So I took a “blogcation”…….

Life, the ole minutes, hours, days they pass by. We go to the Piggly Wiggly, the experts got it all figured out, she/he will go down this aisle first, and then here’s the traffic pattern the resta the way through the store.

Eons ago I delivered potato chips. Uh huh. The Frito Lay guy. Early 80’s.. We would “lace” the bags (a fancy word for kinda plumping them up, much like fitting a shirt properly on a hanger) and then angle ‘em in the direction of the traffic flow. If you came from the other way, hell you probably couldn’t even see the words Lays, Fritos, Rold Gold.

We don’t reach to the back for the freshest can’a Chicken Noodle, we lazily reach the loaf’a bread that’s the most convenient (which is fancy for the bread guy saying “I’ll put my ones about to go stale up here, the lazy bastards won’t bend down to get my fresh ones.”)

Same thing with milk. Oldest closest. We’re patterned. We get up, do our pattern, work, go home, continue in our pattern, go to bed - and then it’s Ground Hog’s day the next day.

I AM SICK OF IT. Well. Not really. But, I’ve always been on the side of living from the other angle. I’m the type that would shuffle the twelve loaves of bread offa the top shelf and swap them with the fresh ones below so the lazy (and the aged) get fresh stuff.

I always dig thru the milk (hell… for what it cost now?) and get the longest expiration date. Ninety-five percent “turn left” upon entry to the Piggly Wiggly, uh huh, I go right.

I’m not sick of routine, but I’m “there.” I want my ole ordinary outta the ordinary back. I wanna dig thru the paper and plan. I wanna research crap to go see locally on the internet, and then go see that crap.

By golly I might even take Highway 291 to work insteada the “I can damn near get there with my eyes closed” 435.

I do hereby pledge to (there was a gal I went to HS with.. Ya know how u hear shit in your life that you never forget? She basically said “Victor is a bullshitter.” And mebbe I am. ABSOLUTELY entitled to her opine. Where was I? Oh yeah, BS’ing. I do hereby pledge to grab the fresh Chicken Noodle. Learn the Frito brands from the back sidea the bag. Swap mundane off the top shelf with new, more exciting shit offa the bottom shelf. Dates. I’ll check my dates. (Victor, you haven’t had any dates of late.) FU.

I’ll take the back roads. I’ll go to the City Market. I’ll turn an exit early en route to work. I’ll swing by that store I’ve always wanted to browse through on the way home. I might even go offa my rocker and approach a female in public. (“Status quo” is ‘she’d haveta be sitting on the barstool RIGHT nexta me for me to speaky.’)

I’ll pet my cats. Twice. I’ll leave 5 minutes early and visit with the fun feller at Phillips, or Ms. Annette at the Pour Boy. I’ll stay ten minutes after work to visit with no eyeball on the time clock. I’ll pickup my phone at home and thinka folks I ain’t talked to in awhile. I’ll find a crowd, sit, and just watch.

I am not in a rut, I just go the same way every day and dodge the ruts. Know ‘em like the backa my hand. In doing so, it’s kinda a rut. I want different. I want other. (Other was always my favorite multiple choice answer.)

If I gots something in my closet that was purchased at Brants Men’ Wear in the early 90’s, but I like it, I’m gonna wear that sucker. If I hear “the whisperers” at work focusing/speaking negatively about a specific individual, then I’ll know that person is being triple teamed - and I’ll get to know her/he. Hopefully draw a smile outta ‘em.

I am average, but different - as if that makes sense. The road is grooved, and I’ve found the grooves. I’ve been following those turning left as they enter in the Piggly Wiggly. Recently I even founda slicea bread with mold on it four days after I purchased it.

I don’t want Interstate. I want four-wheeling thru life. I love getting up, starting, getting ready, work, driving home, doing what I do at home, going to bed and doing it again. But I gots to spiff it up.

Ain’t that some pretty nifty bullshit? I’m the baby, gotta love me. Love, Victurd.

Moves….

I love being moved. Emotionally. Here’s a partial list. Yours?

Let’s give ‘em something to talk about…. Heard it thru the grapevine….
Put my in coach… Fatbottom girl u make this rockin’ world go round…

Welllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll you wake up in the morning..
There are stars in the southern sky…

I see your red door and I want it painted black…

The moment at the enda the show where they’ve built the house in a week for the family of misfortune, the bus is pulled away – and my emotions taken from the emotions I see they’re having.

Looking across the room at someone you love (not necessarily “that way”, but could be) and they’re flashing a smile, not knowing you’re catching it.

Dog’a runnin’ with no leash, fence, restrictions.

The final minutes, seconds of a close game (basketball, football, sometimes baseball) where every move is the game is on the line… it’s like you’re there, playing too.

Seeing my son happy.

Picture albums that bring yesterday to life.

Flipping the channels and seeing an Andy Griffith or Leave it to Beaver flash by.

Macolm in the middle’s mother.

Kelly Ripa (wooooo-hoooo!)… Elisabeth Shue… Goldie Hawn..

Nicholson, anything he acts in… Steve Martin…

The barbeque platter is served now sir, dig in.

The Allied Saints (local band, the gal can wail)…

An email from a family member for no real reason other than to say “howdy.”

A handshake. A bowl of cereal.. Coffee and paper in the morning..

A fine, fine derriere… A base hit at age fitty-five…

Turning on the AC in the “Green Hornet” AND IT WORKS.

Sitting here, typing. Going to MySpace and seeing over 20 people actually came here.

Blue skies. The moon. Watching a storm from indoors. A four inch snow (on a day off.)

A fire in the fireplace. A spin to see Christmas lights. People dressed in Holiday attire – any holiday.

A clerk who’s genuine. Hearing someone enjoy the moment.

Listening to someone very funny, where it comes naturally for them. Hearing people speak with passion – the kind where it’s almost as if they’ve grabbed the shirt collar of the one they’re talking to as if to say “now listen here Mister.” Passion, ya gotta love it.

I’m moved by much. I’m moved by little (things). Moved is good.

What floats your boat? Can you envision your own list? Mebbe next time one of your “moves” pops up, you can have an extra grin about it. Take a breath and think to yourself, F’in A Ray – life, it’s good!

Loveaya… you move me… Victurd.

Just got word….

My very wonderful uncle has made the conversion from upright, to bedridden. He’s in his 80’s, a happy, happy man. Always. Some form of leukemia is advancing. Grandchildren are flying in from different reaches of the country. He’s surrounded 24/7 by loved ones. His time is short.

It’s eventual for us all. Glenn understands that. He’s lived life fully, choosing happiness. The first to ask all about you. Attended literally thousands and thousands of little league, junior high events of his children, grandchildren, great grand children.

Here we go again. It’s all about precious moments on earth. If these blogs do nothing else (I know many are stupid, selfish “Victor rants”) hopefully at least they’ll bring an awareness of how fleeting it all is.

Close your eyes. Think back twenty years ago. Who was around you? Christmas time. Who was there? Friends. Older ones. K, now open your eyes. How many of them have departed?

Buddy o’ mine recently took his 80-something mother to Utah (by car) to watch her grandson (his son) compete in some type of solar event. They had a wonderful time – but in the course of the conversation he’d mentioned how much easier it would have been had mom stayed home. He knew when he said it he shouldn’t have. Please don’t get me wrong, this son is VERY good to his mother.

I told him I’d give up a year of my life to be able to travel cross country with my mother.

Another friend, after reading here, yesterday went to see her parents. In their 80’s. She actually mentioned the trip was kinda-sorta brought on after reading of the demise of my nuclear family. I feel pretty good about her trip. She closed her eyes and thought of twenty years ago – and instead of going with the flow of status quo – she returned, added memories to her/their lives.

It’s always sad to learn of the life struggles of a loved one, and their treacherous path to heaven. If there’s good from it – it’s that our struggles maybe aren’t quite as humongous as they seem. Why waste time on being down by our own personal woes (I do sometimes though) when life is actually a multiple choice question and the right answer is there staring us in the face.

Call a friend. Email a loved one. Go to lunch with a favorite. Hug your kid. Spread the word “love.” Smile. It’s such a nicer option.

If you have friends, loved ones in mid-struggle, I’m very sorry – and I will pray.

Off I go to hopefully have as much fun as Glenn Reed does in his life. When I’m reduced to flat on my back, I want to be just like him and have no regrets. I want to be able to look back and to know, just like he, I’ve smiled way, way more than I’ve frowned.

Loveya, truly… Happy day, Victurd

Ok… touche’… from the lady’s shoes……..

Yes, I did it. Victurd/Victoria. Just for grins, I signed on as a hideous (7’0” tall, “Big;n”) lady… to see whatinthehell you (the females out there) go thru on internet personal “find the one” websites… Results below.. Again, smartass comments (me) in ( )….

a responed person like me , want something out of life, will to work hard toward it, love to enjoy life (Are you responed?)

I'm looking for someone who has a great personality, outgoing, who can hold there own in conversations. Who has there partners back when needed, has compassion and can receive love and dole it out. (“Their’s” a keeper!)

Just big ole country boy looking for fishing camping an racing partner.Caucasian or hispanic women only. meen no disrespect (No disrespect takeen, I meen it.)

I will not contact anyone back that does not have a picture, is older than me, or smokes. I was married to an older woman once and I do not care to date another woman that is older than me.
(But “I’M A PEOPLE PERSON!”)

i was born an raised in indep, mo was allways a country boy in the city, ive allways loved fishing ,hunting water sports football bowling , playing pool an a good movie , after i married an my daughter was born , an time in the marine corp i gave up hunting ,i was married 17 yrs an have 2 kidds 3 grand sons , also love dirt track racing , good thing i live at a race track , im easy going ,open minded, i work in kc mon, threw friday , ,i love the out doors , animals an kidds , im not a good old boy , there a dime a dozen , but am a nice guy , im not into cheaten or players ,or games of any kind , some have said it looks like my noise is pierced its not nor is anything else . would like to meet some one with similar interest , an please if you dont look like your picture dont me , thats dis honest ,not a good way to start a relationship, thanks for reading (VICTOR… DON’T SAY IT… kma, can u say Jerry Springer)

I am enjoying the heck out of this part of my life. I am retired but work three days a week repairing sewing machines because it makes me happy. (I’m sorry, I’m in stitches!)

