The Wonder Bra…
A pay raise…
The wag of a tail - the wanton, curious look into your eyes - looking, waiting so earnestly for your next move… your vote of approval…
A corset…
Seeing good happen to someone so deserving.
Viagra…
The home team rallying, people on their feet cheering…
Having a friend so deserving move into a new occupational role that will allow them to use their talents - and at a much higher level of pay, reward.
Garter belts…
Sunrises.. Full moons.. Rainbows.. Trees blowing sideways whilst you’re tucked neatly inside…
A car starting when the key is turned.. The furnace coming on when the thermostat is upped… The closest non-handicapped spot at the Piggly Wiggly on BIG shopping day….
No waiting on register 4...
Ladders…
A couple, across the distance.. Leering into each other’s eyes.. Their touch, their smiles. Recognition of the fact it does/can work…
Hearing “you look nice today”, “you’re staying in shape”, and once even, prolly a long, long time ago “ohhhh.. A pretty boy.”
Cards, letters, emails…
Lightening of routine communication amongst co-workers, customers, vendors - with humor interspersed…
Lucking out to be following a nice derriere…
Botox, facelifts, tummy tucks, liposuction, brow lifts, breast augmentation…
The satisfied look at the reflection in the mirror after six months of continued, hard work to ‘get there’.
Family. Coworkers. Friends. Strangers who speak/smile.
Intimacy, be it a candlelit restaurant table, standing behind - arms around, a walk - hands held, or even the completion of “that”… collapse into that moment of “can I keep this moment forever and ever?”…
Escalators, stairs, elevators, airplanes, helicopters, rock climbing, rope climbing, ski lifts…
Reaching the summit.. Mass, celebrated confusion at Christmas… Coffee with a friend.. A cold beer with a friend.. An everyday lunch with a co-worker…
Handicapped parking places, doors held, “you go ahead”, a heartfelt ‘thanks” heard/said, picking up something that a stranger had dropped and handing it back to them.
Pity parties that are ended by coming to the pc to write reminders of how there’s so very much good in the world. Lemonade/lemons. Swans outta ugly ducklings. Recognition “life is good” after stupid, temporary thoughts “life ain’t so good.”
When one wakes up with bad breath, not-so-fun thoughts.. All ya gotta do is brush the choppers.. And seek out a nice, firm derriere to ogle at! Oh butt life is good.
Love, Victurd.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer….
Five bottles of ‘sense’ on the wall, five bottles of ‘sense’…. take one down, pass it around, there’ll be four bottles of ‘sense’ on the wall…
Smell. If I hadta lose one, I’d give up smell. In addition to the wonderful aromas like pine, vanilla, a BBQ, orange, heavenly cologne/body wash,… there’s that stuff that just ain’t too pleasant…
Yes, I’m talkin’ farts, poop, exhaust, stench, mold, BO, bleach, ammonia, factories, yada yada.
It would be interesting without smell - but again, first I’d give up…
Four bottles of sense on the wall, four bottles of sense… take one down pass it around, there’ll be three bottles of sense on the wall….
Hmmm. A little tougher choice… figure though - hell, if I could live without smell, then why not without taste… Ya can’t just smell that coffee brewin’, then what the hey, might as well give up taste too if forced.. I’ve always been a kinda “can subsist on little” when it comes to food. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t dainty - but, a jar’a peanut butter, a pack’a bologna, and a loaf’a bread will easily get me through the week.
Three bottles of sense on the wall, three bottles of sense, take one down, pass it around, there’ll be two bottles of sense on the wall…
Hmmm… Eenie meanie miney moe.. We gots touch, hear and see left… If I must - it’d be sound. Yes, could live without. Would be difficult - but could manage. My cousin taught and coached at the Missouri School for the Deaf - those kids were as normal as normal can be. Fun, they had fun. Perhaps due to them not ever knowing the reality of audile, mebbe God gave ‘em all a little extra pizzazz - ‘cause of all the times I was around the kids.. They were happy, fun, blessed, ‘normal.’
Two bottles of sense on the wall, two bottles of sense, take one down pass it around there’ll be one bottle of sense on the wall..
Gulp. So, I can no longer smell the wonders… taste the scrumptious… hear the magnificent.. Brings us down to touch and see… The gift of touch is a really wondrous thing. One can very much so communicate via touch.. Touch says “I like’, “I love”, “stop”, “relax”, “I’m sorry, it’ll be ok”, “fun”. Touch ‘says’ a lot. But I’d give it up over sight.
Would be weird.. Couldn’t type.. Really couldn’t feed yourself.. Tie your shoes, zip your zip, wipe your never mind, brush your teeth, rubadubdub your bod with soap, pet your loved one, pet your hound/cat/hamster/rabbit/snake/whateverkindaanimalulike, shake hands, turn the light on/off, the faucet on/off, the stove on/off (what the hey, why cook anyways, can’t taste it or smell it).. Would be difficult without touch, but I’d make it…
One bottle of sense on the wall, one bottle of sense, take it down, pass it around there’ll be no bottles of sense on the wall..
I know there are many examples, role models..of folks that are visually impaired - yet led brilliantly wonderful lives.. Ray Charles, Helen Keller, Homer, Monet, Little Stevie, Feliciano, Degas…
I can’t imagine a world without sight. It’s our everything. Yes, yes, I know if I had the other senses - life could be led without sight.. But of all of the senses - I would think losing this one would leave one the most dependent upon others.
If I was blind, I think I’d have’ta be taught “proper”.. .’cause I’d wanna place my hands allover everything/everybody to come to ‘know’ them better.. To somehow ‘see’ with my hands.. We’ve all played that game with the blindfold - something’s placed infronta you and you’re left to feel, guess, discover…
I so enjoy the marvel of sight. Sight is entertainment. The seasons. The time of day. The grace of an animal. The wild and wacky world of the human. The Earth. Natural stuff. Man-made stuff. Thanks ole Lord, I do appreciate my sight..
High five, and thankful I still gots my five. I reckon sometimes we gotta take stock of our gifts, and to remember to be thankful for them. Makes sense to me. Sensical. I sense you agree? You gotta, it’s common sense.
K. Gotta run. Wow, that takes touch. And sight to guide me along the way. Hope no one farts in my path. Off the grab the fitty-four cent senior coffee at Mikey D’s.. I can already taste it. Love, Non-smelly Victurds……
Smell. If I hadta lose one, I’d give up smell. In addition to the wonderful aromas like pine, vanilla, a BBQ, orange, heavenly cologne/body wash,… there’s that stuff that just ain’t too pleasant…
Yes, I’m talkin’ farts, poop, exhaust, stench, mold, BO, bleach, ammonia, factories, yada yada.
It would be interesting without smell - but again, first I’d give up…
Four bottles of sense on the wall, four bottles of sense… take one down pass it around, there’ll be three bottles of sense on the wall….
Hmmm. A little tougher choice… figure though - hell, if I could live without smell, then why not without taste… Ya can’t just smell that coffee brewin’, then what the hey, might as well give up taste too if forced.. I’ve always been a kinda “can subsist on little” when it comes to food. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t dainty - but, a jar’a peanut butter, a pack’a bologna, and a loaf’a bread will easily get me through the week.
Three bottles of sense on the wall, three bottles of sense, take one down, pass it around, there’ll be two bottles of sense on the wall…
Hmmm… Eenie meanie miney moe.. We gots touch, hear and see left… If I must - it’d be sound. Yes, could live without. Would be difficult - but could manage. My cousin taught and coached at the Missouri School for the Deaf - those kids were as normal as normal can be. Fun, they had fun. Perhaps due to them not ever knowing the reality of audile, mebbe God gave ‘em all a little extra pizzazz - ‘cause of all the times I was around the kids.. They were happy, fun, blessed, ‘normal.’
Two bottles of sense on the wall, two bottles of sense, take one down pass it around there’ll be one bottle of sense on the wall..
Gulp. So, I can no longer smell the wonders… taste the scrumptious… hear the magnificent.. Brings us down to touch and see… The gift of touch is a really wondrous thing. One can very much so communicate via touch.. Touch says “I like’, “I love”, “stop”, “relax”, “I’m sorry, it’ll be ok”, “fun”. Touch ‘says’ a lot. But I’d give it up over sight.
Would be weird.. Couldn’t type.. Really couldn’t feed yourself.. Tie your shoes, zip your zip, wipe your never mind, brush your teeth, rubadubdub your bod with soap, pet your loved one, pet your hound/cat/hamster/rabbit/snake/whateverkindaanimalulike, shake hands, turn the light on/off, the faucet on/off, the stove on/off (what the hey, why cook anyways, can’t taste it or smell it).. Would be difficult without touch, but I’d make it…
One bottle of sense on the wall, one bottle of sense, take it down, pass it around there’ll be no bottles of sense on the wall..
I know there are many examples, role models..of folks that are visually impaired - yet led brilliantly wonderful lives.. Ray Charles, Helen Keller, Homer, Monet, Little Stevie, Feliciano, Degas…
I can’t imagine a world without sight. It’s our everything. Yes, yes, I know if I had the other senses - life could be led without sight.. But of all of the senses - I would think losing this one would leave one the most dependent upon others.
If I was blind, I think I’d have’ta be taught “proper”.. .’cause I’d wanna place my hands allover everything/everybody to come to ‘know’ them better.. To somehow ‘see’ with my hands.. We’ve all played that game with the blindfold - something’s placed infronta you and you’re left to feel, guess, discover…
I so enjoy the marvel of sight. Sight is entertainment. The seasons. The time of day. The grace of an animal. The wild and wacky world of the human. The Earth. Natural stuff. Man-made stuff. Thanks ole Lord, I do appreciate my sight..
High five, and thankful I still gots my five. I reckon sometimes we gotta take stock of our gifts, and to remember to be thankful for them. Makes sense to me. Sensical. I sense you agree? You gotta, it’s common sense.
K. Gotta run. Wow, that takes touch. And sight to guide me along the way. Hope no one farts in my path. Off the grab the fitty-four cent senior coffee at Mikey D’s.. I can already taste it. Love, Non-smelly Victurds……
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
We can all get rich
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Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Of slot cars, street cars, trains on tracks, governors on go-karts…
Rollin rollin rollin
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them doggies rolling
Rawhide
Rain and wind and weather
Hell bent for leather
Wishing my girl was by my side
All the things Im missin
Good victuals, love and kissin
Are waiting at the end of my ride
We’re ‘led’ thru life, by ourselves. As we’re led, we’re cast into routine. Pavlov. We get up, and do it allover again the next day, and the next. Soon, it’s our way. Our slot, our train track, and we’re governed.
