphanages." First one I came across is for infants with AIDS/HIV.

It’s a tear jerker too, but if you dare: http://www.holeinthewall.org.za/story.htm

I’m very sorry for my pity parties. I feel guilty. I feel lucky. I am blessed. My life, on this planet, is blessed. Even if I never getta experience the “throes” with Elisabeth, I will have lived an incredible life here. Facta the matter is, I already have. I love waking each day. I love seeing my friends every day. I even love seeing our owner who ain’t given me a raise since Ott-6.

Perspective, it’s all about perspective. The little boy who saw the kid with the new, spiffy $140 Nike shoes… feeling sorry for himself ‘cause he had holes in his shoes… The kid who ran barefooted because his family could not afford shoes for him…. He was feeling sorry for himself.. And then he saw the child with no feet.

Life, to me, is all about taking it all in. ALL of it. And then, reacting, realizing, “you know, mebbe I ain’t got it so bad. I’ll try to wing this smile.”

I’m smiling. Not because of the attached stories. They sadden me. I only pray those two children are led to experience the appreciation of whatever good comes there way, and somehow smile about life. And I hope they lead long, happy lives. Life’s all about ‘shoes’. Not Shue’s.

Loveya, Victurd.

Someone's knockin' at the door

Somebody's ringin' the bell Someone's knockin' at the door Somebody's ringin' the bell Do me a favor, open the door and let 'em in

Guilty. I have a “freebie” posted on Singlesnet.com. You don’t have to pay anything to be on there.. But.. If you don’t pay, all you can do is forward :”I like your photo”, “I would like to talk to you”, “Hey there!”, “How are you!”, or, “I like your essay.” (and that’s all they can reply to as well, IF you don’t fork out bucks to become member.)

For whatever reason, I think I’ve been “stuck online” and my profile is showing up like FIRST when old fart ladies search. What usedta be one or two “she’s interested in you” emails, is now up to like twelve per hour. I can’t keep up.

I look. I click “delete”, I’m a pig.

What is it about “Clicking delete” people outta your life?

Are you saying like “I AM SOMEBODY - HOW DARE YOU”.. or are you admitting, “I’m sorry, it just ‘ain’t there.’ (The feel/chemistry kinda thing.)

I’m saying like “I know there will be women who look at me and immediately think ‘no way Jose’, but in the same light, I can tell at first glance ‘huh uh.’ Color me pigola eh?

It’s a bit of a rush to be “stuck” on singlesnet.com’s #1 position.. But I ain’t worthy. Hell, if they’d rank by bankroll, I’d be somewhere on page 2,532.. If they’d rank by “what’s he drive?” I’d be on page 1,343.

At present, I’m number one.

This dating crap, especially at fitty-five.. It’s so hurtful.. So selfish.. So “what in the hell am I gonna do”… u do meet and it’s like “if this is good, and we one day move in together, this is sooo much ‘her place’… I want ‘our place’… It’s “my stuff” and “her stuff”.

Sometimes u get together, and after awhile it’s soooo much “wow… she’s pretty cool.. But when she __________ < (does that behavior) I’m like really repulsed… Can I live with being occasionally repulsed?

Set in our ways, I guess I’m here to say.

I ain’t had a “real date” in sometime. I reckon that is due to “eh, this one didn’t work out, why should I even try that one?”

My stuff. Her stuff. My baggage. Her baggage. Her kids. My kids.. Howinthehell is this all to work? It was soooooooooooooooo much easier when we were just young and horny as hell. We didn’t think about “her stuff, my stuff.” We just opted. Acted. Frothed.

I ain’t opted since 1982. I understand the “like sand thru the hourglass, so go the days of our lives.”… I see it building up on the bottom bubble.

Bottomline, it’s hard to start over again. Mentally, we’re faced with “well this shit happened last time, who’s to say it won’t happen again? Mebbe I’m better off just being me… with only me to think of.

Tune in tomorrow when, this lonely old fart who’s presently by some weird technical snafu (wonderful mist-step), is no longer #1 on singles net.com. I’ll prolly be frothing for female interaction, so froth away.

Love, Victurd

Wow. That’s a weird brainya got there Victurd………

Yeah, I know. I’ve always kinda-sorta come outta leftfield. Normal is ok, just not my style.

Lady at work the other day, cool lady. She’s in management, and she’s under HELLA HELLA pressure this timea year. We all are, but it all funnels thru her, and the tug from the top can be a bit overwhelming.

She’d put out three consecutive fires yesterday.. I hollered her name across the cubicle (we do that.) and she answered a little snippily “WHAT?”… I laughed, ya haveta, I understood it. But, then I said “__eri” (not her name, but rhymes wit it, and __eri almost always replies like that and far as I can tell she does so when there’s pressure or not.)… She “_ary” (not __eri) said “NOW WAIT A MINUTE”.. laughing, realizing that she had said it snippily. No offense meant, no offense taken - it was just one little snippet of making the day lighter.

I think, don’t u sumbitches steal my idea, I’d love to (attempt) to write a play (Broadway? Is that too idyllic?) called “Cubicle.” U could use real situations, and create new ones. There’s humor to cubicles. You’re cordoned off - yet too it brings about some sorta freedom. My space - speak your peace then get the hell out. Hehe. It’s routine, same ole, territorial, fun, easy to eavesdrop, and you can even pick your nose upon occasion. It‘s not beyond me either to send an email to the six closest cubicle mates to announce “ahm, I‘ve got gas, you might wanna stay away for awhile.” (Victor, you’re too fitty-five trying to act as if you’re twenty-something.) Eh, mebbe. I too thought I wouldn’t get boogers after 20-something, but the basta’s keep showing up.

We, the cubicled ones at work - are “wrapped around” by this humongous “L” hallway of fancy-dancy offices. I could care as L less if I ever get one, I’m happy in my little two wall abode. I enjoy ‘foot soldier’, and fingers crossed, by now the L folks have gained enough trust, seen that I work on their behalf to eyeball our monies spent - they leave me the hell alone.

Nuff about work. Man I been getting’ Dejavu of late. Same ole dreams, same ole wakeup in a cold sweat. Same (nice, but insignificant past job characters) in each.. Even happens whilst I’m awake, mebbe driving. If this is the beginning of dementia, I ain’t liken’ it!

Jackson and Figaro, at the very moment, are “holed up” in the bathroom not-so-proudly displaying their new flea collars. I hate the little bastards (fleas.) I NEVER let my cats out, yet each year, they hitchhike - somehow - inside. I’ve sprayed this ‘magical’ cheapy WalMart dust stuff on the carpets.. So their jail sentence will expire in thirty minutes after I’ve vacuumed again.

Yes I now all about Frontline/Advantage.. but it's like late fees at banks, mortgage charges when ya race to the due date, don't make it, so they add on. I could buy three months for each at such-n-such. But I just can't afford three months. Gimme one month please. "That'll be (four times what one month woulda cost had I bought three months.).." Ahm, hey, it's cool. I'm leaving now. Going to WallyWorld, I'll try somea their cheap stuff, but you have a nice day. Dammit Jim.

There’s two cabinet doors under the microwave. One of ‘em broke off in, I think 2003. (“I’ll fix that Tuesday.. Yeah.. Tuesday.”).. Well, Mr. Jackson, in his attempt to find seclusion from the fleas - now calls this cabinet home (he's gotta '2nd floor' apartment there.) Skeery in the morning to get up, peer and see them eyeball staring at you. Oh he still doesn’t miss a 6am food call, ever. He’s a Maine Coon cat - and they’re longhairs.. So we don’t call him plump, it’s referred to as ‘puffy’.

We sing the “Slim Shady” song in the morning… I start with “MY NAME IS” and he chimes in with “meow” (and a tilt of his head as he says it.) This is repeated three times, then he gives me that “just feed me dammit look” so I do. (Remember, leftfield. Sorry.)

My car has been running without repair for ten days. I’d go knock on wood - but what with the formerly raccoons in my attic, snake in the basement (a blog for another day), fleas in my carpet - I fear if I knocked on wood it would cave in due to mebbe like a termite infestation. So, next time I seeya ‘headsup’ penny, that’ll be my wish. “Keep on keepin on” Hot.. Rod… Lincoln.

Busy day. Victor, who cares? I know, but sitting behind this keyboard is like me being at Arthur Bryant’s with a full slab’a ribs infronta me. I just can’t stop. Left hand to the face, right hand to the face, wipe ‘em both, repeat. Drinka water, s’more left/right. Wipe hands. You get the gist. I’m addicted to……… writing……. BBQ ribs… and.. (just slap me) fine, fine derrieres.

My day. Up at 7am “dad, can u take me to the gas station.” Dammit Jim. Mickey D’s for fitty-four cent senior coffee, their $1.25 Sunday paper, and the company of other old codgers freeloading as I.

To local Home Improvement place for a new vacuum belt, and some flea dust magic. “No, sorry, we ain’t got no vacuum stuff.” Dammit Jim. Off to WallyWorld. Eight stoplights, 1,500 cars in the parking lot, a big enough place you could play Arena Football in.

Home. Sprinkle magic dust. Place flea collars on cats “NO, NO, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME.” Sorry, oh, and you’re stuck in here (bathroom) for 45 minutes too… sorry!

Blog. Will vacuum. Go to laundromat (I have seven, count ‘em SEVEN, “expired” washer and dryers in the basement. One day I will get there.)… Hustle to great-nephews birthday party at 2pm… Then softball with old cronies at 5 and 6. We’ll talk for three hours about the two hours we just spent on the field.

Then I’ll come home and drop. I like ‘dropping’. Life’s an empty glass, why not fill that sucker to capacity?