I am just coming from a divorce and am wanting to meet women for friendship and activities. I am not looking for anything long term but if it develops that's fine with me too. (Activities?)

iam a natural bodybuilder currently in 2cd place in points in the entire united states.i own my own home and small business.i am very honest and usually date younger women.i am an attactive man looking for fun but who knows. (I’d heard once before weightlifters have ‘small business’)

Well, it accured to me that bars are way to loud, church is way to quiet , and work is way to complicated to meet someone. (Very occurate.)

I'm a young 52 years old, (people say I look and act like I'm in my early 40's) financially secure but I would not consider myself rich. I don't owe any bills and have an 800+ credit score. I drive an Audi TT 2dr Roadster Convertible. The only reason I tell you this is not to try to impress you with what I have, but to give you a better idea of how I live my life, view personal financial responsibility, and I have an interest in sports / luxury cars. (s’more)

I had been in manufacturing management for 20+ years and switched to Financial Services / Operations Management when the auto industry hit hard times. I still make a decent living and have worked for the same company for 8 years now. (Still s’more)

I live my life by these basic principles: (yet s’more)

1. Always tell the truth, (the only thing he listed for principles. Lyin’ bastard!)

(Again, I promise you I don’t write these): I need to be up front about who I am and what I'm looking for. Actually, this may not be the right forum but it's worth a shot. I am a heterosexual male but am taking steps to become female (this is not a fetish). I would like to find a female who would be accepting of this. I'm not a freak. I have always felt this way. If you're still interested, I would love to hear from you.


looking for someone that can fix a car and take a fish off the hook for me, so i can lay in the sun an get a tan

Hello,
Allow me to tell you a few things about me and if you are interested reply. My name is Robert and I go by that not another Bob. (You duncy you! All women love Bob.)

basically, i'm that guy that women claim doesn't exist anymore (I threw up a little… .sorry)

i dont ride dirt bikes much anymore but enjoy rideing my street bike enjoy being outdoors washing trucks and just messing around (GD. Had I been a woman, you woulda convinced me to respond)

Looking for a female friend who likes to play golf. We can start there and see where it goes. Motorcycle rides, dinner, plays and movies are all in play with me.. (But then I’m big on compromise too)

Uninhibited male looking for naughty and uninhibited female for mutual fun times! (It WASN’T me!)

Ok, done. I felt pretty weird going thru those, but, as an honest reporter (power to equal opportunity) I had’ta. Them bastards though. It’s no wonder I’m single. I can’t beat ‘em. No sooner had I logged on (as a 7’0”, 340 lb lady) I had four emails from them! I guess really big’ns are popular)

Thanks for being here, I love you, Victurd

Another day in the life of online “Wanna relationship” websites…

Just some examples… I ain’t makin’ ‘em up, scout’s honor.. (Cub Scout. I never made it thru Boy Scouts.. U see.. As a kid, we didn’t go to church. We learned all about God, but we just didn’t attend. I hadta do a merit badge thingy by helping at the Church. Skeered. I was. Cub Scouts honor.) The smartass comments in ( ) are mine!

i am a hard woring femal. Who dont need to be taken care of but understood. I like country muisic and love to dance to it. (what letter did she leave out of ‘woring’?)

I am the sixth child of eleven....I was raised Catholic……… (You’re joshing, no?)

I PREFER A GENTLE, CHARITABLE,SENSITIVE MAN. CATHOLIC OR BECOMING CATHOLIC PREFERED. (Oops. Sorry about the above.. I just meant… never mind.)

I'm a former flight attendant, who now works at an upscale hotel in sales/marketing. (That is SO not ‘me’.. I‘m more of a “I usedta sling suitcases for a living, now I run the counter at the Super 8.)

Hello, I hate this part where you have to talk about yourself. I guess I will start on my height, I'm 4'10'', brown hare, brown eyes portioned to my height. (Is your hare portioned to your height as well?)

I am looking for a honest respectful,easygoing man that does not play games who know what he wants out of life. that knows how to have a good time. who likes a home cooked meal and a quiet night at home watching a movie. who knows how to treat a lady the way the want to be treated. (Posted by “swetone”)

I am very energetic and hope to meet someone that like to play sports but doesn't make sports the center of his world, been down that road already, I enjoy playing on coed teams and feel that is a good way to get to know people, their true self comes out :), (huh?)

do you color outside the lines? (She oughta see my desk)

FUN LOVING LOVE SPORTS GOOD FOOD AND A MAN WITH A NICE BUM.

First Date: Keep a tight grip on that carp.

Hi,I'm a divorce BBW some would call me a SSBBW, either way I'm a lot of fun to hang out with. (Honest, I didn’t write that.)

(Still, my alltime favorite:) “i was a certified nurses aide for 6 years at john knox vialliage, i am not inployed right now but i am looking for work i dont act or look my age of 57 so i called this program and they changed my age on here so younger men would be available to me."

(One day I’ll get up the courage to sign on as a fake chick and get the view from the lady’s side of the monitor… Until then, Happy Trails…. Love, Victurd)

It’s Sunday. Brain, gas tank, on empty…….

Victor, I knew you’d write, even after you typed that header. Yes, I guess it’s what I do. Carry on. It hella beats sitting around in a group and yapping, for there, there are no options. Sounds come out, people are force fed. Here, you have the option of “click”, “seeya checkenginelight.blogspot.com, you’re boring me!~ Or, mebbe even writing a comment in protest of my views. So…….. Nanny nanny boo boo.

Good versus evil..

I do believe I’m a good person. I am not a perfect person by any stretch of the imagination, but basically I hate cruelty, discrimination, abuse, uppity ness, that stuff.

My heroes haven’t always been cowboys, but Marshall Dillon was onea my first. Good. His life (TV life) was centered around good.

My grandparents (probably yours too… the hell has happened to our society since) were very good people. My grandfather, for I dunno how many years, faithfully sat on his front porch, transistor radio by his side, listening to every inning of Harry Caray calling the St. Louis Cardinal games. He proudly hung the monthly schedule of their games on the kitchen wall so he wouldn’t forget to ‘be there’. My grandmother, loving her hubby’s love of the beer maker’s baseball team, proudly cut out Billy Graham articles and plastered them atop the Bud Bottle that adorned every month on that calendar. Good people.

Buck O’Neill. Just listening to the man always gave me that “Thank you God for life here on this planet, I’m blessed… I’ll try harder.. I’ll ‘do gooder‘… It’s wondrous here.” I miss him, very much.

Lady at work. Fine, fine lady. Claims she was a wild child long ago, but I have a hard time believing it. Virtually every time she hangs up the phone after conversing with a customer or vendor, I spew from two cubicles away “___________, will you quit being so nice?” But she, by nature, is good. Not fake. Not with ulterior motive, she’s “good.” Good people. She has the remarkable ability to hear (garbage in) and respond positively - without hurt or judgment. Bill Gates will never create anything near that fast producing such a wonderful result.

My mother and my sister. Of course, the vast majority of us hold our mothers and sisters in awe, and I am no exception. They each had the uncanny ability to do something wonderful for someone, and somehow twist it around that the person they’d done for was responsible for their happiness. They just each had their own way to manifest self worth in others.

Victor. Is this headed down the “paper or plastic” path? Are you like on the verge of robbing a bank or something? Well? You did type evil next to good. Out with it.

No, no, no. None of that. Well, mostly none of that. Mebbe the paper or plastic thing. My dilemma is….. I would be with someone without the “L” word being involved. Am I going to hell? Will my picture on a calendar be covered by articles from the Sunday Faith section? I’ve fumbled the routine grounder of life in that I can’t even create positive self worth within.

But it’s me. It’s who I am. I still love me, but that’s an evil… I guess. Am I a normal (male) human being, or, should I keep a hefty supply of sunblock handy for when I pee my pants, forget my name and “go South.’?

I love good. I love my grandparents. I loved Buck. I certainly love my mother and sister.

Ok, let’s take a moment for good…… Holding the door for someone. Motioning at a 4-way stop “you go ahead.”.. Saying “hi” in the frozen food aisle of the Piggly Wiggly to a complete stranger… Smiling at the moment your eyeballs meet anyone.. Thanking someone… Writing a note/email to say “you matter… I like you.”… Asking about others/their family.. Searching until you find that perfect gift for a family member or friend…A phone call for no reason..

I do all that stuff. I even (I think) work my way around life in effort to upgrade other’s self esteem.

Then I slip.

Evil enters. Actually, it’s already there. Wanna fool around? Call me, 867-5309. I promise though, after, I’ll “do gooder.”

Love,
Victurd.

The conductor is tapping his wand……

NO! WAIT! I can sit at attention, all posture-like and everything, and these duds, ‘ceptin’ for the stain on the right leg I didn’t see when I bought ‘em at the Thrift Store - I look ok.

BUT, I’m holding a tonette for behoogety sakes! A recorder! I don’t belong in this symphony! You say movement? I’m fitty-five, stand back, I’ll show you movement!

He waved the baton, the cellist began. She’s actually an architectural engineer by day - drives an ‘07 Benz, and has visited seven countries…

The violins start their ‘sawing’, we’re moving now. John. 3rd one over. He’s owns a new car dealership. Got him a three car garage house in Leawood, but he’s eyeballing the four car garage house on the golf course in Spring Hill.

Remember me? The tonette? The recorder? About that time, the horns worked their way in… First the French (Dude travels by plane weekly to different cities, sells something… he’s set to retire next year at age fitty-two. Bastard.)

Then the Trumpets… Banker, State Representative, Lawyer, Gynocologist…

I’m sweating by now. IT’S ME! I CAN’T READ THIS MUSIC! Don’t you remember checkenginelight? The Hot… Rod… Lincoln?….. The NEW (nineteen ninety-nine) “Green Hornet” Dodge Van?… are you not collecting my overture here?

The tuba joins in… thank goodness, I’ve incredible gas…

The cello’s cello’s, the horns area blowin, cymbals clanging, castanets castanetting, I CAN’T TAKE IT!….

Some groups, I’ve found, I just don’t belong in. Tis ok. I likes me, mosta the time.

Gimme a Miller Lite insteada Chivas Scotch any old day. And whyinthehell would you pay $18 for a tool to cut off the tip of an $8 cigar when you can get a packa smokes for “Three and some change”, they’re already cut, and you don’t have to wait for the weekend to smoke ’em! Frayed nerves! Don’t you guys have ’em? I wish just once you could live paycheck to paycheck… Have a “Maynard” to scratch ur head over..

Ok, in truth, sure, I’d enjoy a three car garage in a very nice neighborhood. I haven’t planned well, I am me. I am human, hear me roar.