Move em on (head em up)
Head em up (move em up)
Move em on (head em up)
Rawhide
Cut em out (ride em in)
Ride em in (cut em out)
Cut em out (ride em in)
Rawhide
Me, I like off road, but I’ve been traveling the tracks too. This morning, Maynard was an idiot. Hey, it’s ok for me to say, he really was. I (‘daddy’) did his laundry at the Laundromat, and when I returned I received a tongue lashing because “I have THREE pair of work pants, you musta lost one… I’ll have to pay for it… you idiot you.” (I know. But it ain’t worth it. He doesn’t get it, yes, I realize “for behoogety sakes, make the lad do his own then he’ll soon ‘get it’.”)…
So I dream of getting off the damn train tracks. Yes, I remember what happens to slot cars when they get off track. That “tit” (post) thingy that keeps ‘em in the track, going ‘smoothly’ on course (routine) – if it becomes dislodged from the tracks, the ‘tit’ keeps the front tires up in the air, and no matter how hard you hold down the ‘go’ button on the controller – the tires just spin and it doesn’t motivate anywheres.
Keep movin movin movin
Though their disapprovin
Keep them doggies moving
Rawhide
Dont try to understand them
Just rope, throw and brand them
Soon well be living high and wide
My hearts calculating
My true love will be waiting
Be waiting at the end of my ride
I don’t care if I risk that tit/post keeping my tires from not spinning on the pavement. I’d just liketa ‘get off center’. Go. We all Dusty Springfield (wishin’ and hopin’) our way through life – and rare are the times we jump and do something we’ve always wanted to. The day will come when we find ourselves flat on our back (like recently my uncle) – and we’ll have to ask ourselves “Were you governed? Did you lead life on the train tracks? Was it all a continual “head ‘em up move ‘em out” and you never strayed from that course?”
Move em up (head em up)
Head em up (move em on)
Move em on (head em up)
Rawhide
Cut em out (ride em in)
Ride em in (cut em out)
Cut em out (ride em in)
Rawhide
Yah!
Move em on (head em up)
Head em up (move em on)
Move em on (head em up)
Rawhide
Cut em out (ride em in)
Ride em in (cut em out)
Cut em out (ride em in)
Rawhide
Yah!
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Yah!
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Yah!
Rawhide
Yah! rawhide!
I wanna be that ‘cow’ that strays. I wanna venture. Once in my life I quit a job on principle – and I mowed grass at a local golf course. A wonderful time in my life. Off the track. Not governed. I didn’t care who looked at me with scorn – I enjoyed what I did.
So I vote ‘dare’. I dare ya to get off the tracks of everyday life upon occasion and do somea the things you’ve always wanted to – before the ‘slot car’ simply wears out. Before the ‘doggies’ reach the end of the trail – and soon you’ll be on a Piggly Wiggly shelf.
The hell kinda dreams/dares do I want? I’d like my own place. I’d like to try Florida. I’d liketa mebbe even write a book. I’d liketa have a place I so loved – that I’d decorate it stupidly with MU junk, my own ‘leftfield’ style – with the attitude “who gives a damn what others think, it’s ‘me’.”
Crap. Gotta go now. Work beckons. Head em up (move em on), Move em on (head em up).
This everyday same ole same ole is giving me a raw hide. Here’s a glass to (one step at a time) jumping off the restrictive track of life, going one step beyond “wishin’ and hopin’”- and dare, dream. DO.
YAH! RAWHIDE! Love, Victurd.
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Of slot cars, street cars, trains on tracks, governors on go-karts…
Rollin rollin rollin
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them doggies rolling
Rawhide
Rain and wind and weather
Hell bent for leather
Wishing my girl was by my side
All the things Im missin
Good victuals, love and kissin
Are waiting at the end of my ride
We’re ‘led’ thru life, by ourselves. As we’re led, we’re cast into routine. Pavlov. We get up, and do it allover again the next day, and the next. Soon, it’s our way. Our slot, our train track, and we’re governed.
Move em on (head em up)
Head em up (move em up)
Move em on (head em up)
Rawhide
Cut em out (ride em in)
Ride em in (cut em out)
Cut em out (ride em in)
Rawhide
Me, I like off road, but I’ve been traveling the tracks too. This morning, Maynard was an idiot. Hey, it’s ok for me to say, he really was. I (‘daddy’) did his laundry at the Laundromat, and when I returned I received a tongue lashing because “I have THREE pair of work pants, you musta lost one… I’ll have to pay for it… you idiot you.” (I know. But it ain’t worth it. He doesn’t get it, yes, I realize “for behoogety sakes, make the lad do his own then he’ll soon ‘get it’.”)…
So I dream of getting off the damn train tracks. Yes, I remember what happens to slot cars when they get off track. That “tit” (post) thingy that keeps ‘em in the track, going ‘smoothly’ on course (routine) – if it becomes dislodged from the tracks, the ‘tit’ keeps the front tires up in the air, and no matter how hard you hold down the ‘go’ button on the controller – the tires just spin and it doesn’t motivate anywheres.
Keep movin movin movin
Though their disapprovin
Keep them doggies moving
Rawhide
Dont try to understand them
Just rope, throw and brand them
Soon well be living high and wide
My hearts calculating
My true love will be waiting
Be waiting at the end of my ride
I don’t care if I risk that tit/post keeping my tires from not spinning on the pavement. I’d just liketa ‘get off center’. Go. We all Dusty Springfield (wishin’ and hopin’) our way through life – and rare are the times we jump and do something we’ve always wanted to. The day will come when we find ourselves flat on our back (like recently my uncle) – and we’ll have to ask ourselves “Were you governed? Did you lead life on the train tracks? Was it all a continual “head ‘em up move ‘em out” and you never strayed from that course?”
Move em up (head em up)
Head em up (move em on)
Move em on (head em up)
Rawhide
Cut em out (ride em in)
Ride em in (cut em out)
Cut em out (ride em in)
Rawhide
Yah!
Move em on (head em up)
Head em up (move em on)
Move em on (head em up)
Rawhide
Cut em out (ride em in)
Ride em in (cut em out)
Cut em out (ride em in)
Rawhide
Yah!
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Yah!
Rollin rollin rollin
Rollin rollin rollin
Yah!
Rawhide
Yah! rawhide!
I wanna be that ‘cow’ that strays. I wanna venture. Once in my life I quit a job on principle – and I mowed grass at a local golf course. A wonderful time in my life. Off the track. Not governed. I didn’t care who looked at me with scorn – I enjoyed what I did.
So I vote ‘dare’. I dare ya to get off the tracks of everyday life upon occasion and do somea the things you’ve always wanted to – before the ‘slot car’ simply wears out. Before the ‘doggies’ reach the end of the trail – and soon you’ll be on a Piggly Wiggly shelf.
The hell kinda dreams/dares do I want? I’d like my own place. I’d like to try Florida. I’d liketa mebbe even write a book. I’d liketa have a place I so loved – that I’d decorate it stupidly with MU junk, my own ‘leftfield’ style – with the attitude “who gives a damn what others think, it’s ‘me’.”
Crap. Gotta go now. Work beckons. Head em up (move em on), Move em on (head em up).
This everyday same ole same ole is giving me a raw hide. Here’s a glass to (one step at a time) jumping off the restrictive track of life, going one step beyond “wishin’ and hopin’”- and dare, dream. DO.
YAH! RAWHIDE! Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Here goes…
Ya ever get that feeling like the first time you went off the high dive? You courageously climbed up the ladder, worrying, “this could be my last day on the planet!”.. You tippy toed out to the edge… peered… and froze…
That’s been my writing outlook of late.. I get here.. Freeze..
Topic, can’t picka topic. There was a shrink dude on some website - and he was discussing OCD. No, not that one… Obsessive Compulsive Dating. Now that I haven’t done in quite sometime (if ever).. But, I'll admit to incessant checking of email (or phone)…. “Don’t hear back from someone I’m not even sure I wanna go out with again.”
This dude says with the anxiety, insecurity, uncertainty and stress that comes with dayting - it all triggers the production of dopamine and nor epinephrine (the body’s natural amphetamines)…and… unfortunately, at the same time suppressing serotonin activity (the body’s natural mood stabilizer)..
I dOn’T kNoW wHaTiNtHeLl He’S tAlKiNg AbOuT, nOnEa ThAt ShIt HaS aFfEcTeD mE!
Dating is the pits, or can be. Sure, when it works it’s great too - but the fear of not knowing if it’s gonna work.. (“What if I pull up in the driveway, take one look, and wanna put the car in “R” for ‘race’, as in home?”)… What if I like her/him, I really really like her/him - and I’m left out on that limb only to be sawed off and plopped to the ground?
Of late, I guess I’ve done what this dude calls “Date detox”… I just ain’t been. Not so sure it’s afforded a bucket load’a serotonin - but it has helped fend of the woes of fearing rejection, worrying about how much the tab is gonna be, finding new and interesting things to see/places to go, fear of being able to eek out “I just don’t feel it for you.” ß ALWAYS been hard for me.
With dating comes the occasional kiss. With a kiss, our mindest is varied. For some, it could mean “I see myself all gussied up walking down the aisle at church”… for others “This sure feels good, not real sure, but heck, I am horny as hell.” ß- ALWAYS been hard for me.
The dread of the dreaded “not knowing for sure“ (EITHER way) - perhaps has me wanting date detox. If I stop, I won’t haveta “not answer” that instant message of the one I really ain’t interested in. If I stop, I won’t have to get feelings hurt by seeing the note I’d sent “read, deleted.” I won’t haveta wait, froth, and compulsively check for that email that ain’t there. (At lunch at work, I always leave the gang a couple minutes early to announce “I’m going in to see how many women didn’t email me.” Sadly, true!)
Dude surmised “Put the time you would put into dating into yourself: work, friends, new challenges and goals. We live in a culture of instant gratification and high-speed delights. We don’t like to wait, whether it’s for a cup of coffee or our one true soul mate. But a little patience is probably just what you need to step off the treadmill and catch your breath.”
And mebbe… mebbe… mebbe… what if one day “Oh shit! This is working! NOW WHAT? What about Maynard? What about this G-forsaken house? What about the cats? What about this town I’ve grown up in and deeply love? My house or her house?”
Mebbe freezing on the edge of the high dive ain’t such a bad gig afterall. That’s a long drop. Hurts. Sure, humiliating to go back down the ladder, but it’s an option. Dopamine schmopamine.
“Hi, this is Victor. I can’t come to the phone (or dating website) right now, I’m on the edge’a the high dive - but, if you’ll leave a message, I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can…. Mebbe.”
Call me. 867-5309. We’ll do lunch. Love, Victurd
That’s been my writing outlook of late.. I get here.. Freeze..
Topic, can’t picka topic. There was a shrink dude on some website - and he was discussing OCD. No, not that one… Obsessive Compulsive Dating. Now that I haven’t done in quite sometime (if ever).. But, I'll admit to incessant checking of email (or phone)…. “Don’t hear back from someone I’m not even sure I wanna go out with again.”
This dude says with the anxiety, insecurity, uncertainty and stress that comes with dayting - it all triggers the production of dopamine and nor epinephrine (the body’s natural amphetamines)…and… unfortunately, at the same time suppressing serotonin activity (the body’s natural mood stabilizer)..
I dOn’T kNoW wHaTiNtHeLl He’S tAlKiNg AbOuT, nOnEa ThAt ShIt HaS aFfEcTeD mE!
