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.