When I think of 401K, retirement plans, and assets… I think of being retired and having your ass - set. Yes, I wish I wouldn’ta borrie’d outta the 401K for this, that, switched jobs, “let’s just use this money, we’ve got it, we’re young, retirement is hella in the future..”

I will say I’ve lived. I hope all the oboe’s, cellists, violinists, and even the conductor have lived as well.

I’m not really poor. I don’t make great money, but I ain’t classified as poor. Upper-lower, lower-middle, somewhere in there. But, I this wonderful/struggle of life, I think we po’ ones mebbe don’t make the sacrifices necessary because maybe we’re too busy out enjoying life, having fun. At least that’s my story. Or my excuse.

Oil/water. Harp/tonette recorder. Hummer/Dodge Van. JoCo/Clay.

WAIT! I awakened! I hear George Thorogood ordering one bourbon, one scotch, one beer. Here violinist, you have this. Take the scotch Mr. Tuba, and thanks for covering up my pooters. I’ll take the beer.

Bottoms up. Love, Victurd

Wigglin’ Water Sprinkler……

You’ve all seen ‘em. The recipe is three to four snotnoses, in shorts or swimsuits, a garden hole, the water bill paid up in full, connected, and u rotate the faucet handle counter-clockwise… the fun begins.

Kids run through trying to avoid, and trying to get hit. The not knowing of which way the Wigglin’ Water Sprinkler is gonna spray next, causes giggles, fun, contemplation, and “YYYYESSSSSS!”’s…

That’s me. Where I am. Where I sit. Victor, is this gonna be about you again? You’ve lost them. I think it was like 2006 when you got your last comment.

FU. As in, “Feeling Up” for, the Wigglin’ Water Sprinkler of life?!!!

I’m on the Interstate, with all these options. I thank you Lord, truly, for all these options. Do I dip my toes in that water - where it’s very definitely ‘temporary water’ and splash myself selfishly?

DoI go gyrate. With that one. I know it’d be fun, but I just ain’t sure. I don’t like hurt, and I fear that might happen here.

Do I dare approach that one, with whom I’ve already done what I always do, fallen “hella” before I’ve even learned of the past, the future, the path. The wants. The likes, dislikes.

Do I go down that road that was hella fun, but, SHE put up the ROADBLOCK? She’s indicating the road’s open again, but I ain’t so sure I wanna be jolted like that again. Who’s to say when that jolt might occur. I’d be looking for it the entire time.

Or do I just continue on, and avoid alla the above. I’ve made it this far, I just ain’t so sure which way to run though the Wigglin’ Water Sprinkler.

At least it’s fun to have options. As in, looking at my GD checkbook, I probably shouldn’t even hook the sprinkler up. Or, “that one”, hell, after three dates (brb, going to turn in these coins I’ve been puttin’ in that jar), she might figure me out. I’m, presently, a po mo-fo.

I’m ready to quit. Victor, you can’t quit. This blog always makes it to the little line thingy where it indicates you’ve “run on” for two pages, and we ain’t there yet.

I didn’t reply directly to that, in hopes that when I hit “enter” I would satisfy your demand for two pages, so I will continue with more run-on sentences until that bastard Windows figures out I’ve finally made it two pages.

Finally. The basta figured out two pages.

I know this is a weird blog, but, rectum deal wit’ it, I’m a weird dude. Brains are wonderful, even my scrambled one. Not knowing whether to run like hell for this… run fast through with the eyes prepared for being drenched, or taking a long running slide not caring, I like dealing with the Wigglin’ Water Sprinkler of life.

I’m all wet, eh? Which reminds me. With love, until the day I pee my pants and forget my name. Love, Victurd.

Howdy…..

It's me it's me it's Ernest T.

It's actually Victor. Writing from work. You see, AT&T(on home computer) is telling me my password ain't right, thus, I can't logon from home. I gots this book with their "24/7 tech support" 800#, and they keep telling me "this office is now closed, please call back during regular business hours." Hmmph..

So, the minutes of logging on are sacred, and few and far between.

Got'ta thinking about struggles. There's mebbe only one thing in life I enjoy more than people watching, and I'll leave that up to you as to whether it’s: play softball, chat with librarians, wait in line at Mickey D's, fry up some liver n' onions, or 'that'. Yeah, ya know me by now don'tya….

It's amazing to me to observe folks in their struggles of just making it through life – and in doing so, they forget it's a struggle.

At court with my son yesterday.. Lawyer already told us "today will be our final continuance" – so, I didn't even sit in. Instead I waited outside, occasionally puffing away. Old man, mebbe 70-something. Decided limp. I wondered to myself what had caused it. War injury? Car wreck? Bone disease? Football injury?.. He adapted. Slower, yet on he went. With every step since suffering this injury, I'm certain he’s less and less attuned to the struggle.

Piggly Wiggly. I bemoan much – too much probably, in life. I bemoan the fact Maynard ain't gotta car yet (thus me being at the Piggly Wiggly), I bemoan the fact he's angry much of the time, and I occasionally feel sorry for myself that I'm still kinda-sorta responsible for a 23 year old. Then I saw her. This lady. Mebbe 65. Pulled in. Not into the handicap spot, but right next to it. She got out, as did her son. Early 40-something, and obviously mentally retarded. I felt kinda silly for all my "bemoans."

Here this lady is devoting her entire lifetime so this man can live in a 'normal, free environment', usurping her own 'normal' – certain it's been a struggle… but now it' "a way....the way." I'm very certain the minute it was known the child had problems, it was a HUGE struggle. Now, less and less is thought of the stuggle, and you make do with life.

For me, it makes it easier to make it through life when you see things that rock the degree of your own ills back into perspective. No, sometimes it ain't how I'da painted it. No, it's not the exact vehicle I woulda bought could I have picked anything I want. No, I'm not sleeping with Elisabeth Shue. Yes, I steer clear of the mirror more and more as I age age age. I abhor digital cameras that detect and display every nook and cranny. I'd love to go home at night and hear "nothing." Absolutely "nothing."

But we go on. Life’s struggle becomes the way. Everyone struggles. Too, we won't always walk with the monkey on our back.. Sometimes it feels like it's a gorilla back there. Sometimes a chimp. Sometimes the little spider monkey. I remember being at World's of Fun one day with like 4 kids and whatshername. Maynard was mebbe two at the time. In between people watching, and kid watching, I didn't see Maynard. I freaked. High. Low. Here. There. No Maynard. Crap. Frantically ran up to whatshername. "HAVE YOU SEEN MAYNARD?".. She smiled. He was on my back, legs around my neck. My hands held him safely above. Sadly true. Monkey on my back, not aware of the struggle.

Herm Edwards, coach of the Kansas City Chiefs.. They’re going thru an era where they're replacing older players with younger ones. Fittingly, after a bad loss last year where the other team’s vets clearly outshone the wet-behind-the-ears Chiefs, Edward responded to a reporter's question with "GET OVER IT. DEAL WITH IT."

Struggles happen. How we respond, how we walk with the monkey on our back directly relates to the quality of our life.

Yesterday I yanked two truckloads from this broker we have downstairs. There was a snafu, and I was told "call them off." This meant money out of this man's pocket. Work he'd done for naught. Knowing him, I knew I wouldn't hear screams into my ear. He understands there are struggles.

I thanked him for not going off the deep end. "I probably woulda." He wrote back "I don’t ship transplant organs and nothing else is worth getting that upset about. I learned a long time ago that I get much better results and help when I am nice versus blowing up on someone. Its just not worth it anyway. I wouldn't want someone to treat me like that so I don't teat people like that." He wasn't letting that gorilla back there get to him. Perty cool. I gots to remember not to allow it to bother me. I will say, Maynard, at 23 weighs hella more than he did though!

Happy day. Good luck in making it though your struggles. Unfortunately, we all got 'em. Some worse than others. Most temporary. Loveya, Victurd.

Roy Rogers mighta had the greatest smile of all time……

Happy trails to you, until we meet again
Happy trails to you, keep smiling until then
Who cares about the clouds if we're together
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather
Happy trails to you, 'til we meet again

Oh yeah, Dale too. I’m old enough I remember watching in black and white as this came on…. Seeing their faces… the happiness portrayed.. The sincerity with which they sang…

The song resurfaced when Maynard was somewhere between two and three… I dunno.. That age just before you start formulating sentences.. He’d hear this song (sung horrifically karaoke-like by his mother and father) and he’d pickup on it and do ‘part’s’…….. “Trails”……… “you”……….. “till”…….. “gin”…… I guess you’da had to been there, but it was special to me.

I’m thankful for every Happy Trail. Be it every time I see my bestest friend of alltime Sanford… My HS runnin’ cronies.. A face from yesteryear in the Piggly Wiggly or “The Dish”… a former co-worker… a childhood friend.. Anyone, anywhere, who, at some point in life, our trails crossed, connected.



Some trails are happy ones
Others are blue
It's the way you ride the trail that counts
Here's a happy one for you

Yes, some trails are blue. But even within the blue, there is good to remember. It’s weird how ‘ends’ only are thought of when catching up to someone you perhaps you didn’t have a very good end with.. It’s a safe bet, even though shit mighta happened, at one point you rode the trail nicely, and coexisted peacefully.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again
Happy trails to you, keep smiling until then
Who cares about the clouds if we're together
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather
Happy trails to you, 'til we meet again

I love this song. It’s a reminder life IS good, be thankful for every interaction, every past moment of your life, every potential future meeting on the trail again……

Happy trails to you, until we meet again
Happy trails to you, keep smiling until then
Who cares about the clouds if we're together
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather
Happy trails to you, 'til we meet again
Happy trails to you ...

I am so so spoiled. People around me are pretty GD (gosh darn) wonderful. I get notes. I get McDonald’s burrito’s laid on my desk. I get a halfa pack of Butterfinger candy bars atop my desk - no note as to who… I get fun, “just to say ‘hi’” emails from friends. I get people asking all about me, my life, and I forget to inquire about “their trail.”

Close your eyes. (I am no equestrian… remember… I dated that chicky who had two horses… BEGGED me to ride… practiced… . In the arena… GD (gosh darn) horse wouldn’t budge… We sat in the corner for over an hour before I said “I give up.”

But………. Close your eyes… Imagine life on horseback.. No highways… no hurries.. Hoofing past friends… smiling… Meeting others from today/yesterday on the trail… take the time to chat.. .visit… remind them they were impactive… that ya love ‘em.. (throw that MF word out there!.. It’s a feel good!)…

This song could even be sung to those that have departed. Until we meet again. How special is that? The pain, the suffering, the selfish “I WANT THEM HERE!”.. until we meet again.