Dating is the pits, or can be. Sure, when it works it’s great too - but the fear of not knowing if it’s gonna work.. (“What if I pull up in the driveway, take one look, and wanna put the car in “R” for ‘race’, as in home?”)… What if I like her/him, I really really like her/him - and I’m left out on that limb only to be sawed off and plopped to the ground?
Of late, I guess I’ve done what this dude calls “Date detox”… I just ain’t been. Not so sure it’s afforded a bucket load’a serotonin - but it has helped fend of the woes of fearing rejection, worrying about how much the tab is gonna be, finding new and interesting things to see/places to go, fear of being able to eek out “I just don’t feel it for you.” ß ALWAYS been hard for me.
With dating comes the occasional kiss. With a kiss, our mindest is varied. For some, it could mean “I see myself all gussied up walking down the aisle at church”… for others “This sure feels good, not real sure, but heck, I am horny as hell.” ß- ALWAYS been hard for me.
The dread of the dreaded “not knowing for sure“ (EITHER way) - perhaps has me wanting date detox. If I stop, I won’t haveta “not answer” that instant message of the one I really ain’t interested in. If I stop, I won’t have to get feelings hurt by seeing the note I’d sent “read, deleted.” I won’t haveta wait, froth, and compulsively check for that email that ain’t there. (At lunch at work, I always leave the gang a couple minutes early to announce “I’m going in to see how many women didn’t email me.” Sadly, true!)
Dude surmised “Put the time you would put into dating into yourself: work, friends, new challenges and goals. We live in a culture of instant gratification and high-speed delights. We don’t like to wait, whether it’s for a cup of coffee or our one true soul mate. But a little patience is probably just what you need to step off the treadmill and catch your breath.”
And mebbe… mebbe… mebbe… what if one day “Oh shit! This is working! NOW WHAT? What about Maynard? What about this G-forsaken house? What about the cats? What about this town I’ve grown up in and deeply love? My house or her house?”
Mebbe freezing on the edge of the high dive ain’t such a bad gig afterall. That’s a long drop. Hurts. Sure, humiliating to go back down the ladder, but it’s an option. Dopamine schmopamine.
“Hi, this is Victor. I can’t come to the phone (or dating website) right now, I’m on the edge’a the high dive - but, if you’ll leave a message, I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can…. Mebbe.”
Call me. 867-5309. We’ll do lunch. Love, Victurd
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The name game!
Shirley!
Shirley, Shirley bo Birley Bonana fanna fo Firley
Fee fy mo Mirley, Shirley!
You can also play this game with “hope”…
Hope is a fun word. Anticipation. Wanton. Desirous. Faith. Belief in goodwill.
Lincoln!
Lincoln, Lincoln bo Bincoln Bonana fanna fo Fincoln
Fee fy mo Mincoln, Lincoln!
Buried that sonofagun. (The Hot… Rod.. Lincoln.)..
Hopes springs eternal. There’s Bob Hope, Leslie Hope (Linda on Knots Landing), Hope Adams Wilson (the Young and the Restless).. Hope College, Hope Arkansas, Hope International.. I HOPe, kidding.
Come on everybody!
I say now let's play a game
I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name
The first letter of the name, I treat it like it wasn't there
But a B or an F or an M will appear
And then I say bo add a B then I say the name and Bonana fanna and a
fo
And then I say the name again with an F very plain
and a fee fy and a mo
And then I say the name again with an M this time
and there isn't any name that I can't rhyme
There’s po in hope.. Not to be confused with the poetic Poe. Also, there’s a ho in hope, which doesn’t bear any resemblence to hoe. Hope not anyways. You can also hop. Say “eh”.. Or even “Oh”… Phoe’s not really a word, but sounds like it. Eh?
Arnold!
Arnold, Arnold bo Barnold Bonana fanna fo Farnold
Fee fy mo Marnold Arnold!
Victor, this is the stupidest blog you’ve ever done. Oh come on.. I hope not!
But if the first two letters are ever the same,
I drop them both and say the name like
Bob, Bob drop the B's Bo ob
For Fred, Fred drop the F's Fo red
For Mary, Mary drop the M's Mo ary
That's the only rule that is contrary.
(Bob Hope?)
Okay? Now say Bo: Bo
Now Tony with a B: Bony
Then Bonana fanna fo: bonana fanna fo
Then you say the name again with an F very plain: Fony
Then a fee fy and a mo: fee fy mo
Then you say the name again with an M this time: Mony
And there isn't any name that you can't rhyme
Wiki says about ‘hope’ “Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope implies a certain amount of despair, wanting, wishing, suffering or perserverance — i.e., believing that a better or positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary.”
Every body do Tony!
Pretty good, let's do Billy!
Very good, let's do Marsha!
A little trick with Nick!
The name game
Tune in tomorrow. We’ll either dissect the word Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or mebbe orgasm. That might be easier. I can see it now. “Did you know there’s gas in orgasm? Ram? Soar? Mar? S’mor? Gros...
I agree. Bad idea. Hope ur not upset. Love, Victurd.
Shirley, Shirley bo Birley Bonana fanna fo Firley
Fee fy mo Mirley, Shirley!
You can also play this game with “hope”…
Hope is a fun word. Anticipation. Wanton. Desirous. Faith. Belief in goodwill.
Lincoln!
Lincoln, Lincoln bo Bincoln Bonana fanna fo Fincoln
Fee fy mo Mincoln, Lincoln!
Buried that sonofagun. (The Hot… Rod.. Lincoln.)..
Hopes springs eternal. There’s Bob Hope, Leslie Hope (Linda on Knots Landing), Hope Adams Wilson (the Young and the Restless).. Hope College, Hope Arkansas, Hope International.. I HOPe, kidding.
Come on everybody!
I say now let's play a game
I betcha I can make a rhyme out of anybody's name
The first letter of the name, I treat it like it wasn't there
But a B or an F or an M will appear
And then I say bo add a B then I say the name and Bonana fanna and a
fo
And then I say the name again with an F very plain
and a fee fy and a mo
And then I say the name again with an M this time
and there isn't any name that I can't rhyme
There’s po in hope.. Not to be confused with the poetic Poe. Also, there’s a ho in hope, which doesn’t bear any resemblence to hoe. Hope not anyways. You can also hop. Say “eh”.. Or even “Oh”… Phoe’s not really a word, but sounds like it. Eh?
Arnold!
Arnold, Arnold bo Barnold Bonana fanna fo Farnold
Fee fy mo Marnold Arnold!
Victor, this is the stupidest blog you’ve ever done. Oh come on.. I hope not!
But if the first two letters are ever the same,
I drop them both and say the name like
Bob, Bob drop the B's Bo ob
For Fred, Fred drop the F's Fo red
For Mary, Mary drop the M's Mo ary
That's the only rule that is contrary.
(Bob Hope?)
Okay? Now say Bo: Bo
Now Tony with a B: Bony
Then Bonana fanna fo: bonana fanna fo
Then you say the name again with an F very plain: Fony
Then a fee fy and a mo: fee fy mo
Then you say the name again with an M this time: Mony
And there isn't any name that you can't rhyme
Wiki says about ‘hope’ “Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope implies a certain amount of despair, wanting, wishing, suffering or perserverance — i.e., believing that a better or positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary.”
Every body do Tony!
Pretty good, let's do Billy!
Very good, let's do Marsha!
A little trick with Nick!
The name game
Tune in tomorrow. We’ll either dissect the word Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or mebbe orgasm. That might be easier. I can see it now. “Did you know there’s gas in orgasm? Ram? Soar? Mar? S’mor? Gros...
I agree. Bad idea. Hope ur not upset. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
She arrived at 8:25am….
Sutherlands parking lot. (Local hardware chain, adjacent to Mickey D’s)….
I was under a shade tree, drinking my fitty-four cent Senior coffee… reading the Sport’s page… wondering why they were parked where they were parked.. Kinda in the middle of nowhere…
Car pulls up, I hear “DADDY!”.. . Yes, the ‘handoff’….
He (son) gets out excitedly, runs to his pa’s car. She, the mom, very attractive young’s, digs in the back door for belongings to get the boy through however long he’s to be with dad.
Dad, very casually dressed, ballcap, goes to passenger side, funnels the lad into the back seat, straps him in and is ready to accept the necessities from his ex…
She, in a fancified ‘wife beater’ top, leans over to handoff… She looked very good - and in her bending over, surely her cleavage was exposed to the ex. I wondered if he thought to himself “what the hell was I thinking”, or, perhaps if it was she that philandered, “that’s disgusting.”
The lad looked happy, thus I deemed dad treated him pretty well… Mom walked back to car after leaning in the backseat, planting a kiss, walking away with “I LOVE YOU BUDDY!”…
As each opened their doors to whisk away for another weekend/week of “your time, my time” she added… “Halloween?”… “Yes?” he replied… “It’s on a Friday this year.. And Saturday the next.” I couldn’t hear the remainder of their conversation - but obviously, they both adored the kid - and they each wanted time with the boy, and they each we comfy allowing the other parent time as well.
What happens in relationships that turns the question from “whaddya wanna do for dinner tonight” into “what about Thanksgiving (or Christmas, his birthday, first day of school, etc.)
We’ve (yes, myself included) have become a society of non-sticktoit’ness. Easier to walk away than work through. “For the moment” logic. Something’s slipped from the lessons of those that proceeded us. “Looking out for #1” has replaced “Looking out for us.”
I am the father in a divorce with a child. I am a big believer in the ACLU. I don’t like government treading on me. However, I wonder if there should be a rule for mandatory birth control for at least the first four years of marriage. Yes, that’s infringing. No, it will never happen. Yes, perhaps it’s crazy.
Perhaps if there was that rule/law, the world would be without the benefit of that bright-eyed, handsome lil shit in the back seat. That’s not good. But too, there wouldn’t be quite as many ‘handoffs’, the child having this bed, that bed, this dresser, that toothbrush there, this one here. This set’a rules, that set’a rules.
I remember from my own childhood how much I enjoyed sitting between my parents at dinner time… on the sofa.. In the porch swing.. I regret this child won’t have these memories…
As I drove home, weirdly the sky was a tremendous hue of blue… two large puffy clouds alone in the sky - and not far away one very smaller. It was Godlike, it truly was.
Eh, I guess when clouds “gather” storms happen, so I oughta quit being so idealistic huh? But too, when they gather, mebbe it’s akin to sex huh?
Handing off, for your opine. I’m the baby, gotta love me… and I’m very thankful that I received that love from both, at the same time.
Love, Victurd
I was under a shade tree, drinking my fitty-four cent Senior coffee… reading the Sport’s page… wondering why they were parked where they were parked.. Kinda in the middle of nowhere…
Car pulls up, I hear “DADDY!”.. . Yes, the ‘handoff’….
He (son) gets out excitedly, runs to his pa’s car. She, the mom, very attractive young’s, digs in the back door for belongings to get the boy through however long he’s to be with dad.