You’ve probably heard the story of the professor with the glass jar.. Filled it with fairly big rocks.. Asked the class if it’s full. “Yes.”… Nope, you see, this is your family. Your foundation in life. Proceeded to pour some smaller pebbles in the jar, again asked “Full?”… “Yes” they repeated. Nope, you see, these are your friends….They help fill up your life… “Full?”… “Yes”, surely third time is charm.. Nope.. He proceeded to fill the cracks between the big rocks and the smaller pebbles with sand.. Once that was filled to the brim.. He poured two beers into the jar, and it literally was filled.. Then he announced.. “the sand represents all the others that come in and outta your life.”………. and was then silent…. Kid in the back row raises hand… “yes?”… “what’s the two beers for?”… “There’s always room for a couplea beers.”

So I will partake in a couple of beers. Come home, drop. And the day’s jar will be full.

I likes that. Ifn’s u were here, we could raise a mug together and toast friendship, flea riddance, cars keepin’ circulatin, and the thankfulness for the good Lord givin’ us another sunrise (even if it did occur too darn early. Chocolate milk. He wanted chocolate milk at 7am… One day he’ll be old enough for fitty-four cent coffee and he’ll understand the value of ‘sleeping in on Sunday morning until wheneverthehell I wanna wake up.

Mugs up, love, Victurd.

Well, I was born in a small town

And I live in a small town
Prob'ly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities

I love this town. ‘Recognizable.’ The streets, the old houses, the college, the schools. Remember when we had was just one blinking redlight? (I know go thru 8 stoplights JUST to get to Interstate.)

All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity

My friends are small town, and I don’t mean that derogatorily at all. Needa hand, they’re there. They’re old school, honest, nice, and have incredible memories about yesterday…

Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of Jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic that's me

Well Mr. John Mellencamp and I differ some here. I wasn’t “Taught the fear of Jesus in a small town.” Parents very liberal, wanted us to make our own decisions, which was cool. I was educated in this small town. Wonderful. You knew EVERYONE. Still do remember their names, faces, where they lived, what their folks did.

Education in this small town was the best. Everyone attended Friday night HS football games, everyone came to the basketball games. Everyone attended the City’s 4th of July display. Overflow crowds parking in the grass were the norm.

I've seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an L.A. doll and brought her to this small town
Now she's small town just like me

Seen it all like going UP the steps to the Court House in a Jeep. Parties. Field parties. Parades. Nights at “The Koo Koo” Drive In. Watching the behemoth Kansas City Chiefs train in our small town. Eat, drink, at the same places us small town folks did. Somehow they fit in.

No, I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me.
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be.

I’ve considered moving. Would liketa try Florida. Around where I work wouldn’t be bad either. Never did it. Prolly never will.

Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look who's in the big town
But my bed is in a small town

Hayseed. For real. That’s me. I love living fairly close to “the Big City”, yet still maintaining our small town demographics, philosophies, and ways.

Well, I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And that's prob'ly where they'll bury me ...

And that’s so very true. My town was lucky in that it was close to the big city, so we didn’t suffer the dramatic “I’m gonna get the hell outta here” woes that very rural small towns experience. Many dropped anchor. Ran inta one at the Piggly Wiggly tonight. Known her 46 years. Now retired longterm school teach.. “Yeah, I started me a “pet-sitter” business.. It’s going pretty well.” If I moved, crap like that wouldn’t happen.

From zero to 18 we don’t have a lotta say in where we live. After age 18, it’s a choice. I love my town. I wonder whointhehell all these new people are, and whyinthehell they need all these three-car garage houses - heck, back in my day it was one station wagon, and mom rode the bus downtown (to the Big City) when us kids needed new duds for school. Don’t get me wrong, we love people, and we’re gladta have ‘em. Truly.

Driving the bike across town at age 9 to play ball at the City Park - not a second thought of it by our parents. Opened windows at night to let the breeze flow thru, thus creating wonderful sleep. Unlocked doors.

The town characters. The Lions Club. The Bowling Alley. THE grocery store. THE gas station. THE High School. THE college. THE Drive In. The Movie Theater. We were one. Unique. Historic.

Every class reunion we get to see the ones that did slip away. Life’s interesting. It’s all about choices. I, at times, may gripe and groan, but there’s not a place on the planet I choose to be. Kinda like a good marriage I guess.

Today, I believe I counted 33 choices of where to eat. Twelve places I can buy shoes. Fifteen gas stations. Soon, a second High School. You can take Liberty (my small town) out of the country - but - you can’t take the country out of Liberty.

The Bowles, The Houstons, The Repperts, The Norris’s… family’s that been around, and are staying around. Just a few examples of the many.

Had myself a ball in a small town. It was the result after landing here. Anything past has been a choice, and one I’m glad I’ve made. Happy day, Victurd.

"Your friend is the man (or lady) who knows all about you, and still likes you."

Had’a friend fairly recently tell me “you say you have friends?… I don’t think that.. If they were REALLY your friends, you’d see ‘em more often, do things with them. They'd be 'longterm.'”

It kinda hurt, hearing that - but then I thunk back, looked ahead - and deducted she was wrong. I do admire this person… She’s managed to hangout virtually every weekend since High School (A looooooooong time ago for us each) with the same regular ole regular groupa friends. That’s remarkable. That’s spectacular - I also think it’s highly unusual (as in she’s lucky, that’s really, really rare.)

Stuff happens. Babies are born. Address’s change Work gets in the way. Work addy changes. Our bodies slow, and perhaps the friendship centered around (partially) athletics. What’s important at 20, ain’t so at 30. Big for 30 mebbe ain’t that at 40. And on and on.

I also think God blessses us with new (additional) friends along the way. I’m perty decent when together with a friend in asking questions “all about you”. But, there’s two at work (Mary T and Jennifer) who beat me to the punch. It’s a feel good. I’d do anything for either, and vice versa.

"A friend is one who believes in you when you have ceased to believe in yourself."

I have a mixture (thank goodness) of male and female friends. It takes awhile, whenya meet someone new - but repeated quality behaviors allow you to finally one day think “wow… this person KNOWS how to be a friend. They rock. I'm PROUD to call them, have them as "friend."”

Friends share important crap about their lives. Stories of their children. Trips they’ve taken. Ideas/plans they have for tomorrow. Then they ask about yours.

"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out."

So. Do we look at friends selfishly? “If I need help. If I needta talk, I go to _____.” Mebbe. But, we reciprocate too.

I hate rankings, but… my mother was my best friend ever. When she passed, that “best friend” candle was handed down to my sister. When my sister passed - it was my father. When my father passed - the friends, they multiplied.

Close your ears: work wise, I have been a teacher (quit to sling suitcases for $10K more a year), slung suitcases for an airline (Chapter 7), checked in passengers for another airline (We‘re downsizing, you can go to NY or Chicago, permanent part-time), sold air cargo for another airline (Once again, Chapter 7). drove an air cargo truck (Outta business), owned an air cargo delivery business (“Victor, you must make a decision, me or the business“),
Mowed grass at a golf course (I‘d quit a job on principle, got another), managed a Sonic (Was demoted for being “too God Damn nice“), worked where I work now (left to join lifelong FRIENDS in startup Warehousing endeavor.. I’d earn 10% of the business over time).. Tiger Warehouse (the FRIENDS… we were bangup for two years, leased a 2nd 65,000 sq foot warehouse, it bit us in the butt).. Hey Cartwright (where I’m at now) will you take me back?

I’m certain I missed a few. Managed a sporting goods store.. (Got back into teaching), delivered Fritos (decided I wasn’t gonna spend resta life with Wed/Sun off.).. Dealt craps at a casino (by flip of coin I was relegated to nights.. Decided, since only son was “of age he needs dad around” < mebbe fancy for baseball, basketball, soccer, etc - patooey, left.)

Ex FIL “That Victor, he’s a nice, nice man. He’s just a little occupationally challenged.”

I ‘run’ with two old HS cronies now. We email, call, gather. We’ve known each other since we were nine. They both are UAW (Auto-workers).. One retired 6 years ago at the ripe old age of 48.. The other they’ll prolly have to force him out at whatever-age-it-is they force you out. (He loves the $$$’s.)

They’ll have nifty retirements in addition to Social Security.

Me? I have a small 401K, but lookin’ at THAT “resume” - you can kinda sorta tell I’ll be employed somewhere/somehow until the day I pee my pants and forget my name.

I don’t feel cheated. I don’t feel sorry for myself. There are SOOOOO many along the way in my life I’ve called friend. I’m lucky. Blessed even. Sure, I’d love a big bankroll, the ability to cruise here, fly there… buy this third vehicle. I wouldn’t trade all the friends I’ve made over the years for any’o that. Honest.

With each and every one I run up’agin today - we meet, we smile - we remember the day. That time. Special. My life’s been special.

Hell even dating. Friends added. Gracie, Wendie, Kate, Kathie, Annie, Twila, Cherryl, Connie, Carrie (VICTOR STOP).. NO!.. Chari, Reba, Mary, Marie, Vicki,Tammy, Lorraine, Laura, Lori, Linda, Lyn, Kathy, Brenda, Trish, Ok, OK, I'll stop. Again, prolly missed one, or six. Still. That friend feeling every time u run up agin' one. Smiles. Memories. Friendships.

"It takes a long time to grow an old friend."

I’d be remiss to not mention my best friend Sanford. The rotten bastard has dialed my number a total of ZERO times since we graduated from High School, but when we do get together(which we do about every two weeks) - it’s like we were in 1967, or 1977, of 1987. Comfy. Buds. We’ve shared. Today is still yesterday.