Ok, I’ll get outta your hair. Loveya.

“Trails”……… “you”……….. “till”…….. “gin”……

Victurd

I saw her today at the reception

A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she was gonna meet her connection
At her feet was, footloose man…

At “The Dish” the other night…. Victor, you’ve being going there a lot. KMA, I have fun. In walks this GORGEOUS ole lady my age… and on her arm Lyle Lovette. I ran into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, ran back and looked at him again, ran BACK in the bathroom for one more look just to make sure… Wait. I ain’t saying I’m George Clooney, or ANYTHING close, it just seems Revenge of the Nerds wasn’t a movie, it’s real life. Probably an IT wiz. Eh, can’t blame her. Long as his hard drive hasn’t crashed.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

Ahm, pardon me. Would you not use that word “need.” It’s a thirst GD it. I needs quenched. I just wanna touch, feel, absorb, and uh huh, make whoopee! VICTOR! Sorry. Kinda.

Oh yea-ay (hey-hey-hey, oooh)

And I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singin', 'We're gonna vent our frustration
If we don't, we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse'
Sing it to me, now

The demonstration was my day off.. Demo, as in demo cars. Saw many I liked, but I’da had to have been on IT dude’s salary to buy. “Ahm,, well, we’ll need a third down” (SEEYA!)… I didn’t really vent my frustration - I had a pretty weak moment, then I thought “ya know what? I’ve always made it somehow, I will make it. It may be (again) with duct tape and bailing wire, but I’ll make it.

(You can't always get what you want)
(You can't always get what you want)
(You can't always get what you want)
But if you try sometimes, well you just might find
You get what you need
Ooh baby, yeah, ooh

Friends were coming outta all kindsa places with assistance.. “my really really good friend has an old Dodge Dakota truck.. He wants to sell it for $____, but, I told him we were pretty good friends, and he said he’d sell it to you for $(lot less)”. cool… Another (Thanks Lisa) suggested Kendra’s new car-guy boyfriend help.. Another works part time at a new dealership, would talk to the owner, see if there’s anything they could do..



I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standin' in line with Mr. Jimmy
A-man, did he look pretty ill

We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry red
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was 'dead'
I said to him

The Chelsea drugstore is Quick Trip, nearby where my HRL had broken down, again. Mr. Jimmy is the HRL. “Dead”.

(You can't always get what you want) well no!
(You can't always get what you want) tell ya baby
(You can't always get what you want) no
But if you try sometimes, you just might find, mmm!
Mmm! you get what you need!

Yes, Mr. QuickTrip guy… I’d like onea them plump, juicy all beef hot dogs, onea them Rooster Boosters, a bag’a Chili Cheese Fritos, some napkins for my fingers (Ain’t that right Lamar), a 48 year old, rich, divorced, (HWP) blonde, and a new 612 Scaglietti "Beverly Hills Edition" Ferrari… Oh, to go please.


Ooow-ooh!

You get what you need
Yeah!
Ooow, babe!
Ooh, yeah

I saw her today at the reception
In her glass was a bleeding man
She was practiced at the art of deception
Well, I could tell by her blood-stained hands
Say it!

The reception was the bank, where’d I’d gone for help. Her (The busy loan lady who never once looked me in the eyes) blood stained hands were what I perceived from the three minutes we visited, her adeptness of (and past history of) dropping “no’s” in the “Sorry Charlie Tray”, wiping her hands twice, briskly, thinking “whew, done with him.” And they were.

(You can't always get what you want) yeah!
(You can't always get a-what you want) ooo-yeah, baby!
(You can't always get a-what you want)
But if you try sometime, you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need

So I didn’t get the Rooster Brooster.. I didn’t get the hot dog, Chili Chees Fritos… I didn’t get the 48 year old, rich, (HWP) divorced blonde, I didn’t get the new 612 Scaglietti "Beverly Hills Edition" Ferrari… I didn’t get laid, kissed, written to, winked at, smiled at, even a handshake..

Ooh, yeah!
Ooh, baby!
Woo!

Ah, you can't always get a-what you want
No, no baby

You can't always get a-what you want
Tellin' you right now

You can't always get what you want, mmm!
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find, that ya
Get what you need
Oooh, yeah!

What I did get, thanks to a very nice niece and nephew inlaw, is a perty nifty (to me) 1999 Dodge Van. It starts. It goes. It likes gas but doesn’t drink it as the HRL did. I shined it up, looks perty AOK. And… I think it’ll pull a Scamp. (You’da had’ta been here, I’m talking a travel trailer, but, if I know what you were thinking, yeah, I’d probably take me one’a them just about now too!)

I'm tellin' the truth, babe

Ooow-ooh!
Ooow-ooh!
Ooow-ooh!........

Who needs a new 612 Scaglietti "Beverly Hills Edition" Ferrari…….. Who needs a 48 yr old, rich, (HWP) divorced blonde (Lyle Lovette, that’s who… the bastard)….

Actually, the van kinda fits. It’s the first three letters of my beloved sister’s name, financed to me by her daughter. I had a Dodge Van once that I lived in (not literally) when we had the delivery business.. It was so, so cool to make it on our own. Scratch that. (Victor, are you gonna be bitter?).. In my best Alvin “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKKKKKKKKK:”. I was. But I won’t be. BUT I WILL ADD “I started that muther dubbin’ business, I got the customers, I was why we made it”. There, feel better, thanks!

So, you can’t always get what you want. But, I ‘Dodge’d the bullet, and got what I need. Ain’t that right Lamar?

Life’s a Quick Trip, hopeya get whatya need. Love, Victurd

A pissin’ me off….

Yeah, me.

I’m old, but I ain’t dead. I still get excited about stuff. (Mind outta gutter.)

Yes, fitty-four cent Senior coffee (in an hour’s time, saw three people I knew…), Piggly Wiggly for cat food (they were pissed at 6a this morn) struck up conversation with a man who happened to be black. Nice fella. I love small towns.

Anyways, first (of course) the Sport’s page. Pretty cool article about feller from small town in our State that had placed 2nd in the Olympic shot put. He wasn’t thrilled with the Silver, until he was asked “how will the folks back home (Eldon, MO) feel about this.” A smile permeated his face. They went on to relate how the entire community (his parents included) gathered at their Town Hall to watch him compete on two big screens. S’more.

They’d have a banner and a parade for him upon his return. “No, you guys don’t have to do that.” But it was clear. It was America. It was representing. Mebbe Silver ain’t so bad afterall.

Victor, I thought you were pissed. All that up there is “Feel goods”. Yeah, you’re right. But I am pissed and don’t gimme shit now about starting a sentence with ‘but’ because this, as I’ve reminded you, is a blog and I’ll do damn well what I please, including, but not limited to such things as “run on” sentences. Hehe.

Recently, dropped Maynard off at work downtown Kansas City. Drove past 15th and Grand, where our fine metropolitan newspaper is prepared and printed. Noticed some dudes outside in printer’s bibs.. Puffing on cigs. Then, today, in the ‘local’ section of the conglomo newspaper, there’s an editorial berating our community because we’ve not enacted the smoking laws virtually every other suburban town around has.

I ain’t real fond of editorials. You get ten folks in a room. Differing opinions, end up with six that think “this”, so “this” is what’s written on behalf of “all.” Tain’t right. I never understood how a large group with so many creative, wonderful, probably liberal minds could pigeon hole one belief on behalf of all. I’m thinkin’ ‘bout buying me some tobaccy, using their article to roll me up onea my own just for good measure.

Also thought it was kinda cool when preliminary “Second hand smoke, I’m gonna die” talks began in earnest in our town.. The bar owners suggested “ya know, cigs really are bad for you. How ‘bout we just don’t allow stores selling them in our fine city?” City leaders, seeing boo-koo tax dollars escaping from their coffers, decided to put off any final decisions until “next time.”

AND ANOTHER THING. (Oh shit, here he goes). Local paper. “Skateboarders irk merchants.” Just the opposite is happening here. Insteada the editorial proudly boasting “we’re all about this”.. skateboarders are lumped together as “bad.” Raises my dander just as much as hate involved with race, gender, ethnicity, socio-economic class, age, etc.

Jean Warren, who owns James County Mercantile (I have no idea what a James County Mercantile… does. We’re in Clay County.. Wtf is up with James County?… I will never shop there.. If they even sell anything.).. Says “I saw one crash into one of the flower pots the other day, and when I yelled at him, he flipped me off.” Well no shit Sherlock. I hope this lady, never in her life, had her bike slip off the sidewalk only to run over the Jones’s begonias. I hope she was never involved in a baseball game where the Spencer’s window was knocked out. I hope she never owned onea them “Drink and wet” dolls and dirtied the Blanton’s carpet. Jean Warren, I wish I were you. I’ve never ever had the feeling of “I’m perfect.” That’d be kinda a fun feel to feel.

Ahhhhh. I feel much better now. Thanks for this venue to allow me to get that behoogety stuff off’ma chest. With Liberty and justice for all. Not some, by all. Not just for the special/perfect ones. Liberty and justice for all. Smokers, skateboarders, blacks, whites, yellows, reds, old, young, poor, rich, slow, smart, big, skinny, tall, small, of this descent, of that descent, wearing this, wearing that. I guess that would include entrepreneurs who yell at kids too. Damnit.

Softball’s over. Darnit. No chance of fouling one off and smashing a windshield today. I think instead, I’ll run down to “The Dish”, have me a cold one, and puff away whilst I still can. Might even ride my bike. Watch out flower pots, I ain’t as stable riding this thing as I was forty years ago.

Love, Victurd.

Boredom through the ages……

Being bored as an infant meant your binky fell out. Once found, plopped back in, life is again good.

I’m an old fart. When I was a pre-school snotnose, it meant mom was home with you. There was no day care. Boredom at this stage meant mom was vacuuming. Or ironing. Or talking to the neighbor lady on the rotary phone. Not paying attention to…….. Muah. Bored.

When I was nine, boredom was when the Flanagan’s went on vacation in the summer. Family of nine children, we’d always have damn near enough for a football game. When they scadoodled, life in the neighborhood sucked.

Being bored at 13, 14, 15 was actually a pretty nice thing. You’d go to friends houses and think up all kindsa stupid shit to do. You’d talk about so and so, and then you’d spend the next couplea hours talking about the chicky with the biggest boobs. HEY! There weren't there at 10, 11, 12. This was BIG stuff!