Dad, very casually dressed, ballcap, goes to passenger side, funnels the lad into the back seat, straps him in and is ready to accept the necessities from his ex…
She, in a fancified ‘wife beater’ top, leans over to handoff… She looked very good - and in her bending over, surely her cleavage was exposed to the ex. I wondered if he thought to himself “what the hell was I thinking”, or, perhaps if it was she that philandered, “that’s disgusting.”
The lad looked happy, thus I deemed dad treated him pretty well… Mom walked back to car after leaning in the backseat, planting a kiss, walking away with “I LOVE YOU BUDDY!”…
As each opened their doors to whisk away for another weekend/week of “your time, my time” she added… “Halloween?”… “Yes?” he replied… “It’s on a Friday this year.. And Saturday the next.” I couldn’t hear the remainder of their conversation - but obviously, they both adored the kid - and they each wanted time with the boy, and they each we comfy allowing the other parent time as well.
What happens in relationships that turns the question from “whaddya wanna do for dinner tonight” into “what about Thanksgiving (or Christmas, his birthday, first day of school, etc.)
We’ve (yes, myself included) have become a society of non-sticktoit’ness. Easier to walk away than work through. “For the moment” logic. Something’s slipped from the lessons of those that proceeded us. “Looking out for #1” has replaced “Looking out for us.”
I am the father in a divorce with a child. I am a big believer in the ACLU. I don’t like government treading on me. However, I wonder if there should be a rule for mandatory birth control for at least the first four years of marriage. Yes, that’s infringing. No, it will never happen. Yes, perhaps it’s crazy.
Perhaps if there was that rule/law, the world would be without the benefit of that bright-eyed, handsome lil shit in the back seat. That’s not good. But too, there wouldn’t be quite as many ‘handoffs’, the child having this bed, that bed, this dresser, that toothbrush there, this one here. This set’a rules, that set’a rules.
I remember from my own childhood how much I enjoyed sitting between my parents at dinner time… on the sofa.. In the porch swing.. I regret this child won’t have these memories…
As I drove home, weirdly the sky was a tremendous hue of blue… two large puffy clouds alone in the sky - and not far away one very smaller. It was Godlike, it truly was.
Eh, I guess when clouds “gather” storms happen, so I oughta quit being so idealistic huh? But too, when they gather, mebbe it’s akin to sex huh?
Handing off, for your opine. I’m the baby, gotta love me… and I’m very thankful that I received that love from both, at the same time.
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Life.......
What exactly is life about? It's about childhood.. Growing up.. Loving the ones aroundya.. Memories of grandparents.. Apple pies.. Thanksgiving... Visits for no reason other than "I/we love you." It's cousins playing in the yard..
perhaps getting dropped off at the City Pool by the 24 mph driving grandfather who (tongue in cheek) cautions "don't get your feet wet."
At the end of the day, it's the child sitting at or nearby the table of visiting adults - taking in and sucking up every word said. Learning. Listening. Enjoying. Wondering.
It's drives down streets with gloriouos turn of the century houses lit up at Christmas time.. It's family. Blood.
As the years continue on - we plant the seed of our own families, lives, memories. We repeat the cycle. Our kids, cousins, gather. We go see our folks, now, their grandparents. The kids play in the yard - catch, baseball, hopscotch, touch football. By evening they're warn out - but they too hang around the adult table.. bright-eyed... gathering.. collecting thoughts, memories...
Soon, as all seeds eventually do, they're grown - and out and about on a life of their own. (Maynard, are u reading this!).. That's where I'm at in my life.
The seed hasn't seeded again - but I look forward to the day. I love the pitter patter of rugrats. Their enthusiasm, jubilation. Silliness. The way they approach life in the fast lane until their bods can no longer continue for the day.
Today we bury my uncle. I returned to this hometown of my parents with fond, fond memories. I sat entrenched at the slide show in the funeral home of his life. Filled with children. Filled with fun. Camping, catch, amusement parks, watching little kid's ballgames.. family gatherings.. pics of those long ago departed but never forgotten.
Dinner with my mother's first cousins, mid-80's, and stories of their day, his parents, and his grandparents (circa 1870's. I found myself back in 1961. Seated at that "Adult" table, engrossed. Gathering up the wisdom, hearing what it was like "Back in the day."
Eveyone is biased when it comes to their relatives. My uncle Glenn was an average Joe financially - who was rich in life. Kids. Grandkids. Greatgrandkids. Surrounded with/by, by choice, his entire life. "Ya know Kevin, I don't think I've ever seen Uncle Glenn mad."... Kevin grinned. "Well, there was that time at Myrtle Beach.. we were camping.. commotion in the next tent, pretty soon we figured out it was a guy beating the crap out of his wife.. Glenn (by then late 50's) ran to the tent, unzipped it, said "If you touch her one more time, I'm gonna beat the living daylights outta you." Hehe.
Good. He was for good. Not hurt, never ever. If there's ever an end that's good, this is the closest I've seen. Even though he was able to live a fun, long life - it's never long enough.
In the end, we're left with memories. We have nothing but the days ahead to formulate exactly what we'll look back upon. Today I'm the kid at the adult table. I wanna be just like 'em. Have fun with your seeds, their seeds. It's all about choice eh? Love, Victurd
perhaps getting dropped off at the City Pool by the 24 mph driving grandfather who (tongue in cheek) cautions "don't get your feet wet."
At the end of the day, it's the child sitting at or nearby the table of visiting adults - taking in and sucking up every word said. Learning. Listening. Enjoying. Wondering.
It's drives down streets with gloriouos turn of the century houses lit up at Christmas time.. It's family. Blood.
As the years continue on - we plant the seed of our own families, lives, memories. We repeat the cycle. Our kids, cousins, gather. We go see our folks, now, their grandparents. The kids play in the yard - catch, baseball, hopscotch, touch football. By evening they're warn out - but they too hang around the adult table.. bright-eyed... gathering.. collecting thoughts, memories...
Soon, as all seeds eventually do, they're grown - and out and about on a life of their own. (Maynard, are u reading this!).. That's where I'm at in my life.
The seed hasn't seeded again - but I look forward to the day. I love the pitter patter of rugrats. Their enthusiasm, jubilation. Silliness. The way they approach life in the fast lane until their bods can no longer continue for the day.
Today we bury my uncle. I returned to this hometown of my parents with fond, fond memories. I sat entrenched at the slide show in the funeral home of his life. Filled with children. Filled with fun. Camping, catch, amusement parks, watching little kid's ballgames.. family gatherings.. pics of those long ago departed but never forgotten.
Dinner with my mother's first cousins, mid-80's, and stories of their day, his parents, and his grandparents (circa 1870's. I found myself back in 1961. Seated at that "Adult" table, engrossed. Gathering up the wisdom, hearing what it was like "Back in the day."
Eveyone is biased when it comes to their relatives. My uncle Glenn was an average Joe financially - who was rich in life. Kids. Grandkids. Greatgrandkids. Surrounded with/by, by choice, his entire life. "Ya know Kevin, I don't think I've ever seen Uncle Glenn mad."... Kevin grinned. "Well, there was that time at Myrtle Beach.. we were camping.. commotion in the next tent, pretty soon we figured out it was a guy beating the crap out of his wife.. Glenn (by then late 50's) ran to the tent, unzipped it, said "If you touch her one more time, I'm gonna beat the living daylights outta you." Hehe.
Good. He was for good. Not hurt, never ever. If there's ever an end that's good, this is the closest I've seen. Even though he was able to live a fun, long life - it's never long enough.
In the end, we're left with memories. We have nothing but the days ahead to formulate exactly what we'll look back upon. Today I'm the kid at the adult table. I wanna be just like 'em. Have fun with your seeds, their seeds. It's all about choice eh? Love, Victurd
Monday, September 15, 2008
Round round get around I get around yeah….
I'm an ever rolling wheel
Without a destination real
And I'm an ever spinning top
Whirling around 'till I drop
Victor, you can't mix two songs in one blog. Ahm, like did u just get here? There are no rules in blogging. I might just sing jingle bells now you ignorant twit!
In life, there’s them points, them times, them moments… where something of nature causes one to stop and say… “OH… MY… GOD.”
This morning, had onea them moments. I musta left home at just the right time this morning.. There aheada me, off to the West THE MOST INCREDIBLE circular, spherical, round, bright, Harvest, Full Moon. I was glued. Affixed. Entranced. Awed.
Ever have them moments? Just glad to be here?
Then I got-ta thinkin’ about how important ‘round’, ‘circular’, is in our lives. Sure the moon – and the sun too (not to mention the ring around Saturn.)
Round nourishes us.. . The orange. Donuts. Pizza. Chocolate chip cookie. Onion rings. Ok, mebbe all that ain’t too nutritious, but it’s the point.
Round keeps our houses together (nails and screws) and our lawnmowers, chainsaws, weedwackers, etc. running (nuts, bolts and washers.). Clock on the wall. Wristwatch. Christmas ornaments.
Sometimes, even with the round condom, the round BCP, the miracle of a round fertilized egg happens.
For goodness sakes the beer and the cig are all about round. They Olympic rings. Basketball, baseball, golf, tennis, even the hula hoop.
The Merry Go Round, the Ferris Wheel, the Tilta Whirl.. We first dip our toes in the round wading pool. The circle of dodgeball. (Now outlawed I think in schools everywhere – a shame, twas fun – for most anyways.) BB’s. Dartboards.
We purchase goodies with pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters. We quench our thirst with a round glass – or start our day with a nice round bowl of cereal or oats (or cuppa java)..
We transport everywhere thanks to round, plains, trains and automobiles. (Moment o’ silence for John Candy… MY was he a loveable round one.) Headlights (the old ones), tail lights (the old ones), tires, wheels, steering wheel… round. Round rocks.
Our circle of friends. That’s awesome. The wedding ring. That too is awesome, and I hope everyone wearing one looks at it daily with pride and privilege.
You got me going in circles
Oh, around and around I go
Going in circles
Oh, around and around I go
I'm strung out over you…
A stupid blog? Mebbe? Nah, round rocks. Nice to haveya ‘round. You seem well rounded. Stay around, wouldya? Our circle. Circular. Spherical. Circulating.
Have a happy Monday.. “O” happens to be letter number fitteen in the alphabet. Significant in only the fact fitteen is fun to say.
It’s my hope ur eyeballs feasted on the same wonder this morning. Man it was gorgeous. I’m very thankful I was a Round for it. Keep the faith, have smiles. Loveya, Victurd.
Without a destination real
And I'm an ever spinning top
Whirling around 'till I drop
Victor, you can't mix two songs in one blog. Ahm, like did u just get here? There are no rules in blogging. I might just sing jingle bells now you ignorant twit!
In life, there’s them points, them times, them moments… where something of nature causes one to stop and say… “OH… MY… GOD.”
This morning, had onea them moments. I musta left home at just the right time this morning.. There aheada me, off to the West THE MOST INCREDIBLE circular, spherical, round, bright, Harvest, Full Moon. I was glued. Affixed. Entranced. Awed.
Ever have them moments? Just glad to be here?