If nothing else, I hope all that boring crap above reminded you of the many friendships you’ve built along the way. Mebbe u might scratch out a snail mail. Mebbe you’ll wing an email. Hell, if single, mebbe you’ll even reconnect witha frienda the opposite sex and get laid.

"Love is blind; friendship closes its eyes."

This place. MySpace (and yes, checkenginelight.blogspot.com) have brought me new friends. Way cool.. I know Lisa’s sister well, but I’ve not said twelve words to Lisa in my life, yet I love her. She’s a good friend. I’ve never met Rae, but I love her heart. Gail is 2,000 miles away, yet a good friend. Nice job Al, the internet rocks.

Today’s instant message (or text for you whippersnappers).. “Thank you for being my friend.”

Love, your friend, Victurd.

I was gonna do naked…..

HEY? Where’d everyone one go? Ohhhh.. .Yeah, I see. Skeery thought ain’t it.

I was gonna do a blog on nudity, nakedness, in the buff in public.. .I’d read a couplea articles today in the paper..

Dude arrested for THIRD time driving around Kansas City, naked, “all oiled up”… Fitty-three. I’m like “why?”… The hell’s up with that? Never mind…

In the same paper, an article abouta group of 200+ in Boulder… upset with the rising cost of fuel.. Decided to have a “Naked bike protest”.. Ok.. “YEAH! we’ll show Bush!”… I rectum, in a roundabout way, they did.

Then I started searching, and I got bored. Articles by Naturalists… Beach laws.. Local laws.. State laws… Foreign country laws…. It’s all so confusing, I’ve decided to never ever get naked in public.

My week has been El Boro. Sorry. Has. No, I don’t like do Crossword puzzles (although I love them.)… I don’t do novels (Although somea these blogs resemble them)… I’m not into Solitaire (but I could sit at a blackjack table for half a day.)…

I love watching people, and I always do that. Different sizes. Different socio-economics… Those with little kids (oft’ times it always appears they’re thinkin’ “if I’d only known THIS, THEN, I wouldn’ta thought it was so ‘fun’.

I love old folks. They do whatever in the hell they want. They don’t care what others think - be it driving fitty-three in a 65... Sitting around the table at a food joint yapping…

You may think this is dumb.. But I like watching parents (and they’re usually moms) getting kids safely from the exit door at the Piggly Wiggly, to the car, be it steps, or 100 yards away. Weird, the ones (moms) with smiles, have no problems. Their kid either latches onto their pantleg - or, they’re holding hands strolling leisurely.

The (sorry) grumpy ones (Moms), it’s a test. The kid darts out. YELL. GRAB. PULL. Borderline abuse.. And it’s a struggle. Calm works, yelling leads to near misses. Funny how voices are raised, but less is heard.

I like watching folks ‘tween 17 and 22. These wonderful sonofaguns ‘act’ cause they don’t know how to just be. “I’m an adult… watch me (but howthehell do I do this?)”… From zero to 16, they were themselves. They get temporarily lost - then one day they wakeup, and it’s like “I’m just me, and that’s who I’ll be.” Tell me folks don’t walk different in this age span, ur GD (gosh darn) right they do. Experimentation. Mebbe tippy-toeing into adulthood.

I’ve watched baseball (an entire game).. Drank beer in the garage of a friend’s house… Chopped the hell outta a bush out front.. Taken an afternoon off… Paid all my bills… BORING. I’m BORING.

I needs more variety in my life. Maybe an oiled-up ride around KC.. Maybe a bike ride with “Screw $4/gallon” plastered across my back..

If you are out there…. And you’re breathing…. Please tell me what you’ve done eventful? Honest, I’d love to hear.

I sit and I rack my brain thinking whatinthehell to write about… and their just ain’t been chit of late..

Sometimes I reckon, boring is ok. Life, at times, can be mundane. If we didn’t have mundane, then weird/exciting wouldn’t be so weird/exciting.

I do hereby challenge you to share your public nudity story, or, anything exciting that’s happened in ur life.

Sorry this was a dud. Eh, it’s almost 4th of July. Duds happen.

Love, Victurd

The “tingles”….

The dreaded “tingles”. There is man. There is woman. There are the dreaded “tingles.”

I’ve never understood “the tingles.” I ‘spose I oughta define for you, but you’rea lyin’ sonofagun if you think “thanks Victor, I wasn’t sure what you were talking about.”

“The tingles” are the most basic level of ‘feel’. ‘Want.’ Your eyeballs meet, mebbe even just for a second. And there’s a pleasure there. There’s the (my God why am I writing this, my niece reads it) simple thought “Oh my, you’re gorgeous, I’m like waaaay attracted to you.. Might I spend 5 or 8 or 123 minutes envisioning us together?”

I could be wrong, but, to me, it happens daily. Yes, I do think my eyeballs are prolly more attuned to “what’s going on”, “who’s out there”, but still, they don’t tingle with regularity. (“Victor, you’re too picky” ß said ex sister-in-law.)

But when I ‘tingle‘, it’s like Katy bar the door.

Tonight was, basically, bizarre. I sat in the garage at a friend’s house.. Watching baseball.. My friend’s sister has been whispered about that she ‘likes women’. I don’t care, I love her, she's my very good friend, and we’ve known each other hella years.

She’d just played in a golf tourney, are you keeping up? This gets interesting. She’d just played in a golf tourney with a gal who was divorced, and she (her golf partner) frankly teeter-tottered about her sexual orientation for a long, long time. (She’s now living with a ‘her’, and that’s all well and cool, no gripes, opinions, put-downs, by me.)

But. But, the gal “who was divorced, and she frankly teeter-tottered about her sexual orientation for a long, long time (She’s now living with a ‘her’, and that’s all well and cool, no gripes, opinions, put-downs, by me.)” and I tingled. I know we did. In my ‘studies’ of the human being, I kinda-sorta think I’m “up wit it” enough to recognize ‘tingle’.

I absolutely knew, and it’s all good, there’d be no tango with this tingle. All in the same, it was a few selfishly rewarding hours. I kept my hands to myself, as did she, and the evening ended about an hour ago.

This “tingle” has bit me in the butt before. AKA, marriage #1, and marriage #2, with s’more prolly prior to, in between, and after.

We have this “tingle” and it’s like we’ve got friggin’ blinders on, we can’t thinka anything else, the male/female thing kinda takes over and we’re oblivious to “this will never work because of _____, or _______,, and mebbe even _______." Foggy. Foggy Mountain Breakdown.

We “tingle”, we’re focused. Then reality sets in.

I’ma pig. There are many out there I’d love to ‘tingle’ with. The male in me overpowers the “nuh uh, this ain’t right”, and tingle blinds me.

There are some, I ‘tingle’ for, the wimpiness in me precludes approachment.

To u creeps (said with love) that are in a marriage, or in a relationship, don’t you think you can bootscoot outta this blog and say “eh, that’s (‘tingle’) for people that ain’t with anyone.)…

Wrong. “Tingle” happens. It’s human nature. I will send kudos though, to those like Lisa, Misty, Terry B, or any other person out there that faces the challenge of ‘tingles’, yet refrains from approaching.

Been awhile since I’ve been in a relationship, and hard to “see from my shoes being in a relationship with one, and “I’ll be GD” if “tingle” doesn’t show up on the radar with another. Bless those that hold their convictions “til’ death do us part,”, or, “we live together, I love him/her, screw that ‘tingle’ feel.

Honestly, even if I were embedded in a longterm, I think the feel of “tingle” is a good thing. We study “greener grass”, “what if”, “oh baby I’d like to say ‘OH BABY’. Nah. Tingle don’t work there.

“Tingle” is all about timing. Mutual “tingle.” Being lucky. Getting to know one another. There’s oh so much past the initial ‘tingle’, but ain’t it great seeking “is this THE RIGHT tingle?

This all may make no sense to you… or you may be frothing at the keyboard “fuckin’ A Ray, I KNOW what you’re saying!”

Tingle is a good thing. It can be momentary. Spontaneous. One-sided. Fleeting. Aided by alcohol/the situation. Burst apart due to reality. Or… I guess it could actually work.

I’m lucky in that I’ve “tingled” in two marriages. One 7 years, one 20-something. In the end, they both kinda-sorta tingled elsewhere, and that’s not the debate today. What’s kept me going is the belief “I’ve yet to be in the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”

And yes, that would include ‘tingle.’ A haveta. They say ‘tingle’ happens when u least expect it. GD, does she realize “like sands through the hourglass, so go the Days of our Lives.”

“Tingles” thinkin’ about it, ya know? Love, Victurd.

Expectant…

I expect you won’t like this.

Expectant..

There are one of two answers here…. Either you gots one in the oven, or, (thank you Yahoo) “Having or marked by expectation: an expectant look; an expectant hush.”

Sometimes, I peek at the monitor… like today.. .it says “zero blogs” for the week. She-it. I’d better git wit’ it. Then I thinka those woman, couples I see. Expectant. If there ain’t no other rugrats around, I’m like “ohhhhhh my, you have no idea how your life is about to change!”
I mean, crapola (Said with love).. Whatshername was expectant in 1984 (son born July, ‘85) I had NO IDEA it’d carry over like this to “ott-8”..

I mean I had fun and all the last four weeks and all when she needed help to get outta the waterbed, and (before I’d extend my hand to help) I negotiated ‘deals’ (mainly “you promise lasagna tonight?”.. or, “that heavenly meatloaf u make just once in the next week?”) She usually complied - and it was all good. I’d lend a hand.