16, 17, 18. Boredom could mean trouble. Pranks. M-80’s on a cigarette fuse on your buddy’s window at 3am because he pissed “the group” off. Going down 7 Hills Road to see if you could get airborne. Gathered in parking lots until the wee hours, much to the chagrin of local merchants and the local Police Department. “But we’re not doing anything wrong!”

Early 20’s. That GD (gosh darn) mandatory class you HAD to take. You hated it. You couldn’t believe the dude teaching it, SOOOO BORING, actually drew a pretty decent paycheck. It was a have to. You spent the vast majority of that time trying to look down that Zeta’s blouse. (The class, aside from 3 hours credit, did have redeeming qualities.)

Mid-twenties. There’s never boredom here. You’re so hyped up about “Well… I’m working at such-n-sucha place, and I’m gonna be a such-n-such in no time.” Friends get married off, wedding parties happen. Gatherings still take place. Toe dipped into real life, but the other foot is still in college, high school, jr high, the neighborhood. You’re a pup. Pups never get bored.

Late 20’s. By now it’s sunk in “shit it’s a long time until I retire.” I had all that fun to get to this? The only respite is you’re still fit as a fiddle, and you and yours, still liketa fiddle. There are no young varmints running around keeping you from it. It’s the boredom salvation of the late 20’s.

30-something. Rough day at the office. Kids running around like crazy. Yard needs mowed. She’s cooking, mebbe you oughta be doing laundry. You’re exhausted, but kid wants to play catch at 6pm. The only reprieve to boredom here is when the kids get old enough, you can gallivant to the Piggly Wiggly by yourselves. You never imagined how much fun the produce aisle could be. You actually getta follow behind her and stare at her booty, and not have 3 urchins climbing allover ya. No, you’re not a pup, but you’re still invigorated.

40-something. You’re finally maybe making more that pocket change, entry level. You’ve got a nice 401K underway. And every time you turn around there’s a hand out awaiting. What once was a .39 ice cream cone has turned into a $45 tanka gas, or a $50 cell bill (that’s without text messages.) “She” still looks hot, but “that” only happens after you’ve each had a good rest, the kids are certainly asleep (or out and about), or, you’ve set your alarm at 5am “just for that purpose.” The remainder of the time is fairly boring, unless you count finding new hiding places for your wallet as ‘fun’.

50-something. If there are still pitter-patters happening in your household, that’s very (close your ears) fucking boring. Good God you can vote and drink legally now, will you please leave? You look at her, remember when you each had flat bellies. Through the years, you’ve whoopied in that room, this one, over that sink, on that sofa, the tent in the backyard, this way, that way, fast, slow, lights on, lights off, candles, music, TV blaring, 3am, 5am, noon’er, home early an hour before the kids got there, whilst they were at grannies. This outfit, that outfit, no outfit. There just ain’t left to the imagination that ain’t………….. Victor, are you gonna say sex is boring?

60’s… I dunno about the 60’s.. . I ain’t there yet. But I can imagine taking a trip around Wally World, seeing all of the above, knowing you’ve “Been there, bored that” would be just that. I would imagine the final years of employ to be not-so-fun. A new dude in management throwing these “team meetings - YAHOO!!!” things. Patooey. Greeting a new 20-something co-worker becomes “Hi, I’m so-and-so, frankly I don’t give a shit about you, because in __ years, I’m getting the hell outta here, but have a nice day!”

70’s are not quite as boring. Your kids are going thru the for shit 40’s, 50’s, and you delight in the fact their faced with living that era you hadta. When they've been beaten to death for bucks by your grandchildren you relate "sorry, wish we could help, we're on a fixed income." Your bod’s still ok, your brain still recognizes your significant other. With the assistance of modern medicine, that too can be ok.

80-something. There’s never any boredom here. You wake up each day a different person. Thirty three consecutive days you greet the server at the buffet line with “I’m Arnold, nice to meetya.” It’s like living in a co-ed dorm. You get lost “on purpose.” Periodically, these strange people will come visit, you pretend to be nice, and then you shoo them away as the shuffleboard tourney is about to begin.

When I get bored, I write. Or flip channels. Or leave the house. Or, close my eyes and let my brain think of another day, another era.. “Back then.”

We go through tons and tons of mundane, boring crap. It’s the highlights of life that keep us pedaling. Boredom happens. To us all. I don’t really have a “catchy’ end. I used all the good shit up, up there. Boring eh?

Loveya, having you here is never boring. Love, Victurd

Paper or plastic?

The kinda-sorta uppity grocery store in our town employs nothing but very clean cut, probable honor roll kids. I don’t mean this meanly, as those kids deserve the jobs they have, and do very well.

The Piggly Wiggly on the other hand, hires two types for “Paper or plastic.” The kid that just walked outta shop class, didn’t bring a book to study hall, and was asleep ten minutes into it. His hair is unkept, his shirt partway tucked in and he’s far far from being the HS quarterback, or one day college preppy.

Or, they hire mildly developmentally challenged youth/adults.

For whatever reasons, I shop at the Piggly Wiggly.

How do you respond to “Paper or plastic?” Greener. The environment. Plastic bags are not bio-degradable, they simply break up into smaller pieces, and it’s estimated that 1% of 500 trillion is recycled.

Yes, slay me. I’m a “plastic” kinda guy. I can hook seven of them suckers around my right arm, have three on my left, and STILL fish out the front door key, open - and it’s one trip in from the car.

I see alotta times in our life when we’re faced with “Paper or plastic”, the answer is clear - yet, we choose selfishly. Who among us hasn’t been with someone (either a kiss or otherwise) that you knew it just wasn’t right, meant to be, but the “I don’t give a shit about (the environment) anything, this feels good, is good… it’s NOW.” The sexual urge is one powerful muther dubber.

Ex-mother in law. Love her. Married to “Eat right, live right, always” retired pharmacist. She’d had triple bypass surgery awhile back and it was her first trip outta the house with car… alone.. Drove past her - car parked in the nearby City Park. She was shoveling (I mean left-right-left-right) six Taco Bell tacos into her mouth. Plastic. That day she opted for plastic.

Four free tickets to the ball game/concert? Really, I’ll bet my son and a few of his friends might enjoy that. Victurd ended up going, not telling, with three buddies. (I’m not always mean!) I just had a ’plastic’ moment.

I have trouble with long range planning. Like I mean the next day. Occasionally, we’ll have “treat day” at the office to celebrate all the birthday folks for that month. Everyone to bring some kinda goodie. “DAMMIT, forgot again” when I see the goodies atop the filing cabinets. I wait until all have gone. Then I fill a plate! Yippee! PLASTIC! It ain’t right, but it felt right!

Find a wallet with $20 in it? Paper or plastic?

Uh huh, stuck a rolla toilet paper in your purse that day at work ‘cause you were out at home and didn’t wanna swing by the Piggly Wiggly. DIDN’T YA!

Appetites, desires, or inclinations. We’re, sometimes, a self indulgent society. It’s our puny nature.

Not criminal. Probably not right, but occasionally we make choices we know we probably shouldn’t.

Gotta go now. Outta toilet paper. I was in the bathroom at work, tried sticking one “down there”… looked kinda funny. Eh, won’t work. Upon occasion right does happen. I for sure, ain’t perfect though.

“Hey, thanks a lot! Plastic please!”

Love, Victurd

That’s a long song Victor… They’ll fall asleep.. Or click some other dot-com thingamabob…

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

I’ll never forget the day checkenginelight died. On the spot. Approximately 112 feet from the Hot…….. Rod……… Lincoln… Not the checkenginelight had served me well…. It was my beloved sister’s… when she passed, she’d provided it for my father… and was left for me… I made sure my ex brother in law, who’d said (my dad was in beginning stages of Parkinsons) “well, Ok, your dad can take it… but when he starts getting all shaky and everything, I want it back.” He never set foot in that car again.

But february made me shiver
With every paper Id deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldnt take one more step.

I have delivered papers, in two different stages of my life. Once as a kid (rode to a town fitteen miles away, I was like fitteen, dude driving 40-something.. He’d have 3 beers on the way there, 3 beers on the way back. Somehow, ‘news’ we always made it.)

And… When whatshername and I started our delivery business, we had ZERO customers, so… I got up at 1am daily to deliver The USA Today when it very first came out, and then went on to the delivery detail afta. It would be (close your ears) the shits to have that much energy again!

I cant remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

In this case, the ‘widowed bride’ is me. En route to work this morning, the HRL started regurgitating. It was like “I refuse to make that GD drive from Liberty to Grandview AGAIN.” But it made it. Coming home, through the virtue of open windows (no Gosh Darn AC), whenever I’d pass a car, the reflection of HIDEOUS sound worried me. I was hopin’ it was the car in the nuther lane. Nope. The HRL. Twelve miles from home, smoke started comin’ outthe back of her like a peace pipe. Oh shit, here we go again.

So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
Singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

I pulled over on Interstate. Had somewhere around four seconds to get outta my car without getting blown to smithereens by a car in the far right lane. Hood popped, I peeked my non-mechanical head down there. In a very fast nutshell, I deemed (like Norman chasing “Walter”) “HRL YOU SONOFABITCH!”

Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Don Mclean. The hell’s all that doing in the middlea my blog? No, NOT the book of love, you’ve been here, I’m relationship challenged for boohoogety sakes. I’m on the GS sidea the highway and you’re talking music? Dancing slow?

Well, I know that youre in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

For a very short time, I was in love with the Hot… Rod… Lincoln. Then Maynard (don’t tell I’m telling) kicked the passenger door in during onea his ‘fits’. Then, I was taking five fine lasses to lunch at work. The passenger door decided it didn’t wanna latch one day, and a let turn almost resulted in a ‘human on the highway.’ Thank God I grabbed her arm before she keypunched
.
I was a lonely teenage broncin buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.

Yes, out of luck, the day, the HRL died. “Hi. Is this Liberty Tow? It’s me Vic.” Oh YEAH Vic, howya been? We ain’t heard from you in three weeks.

I started singin,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
And singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

The levee was dry. However, I am my father’s son. My father could converse with anyone. I’ll never live up to his bullshittedness (God rest his soul… just onea the reasons I loved him so much.) If he was dealing in an arrangement where dollars were coming outta his pocket, he’d go thru verse and stories like crazy, have “the other end” smiling, patting him on the back, and sometimes, in the end, insteada “that’ll be fitty bucks” it was “Oh no sir, HERE, you take it.” Gratis. His (nickname) initials were BS.