Then I got-ta thinkin’ about how important ‘round’, ‘circular’, is in our lives. Sure the moon – and the sun too (not to mention the ring around Saturn.)
Round nourishes us.. . The orange. Donuts. Pizza. Chocolate chip cookie. Onion rings. Ok, mebbe all that ain’t too nutritious, but it’s the point.
Round keeps our houses together (nails and screws) and our lawnmowers, chainsaws, weedwackers, etc. running (nuts, bolts and washers.). Clock on the wall. Wristwatch. Christmas ornaments.
Sometimes, even with the round condom, the round BCP, the miracle of a round fertilized egg happens.
For goodness sakes the beer and the cig are all about round. They Olympic rings. Basketball, baseball, golf, tennis, even the hula hoop.
The Merry Go Round, the Ferris Wheel, the Tilta Whirl.. We first dip our toes in the round wading pool. The circle of dodgeball. (Now outlawed I think in schools everywhere – a shame, twas fun – for most anyways.) BB’s. Dartboards.
We purchase goodies with pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters. We quench our thirst with a round glass – or start our day with a nice round bowl of cereal or oats (or cuppa java)..
We transport everywhere thanks to round, plains, trains and automobiles. (Moment o’ silence for John Candy… MY was he a loveable round one.) Headlights (the old ones), tail lights (the old ones), tires, wheels, steering wheel… round. Round rocks.
Our circle of friends. That’s awesome. The wedding ring. That too is awesome, and I hope everyone wearing one looks at it daily with pride and privilege.
You got me going in circles
Oh, around and around I go
Going in circles
Oh, around and around I go
I'm strung out over you…
A stupid blog? Mebbe? Nah, round rocks. Nice to haveya ‘round. You seem well rounded. Stay around, wouldya? Our circle. Circular. Spherical. Circulating.
Have a happy Monday.. “O” happens to be letter number fitteen in the alphabet. Significant in only the fact fitteen is fun to say.
It’s my hope ur eyeballs feasted on the same wonder this morning. Man it was gorgeous. I’m very thankful I was a Round for it. Keep the faith, have smiles. Loveya, Victurd.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Jump….
Jump words.. Jump on this damn page! NOW! I command it!
Hi. Me again. Wrapping up another weekend of same ole same ole.
Highlights (lowlights?) of my weekend:
* I swear to goodness the barkeep where I was Friday had peed her pants. Eww.
* Cleaned out the “Hot, Rod.. Lincoln.” Kissing that puppy goodbye after a tumultuous one year “extravaganza”? Mr. I’ll Buy Your Crap and turn it in for cash where they smash it to smithereens.” I sure hate to see the new $185 battery get smashed. Or, the $198 new alternator. Or, the Power Steering pump (replaced twice @ a cost of $400 plus each time) crunched. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
Come to think of it. Cars are like relationships ain’t they?
The GPS systems in them nowadays tell you very much where to go, what to do.
If there is no compromise in a relationship, it’s like having a dead battery, a flat tire, a torn serpentine belt, or a badly damaged doomo-flagie.
Cars, like relationships, have that rear view mirror to see where all ya been. And, the wonder ahead of the miles/path ahead.
Hell, nowadays, they’re even routinely equipped with alarms. Akin to “oh shit, what now” in a relationship.
Cars can be guzzlers. Leak. Spew. Spit. Hiss. Moan. Overheat. Actually ride smooth. And sometimes, they just take up space. I’m feeling comparable vibes to relationships, and plain ole people.
Nowadays, they’re expensive (both). You plan trips rather than “hey, let’s go take a spin.”
Why they even have junk in the trunk, or more accurately, baggage.. (And baggage compartments.)
Sometimes they’re slow to warm up. Sometimes they get all revved up.
Cars too, follow relationship paths of up, down, turn here, one way, or, “Shit, we’re lost.”
There are Hummer relationships, Nineteen-ninety-five Hot - Rod - Lincoln relationships, leases (live ins), economy models, Big’ns (F-350), and your Plain Jane Taurus models.
People pimp their relationships, and their ride.
Cars, and relationships, always have an end. Whether it’s the 1972 Pontiac with 56,000 miles on it left in the little old lady’s garage after her hubby’s demise.. A wreck (affair, falling out, drifting apart, drastic change in one’s behavior)… or sometimes, ya just get ridda ‘em. (Or, in the case of the HRL, it got ridda me… as did #1 (7yrs) and #2 (took her a bit longer, 20+ yrs).. Sometimes, death occurs. Junk yards are just about as depressing as cemeteries.
There are magazines about cars and relationships. The “title” is the marriage license. Perhaps the lien is the pre-nup. The financial manager is your banker or your mortgage holder.
Both need bathed regularly. There are tune-ups (vacation), lubes (sharing a cold one, or bottle of wine), tire rotations. (“I’m sleeping on the coach tonight.” or worse “YOU’RE sleeping on the coach tonight.”)
Life, relationships and cars - are a ride. Ups downs. Sometimes on cruise control. Sometimes bumpy. Old buddy once said ‘no matter what you drive, there’ll always be bumps in the road.”
Relationships and cars. The first parting (relationship numero uno) was very cordial, and inexpensive. The second one… I refinanced the house, paid her her portion of the twenty years of equity, my house payment went up a hunnerd.. Ie, costly.. (She underwent a ‘tire rotation’ but insteada from the bed to the sofa, she went from the bed to another bed… in a different house!)
For the HRL… I will soon see some chump change in my hands from the guy who scraps out old heaps. Now that’s the way relationships should end. Cars don’t have inlaws. You don’t have to go to court to part ways.
Victor, you’ve pushed this one about as far as you can push it. Yeah, sorry. You’re right. I was all revved up. Both hands on the wheel.
Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way
Yeah Darlin' go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space
I KNEW you couldn’t make it thru a damn blog without breaking out into song. Yeah, sorry, rectum I couldn’t. Ya know? I really think she’d peed her pants.
Love, Victurd.
Hi. Me again. Wrapping up another weekend of same ole same ole.
Highlights (lowlights?) of my weekend:
* I swear to goodness the barkeep where I was Friday had peed her pants. Eww.
* Cleaned out the “Hot, Rod.. Lincoln.” Kissing that puppy goodbye after a tumultuous one year “extravaganza”? Mr. I’ll Buy Your Crap and turn it in for cash where they smash it to smithereens.” I sure hate to see the new $185 battery get smashed. Or, the $198 new alternator. Or, the Power Steering pump (replaced twice @ a cost of $400 plus each time) crunched. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
Come to think of it. Cars are like relationships ain’t they?
The GPS systems in them nowadays tell you very much where to go, what to do.
If there is no compromise in a relationship, it’s like having a dead battery, a flat tire, a torn serpentine belt, or a badly damaged doomo-flagie.
Cars, like relationships, have that rear view mirror to see where all ya been. And, the wonder ahead of the miles/path ahead.
Hell, nowadays, they’re even routinely equipped with alarms. Akin to “oh shit, what now” in a relationship.
Cars can be guzzlers. Leak. Spew. Spit. Hiss. Moan. Overheat. Actually ride smooth. And sometimes, they just take up space. I’m feeling comparable vibes to relationships, and plain ole people.
Nowadays, they’re expensive (both). You plan trips rather than “hey, let’s go take a spin.”
Why they even have junk in the trunk, or more accurately, baggage.. (And baggage compartments.)
Sometimes they’re slow to warm up. Sometimes they get all revved up.
Cars too, follow relationship paths of up, down, turn here, one way, or, “Shit, we’re lost.”
There are Hummer relationships, Nineteen-ninety-five Hot - Rod - Lincoln relationships, leases (live ins), economy models, Big’ns (F-350), and your Plain Jane Taurus models.
People pimp their relationships, and their ride.
Cars, and relationships, always have an end. Whether it’s the 1972 Pontiac with 56,000 miles on it left in the little old lady’s garage after her hubby’s demise.. A wreck (affair, falling out, drifting apart, drastic change in one’s behavior)… or sometimes, ya just get ridda ‘em. (Or, in the case of the HRL, it got ridda me… as did #1 (7yrs) and #2 (took her a bit longer, 20+ yrs).. Sometimes, death occurs. Junk yards are just about as depressing as cemeteries.
There are magazines about cars and relationships. The “title” is the marriage license. Perhaps the lien is the pre-nup. The financial manager is your banker or your mortgage holder.
Both need bathed regularly. There are tune-ups (vacation), lubes (sharing a cold one, or bottle of wine), tire rotations. (“I’m sleeping on the coach tonight.” or worse “YOU’RE sleeping on the coach tonight.”)
Life, relationships and cars - are a ride. Ups downs. Sometimes on cruise control. Sometimes bumpy. Old buddy once said ‘no matter what you drive, there’ll always be bumps in the road.”
Relationships and cars. The first parting (relationship numero uno) was very cordial, and inexpensive. The second one… I refinanced the house, paid her her portion of the twenty years of equity, my house payment went up a hunnerd.. Ie, costly.. (She underwent a ‘tire rotation’ but insteada from the bed to the sofa, she went from the bed to another bed… in a different house!)
For the HRL… I will soon see some chump change in my hands from the guy who scraps out old heaps. Now that’s the way relationships should end. Cars don’t have inlaws. You don’t have to go to court to part ways.
Victor, you’ve pushed this one about as far as you can push it. Yeah, sorry. You’re right. I was all revved up. Both hands on the wheel.
Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way
Yeah Darlin' go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space
I KNEW you couldn’t make it thru a damn blog without breaking out into song. Yeah, sorry, rectum I couldn’t. Ya know? I really think she’d peed her pants.
Love, Victurd.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
The flashing cursor.. and the second bowl'a chili...
WRITE you SOB, WRITE! As I watched the flashing cursor here… here on this “rabbit in a snowstorm” (plain white page).. I thought of the heart beating.. Circulating. Living, and maybe taking that for granted.
PlentyofFish.. The newest online dating ‘fad’ thingy.. Oh, I search about, search here, search there.. And of course there’s intrigue.. I pity those just starting out.. The thrill, the titillation and anxiously awaited exchanges.. And then I’m reminded of when I was a kid, unwinding that damn cheap string on the pack of Black Cat fireworks - finally getting one free.. Matching it up with my lit punk - and tossing it up in the air in anticipation of the big bang - and “psssssssssssssssst” to the ground it goes. A dud. Damnit. Damn Chinese, or whoever makes ‘em!
Talk of the Euro. At work, we deal tons with other countries. We have to be very careful on costs due to the fluctuation of the Euro, and the exchange rate of our dollar. Daily, we remind ourself “what’s it worth”? Being single is no different.
At the Piggly Wiggly I sat. Money VERY tight at this instant - as in, probably enough for gas, maybe cigs (if I find the buy one get one), and a double-cheeseburger or two from Mickey D’s until payday Thursday midnight. So, rather than eat twice, I saw the $5.48 “All-you-can-eat” thingy - and I dove in for the meal of the day. Started off with a bowl of chili. Then two of the boneless rib thingys.. Another water.. A trip down salad aisle, greenery, pineapple, watermelon, grapes, orange slices, yum… I was full. But, in this situational bout of poorness, I said to myself “damnit, get your money’s worth”… so I waddled up to grab… yes… .another bowl of chili.