Expect. We expect Victor will blog. We expect the sun to come up. We put the key in, we expect the car will start. Well, you might anyways. We expect payday. We expect to turn on the boob tube in the am and see the same smiley faces. We expect what’s adorning our closets… We expect responses to our salutations to co-workers… We expect most things in our day..

We plan, so others can expect… “Going to WalMart after work, be home mebbe 45 minutes late..”… “The group at work is meeting for one, I’ll be home 7-ish”…

Expectations are a good thing.

Unexpected. This, I thrive on. I’ve always gone out of my way to try to be extraordinarily unordinary. Why just this morning, the peepers popped open at 3:30am. I was like “NO… it’s EXPECTED you’ll stay closed AT LEAST until 5-something!”.. Nope. They wouldn’t have none-of-it. So……I Googled every onea my very close friend’s names.. To find “look-alikes” with the exact same names as them… and interesting tidbits about ‘em.. Lemme, Misty (same last name) offered $15K to a hit man to get ridda this cop…. Found another friend’s name that got busted for selling heroin.. Anyways, fun for me, I got about six-seven interesting tidbits (fun stuff about their real name, but it tweren’t them) pasted it all together and emailed it to them.

Mebbe u had to be there - but it was different kinda-sorta, unexpected.

Off base. It’s fun to catch folks (in a friendly/fun way) off base. Hopefully have ‘em draw that smile when they ain’t expectin’ it. I reckon it could be a Seinfeld episode. If you are, do, say, the unexpected, wouldn’t it be expected? I expect so.

I dunno what to expect for tomorrow. I expect it’ll be morea the same.
Expect can be dangerous in relationships. Some can’t live up to their expectations, thus, they’re thrown overboard. Reckon too, expectation can be a controlling thing.

It’s 6am, just had to go tinkle. Swung by the kitchen enroute. Jackson’s at his bowl looking up at me like an ole hoot owl. He expects to get fed at this time - every day. I expect I’d better do that.

Gotta go watch Channel 9, so I’ll know what kinda weather to expect today. Expect I’d look goofy in shortsleeves if the temp is gonna drop a bunch. Been nice though, don’t expect it will.

When it’s least expected, you’re elected it’s your lucky day.. SMILE… you’re on Candid Camera. You are an old sumbitch Victor. Yes, yes I am. (And I expected you’d say something like that.)

What do you expect outta the resta ur life? Do others still have expectations of you? Tomorrow is fun. The unexpected. We do pretty much chart our own course, mostly know what to expect… then there are curve balls. Dead ends. Ya might even be single, going along quite well - then meet someone unexpectedly – they knock ya off your feet.

It’s time to jump in tub. I expect I’d better go. Whether you do the same ole same ole every day, or mebbe ifn’s ur onea them that comes outta leftfield with the unexpected.. I expect I’ll still loveya. Expect I’ll seeya again soon? Love, Victurd

Slamming on your brakes on the Interstate whilst going 70mph….

We’ve all gotta different look, outtake from behind the wheel. I dunno why I keep coming back to McDonalds, but I do. Everyone knows Mickey-D’s, so I guess it’s easy to relate. I’ve pretty much switched my weekend breakfast extravaganza from the Piggly Wiggly, to sitting in McDonalds reading their free newspaper, drinking my “I’m a Senior” coffee.

Long about 9am on Sundays… you getta rush of folks enroute to church, coupled with those pacifying uniformed Little Leaguer needs… and us old shits.. I kinda feel sorry for those wet-behind-the-ears snotnoses that hustle-bustle to get everyone’s order out in a timely manner…

We were five deep in line the other day… A mom, her three children (one in’a ball uni) hustled in to join the line. Now onea the dudes waiting on us was getting hash browns outta the fryer - the chicky for the other line was making to-go drinks.. Mom, the typea mom that the Elementary School Principal certainly dreaded - as she’d watch the school’s every move.. Marched to the front, basically screamed “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE PEOPLE UP HERE TAKING ORDERS?… I PARK MY CAR TO WALK IN BECAUSE IT’S BETTER FOR THE ENVIRONMENT, AND IT’S FRUSTRATING TO BE HERE WITH NO ORDER-TAKERS… WHERE’S THE MANAGER?”

The “I’m makin’ $7.25 an hour” snotnoses just kinda looked at her. Mom, she didn’t react very well. Hubby was nowhere in sight (gee, I wonder why.) In fact (close your ears) she was fucking up the environment.

Blame the owner, not the kids. Every fast food joint on the planet has an electrical mechanism that runs 100% of the time - and it charts revenue and labor cost. There are goals to meet - which, the person who is in charge, better make sure they ain’t got ‘extra’ help - and, from the owner’s shoes “if you feel we’re biting off more than we can chew…. Chew faster.”

Reaction. Very kinda-sorta different from ‘recovery’. Interesting read in morning paper on Pierce Brosnan, now fitty-five. Bastard. Same age as me and he’s still gotta baby face. Even worse, he lives on the beach in Kauai, you’d think the bastard’d be all shriveled up. Yeah, mebbe surgery, who knows. I can’t even afford a Gosh Darn cell, let alone enough to fight all these crevices.

I get lost. Sorry. The hell was I? Oh yeah, Pierce. Somewhere ‘tween James Bond (the 4th movie) and James Bond V, Pierce was waylaid with “we’re going another direction.” Translated: “you’re gettin’ up there in age my friend.”

Stealing from Parade magazine “Shaken and stirred but not bitter, Brosnan now thinks pass the Bond baton was a blessing “Oh it turned out very lucky, he says. “Within the space of the punch and the pain of being passed over or rejected or the bottom of your world falling out, within that same breath came this liberation of ‘I’m free. I can do anything I want.’ It’s up to me to make the next stage of my career as interesting and as exciting and unexpected as possible.” (Cool.) Nice take Pierce, wayta react during this recovery.

“You’ve got to be a fighting rooster, man,” says Brosnan. “You’ve got to get out there and preen those feathers and look like you know what you’re doing and hope you know what you’re doing and have a good time.” (Even cooler.)

Victor, your blogs usually ain’t this long. You gonna keep going? Surely they’re all asleep or have moved both eyeballs away to the boob tube… Yes. Yes, I am.

I love all the learning that goes on at Mickey D’s. The free KC Star Sport’s page told me about Derrick Johnson. Derrick is a fine, fine linebacker, tough dude, in his 3rd or 4th season for the Kansas City Chiefs. Derrick lost his pa mid-season last year - but he will carry the wisdom from his father for the remainder of his years.

Wayne Johnson, age 60, was a mountain of a man. 6’5”, 300 pounds. They related a story about when Wayne was a gunner on a Navy ship in the Vietnam era.. One night, he heard screaming no the lower deck.. Wayne ran down… his best bud on the ship, a 19 year old white kid from Jersey - was being crushed by the 2,000 lb missile that had toppled on him. :Lickety-split, this mountain of a man, ran over and somehow lifted the missile off his buddy.

“Back then,” Derrick remembering his childhood with his two older brothers who idolized their father “every day was good.” Wayne had an appetitive for life. He kept his sons thru four marriages.. Cool to note this Father’s Day. I’ve only done that with one (and Lord knows how difficult that's been, I can't imagine THREE.), God Blessya Wayne Johnson.

Awhile back Wayne’s kidney’s failed.. Twas hard for Derrick to see this gentle mountain of’a man laying there so frail. “Derrick… Sometimes in life you never know what’s going to happen. You have to make sure, when you’re on this earth, have a lot of love in your heart and treat people right. Never get too big. Whatever you do, never get too big. God has a way of humbling you.”

Derrick couldn’t listen any more. It felt as if his father was giving up, that he was trying to impart some final wisdom before he said goodbye. He stood and told his dad he’d see him soon. “Derrick” Wayne said as his son reached for the door, “Stay gold.”

Derrick’s father expired in November of last year. To this day, his cell number is still in Derrick’s phone. “I can’t erase it. I just can’t.” Wayne Johnson will always live insidea Derrick Johnson.

“He always said something about, life is 10 percent what happens to you, 90 percent how you respond.. I just have to remember that.”…….. Something makes me think he will.

Holy crap we’ve all had those setbacks. We’ve all waited 17 minutes for fast food. We’ve all learned from elders on their way outta this world. We’ve all been handed setbacks like Pierce. Woo, my twenty-something year marriage that ended - hell, you’ve been here - seen the pity parties.. It was like going 70mph on I-435 and slamming the breaks on. The key is reaction whilst one recovers.
Whether it’s being unconvinced by someone who’s learned “Kroc-a-shit’s way”.. losing a loved one.. Losing a job.. Losing a mate.. It’s all about the reaction.

Preen those feathers baby. You’ve got to be a fighting rooster, man. Stay gold.

Victor, this was too longa blog. KMA dude, you ain’t reactin’ very well.

Outta here, loveya, Victurd.

Along with lovers, muggers, and thieves

I'm gonna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my town
I'm gonna tell you a big bad story, baby
Aww, it's all about my town

Well… mebbe not my town. Mebbe more about lovers, muggers and thieves.. Bless the lovers. They are a plenty. Seen another couple last night… been eyeballin’ ‘em for some time. I hate (love) ‘em… They can’t look at each other without smiling. I hate (love) that. It’s a choice. She’s a lawyer (who DONATES hella time to assisting children in court)…. He’s in some kinda food equipment sales/maintenance.. That don’t matter. Could be unemployed, business owners, city workers, you name it. They “get” life. It’s all about looking out with them eyeballs and then the chain of events that send those images to one’s brain - down to the mouth - and a choice is made. They choose smiling.