Tonight, en route home with Liberty Tow, I was BS “in training.” I listened to every God-forsaken story this man told ($60 hookup fee, $3 a mile).. And I BS’ed right back at him. Without saying so much as an ‘atta boy’ to the stories he told, I made him feel like he was king. Right on brother. You da man! Initially, he’d ball parked $110. When we pulled in, he finally got all the chains off.. He smiled, shook my hand and said “You need a receipt for insurance?” Nah, I’m good. “Then here’s what we’ll do… we’ll write it up as $96... And by paying by cash, we’ll knock that down to $80.” For one very long second, I actually saw my father smiling. Cat’s in the cradle.

Now for ten years weve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin stone,
But thats not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,

Well, it ain’t been ten years, but I’ve been sleeping with cats for about 7 now.

Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.

There was no tomfoolery in the demise of the HRL. It served me kinda-sorta well YOU SONOFABITCH. I had the option “take it to a shop”, or “home” (the HRL eventual graveyard.) Two thousand in car repair in the last four months tells me “Victor you coulda leased a hummer for that.”

We were singing,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
And singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

I love you HRL, but I won’t miss you.

Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.

I will be a jester tomorrow when I try to convince (BS mebbe?) someone to sell me a car dirt cheap (“and is there ANY way you could finance the sale’s tax in on that?”)

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?

It’s not a sad day. It’s a day to reflect. To remember. To smile. Corny as it may sound… I’d walked about a mile (Victor, for boohoogety sakes GET a cell phone)… I asked the dude if he could pick me up from the Quick Trip “bouta mile Northa the HRL.” Sure, can do. When we finally pulled up alongside the SONOFABITCH, he got out. “Need help?”… Nah, I’ll be allright. I looked to my right. The prettiest natural growing purple flowers I ever did see. For real. I smiled. Put the whole damn thing in perspective. Or tried to.

We started singing,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
And singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

GONE! Soon she will be!

Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!
Jack flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devils only friend.

Damn Don, hella long song. Did u do the screenplay for Dark Night?

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satans spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the music died

There were no flames. Hella smoke, but no flames.

He was singing,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
And singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

August 12, 2008, HRL, RIP.

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where Id heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldnt play.

Victor, give it up, they left you the 12th paragraph of the song.

And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.

Just got off phone with niece. Ain’t riding train, but tomorrow she’s letting me borrow her car to find “new” car.

And they were singing,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
Singin, thisll be the day that I die.
Thisll be the day that I die.

Maybe I shoulda done 3 Dog Night’s “CELEBRATE”

They were singing,
Bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin whiskey and rye
Singin, thisll be the day that I die.

Welcome to car heaven HRL. Sorry you hadta get smashed to get here. (Victor, you dweeb, donate it to charity.) HAS THIS DUDE SEEN MY BANK BALANCE? In a better day, I have done that.

For whatever reason, I’m happy. Twas a step/move I’d needed to make long ago. Keep the faith (I do)… Enjoy the shit, along with the sherbet. I’ll do my best to “BS” me a deal tomorrow. The sun’ll come out tomorrow.. Right you little redheaded snotnose?

RIP……. HRL………. June 29, 2007 - August 12, 2008.. .$1800 purchase.. Some $3000 in shit-eatin’grin repair fees since….

Son you’re gonna drive me to drinkin’ if you don’t stop drivin’ that HOT…….. ROD…….. LINCOLN….

K, will. Love, NewerCarTurd.

I been in the right place

But it must have been the wrong time
I'd of said the right thing
But I must have used the wrong line
I been in the right trip
But I must have used the wrong car
My head was in a bad place
And I'm wondering what it's good for

Liberty, Mo. The right place? Often wondered. I love/hate it. Wrong line? Eh, mebbe. I’ve definitely upon occasion had my taste of my own size tens. Wrong car? Bingo. Head, bad place? Upon occasion.

I been the right place
But it must have been the wrong time
My head was in a place
But I'm having such a good time
I been running trying to get hung up in my mind
Got to give myself a little talking to this time

I do needs me some talking to. But, I’m having such a good time. Or am I? Upon occasion I think “this ain’t me”, but I is what I is. Wonder where I was and how to find me again.

Just need a little brain salad surgery
Got to cure this insecurity
I been in the wrong place
But it must have been the right time
I been in the right place
But it must have been the wrong song
I been in the right vein
But it seems like the wrong arm
I been in the right world
But it seems wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

Insecure? Occasionally. About the time I stop to thinka mebbe some things I’m insecure about, Maynard steps in with his insecurity needing nurturing. I rectum some call it enabling. I resemble that remark. So I bandaid my own.

Slipping, dodging ,sneaking
Creeping hiding out down the street
See me life shaking with every who I meet
Refried confusion is making itself clear
Wonder which way do I go to get on out of here

HRL. Florida. South Dakota. Upstate NY. Charleston/Myrtle Beach.

I been in the right place
But it must have been the wrong time
I'd have said the right thing
But I must have used the wrong line
I'd a took the right road
But I must have took a wrong turn
Would have made the right move
But I made it at the wrong time
I been on the right road
But I must have used the wrong car
My head was in a good place
And I wonder what it's bad for

Wrong turn? We all take the wrong road upon occasion. I’ve had a blast here on this planet. I’ve been in the right place, at the right time. I’ve made the right move at the right time. I’ve had the right car. My head’s been in a good place. And then, I’ve been contrary to all that.

We look back in the rear view mirror, and we can’t change a GD thing about where we’ve been, the path we’ve taken, whether or not we’re in the right place, the right car, wrong line, right move, head in a bad place.

Life’s like a meal at a fancy restaurant. MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm Iove that. Nope, don’t like that, ain’t touchin’ it. That’s yucky. Ahhhhh, that’s tasty. Another course? Of course! Delectable. Yummy. S’more please, s’more!... Dessert? SURE!.. ahm, the tab sir. Shit.

Victor are you down? Nah, I’m cool. I went to LA once. Drove from there to San Diego. What is it – like 120 miles? Five, mebbe seven lanes. You get on the inside lanes, you’re stuck (like that commercial “feel stuck, feel stuck, feel stuck”).. Ya can’t get back to the exit lane. Forced. Or areya? I needs me a lane change but the traffic won’t allow it. Or maybe I’m ‘over here’ by choice.

When life findsya in the wrong place, wrong turn, wrong time, wrong move, wrong song, wrong car – we’ve got the wheel. Ours for the choosing. If you’re like me, you’re critical upon yourself, and then other times you ain’t. That’s where I be.

Buckle up. I’m turnin’ down this road here. Loveya, enjoy the ride. Victurd.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
If Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
He wasn't Fuzzy, was he?

Was is an interesting word. Last night, I WAS sitting with best friend, his wifey, and two very good friends. Getting to be habitual. We WAS talking about (Victor, that ain’t good English.. It’s a blog you dweeb, I can. It WAS the only way I could sneak in the word WAS.)…

Where WAS I? Oh yeah, with friends. We WAS talking about other friends. “How’s ole __________ ?” He died. “NO?!!”.. Yep. He WAS a fun ole guy. Yes. Yes he WAS.

Today we “are:”. One day, we all will be “WAS.”

What kinda memories do you want to invoke when you are “WAS”? Just kinda thinking about it causes me to hopefully stop and choose before I speak. Get upset about something little, stupid, trivial? I have. We all have. And in doing so, we’re faced with “Man, he WAS the type of guy that would get upset with little stupid, trivial stuff.”

She WAS a gal that never smiled.

He WAS not a very good parent.

She WAS always too busy with her work, never had time for fun.

He, after his divorce, WAS certain life was over for him, thus, he kinda wrote the 3rd act to his play on life and ended up living it.

She WAS not very adventurous.

He WAS so tight with his money, he died with it.. And there it WAS.. Funds for fun just sitting there for division amongst his relatives.

I want good thoughts of me when I’m one day “WAS.” I’ve told the story of ex giving me two xanax to make it through giving my father’s eulogy. The main point to the eulogy, WAS when any time my father’s name WAS brought up in conversation, people smiled. Spoke tons to the man he WAS. The life he led.

For me, I’d like to hear “He WAS a nice guy. He had fun in his life. He always seemed to be fairly level headed, not getting too down during the lows, too up during the highs. I WAS glad to have known him.”

We paint “WAS.” Every interaction. Every action. We’re auditioning for our “WAS”.

We choose our WAS. When we choose to see life as sucky, and lead it thusly, we don’t leave behind a very good WAS.

I do hereby promise to work on my WAS. I planta have fun throughout each day, no matta how much shit is slung my way. I’ll dodge it, laugh at it, and hopefully by the time I retire that night I’ll be able to say “that WAS a good day.”

Investing, stockpiling “that WAS a good day"s is life’s 401(O)K to lending friends, lovers, family kind thoughts of “he WAS”, “she WAS.”

(Remember, I write to myself, hitchhikers welcome).. Victor, you will get down. Don’t live down. You will get mad. Don’t wallow in it. You will be poor, yet always remember, you’re rich in life. Spoil yourself occasionally. Also, give. If you can’t give money, give time. Give attention. Give in creative ways. Help others create a positive self image.

The first two acts of my life, eh, mebbe a B-, C+. I’m learning. One time, long ago, I coached this gal, and her father told me “I used walk across the street outta my way to not make someone upset. Not any longer.” He’s a “WAS” now. He WAS Ok, but it will always stick in my brain “he WAS the type that didn’t care if he pissed people off.” Not a very good WAS to be remembered by.

I want a clear “WAS”. Not a fuzzy wuzzy one. I am human, hear me roar. Roars happen. But we control SO much of our WAS, let’s do our best to paint it niftily.

We WAS good eh? Victor, that’s not proper Engl… WILL YOU QUIT GETTING UPSET ABOUT LITTLE STUPID, TRIVIAL… oops. Sorry. Back to the human part.

Bound and determined to have/live fun in life. Hopefully, my eulogy, my WAS, will be smiley.

Loveya like crazy, Victurd.

Confessions of an “OG”……

Maynard. Maynard is presently caught up in “The City.” The talk, the walk, the ‘style’, the lifestyle. Talks about the ‘baddest’ areas of town. Relates every drive by, stabbing, shoot-out, news event of the not-so-rich-and-not-so-famous. He doesn’t participate in any of that, he just enjoys sometimes being, looking the part. (He usedta be a sagger until I told him that ‘fad’ started in prison, and it was for [close your ears] “easy access.” Pretty much stopped him doing so. Good thing, many pairs are holy.