Regretting it now, and (close your ears) if you were here too, you would be too! I’m always amazed at how great that first bowl’a chili, soup, sandwich, whatever tastes - and when you grab the second - it just can’t match it… in fact it kinda dampers it, makes one miserable…
Sidetracked. Sorry, got sidetracked. We were talking worth, as in self worth. As in “what’s MY Euro worth?”.. As I watched the shoppers round the corner, many weren’t wearing that ring on their left whatever finger that’s called that’s tween the pinkie and the ‘bird’ finger. Oh yeah, the ring finger. Many weren’t. And I wondered “am I too old for her?”.. “Do I make enough to appease her? She didn’t even count/weigh the bananas, she just grabbed a bunch and threw ‘em in her cart.”.. “Man, she’s gotta nice smile (and derriere).. Nah, she’d see my wrinkles.”
It’s too bad we ain’t all Baseball cards. They’ve got a book that lists the price of each card, by what year it was made, who it is, the condition it’s in.. etc. You could have Baseball Card Match Dating Thingy online. NO! You can’t have a ‘55 Mantle with a 67” Robinson! It won’t work! It would all be very centered and focused - and there would be a restricted list of absolutely all the ones you could match up with. Don’t even email that one, she ain’t in your group, aka, her ballcard’s too much for you.
Emails from ones with very frayed edges, older models - they wouldn’t happen in your inbox again. (Victor you uppity bastard, thinka how many younger women you’ve emailed on those sites.) Uh huh. True. Works both ways though. And each and every time I email a younger chicky, I think from their shoes and see it like me getting one from “67, retired, LOVE Bingo, would love to “press up” during a Waltz… garage sales, estate sales, rocking on the porch swing.” VICTOR! You like all those things! Uh huh, do - but no sure about the waltz part. Ain’t never done that.
Bottomline, howinthehell do you know your worth? How do you avoid embarrassment? How do you avoid feeling belittled? I AIN’T ‘somebody’ but I do get emails from those who I immediately know “huh uh.” It’s hard. It’s just real hard. Makes that Euro shit at work easy.
NEWS FLASH: See? See what I mean? I'd gotten an email from a nice lady on PlentyofFish.. very nice.. and a very nice, complimentary email.. I'd sent one back, thanking her - and complimenting her too. I could tell she was nice, but I could also tell "just not what I'm looking for." Does that make her less of a person? Not "no's" but "hell's no's"!!! Do I think I'm too good for her? Not "no's" but "hell's no's".. Here was her reply:
"One thing I can do with words is read through them...read between the lines, if you wish. So therefore I realize from your response that you do not have the desire to visit with me for a face to face meeting. That is ok. I trust your life will be filled with exciting adventures, as I know mine will. Take care." See? This crap ain't fun, for any of us!
Comparing dating of years ago to that first bowl’a chili at the Piggly Wiggly $5.48 all-you-can eat buffet dinner… is also comparative to ‘Dating, round 2, as old fart” = “the second bowl of chili.
Lycos. MSN. Yahoo. Match.com. Singlesnet.com. Matchdoctor.com. PlentyofFish.com. Ohhhh my tummy hurts. Dealing with “Get your damn money’s worth and grab’a second bowl” is really getting to me. Dating, age old, and second bowl of chili. Both lend one abdominal pain.
Brb. Forgot to grab the TP from the Piggly Wiggly. Today's life lesson: If you go to an all you can eat dinner, and you question whether you should go back thru the line, don't. If you're in a relationship, and you have piddly little crap that getting your verve, your nerve - live thru it. Make it work. Don't go for that second bowl'a chili. Love, Victurds
PlentyofFish.. The newest online dating ‘fad’ thingy.. Oh, I search about, search here, search there.. And of course there’s intrigue.. I pity those just starting out.. The thrill, the titillation and anxiously awaited exchanges.. And then I’m reminded of when I was a kid, unwinding that damn cheap string on the pack of Black Cat fireworks - finally getting one free.. Matching it up with my lit punk - and tossing it up in the air in anticipation of the big bang - and “psssssssssssssssst” to the ground it goes. A dud. Damnit. Damn Chinese, or whoever makes ‘em!
Talk of the Euro. At work, we deal tons with other countries. We have to be very careful on costs due to the fluctuation of the Euro, and the exchange rate of our dollar. Daily, we remind ourself “what’s it worth”? Being single is no different.
At the Piggly Wiggly I sat. Money VERY tight at this instant - as in, probably enough for gas, maybe cigs (if I find the buy one get one), and a double-cheeseburger or two from Mickey D’s until payday Thursday midnight. So, rather than eat twice, I saw the $5.48 “All-you-can-eat” thingy - and I dove in for the meal of the day. Started off with a bowl of chili. Then two of the boneless rib thingys.. Another water.. A trip down salad aisle, greenery, pineapple, watermelon, grapes, orange slices, yum… I was full. But, in this situational bout of poorness, I said to myself “damnit, get your money’s worth”… so I waddled up to grab… yes… .another bowl of chili.
Regretting it now, and (close your ears) if you were here too, you would be too! I’m always amazed at how great that first bowl’a chili, soup, sandwich, whatever tastes - and when you grab the second - it just can’t match it… in fact it kinda dampers it, makes one miserable…
Sidetracked. Sorry, got sidetracked. We were talking worth, as in self worth. As in “what’s MY Euro worth?”.. As I watched the shoppers round the corner, many weren’t wearing that ring on their left whatever finger that’s called that’s tween the pinkie and the ‘bird’ finger. Oh yeah, the ring finger. Many weren’t. And I wondered “am I too old for her?”.. “Do I make enough to appease her? She didn’t even count/weigh the bananas, she just grabbed a bunch and threw ‘em in her cart.”.. “Man, she’s gotta nice smile (and derriere).. Nah, she’d see my wrinkles.”
It’s too bad we ain’t all Baseball cards. They’ve got a book that lists the price of each card, by what year it was made, who it is, the condition it’s in.. etc. You could have Baseball Card Match Dating Thingy online. NO! You can’t have a ‘55 Mantle with a 67” Robinson! It won’t work! It would all be very centered and focused - and there would be a restricted list of absolutely all the ones you could match up with. Don’t even email that one, she ain’t in your group, aka, her ballcard’s too much for you.
Emails from ones with very frayed edges, older models - they wouldn’t happen in your inbox again. (Victor you uppity bastard, thinka how many younger women you’ve emailed on those sites.) Uh huh. True. Works both ways though. And each and every time I email a younger chicky, I think from their shoes and see it like me getting one from “67, retired, LOVE Bingo, would love to “press up” during a Waltz… garage sales, estate sales, rocking on the porch swing.” VICTOR! You like all those things! Uh huh, do - but no sure about the waltz part. Ain’t never done that.
Bottomline, howinthehell do you know your worth? How do you avoid embarrassment? How do you avoid feeling belittled? I AIN’T ‘somebody’ but I do get emails from those who I immediately know “huh uh.” It’s hard. It’s just real hard. Makes that Euro shit at work easy.
NEWS FLASH: See? See what I mean? I'd gotten an email from a nice lady on PlentyofFish.. very nice.. and a very nice, complimentary email.. I'd sent one back, thanking her - and complimenting her too. I could tell she was nice, but I could also tell "just not what I'm looking for." Does that make her less of a person? Not "no's" but "hell's no's"!!! Do I think I'm too good for her? Not "no's" but "hell's no's".. Here was her reply:
"One thing I can do with words is read through them...read between the lines, if you wish. So therefore I realize from your response that you do not have the desire to visit with me for a face to face meeting. That is ok. I trust your life will be filled with exciting adventures, as I know mine will. Take care." See? This crap ain't fun, for any of us!
Comparing dating of years ago to that first bowl’a chili at the Piggly Wiggly $5.48 all-you-can eat buffet dinner… is also comparative to ‘Dating, round 2, as old fart” = “the second bowl of chili.
Lycos. MSN. Yahoo. Match.com. Singlesnet.com. Matchdoctor.com. PlentyofFish.com. Ohhhh my tummy hurts. Dealing with “Get your damn money’s worth and grab’a second bowl” is really getting to me. Dating, age old, and second bowl of chili. Both lend one abdominal pain.
Brb. Forgot to grab the TP from the Piggly Wiggly. Today's life lesson: If you go to an all you can eat dinner, and you question whether you should go back thru the line, don't. If you're in a relationship, and you have piddly little crap that getting your verve, your nerve - live thru it. Make it work. Don't go for that second bowl'a chili. Love, Victurds
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I’m old, but still, I miss this stuff……. You?
Below, mostly stolen from this one dude’s site.. Tis cool. It’s all out there. I had a nice time perusing.. And it brought back a lotta great mem’s… Hope it does for you as well…
Big Chief tablets… Fat, #2 leads.. Three ring binders… Lunchboxes.. The Pledge of Allegiance..
The BIG box of Crayons the rich kid brought, THAT INCLUDED a Crayon sharpener!, Play Doh.. GI Joes, the big kind….Matchbox cars, Silly Putty.. Building a fort, or a treehouse…
The long legs holding up the family television set.. Shag carpet…Ouija boards…
Those clip on rubber snow boots… record players that played 45’s… The actual changing counts of “burgers sold” at Mickey D’s… Neighborhood made wooden go kart,/skateboard.. Etch a Sketch… Tiddly Winks… Cootie.. .Mr. Potatoe Head… Tinkertoys… Marbles..
Pole lamps, velvet paintings, multi-colored ashtrays….bunk beds… rotary phones… push mowers with blades..
Winston, Lucky Strike, the Hamm’s Bear…
The Rifleman, Gunsmoke, Maverick, The Man from U.N.C.L.E…. Lost in Space.. Star Trek.. Jackie Gleason.. Ozzie and Harriet.. Patty Duke.. The Beav (and Wally, and June/Ward, Lumpy, Whitey).. Hogan’s Heroes, Get Smart (Agent 99), Mitch Miller, Superman, Roy Rogers, Sky King, Zorro, Alfred Hitchcock, Rod and the Twilight Zone…
Dennis the Menace.. My Favorite Martian,.. The Wonderful World of Walt Disney..
Music, oh tons… Dusty Springfield, Jan & Dean, The Beach Boys, The Rolling Stones, Roy Orbison, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Herman’s Hermits, Dave Clark Five, The Byrds, “Hey Hey we’re the Monkees”… Jefferson Airplane, The Dead, Country Joe and the Fish, Steppenwolf, CCR, The Doors, BS&T, Led Zeppelin,
Gumball machines, Cinnamon rolls, Milk Duds, Dots, Pixie Stix, Juju fruit.. The pull tab is new… The first diet drink, Tab (yuck!)… The hell is a Zip Code?.. 1964, the birth of the Mustang..