“I love this guy” she said after I’d complimented them on their obvious happiness. “When he comes home from work I’m like ‘take me, just take me now.’” Dayum. “We’ve known each other since kindergarten - and we’ll leave this planet together.” Yeeee Hiiiii.. Blessed, they be blessed. But they choose blessed.

Yeah, down by the river
Down by the banks of the river Charles (aw, that's what's happenin' baby)
That's where you'll find me
Along with lovers, muggers, and thieves (aw, but they're cool people)

Well, the lovers are - but no so much the muggers (fuggers) and thieves. The muggers are those guys who control the oil - pretty much produce, don’t produce as they want, and build bigger castles every time the price of a barrel goes up a dollar, or ten - and stack the cash up unner their turbans.. We needta find a way outta this. Be it an alternative source, remarkable technology breakthrough, or hell, mebbe even making Saudi our 51st state. Muggers, the fuggers are muggers. I sit in a cubicle all day and, on behalf of my company, try to find the least expensive way to move crap from inland, to Ocean Ports. Independent truckers are expected to fill up, drive 3000 miles, and then mebbe get paid in sixty days. Uh huh, sure. So bread, milk, produce all go up - business’s don’t have as much business, jobs are lost…. And the vast majority tread water just making it to “YES, I paid all my bills, let’s see if I can make it to payday.” Muggers, fuggers are muggers.

Thieves. Cash advance places, title loan places, household finance places, mortgage companies, even banks. (VICTOR! You've been emailing back and forth with a lady who RUNS a bank, HOW DARE YOU!... sorry, jes' my take, ain't nuttin' personal).. The po just haveta pay mo. “I ain’t treadin’ so good, can I borrie fitty?” Sure, pay me $80 in two weeks, k? “I didn’t keep a journal, my bad, but $173 in overdraft charges for $37 in debit card expenditures?” Yes, that’s our rules, sorry. But we’ve got doggy biscuits, here Rover. “Sorry, my child was sick - our car shot craps and I was two days late on my mortgage. “It’s ok, we’re sympathetic to that, just add $43 to your payment next time.”

Well I love that dirty water.

Life’s a roller coaster and the price of a ticket to ride justa keeps on climbin’. The middle class keeps on’a shrinkin’, and we’re gettin’ bottom heavy. Fuggers.. Muggers and thieves.

VICTOR! STOP! This is depressing shit!.. K, will. I love that dirty water.

It’s an admitted rough time in our country now. We’ve been there, we’ll get thru it. We started by finally learning how to all get along, resident Indians and newcomers. We learned howinthehell to forge that river westward. We figured out the right way to govern. We hid money in mattress’s after Wall Street crashed. Fuggers. Muggers. We gotta New Deal. Even after we were bombed unemployment went from 14% to 2%. Races gained equality. We made it thru the Cold War. Women gained rights. Bra’s were burned. Sit ins happened. Just say no. We’ve survived droughts, hurricanes, tornados, floods, fires, health crisis’s, you name it, we’ll make it. We conjured up “why?” and “no… huh uh, I ain’t.” We’re survivors.

Well I love that dirty water.

We hand down “yes, sometimes it’s rough shit, but we’ll make it.”

Tweren’t my intent to sit here and “bitch and moan” about muggers and thieves. I love that dirty water, I really do. Someone very nicely wrote in something to the effect of “Victor, I hope your week gets better.” NO, NO, NO, NO! (But TYVM!).. My week is GOOD! I’m’a hopin’ what’s interpreted here is that the words on these pages are what happens when the eyeballs look out, it’s transferred to the brain (then to the mouth) and finally the fingers. Yes, sometimes the fingers get poopy. But trust me, I’ma lover. The fingers just get in the way of what's really important. The thoughts sent down to the mouth allow me to almost always smile. I love this dirty water.

If you… you love this dirty water.. If you… you look out at life and when it comes back thru you it transforms into a smile (inspitea the muggers and thieves and past historical crisis’s..).. If you… you have that “When he comes home from work I’m like ‘take me, just take me now.’” Call me. 867-5309. We’ll be lovers of life together.

“Yes, sometimes it’s rough shit, but we’ll make it.”

I love that dirty water (I'm the man, I'm the man)
I love that dirty water (Owww!)
I love that dirty water (Come on, come on)

Peace out. Love, Victurd.

Of tow trucks.. Hot Rod Lincolns.. And pieces of paper…

‘Twas a kinda shitty day. You have them?

I’d gone to bed reasonably early, awakened before the alarm. By golly, I’d even returned from visiting my buddy Annette at the Pour Boy fuel place to nab my coffee, cigs for the day “and fitteen on pump 3”….. I was back here drinking coffee, reading ur lackacomments ‘round 5:15am.

Maynard and I shoved off at our normal 6-3-0 am. Temp gauge on Hot… Rod.. Lincoln.. did it’s normal “I’m overheating” thingy five minutes into it. Ceptin’ this time, it didn’t “catch”. The heat didn’t come on, and the temp gauge arrow didn’t retreat. I hate when that happens.

So we basically broke down some 12 miles from home. Tow truck eventually called, back to Meineke (“Hi Hal, remember me?”) and $200 and 5 hours later I was back on road to work. Maynard said to hell with it. He’d “put in a day”, walked home, tooka sick day.

I clocked in at 12:36pm. Worked until 8pm.

So here I sit. Tossed back and forth “do I share that crap?” It’s kinda boring, and, of late, repetitive.. Or do I talk about “slips of paper.”

You know. As we sat (for several hours, pitifully helpless) at the Phillips 66 right’s offa I-35 in Gladstone.. I dug through “slips of paper” for my ex sister-in-law’s phone number. (She works where my son does, figured we’d catch her on the way in.. “Excuse me sir, can I have change for a dollar to use the phone? We’re broke down.” Scroll to some damn blog, no.. I ain’t gotta cell.)

So, I spent a dolla fitty on calls to her cell… “Hi, this is Kim, please leave a message” (3 times).. fitty cents to call work “I’m broke down…….. Again.”……. And another buck to call Meineke (“Hal, this is Vic. Remember me? With the HRL piecea-crap you prayed you’d neva see again?) and fitty cents to the tow service. Our car was 200 yards from the pay phone. “Yessir, we can tow you, can I get a call back number?”… Ahm, I ain’t gotta cell, and I’m not sure what this pay phone number is.. But I can tell you this.. We sure as hell ain’t going anywhere.”)

So the kid and I had two hours together. Light. Laughing. We needed that. Some (not intended) heavy stuff. In the midst of those trips across the 200 yards to the pay phone, I found three, COUNT ‘EM THREE, “headsup” pennies. Now I made some wishes, and yes, mebbe onea ‘em mighta been about the car - but I sureashell ain’t sharing the other wishes with the likes of you.

Victor, you’re title says “and pieces of paper.” The hells that about?
I’ll tellya. I gotta nifty leather Bolivian wallet, given to me by “Here Vic, we’re the uppity son-of-a-guns… we travel the world over on behalf of our company.. .stay in wonderful places… get wasted.. Play golf each day.. But oh, here, this Bolivian agent gave us a cool leather wallet, it’s all yours."

Within this “cool Bolivian wallet” are many pieces of paper with names/numbers, yes, primarily women’s numbers. It’s reasonably fun to dig thru - and occasionally I will run onta one “Jeannie, XXX-XXX-XXXX” ß her number. I have to stop and think “Whothehell is Jeannie?

Embarrassingly, I have several’a them slips of paper. Some I don’t recall. Some I don’t wanna recall. And some, musta had caller ID ‘cause they never picked up. Being the ever so, always am, gotta be, eternal optimist. All it takes is one slippa paper. The right one.

I ain’t revisited my New Year’s Resolutions of late, but I think I’m on course with most! So today, I proclaim: “I WILL find that ‘just right’ (Goldilocks) slippa paper.. And I WILL get laid (sorry.. WITH FEEL.. “HER”… “YES”.. “THE LAST”.. “UNTIL WE PEE OUR PANTS AND CAN’T REMEMBER EACH OTHER’S NAME”) at some point before John
McCain turns 80. (Which, if I touched all the right knuckles counting up, should be somewhere ‘round 2015, his second term of office.)

May your antifreeze stay circulatin’. May slips of paper be special for you. And may you have the watoosies to ‘comment’.. “Victor, mebbe when you’re undecided about what to write about, you take a night off. Hear?”

I didn’t win the Powerball. I almost made it thru 8 hours at work today. I’m still praying about them two other ‘headsup’ pennies. My secret, haha, you’ll never know.

Love, Victurd

Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone

4:45pm last night……….

Ring.. Ring… (Caller ID) Hi Tommy! Howya doin? You guys goin’ for Happy Hour?…….

Howdy.. I’m doing great.. No, not going to Happy Hour… well, we may meet there… I’ve got four tickets to James Taylor.. . He’s playing at 8pm tonight Starlight (a remarkable KC icon outdoor amphitheater)… U wanna go?

Not yes, but hells yes. I don’t needta know how many tickets you got, who’s goin’, whatever, I’ll be there.

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
You've got a friend……………. AND THANKS FOR ASKIN’!

Onea my favorite alltime youtube vids.. (I’m old).. Is an old 70’s one of James and Carly Simon singing “Mockingbird.” It’s “up”, it’s peppy. Bastard’s cocky (but good).. The kinda guy we men usedta hate. We’d sit back and say “how can you like THAT when he’s so damn cocky?’ He’d laugh, and the women wouldn’t look at us again.