What the hell does “OG” have to do with any of this Victor? I’m so glad you finally asked.

I am: “OLD Gangsta”. I reckon that’s the label for us old farts that the (City) youth of the day now see us as.

I resemble that remark. (Old.) Uh huh, stopped for my fitty-four cent “Small Senior Coffee please” at Mickey D’s. Read wonderful article by gal in KC Star, about turning 29, and having a ‘bucket list’ of things to do before 30. Loved her enthusiasm for life, wrote her, told her that. Along with “I hate when old people tell me what to do (but)”.. .YOU DIDN’T? Uh huh, did.

I blabbed in an email, “it ain’t so much about where the ride is taking you… it’s more about enjoying/appreciating the ride alongs the way.” Victor, she’d prolly slap you if she could. Nay, I was nice. Remember? I got fired once because “you know what your problem is Vic? You’re too (his words) God Damn NICE.” It actually was kinda fun job hunting, filling in “reason you left last job.”

Old, where was I? See? That’s what I mean about “OG” being true. As I left Mickey D’s, halfa block removed from their parking lot, the “Uh oh” BM urge hit. This urge as fitty-five is different than it was as a kid when you could run twelve blocks, pour a cuppa Koolaid, then sit and do your business. At fitty-five THIS MEANS “NOW”!

So I spotted the Piggly Wiggly. They gotta nice squatter in there. Parked. Jumped out. Remembered people talking about “the Kegel” … did that… with each and every ten foot closer mark toward the squatter, my pace quickened. Victor, you didn’t do pooters along the way did you? Uh huh, sorry. That’s what OG’s do.

FINALLY. To the door. Locked. GD (gosh darn) IT!.. So, I’m pacing, and kegeling. And drawing stares. Deep breaths. KEGEL VICTOR! THEY DON’T SELL UNDIES/PANTS IN THE PIGGLY WIGGLY. Uh huh, I know.

Ya think the wait in line at Mickey D’s seems like “every minute’s wait feels like three”… when you’re an OG, and the public restroom is locked. Three minutes seems like Fall, Winter and Spring have passed. “Shit, I feel like fitty-six now”.. DON’T USE THAT WORD VICTOR, especially in this situation.

If I were on the squatter, and I heard someone a jiggling’ at the door, I’d try to hurry. Nope. Not this chap. I pictured some O’erFG (Older Fat Gangsta) sittin’ back, not caring about the ‘pacer’ outside. You know, them guys that read three sections of the paper whilst pooping.

FINALLY. Almost kegeled out, the door opens. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yes. The OG made it. A quick peek revealed (close your ears) no sharts. Life, is good.

So’s I walked out, stopped by the Redbox for Maynard’s honey do list of two movies (the same GD/gosh darn Redbox where he’d rented 7 one-dollar movies a few months back and my mortgage check beat the Redbox fees to the bank and each one-dolla movie now cost me one-dollar and a thirty-three dolla bank overdraft fee. Shit. VICTOR DON’T SAY THAT WORD NOW. REMEMBER? It’s all good. I done went.

So, I’d had a thought whilst squatting of “someplace I need to go (in the opposite direction of home) before I go home. Started driving. Couldn’t remember exactly where it was I was going. You OG you. I know, am. Resemble that. Got seven blocks past where I finally remembered where I was going, turned around, prolly wasted a dollar-two-eighty in fuel, but as least I remembered. Two for one cigs. Yep.

The old (OG) saying still holds… there’s two things about getting old are: 1) you have trouble remembering… and the second one is…………………………. Ahm… . Er…… well,
You know.

Being an OG ain’t bad. It makes for fun when you access sites on the web and WTF did I put that user ID login code thingy happens. Taking the month of January to complete onea those GD squiggly "Word Verification" thingys.. You see classmates from the day, think “holy shit.” Then you look in mirror and remember “hell, I look just like ‘em.”

I’ll take “OG”.. I’ve earned these crow’s feet baby. I realize life is an hourglass. I (very much) miss the “OG”s that have departed aheada me, so I dote on the G’s and YG’s today even much more. Decidedly so. I decided!

Life is good. Life is long (I use that one when I’ve had a down moment… like when the public bathroom door DIDN’T open in time) VICTOR!!!!!!!!.. Life is fleeting. Life is fun, even as an OG.

With love, until the day I pee my pants and forget my name, Victurd. (No pun intended.)

8/8/8

Yes, tis that today. And yes, did do that yesterday. Our company graciously hosted “The Biggest Loser” contest.. “We’ll measure percentage of weight lost so we will keep your weight in confidence… $100 to the winner after three months, $200 to the winner after six months.”

All I did was pretty much cut out red meat and junk. I’m a peanut fanatic, so I guess that’s where I’ve been getting my protein. I ate a lotta chicken, and a lotta salads - and ya know what? They are good.

I went from 213 to 192 for the first cha-ching, and stayed status quo the final three months which brought in $200 buckaroos.

More importantly, our new HR lady also organized a Health Screening day, and onea my best buds at work discovered he had extremely high cholesterol levels - and in the five months since, he’s been put on meds and has it under contol. Way, way cool, cause it never woulda happened without this lady organizing the Health Fair.

But Victor, I’ve been reading this blog awhile, and it seems like you “go runnin’ wit your HS cronies a lot. Yeah?”

Yeah, that’s true. And probably too much. I love them, but admittedly it’s a situational kinda thing that will one day be blindsided by a relationship. I know this to be true, not because “The View” happened - but moreso because if the right one doesn’t find me (he’s hella shy) then I’ll simply tackle someone and force them to like me! Jk.

8/8/8. Summer Olympics begin. Terrorist threats. Pollution in the air. Chiefs won a game for the first time in 9 tries. Royals back at it tonight at the K. It’s Friday, Life, it ain’t bad.

After the final weigh in, I celebrated with breakfast (for lunch) at onea my favorite mom and pop places. Yes, two big ole patties of sausage. Then, last night, a “on sale for $5 during happy hour” a single topping (pepperoni) pizza. I 8-8-8 on 8/7. Eh, why not glutton out?

My eating habits, I think, are changed for a lifetime. I feel better, people tell me “eat a cheeseburger or something Victor wouldya” which, to me is better than “Victor, did you eat two cheeseburgers?”

My “done-laps” now only gently touch the waistline of my slacks - where before, it was pure denial (“I’ll be GD [gosh darn] if I’m gonna give in, toss these 36’s and git me some 38’s.)

For boohoogety sakes these even helped me playing softball. The bastards put the fastest turd on the team right behind me in the batting order, and had I not dropped a few pounds, I just know he woulda lapped me on the base paths..

Victor, this is all pretty boring. It’s “all about you.”

I rectom. But deep down, ain’t that kinda life? The “you”, or in this case “me”, treasures looking out and seeing “you.”. I do perhaps hog the scene here, but if it weren’t for the “you’s” in my life, it’d be hella empty.

You, the HR lady who organized. You, the softball dude who said “wanna play Vic?” You, my friend who now has fine, just fine cholesterol levels. You, my HS cronies. You, the Chiefs, the Royals, the Olympian athletes. You, my bosses. You, my coworkers. You, my family. You, if there’s anyone here reading.

Life… mine, yours… IS all about “me”, which logically lends “that means you” (too).

So…….. Sorry (I guess) to “Rooster out” on ya. Time to go now. Gotta bathe. Jump in the HRL, go gets me some $3.86 gas. Bag’a peanuts. Smokes (I know, I know).. Coffee. , 36-INCH jean shorts fittin’ all nicely, and another (This one’s blue, same color as my eyeballs) Thrift Store treasure shirt.

I hope you love “me” (meaning you/yourself.) Sometimes I don’t like me, but I’ll always love me. It’s kinda like I’m related to myself I guess! Oh, and I’m the baby gotta love me!

Until the day I pee my size 36” pants and forget name, love Victurd. The Biggest Loser.

Collections….

What’s that mean to you? Sure, if you’re like me, pretty much paycheck to paycheck (RUNNNNN MySpace women!)… it means “Oh shit, car broke down… I’ll skip this one and this one, pay mosta that one”.. and, a week or two later you get letters from the nice folks threatening turning over to collections - or phone calls from persistent little cuss’s that won’t take “no” (I can’t) for an answer.

Or mebbe you thoughta the baseball card collector… People collect lots, and in varieties… Barbie Dolls, Seashells, Flamingos, Music, Movies, lighthouses, trophies, medals, certificates, ticket stubs, koo koo clocks, awards, citations, love notes, antiques… yada yada yada…..

Funny. The collector in life, when he/she expires - the family just isn’t lined up to say “dibs” on the collection. No, it’s more about “Estate sale or Auction?”… “Whaddaya think the house'll bring in today’s market?”..”You take the sofa, the box springs and the dryer, we get the ‘97 T-Bird.”

I’ve been a collector of material items, but I’ve never stayed in it for the longterm. Yes, baseball cards. A trophy here and there. Newspapers from HUGE current events.. This n that, really not all that much.

Some people even collect money. To some, it’s “Everything”, to others, they balance.. The lucky ones…

The kinda collectin’ I’m big into is everyday stuff. Stuff we’ll carry with us to the day of our last breath - that simply means so much internally. Stuff that’s etched into our brain…

Events, moments from childhood. For me? Kick the can with the entire neighborhood.. Going to the local college to watch the KC Chiefs train.. Little League.. Christmas at grannies.. regular ole family dinners.. Watching my folks, sister in plays…my kinda collectin’..

High School. I know there are those out there that had “not-so-great” experiences. I’m sorry for you. Maybe a different place/time, woulda been different. I loved the day, and can still recite everything from my first hour class in 9th grade - to the day we wore the gowns. A blast. Collections. Many.

College. I was in the Animal House fraternity. Imagine that? NO Victor, SURELY not you? KMA we had a blast. I didn’t have a brother growing up. (God rest my sister’s soul cause I love/loved her to no end and would NEVER trade our relationship).. Fraternity/college life was quite a collection. Mems fade but every once in awhil I’ll remember something like shaving off Vifquin’s left eyebrow whilst he slept, and it’s like “I’m there.”

The miracle of being a parent. Any dough-dough can supply sperm, egg. The lucky ones amongst us enjoy the collections of memories therein. There were times I truly wanted to pinch myself to see if “life really is getting EVEN better every step of the way.”