John Gnagy, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Green Jeans, Dick Tracy, Popeye, Olive Oil, The Beatles Invasion, Ed Sullivan, Johnny Carson, Ed McMahon, Doc, Tarzan, Fred, Wilma, Barney, Betty, Pebbles, Bam Bam, Roger Maris, Charlie Brown, Muhammed Ali, Elvis and Priscilla, .. But first, are you experienced? Jimi… Robert, MLK assassinated.. The White album.. Barbara Eden (I was smitten)… Elizabeth Montgomery (I was smitten)….
Ok, back to present day… but it was a nice respite! Love, Victurd.
Big Chief tablets… Fat, #2 leads.. Three ring binders… Lunchboxes.. The Pledge of Allegiance..
The BIG box of Crayons the rich kid brought, THAT INCLUDED a Crayon sharpener!, Play Doh.. GI Joes, the big kind….Matchbox cars, Silly Putty.. Building a fort, or a treehouse…
The long legs holding up the family television set.. Shag carpet…Ouija boards…
Those clip on rubber snow boots… record players that played 45’s… The actual changing counts of “burgers sold” at Mickey D’s… Neighborhood made wooden go kart,/skateboard.. Etch a Sketch… Tiddly Winks… Cootie.. .Mr. Potatoe Head… Tinkertoys… Marbles..
Pole lamps, velvet paintings, multi-colored ashtrays….bunk beds… rotary phones… push mowers with blades..
Winston, Lucky Strike, the Hamm’s Bear…
The Rifleman, Gunsmoke, Maverick, The Man from U.N.C.L.E…. Lost in Space.. Star Trek.. Jackie Gleason.. Ozzie and Harriet.. Patty Duke.. The Beav (and Wally, and June/Ward, Lumpy, Whitey).. Hogan’s Heroes, Get Smart (Agent 99), Mitch Miller, Superman, Roy Rogers, Sky King, Zorro, Alfred Hitchcock, Rod and the Twilight Zone…
Dennis the Menace.. My Favorite Martian,.. The Wonderful World of Walt Disney..
Music, oh tons… Dusty Springfield, Jan & Dean, The Beach Boys, The Rolling Stones, Roy Orbison, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Herman’s Hermits, Dave Clark Five, The Byrds, “Hey Hey we’re the Monkees”… Jefferson Airplane, The Dead, Country Joe and the Fish, Steppenwolf, CCR, The Doors, BS&T, Led Zeppelin,
Gumball machines, Cinnamon rolls, Milk Duds, Dots, Pixie Stix, Juju fruit.. The pull tab is new… The first diet drink, Tab (yuck!)… The hell is a Zip Code?.. 1964, the birth of the Mustang..
John Gnagy, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Green Jeans, Dick Tracy, Popeye, Olive Oil, The Beatles Invasion, Ed Sullivan, Johnny Carson, Ed McMahon, Doc, Tarzan, Fred, Wilma, Barney, Betty, Pebbles, Bam Bam, Roger Maris, Charlie Brown, Muhammed Ali, Elvis and Priscilla, .. But first, are you experienced? Jimi… Robert, MLK assassinated.. The White album.. Barbara Eden (I was smitten)… Elizabeth Montgomery (I was smitten)….
Ok, back to present day… but it was a nice respite! Love, Victurd.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that Id like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you
Now I know – no, not for a fact.. but it’s my guess, the two reasons Jim Croce wrote this song are… 1) to get laid.. and 2) to get rich. Notta bad MO. Thinking ‘everyday-like’, insteada ‘relationship-wise’, this song does rock. To me, it’s what life’s all about. Mosta the time, yes, the damn sand just goes thru there and it’s uneventful. But.. those moments, you know the ones – be it a family holiday together.. coworkers at Happy Hour minutes after work… visiting with a bud from long ago.. yes, time in a bottle. I do hereby promise to think to myself “this is a time in a bottle moment.”
If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
Id save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you
No, every day’s not a treasure realistically – but within every day there are treasures. And I enjoy spending them with you. The interaction here, with friends at work, with my relatives, with my running buds/best friends.. simply living/enjoying life is making wishes come true.
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That youre the one I want to go
Through time with
We select who we spend time with. Sure, if you’re lucky enough to be in a monogamous relationship – then this song certainly speaks to you. But, for those of us alone on the Sealy Posturepedic, it also addresses our life. There doesn’t seem to be enough time to have “time in a bottle moments” AND get all the ‘have to’s’ of life accomplished. Mebbe in hindsight, the monogamous thing one can do both whilst intermixing.
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you
We all have a box for wishes. The saying escapes me – but it’s the one where you’re looking at the pot on the stove, and no matter how many times u stare, how closely you follow it – it ain’t gonna cook any faster thanks to ur eyeballs. Same with wish boxes. We open them bastards up, sit beside and wait – we lose out on ‘time in a bottle’ moments. What the saying about “wish in one hand”?.. We (fancy for “Victor, YOU”) need to simply go, do. Time in a bottle will happen – and mebbe even one day the box or wishes will fill.
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That youre the one I want to go
Through time with
I’ve lived my life, pretty much, by spending time with “the ones I want to go through time with”.. We all do, for the most part. I pity the fool that doesn’t. Dated a lady recently – her words were “I was in a 20+ year marriage that I knew I shoulda left after two years.” Wow. She admitted she stayed for her children, but still.
Pets. Little kids. Christmas. The first snow. Meet and greet with old friends. A wedding. An evening on the deck with friends. A softball game. Recanting the softball game for hours after. A child’s sporting event. Everyday interaction with family. Blogging. Seeing a comment addressed to a blog. Inbox full of notes, silly jokes from buds. First kisses. Looking at bank balance the morning after the midnight automatic paycheck deposit. There’s lots to fill up that bottle. I do promise to hereby make a note to tap myself on the shoulder and state “Victor, this is one of those time in a bottle moments. Please acknowledge and appreciate that.”
I will. A promise. I hadn’t remembered the end of Jim Croce’s life until I just Wiki’ed it. Sad. Plane crash just as his meteoric rise started. Reminds us. Fleeting. All the more reason to capture those moments in a bottle. Brb. Going to get me a bottle. Big one. Throwing this wish box in the dumpster. Go. Do. Capture. Boogie til ya die, love Victurd.
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you
Now I know – no, not for a fact.. but it’s my guess, the two reasons Jim Croce wrote this song are… 1) to get laid.. and 2) to get rich. Notta bad MO. Thinking ‘everyday-like’, insteada ‘relationship-wise’, this song does rock. To me, it’s what life’s all about. Mosta the time, yes, the damn sand just goes thru there and it’s uneventful. But.. those moments, you know the ones – be it a family holiday together.. coworkers at Happy Hour minutes after work… visiting with a bud from long ago.. yes, time in a bottle. I do hereby promise to think to myself “this is a time in a bottle moment.”
If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
Id save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you
No, every day’s not a treasure realistically – but within every day there are treasures. And I enjoy spending them with you. The interaction here, with friends at work, with my relatives, with my running buds/best friends.. simply living/enjoying life is making wishes come true.
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That youre the one I want to go
Through time with
We select who we spend time with. Sure, if you’re lucky enough to be in a monogamous relationship – then this song certainly speaks to you. But, for those of us alone on the Sealy Posturepedic, it also addresses our life. There doesn’t seem to be enough time to have “time in a bottle moments” AND get all the ‘have to’s’ of life accomplished. Mebbe in hindsight, the monogamous thing one can do both whilst intermixing.
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you
We all have a box for wishes. The saying escapes me – but it’s the one where you’re looking at the pot on the stove, and no matter how many times u stare, how closely you follow it – it ain’t gonna cook any faster thanks to ur eyeballs. Same with wish boxes. We open them bastards up, sit beside and wait – we lose out on ‘time in a bottle’ moments. What the saying about “wish in one hand”?.. We (fancy for “Victor, YOU”) need to simply go, do. Time in a bottle will happen – and mebbe even one day the box or wishes will fill.
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That youre the one I want to go
Through time with
I’ve lived my life, pretty much, by spending time with “the ones I want to go through time with”.. We all do, for the most part. I pity the fool that doesn’t. Dated a lady recently – her words were “I was in a 20+ year marriage that I knew I shoulda left after two years.” Wow. She admitted she stayed for her children, but still.
Pets. Little kids. Christmas. The first snow. Meet and greet with old friends. A wedding. An evening on the deck with friends. A softball game. Recanting the softball game for hours after. A child’s sporting event. Everyday interaction with family. Blogging. Seeing a comment addressed to a blog. Inbox full of notes, silly jokes from buds. First kisses. Looking at bank balance the morning after the midnight automatic paycheck deposit. There’s lots to fill up that bottle. I do promise to hereby make a note to tap myself on the shoulder and state “Victor, this is one of those time in a bottle moments. Please acknowledge and appreciate that.”
I will. A promise. I hadn’t remembered the end of Jim Croce’s life until I just Wiki’ed it. Sad. Plane crash just as his meteoric rise started. Reminds us. Fleeting. All the more reason to capture those moments in a bottle. Brb. Going to get me a bottle. Big one. Throwing this wish box in the dumpster. Go. Do. Capture. Boogie til ya die, love Victurd.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Broken wings. Reckon we all have them at one time or another in our lives. Be it marriage, job, children, moods… And yes, we wait for that moment to fly, again. All our life, waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Sunken eyes. As youth we want sun, fun. At fitty-something we think “why’d I do that shit? I coulda maybe had as much fun doing something indoors… LOOK AT ME!”.. Oh well, happens to all’a us.
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
NO! I don’t want the dark! I don’t wanna fly! I can’t see! Who knows whats around the corner – who knows if ker-plunk one day again an ‘accident’ will happen, more broken wings – and once again I’ll find myself back here in the same spot singing in the dead of the night…
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
But it’s skeery out here! How doya know a person in a matter of days, weeks, months well enough to file the same flight pattern?
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
It’s funny, I guess. We reach these points in life where the wings are just about healed – and there’s caution, tepidness, fear – to actually jump back outta the tree. Fear of free fall. Fear of “Groundhog Day” and having the same shit happen. Why fly and expose one’s ‘wings’ to having your feelings, emotions yanked again?
Kinda like exercise – and the hardest part being “getting out the front door” … ‘flying’ can be a difficult thing at fitty. Or forty. Or twenty-eight. Or sixty-three.
Tune in tomorrow when we might sing “will you still need me when I’m sixty-four”… or “what would you do if I sang outta tune?”… or, “and I love her”.. or.. “can’t buy me love”.. “saw her standing there.”.. “If I fell”… “yesterday.”.. “Kansas City”…
I was only waiting for this moment to arise.
Victurd, u old sumbitch, you've already done this one. NUH UH! Oh yeah, wait a minute. I did. Back in 1981. Fly robin fly. Love, Victurd.
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Broken wings. Reckon we all have them at one time or another in our lives. Be it marriage, job, children, moods… And yes, we wait for that moment to fly, again. All our life, waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Sunken eyes. As youth we want sun, fun. At fitty-something we think “why’d I do that shit? I coulda maybe had as much fun doing something indoors… LOOK AT ME!”.. Oh well, happens to all’a us.