James Vernon Taylor was born March 12, 1948 in Boston, MA. Raised in Chapel Hill, NC. Poppa was Dean of the University of North Carolina School of Medicine in the late 60’s, early 70’s… They vacationed on Martha’s Vineyard - an island just offa the coast of Massachusetts…

“Whadda you gonna do tonight Pops?”.. Maynard, I’m going to see James Taylor! “Yeah, I hearda him.. What kinda music does he play?” Well.. I ain’t real sure what you call it. Popular in the 70’s and 80’s, soft, rock-ish, with a lotta acoustical and soft verse… “Cool.”

To the “meeting place”… One beer. On the road to pickup #3 and 4 ticket people. Played an old James concert vid there to get pumped up. “Cheryl, u got the internet?” Uh huh. Made ‘em watch James/Carly/Mockingbird to see the difference between today/yesterday’s James. “He was a cocky sonofagun back then wasn’t he?” Hell yeah! He SLEPT with Carly Simon from ‘72 to ‘83, I HATE HIS GUTS!

Thanks Wiki à (1968-ish) While living in New York City, Taylor became addicted to heroin. One night, after receiving a desperate phone call, his father drove to New York and rescued him. Taylor later wrote a song called "Jump Up Behind Me" that paid tribute to his father's help during a time of desperate need. The song also reflects on Taylor's memories of the long drive from New York City back to his home in Chapel Hill.”

In. In the car. Headed to Starlight. If u live in KC, don’t need no explanation. If u don’t, it’s a wonderful kinda-sorta inner-city venue.. Thousands of seats in a bowl that look down on the stage. Many a play, many a famous group. Many a wild weather nights. Many a wonderful night. Hella huge brick towers on either sidea the stage - with a backdrop ‘tween ‘em to give the best sound.. And on the other sidea the seats.. Matching towers.. Where folks pee, get refreshments, enter. Words can’t do it justice, it rocks.

(Wiki) “Once recovered, Taylor signed toWarner Bros Records and moved to California.. His second album, Sweet Baby James, was a massive success, buoyed by the single "Fire and Rain," a song about his experience in an asylum and the suicide of his friend, *Suzanne Schnerr*. The success of this single and the album piqued interest in Taylor's first album, James Taylor, and propelled the album and the single, "Carolina In My Mind," back into the charts.”

$5 Parking. “FULL”. Dammit, and we were cutting it close. On the street Tom, right there. Ain’t far, we’ll walk. Who needsa beer?…….

600 yards from the entrance… applause happens.. Guit-fiddles were tuned.. A lady by us, some forty-something, mebbe fitty-something, barefooted across the clover - grabs the arm of her lagging twenty-something daughter.. HELLA smile on mom’s face.. Drags her daughter to go faster.. The look/smile on her face blurted out “We gotta hurry up and get there so I can go back to yesterday:.” She was, in a moment’s notice, reliving James, VietNam, JFK/Dallas, our Space Program, burned bra’s, equal rights, and the big’n “WHY?”…

(Wiki) In the early 1980s Taylor's career was again beset by drug problems. Additionally, Taylor's wife, Carly Simon, was unhappy with his extended absences due to touring.] After an ultimatum that he spend more time with their children, Taylor responded with the 1981 album Dad Loves His Work. He and Simon divorced in 1983.) Could James be “You’re So Vain”?

A perfect night. Well, perfect would be, arm around - but that’s ok, good company nonetheless, simply awesome weather, and a smile plastered across ma face all night.

About long tours, keeping enthusiasm, KC Star said “But Taylor can still do that. "Fire and Rain," "Carolina In My Mind" and "Walking Man" were gorgeous. And during up-tempo numbers like "Mexico" he and the band stirred up some dancing in the aisles and on the grassy areas that flank the seats.”

No, I wasn’t in the aisles or the grassy areas. I was seated around a niftily diverse crowd. Young dudes/dudettes with tattoo expressions, little kids, grand kids, and old folks like me. The Yankees. Vince Lombardi and the Green Bay Packers. Three networks. Bonanza. The race to the moon.

(Wiki) “In 1985 Taylor married, for the second time, to actress Kathryn Walker who helped him through recovery of his substance addictions. According to Taylor, he remains clean and sober to this day.” (Close ur ears… fuckin’ A Ray.)

I was in temporary heaven. He can sing anything, and did. Including “Wichita Lineman”, “On Broadway” and even the “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning," from "Oklahoma."

In 2001 Taylor wed for the third time, marrying Caroline ("Kim") Smedvig. Part of their relationship was worked into the album October Road, on the song "On the 4th of July." The couple reside in Washington, Massachusetts with their twin boys, Rufus and Henry, born in 2001 to a surrogate mother via invitro fertilization.

Sunday. I sat couped up. Mowed the yard, did laundry. Same ole same ole kinda weekend. (Remember Pete and Repete?).. Monday night, I lived. I loved (everything about it.) I was. I took another turn. Different road. Outta the ordinary.

(KC Star) “He ended with another cover but one that long ago became indelibly associated with Taylor: "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)," which set off the kind of warm, love-fest aura the Flaming Lips get during "Do You Realize." If he has grown tired of singing that one, Taylor didn't show it a bit. Or maybe he has forgotten about it.”

Mr. Taylor is really pretty cool nowadays. He’s backed off the cockiness. Still carries that sweet, on the mark voice. Nice. Complimentary. Thankful. Appreciative.

It was a good night. A very good night. Thanks Mr. Taylor. You’ve got a friend.

Love, Victurd.

Put me in coach… I’m ready to play… today…

“NO, you’ll break a hip.” “Do you have good insurance?” “Those cataracts, you’ve got implants - the hell you thinking?” “They’ll shoot your eye out.” I gotta know right now! Before we go any further.What's it gonna be boy? Yes.. or no? Come on, I can't wait all night

Let me sleep on it. Baby baby let me sleep on it. NO! NO! Ahm, borrowing fortitude, rebellion from that wolf guy “"Let me in, Let me in, little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!"

I’m playing dammit. Now where’s my glove? Hey Dick, you’re lefthanded, got an extra? So now I have a 1960’s too GD small glove I attempt to catch a softball with.

My turn to bat. Ahm, Victor. That’s a wooden bat. Yeah, so? We don’t use wooden bats any more. Aw come’on, this one is cracked, but I put a screw in it, covered it with electrical tape, it’s as good as new! Sorry Victor, you’ll have to use onea ours.

Oh, put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be centerfield.

Ahm, Victor. Not certain how long ago it was you played, but we ain’t gotta centerfield position in the outfield. There are four positions, and ain’t one of ‘em named centerfield. You bastards are’a rainin’ on ma parade. Ok, then I’ll play rover, that’s kinda centerfield. Ahm, Victor, was there like color TV yet the last time you played?

Found ma cleats in the garage. Just where I‘d put ‘em some eleven years ago.. GD mud-dobber’d been livin’ in ‘em. Got ridda that yuck dried mud stuff. Pounded ‘em on the sidewalk. Good as new.

First practice, we walked from our always park behind right field to the bench. Whew! I’m tired now, we done? Grounders, time for grounders. WHAT? I came here to catch, mebbe play outfield. I have implants youi know? Like Donna Summer, I will survive. And did.

Batting practice. The outfielders all were ready for a break when I came up anyways. So I hits me some measly squeakers, actually a few mighta even been hits. Proudly, I didn’t miss. Cataract doc insisted I get one “up close” lens, and one “distance”. “Now this might goof up your perception in things like, oh, golf.” That first fly ball I was lost. Like bein at 34th and Paseo without GPS trying to get to The Plaza. “IN VIC, IN”… oops. Sorry. Been awhile. (It was the glove’s fault.)

Practice ended, I didn’t totally embarrass myself, now time for a cold beer. Now THAT they ain’t gonna show me up on. Tunes, talk, a few brewskies, it was 1995 allover again. Or ‘85, or ‘75. I’ve played too damn long. Or have I.

Next day at work. Vic… you ok? Yeah, just a little sore. My body ain’t ran for like ten years, and it ran last night. It’s currently bitching back at me. Where’d ya run to? I played softball. HAHA.. HAHA.. You WHAT? I know, I know… screw you all.

First game. Started stretching when the resta ‘em did. Kinda-sorta remembered what to do. Even had a pre game beer (all of ‘em did) to mebbe take the edge off. Eighteen of us. I think I batted like 14th, which was ok, because I’m the oldest sumbitch on the team.

Mostly uneventful. We lost a double header to kids who were born after we graduated from High School (In fact, true story, one kid came to the plate with a "Senior '07 shirt on.. I said, "turn them numbers around, that's when I graduated, hehe")- but, the fact we actually scored some runs, and got three outs on them a few times when they batted made it all worth it. Even better, I went 2 for 4, didn’t make any errors, more importantly, DIDN’T SWING AND MISS (you have to buy beer for team if u do) and even more importantly, I didn’t shoot my eye out, I didn’t pull a hamstring, and I didn’t get the dreaded “fatigued groin.” In retrospect though, ain’t that every man’s desire? Fatigued groin?

Tonight is week number three. I’m still in one piece. I did swing and miss once last week (dammit, I’m buying “the Beast” and they’ll like it or not.) We play the best team in the league tonight. They hit towering home runs, and scorchers thru the infield that have “Emergency Room” written allover ‘em. They even have flat abs, no potbellies. Bastards.

You can’t go back. God love her “maybe you should consider finding a new game, and that while memories are great reminders of where we came from and of those that we love trying to relive them results in missed opportunities to make new ones.”

Mebbe. At present, I’m in dugout heaven. The kid still in me won’t go away. I can’t hit as far, I can’t throw as hard, I can’t see as well - but the heart is every much into as it ever has been. Mebbe moreso.

The bastards remind me all the time “Vic, our goal was ’youth movement’.. .you’ve put our average age in the other direction.” Shuddup and drink your Beast.

Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;
You know I think it’s time to give this game a ride.
Just to hit the ball and touch ’em all - a moment in the sun;
(pop) it’s gone and you can tell that one goodbye!

Good idea Mr. John Fogerty, but I’m just happy with my measly little dribblers. High-fiving those lucky enough to score. Talking smack after the game. Sweating. Real sweat. Thanks to softball, the Biggest Loser Contest at work, Wendy’s salads, Price Chopper chicken - I can even look down now and see my toes. I’m liking it.

Oh, put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be catcher every other inning. (These guys hit too damn hard to stand out infronta ‘em at age fitty-five.)

Call me nuts. Call me “you can’t go back.” Call me “thinka the new/other opportunities you might be missing out on.” Call me in a doctor’s appointment if ‘that’ happens. Just don’t forget to call me when it’s my turn to bat.

Look at me. I can be. Play ball. Love, Victurd.

PS: Today’s horoscope (I ain’t kidding.) “Tonight.. Play until you drop.” No problemo. That’s what I’ve done the first two weeks.

Pete and Repete.

Yes, dammit, I know it ain’t spelled like that. Bill Gates tells me so by the GD (gosh darn) automatic red underlined thingy. Point is, I repeat myself. (Haha, spelled it right, except now he underlines haha. Bastard. Jk. I know I’ve told the story just below at some point in the three-plus years I’ve sat my fatass infronta the computer.. It just kinda-sorta bears rePeting. Oops.

Fitteen or so years ago, my then seven year old son asked me how Davy Crockett died. “Well son, I believe he died fighting at the Alamo.” (Ain’t been to the Alamo since they built the River Walk.. Wanna.. If mebbe you wanna, call me, we’ll go. 867-5309.. I was amazed though that the Alamo is right smack downtown. Hard to envision the days of Davy.

“NO HE DIDN’T” replied Maynard. ‘HE DIDN’T DIE AT THE ALAMO.”.. So, begrudgingly (didn’t wanna break his heart) we rented the movie. And at the very end, as literally hundreds of members of the Mexican Army surrounded the thirty or so remaining Texas Revolutionary forces - the credits rolled - Davy was still standing, wielding his rifle knocking off one after another - he eventual demise a certainty. “SEE, I TOLD YOU HE DIDN’T DIE!” Victor, that was too longa sentence. KMA, I write here, not u. Critique away, but I’m kinda a rebel when it comes to words, sentences, length, spelling. This ain’t school. There ain’t no “right” way here. Ya hear?

Point being, the “never-give-up’ed-ness’ of life. Davy hadn’t given up. Maynard hadn’t given up. Sure there are times we give in - but we must never give up. (For the 12,942nd time, I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome. Ie, I ain’t trying to be Billy Graham here. Justa pickmeupper.)

Article today in the dreaded front/main section of the KC Star. Pics and stories of mutilated military members - now back home, making it in their new ever-changed life. Missing limbs, facial deformities. All were smiling. Some were rolling on the ground with their children. Pack it in, give up, hide, run, you’re different, you’ll never make it. No. They weren’t doing that. They were experiencing “the new person” they were, with great assistance from their old self, friends, loving family, they’re beginning anew - with perhaps even more never-give-up’ed-ness than before. Cool. Way cool.

Buddy’a mine. Mebbe ten years younger. Thru some not so great decisions, has already been thru four marriages. “I’ve given up on women Vic.” Uh huh, sure. “No, I’m serious. I’ve decided that miserable without is better than miserable with, done, finito, ne’er more.” Uh huh, sure.

Very nice IM conversation with same buddy last night. He, the 25 word per minute typist (it’s a male thing) was “going 60” telling me about his new love. “Perfect. I’ve never known a woman any more than I know this one. It’s been life-changing. Vic, I can’t believe this is happening. I wake up, there’s a bounce to my step, a reason to continue.” Uh huh, told ya. (Didn’t say that, felt it.) Outwardly he’d given up. She snuck into his life, opened his heart back up with her key. Cool. Way cool.

Every time I worry. Every time that roller coaster forges low. Every time there’s more bills than bank. Every time I retire alone (eh, Jackson is there wit’ me, reckon not 100% alone, but you know.) I thinka Davy. Now I will thinka the vets. Of my buddy. Of hope. Of not-giving-up’ed-ness. Until the day I pee my pants and forget my name, or, am suddenly surrounded by 10,000 Mexican troops, I ain’t givin’ up. I might portray low occasionally here, can’t help it, I be human. But deep inside, I’ll never give up. Hopes u don’t either. One trait that helps keep me a goin. Hopin’ u possess it as well.

Bears rePeting eh? God Bless the day, love, Victurd

Ace Thompson….

I never knew Ace’s real first name. Ace Thompson was a custodian in our school district for many, many years. Ace was very minimally mentally challenged - but oh what a nice man. Nowadays, with all the weirdos out there, he’da undergone close scrutiny (unfair, not warranted)- but the man had a heart of gold. He always packed a smile along with his lunchbox for the day.

I remember in 3rd grade, he gave my friends and I each a little Chinese ring with some inscription we had absolutely no idea what it meant - but - we all treasured it.. Ace gave it with a smile, and he got more out of the giving, than we probably did the receiving. We all wore them, and were proud to call Ace our friend.

Ace knew the first and last name of every kid in town - as well as their parent’s first names.. It was a treat to see Ace out in public - and it wasn’t unusual to see him getting hugs from little ones no matter the locale.

Upon retirement, Ace regularly frequented the local Piggly Wiggly. There’s a bench there, right next to where you exit the door to go to the parking lot - and Ace would sit there for hours upon hours - in hopes of seeing someone he knew - to simply give them a hello and a smile.

Today’s quite literally been yuck for me. I actually thought about that game.. I dunno if you remember.. It’s a rectangular box thingy, there’s a plastic maze path atop it (with small circular sized holes in the path), you have a marble ball, two round ‘controllers’ on the side of this box, and you try to guide the ball around the maze without falling into the holes. I felt like that stupid ball today. Not in control, ‘boxed in’, and not fun for me.

Then I gotta comment on MySpace that said “Are you doing okay? I hope this week went better for you than the short week went last week. Enjoy the rest of the weekend my friend.” How do friends know?

I want what I want and I want it now. That’s the real sucky MO of some of our youth today - but - spank our butts, it slips into our lives/attitudes as well sometime. It’s admittedly financially tough for me right now. I refinanced the house, paid whatshername her portion of the equity, and what once was “ease of making payments” is now an admitted struggle. Payday comes, bills are paid, and “oh shit, how do I make it the resta the time until payday” happens. Buck up cowboy, it’s part of it. Don’t hang your head, hold it high, and thankfully, friends come outta the woodwork (like the MySpace comment lady) and shame sets in. Ace was way worse off financially, and ya never woulda known it.

I bemoaned the fact “I actually had a date and I learned (or she learned me) ‘nope, it ain’t her.’” I believe I even held a baby pity party here. Victor, you dumbass. Yes, alter ego, for once (and once only) I agree with you. Don’t let that shit go to your head, hear?

I go through this temporary “down” then I get a comment from a very nice recently widowed lady who relates (about the blog) “you have managed to get me though some really difficult days.” Muther dubber. Am I an idiot for bemoaning temporary ‘down.’? I’ll answer that, tyvm alter ego, yes. Hella yes.

Some wouldn’t say Ace Thompson, being a custodian in a school district, didn’t work in education. I highly disagree. Ace taught it didn’t matter, what you had, who you were, it mattered simply “that you were.”

Back in the dinosaur days, I taught Elementary PE. I got to learn ‘close up’ from Ace’s shoes. I, to this day, love children. They don’t see color. They don’t see socio-economic status. They’ve hearts that ain’t been tainted. In the backa my office was a parachute. I wasn’t really attune to whatinthehell that parachute was for.. Then I found an old record album entitled “Ripples and Waves”… played it.. It described how all the kids gather around the parachute, do this, do that, causing all kindsa cool movements of the parachute.

I’ve been like that parachute. Sitting around, not doing hella much, just sitting here - wrinkles mebbe deepening. Thanks to memories of Ace.. Thanks to notes like I received from Lilli and Charlee - I’m Rippling and Waving. Parachutes just sit there if there are no hands attached. Friends will just sit there if there are no hands attached.

Life, it be good. Again quoting Norman from “On Golden Pond”… “better now.”

Loveya, thanks for your hands. I miss you Ace. Love, Victurd

Sedation…….

Reduction of anxiety, stress, irritability, or excitement by administration of a sedative agent or drug.

WWW on Ms. Sumbrum, this is about “agent”, not “drug”. (Lisa don’t slap me, nor tell, she never comes here any more.)

What sedates you? I dunno Victor, but I bet a twenty you’re gonna tell us what sedates you.

Mebbe. Prolly. Yes. Yes, I am.

I know there are cat-haters that wonder by, and it’s all good. Tonight though - after doing Maynard “honey do’s” and running a few Victor errands - I finally collapsed in the computer chair at 8pm.

Lo and behold, ‘company’. Jackson, my at least fitteen year old Maine Coon cat - has decided this day the best sleeping place is up agin my keyboard on the cool wooden desk top. I wasn’t aware he was here (I hate light bulbs [except like mebbe 40 watt ones during.. Well.. u know..] So I was startled. Had he been a dog, he’da been licking my face apologizing.. But he’s a cat.. And he slowly turned and caught my eyeballs… then laid his head right back down where it was.