Whilst I don’t really remember my 21st, 30th, 40th, 50th… I’ll never forget the first time I drove the car, alone… my first job… my first “you know”… first bit of trauma associated with “oh shit, my company went belly up.. The hell do I do now?”… the horrific sting of losing a loved one… Sting, whilst not a good thing, maybe is if you think about it. Imagine if a loved one passed and there was no sting. To feel, even in loss, is a good thing.

There’s simply not gonna be much for show when I depart this planet. Tis my hope though, along the way I’ve helped ‘crop-dust’ fun in life. Yes, I’ve gone overboard. Yes, I’ve been the other way - sat in the house for days, weeks, months. Yes, I’ve not spent/saved wisely, choosing (Pavlov’s dogs) to get out and enjoy every day, push the limit an old fart like me can take.

Collections? Material ones, no not really. Collections? Of life? You’re damn tootin’.

Regrets? Sure, hell.. GPS, Garmin, Onstar, that crap didn’t come along until just recently. We all make wrong turns.

I have been, however, quite the ‘collector.’ I will awaken tomorrow, in hopes of adding to my “collection.” As much as I love being here/writing, having these collections to recollect - I wish all these years I’da owned (and used) a little tape recorder. That’d be blessed.

Hell. Maybe I’ll add that to my collections. Collectively speaking, love Victurd.

My Sunday……….

Color it nice. Like Victor, who cares?

I know, but I might as well type/blog about it.

It started with a trip to the Piggly Wiggly (limited funds………….. RUN ANYONE STOPPING BY HERE FOR THE FIRST TIME ON MYSPACE FOR A POTENTIAL DATE… there’s a NASTY rumor afloat he’ll run outta 401K funds by the time he’s 60.) Yeah, prolly, but, then again, I think I can start ‘drawing” at fitty-nine interest free, so you better back that sucka up!

Games 15 and 16 on the softball schedule. Mind you, we’re 1 and 14. That’s one win, fourteen tries. Game time, 3pm, we’re talking hot. As in 90-something.

“Hey Vic” the head dude chief honcho/umpire chimed “tell ur guys I gotta cooler fulla water and Gatorade back here”…….. Thanks Billy! Will do.

We’d already prepped in right field, a couple of beers, some stretching, lotta talk about who was gonna show, who wasn’t, and the amplifications therein… The more that show, the moreya getta sit the bench. “Orville”, I’ll rotate with you at catcher.. “Cool?”… “Beautiful Vic.” Phew, I was set.

The opponents, a groupa stallions, most wearing some fancy T-shirt “Western Football.”.. “UAAASA Softball National Finals”… There wasn’t a 34+ inch belly among ‘em. Flatbellies, I hate flatbellies.

So I’m batting 12th, outta 13, which, for being the oldest on the team, reckon that ain’t that bad. First few innings, we swap runs back and forth… 9-7, 5th inning, them. Guy in fronta me gets a hit, I close my eyes and wrap a single… suddenly, tied. .

We bit it 10-9, but it was a moral victory, and inspitea the heat, one game left for our season. One chance at redemption..

“Ballgame” ump said after we were retired in the 6th, game 1. So, they stayed in the field, we simply kept our batting order going where we left off.

I’d gone one for two in game one, which, to me means, I’m still walking, moving, not at Liberty Hospital, not a Pop-atTop Liquor buying beer for team (ya haveta whenya strike out).. And lo and behold, I was actually batting 4th this game.

We took an early lead… mebbe 6-2, when I'd came to bat the 2nd time… I hit a weak, measly ground ball to the right side (The swing I took had “2nd baseman, if you go for this, it’s gonna rip the glove right offa your palm”)… but then it dribbled.. Slowly… just beyond the readh of the first baseman, just beyond the dive of the 2nd baseman. A seeing-eye single, yet a hit nonetheless. They all look like lasers in the scorebook.

Long about this time, my good friend Tom was on second. Base hit, left field. Tom, fitty, hoofed it toward 3rd… “GO GO GO” coach said, so Tom kept on’a keeping on and left fielders throw was right on target, ceptin the target was Tom. Un huh, mid-lower-back. Kidney area. Ker-plunk. Thud. “Yeooooowwww” he wanted to say, but said nothing. Touched the plate, usn’s now in front 8-3..

For the next two innings, I was CNA to my friend Tom. I held the ice on toppa the welt that’d formed on his lower back. As Tom started to pass out, due to combined heat, shock of wound, and whatever else… I said to self “Oh shit”… found a 7" x 14" inch towel, soaked it in cold water, placed upon Tom’s forehead.

Whew. He remembered my name. Pale, but still talking.

S’more doubles. S’more base running by dudes who forgot they were fitty, took, the extra bases, forced the extra throw.. We’re up by 6, 13-7.

“I’m not batting any more” Tom deducted. By now, we’d taped an ice pack across his back, he was ‘taken care of.’ Wife, by now, by his side. Friend in right field had said “Tom’s not playing, u better git ur ass up there and see if he’s ok.” Was, but still, huge ass welt.

One more at bat. The 16th game. The final. My goals were: not embarrass myself (check), not to strike out (check), not to end up in ER (check) and to not be a liability (eh, I was 3 for 4 thus far, so, so far so good.)

I hit a measly grounder to first. It was an easy out, the last play I was involved in Summer 2008. I ran my hardest, but I was easily out before I even reached halfway.

We won. Handily. After finishing 2nd (of 8) last year, we’d now won our second game of the finished 16-game season.

Yet…………. We were happy.

One’a the teams had agreed to cook meat for all’a the teams.. The resta us agreed to bring sides. (I’d found sweet corn on sale at the Piggly Wiggly.. Did that up.. I did ok.)…

Good eats. Good friends. Transition made from cleats to sandals… There was a rumor afloat “We’d worried about you getting home last week” so I behaved this week. Drank a beer, sat without for like 30 minutes. Was all good. Absorbed, took it all in. Nice. It was nice.

But I had a blast. Good sport, good eats, good friends. Could it be any better? (And we won.)

I had a couple (and way too much food) and thanked the dudes :”Hey, being the oldest on the team, I’m HELLA appreciative of you allowing me to play.” Vic, we’ve enjoyed having you.

Music to my ears. I don’t think they were lyin’. Every time someone scored, got an awesome hit, made a spec-tac play in the field, I’d set a goal of being the first one there awaiting a high-five (or low-fist, whateverinthehell they call it nowadays.)

Bottomline. Fun. As in I had.

After the 3rd week, I ddn’t even think about the GD impants. (If you’re here for the first time, that’s back like 60-70 blogs ago.) It was all natural again.

Blessed I am, I’ve been. If this was El Boro, sorry. Guess you’da had to been there. I was. And I was delighted in the day.

Take me out to the ballgame. Love, Victurd.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things…

I like the word Constantinople.. La Mariposa.. Doomoflaygy.. Dohickey… Whatchamacallit.. BIF (one I learned from young punks at work… means “Butt in front”, hehe).. Cougar.. (Another new one they taught me, means chicky who dates someone younger)..

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Door bells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things

BBQ ribs.. Chili Cheese Fritos… A cat’s indifference.. A dog’s ‘smile’.. Parades.. The camaraderie of friends on a day there’s no hurries.. An original, funny email.. Hearing laughter, knowing someone’s life, at that very moment, is good…

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into Springs
These are a few of my favorite things

Ladies in sundresses… Ladies in undress (sorry).. Ladies, ladies, ladies.. Derrieres… An outfit that looks soooooooooooooo good , it’s like the biggest, baddest, BEST Christmas present that awaits ya, and you wanna UNWRAP it ASAP!…. Ladies with a smile…

When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad.

When the flea bites,
When the movies ends,
When I’m feeling alone,
I simply remember my favorite friends,
And then I'm a dog given a bone..

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Fridays.. Nights and weekends… “Group” fun emails at work where we take turns trying to be funny, ‘diss’ (said with love) others… Pissing our IT department off.. Have I mentioned derrieres? Butt for give me…

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Door bells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things

The hawk soaring effortlessly.. Deer gallivanting, gracefully.. Snow geese in formation.. The sounds of nature on a still night.. A marvelous night for a moon dance..

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into Springs
These are a few of my favorite things

Butterfly kisses.. Kisses that makeya think “Leave Me RIGHT HERE LORD, FOREVER, I do NOT wanna EVER Unlock from this.” Touch.. Four eyeballs, meeting, talking without speaking..

When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad.

I don’t feel so bad. Look, whaddaya talk whaddaya talk, he’s a music man. No, the fella routes trucks, big trucks. Oh but I do oh so like music. Music is an elixir, much like lucking out and being in the same aisle at the Piggly Wiggly behind a wonderful behind. Prevert. Takes one to call one.

I like lakes, streams, oceans, creeks, ponds, rivers……….. Ohhhhhhhhh we got trouble…

I like Maui, HI, Liberty, MO, Biloxi, MS, North Redington Beach, FL, Branson, MO, Gary, Indiana, Paris France, New York or Rome….

Teri, Perijo, Marilyn, Nona, Gracie, Kathie, Lori, Kate, Shellie, Beverly Ann, Laurie, Susan, Cherie, Annie, Wendie, Cherryl, Marian The Librarian, Lida Rose I’m home again Rose…

Hendrix and Clapton on the guitar, John Cougar Mellencamp’s upbeat lightheartedness, Huey having fun, Mick’s starts to song, Another Brick in the Wall.. How can you have your pudding when you don’t eat your meat?. Anything by Ray, Temps, Beatles, Louie Armstrong, Fleetwood, Robert Preston… trumpets, bass, acoustical, InnaGoddadavida, Seventy-six trombones…

Cars with AC, Cars with checkenginelight extinguished, Vettes, Nova’s, Benz’s, Jaguars, 747’s, 727’s, DC 8’s, street cars, boats, pontoons, canoes, The Wells Fargo Wagon, The Rock Island line….

Ohhhh we got trouble. Right here in River City… With a capital 'T' and that rhymes with 'P' and that stands for 'pool'.. That stand for pool… We surely got trouble.. We surely got trouble… Right here in River City.. Right here.. Gotta figure out a way to keep the young ones moral after school….

Remember the Maine, Plymouth Rock and the Golden Rule?

We’ve always got trouble… What an inspiration stopping to remember our favorite things is.. Takes the sting outta it.. Pick a little, talk a little…

Goodnight ladies… farewell ladies… Goodnight My Someone…

Look, whaddayablog waddayablog, he's a music man, no the fella routes trucks, big trucks… And I love it. And life. Did I mention derrieres?………. Love, Professor Harold Hillturd….