It’s two hours later now.. And he’s still there. Yes, he’s even typed a few numbers (without intent) as his paw rested on the right sidea my keyboard. He snoozes… He awakens.. He cleans his paws, this part, that part, accepts (mostly) my stroking him - but more he evokes (silently) “I just want peace.”

That sedates me.

Another “agent” - water. I’m a bath person. I always jump in the tub at 6:10am, so I’m off for fitteen GD $$’s of gas by 6:20 or so. I should back that bath start time up to 6am, ‘cause it’s heaven to me. The time to remember yesterday, think of what’s on tap for today - all while selfishly accepting the warmth and wonderful feel of the bath.

The newspaper and coffee. Call me a simpleton, I don’t givea rats. What better than to “keep up”, and to as well scan for interesting tidbits about our country, our world.

Being with someone of the opposite sex. No, not the lunch table at work with only two - BEING with someone of the opposite sex. It’s a selfish thing mebbe - but what better than the main thoughts of conversation going directly too the one you’re with, and vice versa. It’s sedation.

Driving. I commute 35 miles (each way) in my HRL daily. People who live a stone’s throw from work think I’m nuts. People who live in the adjoining city ask “how can you do that?”.. It’s easy. Driving time is wonderful thinking, reflecting, people watching time. There’s something to be said about being in control - and when u take a jaunt, you are that.

Happy Hour. Aside from $1.25 draws, it’s always attended by good friends, great conversation, and devoid of talk of work, ex’s, bills, bank balance, worries, shitty things that happened within the day, worry of deadlines, internal crap you and only you worry about. It’s light, it’s fun, it’s cheap. Drinking is not a good thing. Leaving after three beers with a “who gives a shit what happens the remainder of the night” - priceless.

Radio. It always pisses me off that things we usedta get for free (TV, radio, water, etc) now cost. El Cheapo AM/FM radios don’t cost squat. I have a station I tune into each day en route - and it’s like they’ve become a family member - and I get the shakes if I ain’t listening to them. A feeling of “I belong.”

Comments. NO, please don’t feel obligated. Lisa, Gail, Connie, Lillie, Jana, Nancy, Misty, Rae, Kathie, Teresa - whomever.. Doesn’t matter. Comments are a sedative agent to me.

Basketball - live. Doesn’t matter the skill level or the age. It’s intimate. No shoulder pads. No helmets. No views 276’ from the action. It’s up close. It’s personable. It’s emotional. It’s all about passion. It’s all about success, failure, and how that’s dealt with. If offered the chance to attend the World Series, The Super Bowl, the NCAA Championship, The Belmont, The Indy 500 --- or, a High School basketball game that potentially could end in overtime - cinchy.
The HS basketball game. I love emotions. Especially thru osmosis. Basketball emits hella passion, emotion.

People watching. From the little snotnose who accepts my money nightly at Mickey-D’s - and each and every time it’s like she just got outta embrace with Antonio Banderas. You couldn’t wipe that smile offa her face… And tonight, being the tightass I am, Dollar General has oil for $1.25 a quart. The HRL “drinks it.” The EXTREMELY large cashier lady openly bitched about this/that (6:57pm, closing tim7pm) “we need to lock that damn door now.”.. “NO, I can’t cash a hundred.. At this timea night? No way!… I had’a customer say “ask your manager if you can take the hundred… I said “I AM the manager”!… Just whenya think the world is
blasé’, people happen.

Retiring. Yes, I enjoy going to bed. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t grab the pom pons and gyrate for thirty minutes to wear me out.. I ain’t training for no iron man contest.. I don’t even have a stress list of “must do’s” for the day… point is.. I really do suckup every moment of every day until the bod tells me “git ur ass in there.” And it feels SOOOO GD good sinking into
bed. It rarely takes me 5-7 minutes before I’m sawing logs, and mebbe thirty before I’m in my REM’s. Problem is, that probably held true during the marital “you know” days - so, mebbe another reason she motorcycled away!

Writing. Victor, NO? Say it ain’t so?… Yes, writing is a sedative agent. You have this blank picture… (Some call it “a rabbit in a snowstorm”) and you mess it all up with letters. I find that therapeutic. Relaxing. Rewarding. Sedative.

Might you.. Oh faithful blog stopper-byer.. Thinka what sedates you (no Kendra, not Xanax.) I’m talking life sedatives.

Lemme know, I’d really love to hear. It’s now 10:45pm. Jackson has allowed me to stay where I am this long. Thanks Jackson. I’ve reduced my anxiety, stress, irritability, excitement .

TGIF, love, Victurd.

What’s going thru my brain…..

Scary, ain’t it?

Do you have people around you that, close your ears, you don’t want them to drop off the facea the earth - but - you really could care less if you are around them or not. That’s not “the way” is it? Lady at work, been there forever and a day - silently announced her retirement for September. I had absolutely no feeling about that at all. Am I evil? Perhaps I haven’t gotten to know her in the 10 total years I’ve been there - but every time I meet her in the hall, her head is turned to the opposite wall - and it’s very apparent she wants no interaction. I can’t see from them shoes, nor do I really wanna.

I gotta very nice comment on the blogsite from a lady who’d said she’d been reading this for awhile. That was a huge perk. Then I gotta thinking - there are some women who don’t know I do this - and they’d probably say I’m fulla shit. I have a demonstrated past of falling in love with “a house’ the first trip through.. Go too GD fast..full bore.. And then something - maybe a month into it, maybe six.. Makes me think “what was I thinking, this ain’t right, it’s not where I wanna be” and I walk away. Yes, I’ve been on their end as well - and I don’t really hate the ones that walked away, but I truly think there might be a few out there who literally do hate me. And that’s ok. It beats, I guess, making a permanent mistake and it being even worse some day.

Intimacy. I’ve not done the following often, but I admit I have. I’ve had intimacy with some who I have absolutely zero longterm desire whatsoever. From observing, listening to, women at work - I actually kinda think this behavior isn’t reserved “for men only.” Freud talked about ‘needs.“ Perty damn selfish eh? Your take?

Odds and ends….

Lady @ my son’s work, 60-something. My son works in the inner city - and they come in contact with some shady characters, some homeless, a vast collection of ‘downtowners.’ This lady he works with, was spit on by a citizen today. She’s a nice lady. Unwarranted. She pressed charges, dude’s in jail. I say good for her.

I am guilty. I honestly never looked at online profiles of anyone “younger than my ex.” Last night, I admit I did. Whilst last weekend’s dates ended not so great - it ‘learnt me’, it ain’t really all about age. For 99.9% of the time, it was quite comfy with her - and I believe she would say the same. I DON’T THINK “I look so much younger than my age.” Actually, I see some ole HS cronies, and I think “how do them sumbitches do it” (as in not have wrinkles.) SOME OF THEM EVEN HAVE CHILDREN.

Why are cats harder to figure than infants? When an infant cries, you either feed it, give it a drink, hold it, or check the front and backa their diaper. An answer can be found. Tonight I fed my cat, held it, petted it, filled up the water dish - and he stared at me and talked. Like I was supposed to know what in the hell he wanted.

Funny how ‘forever’ seems longer when you’re a kid. When I look at the neighborhood I grew up in, I truly thought it’d be like that forever. Miller’s living here. Lambert’s there. Flassing’s there. My family here. I’d come back when I was 30, 40, fitty, and nothing would be changed. It’s all changed. Mebbe today’s hustle-bustle, switch-mates, switch-jobs like u change light bulbs has affected this. I hope not. I hope kids still have that dream, that vision. That want.

Why is it, the more you’re away from old co-workers, friends, sometimes even family - the more you think about them.. And too, the more you desire getting together and seeing them again, the tougher it is to do so. Some have always “gotta do this”, others “gotta do that”, I even “haveta be here, can’t” - so… the bond/grip slowly loosens. The times are remembered fondly, but rarely repeated or rehashed.

Lonely. I will admit, there are times I get lonely. I think there are so many of us that are that, can be that - it’s a shame so many hours are spent in loneliness. “Thanks” (I guess) to my son’s sometimes not-so-whoopie demeanor, I simply get up and get out. When I get up and get out, I see old friends. Yes, oft times bars. Know that ain’t a great thing - but it (camaraderie) does help combat loneliness. And, I have fun. (More.)

Asked a gal at work today how her dad was doing. He’s 73, single, her mom passed years ago, and dad finally has a girlfriend. (He’s a cradle robber too, she’s 18 yrs his junior).. Anyways, I remember my father, 8 yrs after my mother passed - got into a relationship with a lady.. I was inwardly defiant of this. Then, one day dad told someone, “you know, sometimes it’s like three days inbetween phone rings.” So, I wizened up and delighted in his new friend. I hope you, if lonely, find ways to combat it. Pets. Friends. Clubs. Church. Writing. The internet. A hobby. Whatever, I just hope you combat it. I’m playing softball, and whilst, yes, perhaps it’s subconsciously a way to ‘repeat yesterday’, it’s also a breath of fresh air. A “worthiness” of sorts. I likes it. I’m “a part of something.” Please go, do.

Enough is enough. I’m sorry I ain’t said funny shit here tonight. Victor, does this like mean you think you’ve repeatedly said “funny shit” in the past? I hate him. Bastard is relentless. My alter-ego to always keep me grounded.

If my knees some day start feeling hella better, I might even go back to my airline days. Them were fun. $6 coach, $12 first class, anywhere u wanted to go. I may neva do the take a year off and "see the USA in your Chevrolet (HRL)”.. but the airline sounds good.

Good bye. I love you. Sweet dreams. I’ll missya. I’ve enjoyed visiting. I enjoy your friendship. I likes ur eyeballs here. Don’t take no wooden nickels. Have fun. Don’t worry, be happy. Love, Victurd.