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
NO! I don’t want the dark! I don’t wanna fly! I can’t see! Who knows whats around the corner – who knows if ker-plunk one day again an ‘accident’ will happen, more broken wings – and once again I’ll find myself back here in the same spot singing in the dead of the night…
Blackbird fly
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
But it’s skeery out here! How doya know a person in a matter of days, weeks, months well enough to file the same flight pattern?
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
It’s funny, I guess. We reach these points in life where the wings are just about healed – and there’s caution, tepidness, fear – to actually jump back outta the tree. Fear of free fall. Fear of “Groundhog Day” and having the same shit happen. Why fly and expose one’s ‘wings’ to having your feelings, emotions yanked again?
Kinda like exercise – and the hardest part being “getting out the front door” … ‘flying’ can be a difficult thing at fitty. Or forty. Or twenty-eight. Or sixty-three.
Tune in tomorrow when we might sing “will you still need me when I’m sixty-four”… or “what would you do if I sang outta tune?”… or, “and I love her”.. or.. “can’t buy me love”.. “saw her standing there.”.. “If I fell”… “yesterday.”.. “Kansas City”…
I was only waiting for this moment to arise.
Victurd, u old sumbitch, you've already done this one. NUH UH! Oh yeah, wait a minute. I did. Back in 1981. Fly robin fly. Love, Victurd.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Look! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s
Blogatony Phil, he’s out.. He’s predicting: oh, 20, mebbe 25 more years of ‘roller coaster’.
Save your $1.25, here’s almost everything I recouped from today’s paper:
“Women often lack glitter in their golden years.” An article about non-preparedness (financially) of retirement by our nation’s partnerless women - and, the growing numbers of same. Damnit Jim, and I was hoping for a rich, divorced, 40-something blonde.
In Florida they actually have treatment centers for “Hurricane anxiety.” Living in the Midwest, meteorologists can only predict when the conditions are ripe for a tornado… One can only imagine what it’s like to see that big swirling blob coming at you for days.. Like anything in life though, another “oh shit” moment.
Dan Quayle’s advice to Sarah Palin: “Just be yourself.” Gee. Thanks Dan, but you say potatoe, I say potato.
Beer sales are up despite sluggish economy. Duh.
Edgar Allen Poe scholar Edgar Petit (Philadelphia resident) wants to dig up Poe’s body (buried in Baltimore) and bring it back to Philadelphia for “a proper burial.” Seems Poe did much of his work in Philly, and to Petit, it would only be appropriate. “So Philadelphians, let’s hop in our cars, drive down I-95 and appropriate a body from a certain Baltimore cemetery” he suggested, adding “I’ll bring the shovel.” The curator of the Poe House in Balt responded “Phlly can keep their cracked bell and it’s cheese steak, but Poe’s body isn’t going anywhere.” Yes. Leave the Poe fellow alone.
After I’d read a few sections of the paper drinking the fitty-four cent Senior coffee at Mickey D’s, took the resta the paper to Phillips 66 parking lot where there - I could smoke cigs to my heart’s content. Having one too many cuppa coffees, I hadta pee. I too, Edgar Petit, can start movements. BOYCOT PHILLIP! The basta’s have the nerve to have paper towel dispensing machines where you gotta actually PULL the arm down to get more towels! NOT TODAY! I want clap on lights, keyless remote car startup, slot machines where ya hit a button, and even faster DSL. . For behoogety sake, I bet they ain’t even gotta microwave in there. Jk. But aren’t we becoming a lazy society?
“Gas prices coming down.” Uh huh, after torturing my right arm having to pull down the paper towel thingy, I put ten bucks gas in my van. The low fuel light was still lit up. I hate when that happens.
50.4% of the babies born of women under 30 (why is today the day to pick on women?) are born out of wedlock. I don’t mean this judgmentally at all, but it is an amazing statistic. Coupled with the fact that more women are now “partner less” than “partnered” - mebbe it all speaks to us male piggies. Oink.
So, for the resta the day, I do hereby plan to do somea the below:
Mow. Yard ain’t bad but GD (gosh darn) remnants of Gustov made the water grass grow like a poplar tree.
Watch the Chief’s. I’m not into that BDSM crap, but figure what the hey, my arm’s been tortured, why not watch us lose 43-7 so my eyes can be as well.
Replace the toilet stool before the floor finally gives and we end up having to poop in the basement.
What’s that Maynard? Movies from Redbox? McDonalds after they switch from break’ to lunch? Gatorade from the Piggly Wiggly? A load of laundry? (I know, but it ain’t even worth the argument.)
Ahm, swing by Phillps (DON’T SAY THAT WORD!) for ten more dollars of gas.
I wonder if in Kansas City they have a “Maynard Anxiety” clinic?
I love him, but I oh so long for the day when I hear “It’s 10pm, do you know where your children are?” and the answer is “Nope. Don’t.”
Happy Sunday. And thanks to those that urged me back here. Truly. I’m thinkin’ about an egg and potatoe omelet right about now.
Oh. Had a date the other day. Outcome? Drum roll…. “You’re too quiet.” Eh, well. So now we know I’m too quiet. I’m too nice. I’m a bullshitter. It’s all good. I’m the baby, gotta love me - and thankfully, I do. (I don’t mean that ‘overdone’-like, but I thinkya kinda have to like yourself - with the realization we’re human, we’ll err.. To make it nowadays.)
Quietly yours, Love, Victurd.
Save your $1.25, here’s almost everything I recouped from today’s paper:
“Women often lack glitter in their golden years.” An article about non-preparedness (financially) of retirement by our nation’s partnerless women - and, the growing numbers of same. Damnit Jim, and I was hoping for a rich, divorced, 40-something blonde.
In Florida they actually have treatment centers for “Hurricane anxiety.” Living in the Midwest, meteorologists can only predict when the conditions are ripe for a tornado… One can only imagine what it’s like to see that big swirling blob coming at you for days.. Like anything in life though, another “oh shit” moment.
Dan Quayle’s advice to Sarah Palin: “Just be yourself.” Gee. Thanks Dan, but you say potatoe, I say potato.
Beer sales are up despite sluggish economy. Duh.
Edgar Allen Poe scholar Edgar Petit (Philadelphia resident) wants to dig up Poe’s body (buried in Baltimore) and bring it back to Philadelphia for “a proper burial.” Seems Poe did much of his work in Philly, and to Petit, it would only be appropriate. “So Philadelphians, let’s hop in our cars, drive down I-95 and appropriate a body from a certain Baltimore cemetery” he suggested, adding “I’ll bring the shovel.” The curator of the Poe House in Balt responded “Phlly can keep their cracked bell and it’s cheese steak, but Poe’s body isn’t going anywhere.” Yes. Leave the Poe fellow alone.
After I’d read a few sections of the paper drinking the fitty-four cent Senior coffee at Mickey D’s, took the resta the paper to Phillips 66 parking lot where there - I could smoke cigs to my heart’s content. Having one too many cuppa coffees, I hadta pee. I too, Edgar Petit, can start movements. BOYCOT PHILLIP! The basta’s have the nerve to have paper towel dispensing machines where you gotta actually PULL the arm down to get more towels! NOT TODAY! I want clap on lights, keyless remote car startup, slot machines where ya hit a button, and even faster DSL. . For behoogety sake, I bet they ain’t even gotta microwave in there. Jk. But aren’t we becoming a lazy society?
“Gas prices coming down.” Uh huh, after torturing my right arm having to pull down the paper towel thingy, I put ten bucks gas in my van. The low fuel light was still lit up. I hate when that happens.
50.4% of the babies born of women under 30 (why is today the day to pick on women?) are born out of wedlock. I don’t mean this judgmentally at all, but it is an amazing statistic. Coupled with the fact that more women are now “partner less” than “partnered” - mebbe it all speaks to us male piggies. Oink.
So, for the resta the day, I do hereby plan to do somea the below:
Mow. Yard ain’t bad but GD (gosh darn) remnants of Gustov made the water grass grow like a poplar tree.
Watch the Chief’s. I’m not into that BDSM crap, but figure what the hey, my arm’s been tortured, why not watch us lose 43-7 so my eyes can be as well.
Replace the toilet stool before the floor finally gives and we end up having to poop in the basement.
What’s that Maynard? Movies from Redbox? McDonalds after they switch from break’ to lunch? Gatorade from the Piggly Wiggly? A load of laundry? (I know, but it ain’t even worth the argument.)
Ahm, swing by Phillps (DON’T SAY THAT WORD!) for ten more dollars of gas.
I wonder if in Kansas City they have a “Maynard Anxiety” clinic?
I love him, but I oh so long for the day when I hear “It’s 10pm, do you know where your children are?” and the answer is “Nope. Don’t.”
Happy Sunday. And thanks to those that urged me back here. Truly. I’m thinkin’ about an egg and potatoe omelet right about now.
Oh. Had a date the other day. Outcome? Drum roll…. “You’re too quiet.” Eh, well. So now we know I’m too quiet. I’m too nice. I’m a bullshitter. It’s all good. I’m the baby, gotta love me - and thankfully, I do. (I don’t mean that ‘overdone’-like, but I thinkya kinda have to like yourself - with the realization we’re human, we’ll err.. To make it nowadays.)
Quietly yours, Love, Victurd.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Cruelty….
I thought to myself, “self, this will be an easy topic… just Google that bastard, there’ll be all kindsa stuff.”
Wrong I was. Unless your name is Fido. Or Spot.
I’m talking human cruelty.
American Heritage says:
The quality or condition of being cruel.
Something, such as a cruel act or remark, that causes pain or suffering.
Law The infliction of physical or mental distress, especially when considered a determinant in granting a divorce.
Cruel is what you make of it, what you define it. Tonight, on onea them singles websites (Victor, are you still doing that?… Uh huh. Like the little kid pulling the wagon, sign on it said “Apples, $25,000”… Neighbor walked up and said “are you crazy?”… “No sir, it only takes one.”) So yes, I’m still there.
So, on onea them single’s sites, two emails from one gal, one from another. Both, extremely nice, both - very simply - just not my type. So, the cruel part is no response. I hate that, but much better to do that than lead one on.
Conversely. Saw a gal I REALLY liked. Her words spoke to exactly what I seek. Her lifestyle VERY similar. So I wrote and complimented her on her smile, pics… said “U musta come from good parents… I can tell you enjoy life and you are decent to all people.” And, bingo… ‘Read/Deleted.”
But… that’s the way “dating 2008” goes. Usedta be we’d sneak 20 hours or peeking at one we’d wanted to ask out… observing in the HS hallway.. On the college campus.. At a party of mutual friends… Consulting with mutual friends.. and then “yes, I wanna talk to her.”:
Nuh uh. Today it’s like CNN breaking news. In a millisecond, enough info to deem yay/nay is flashed across the internet - and the (heart) breaking news is flashed. Damnit. Darnit. I HATE being on both sides.
I abhor hurt (and being hurt), but it’s plain ole plain ole impossible in today’s generation. Again, quoting the infinite wisdom of our KC Chief’s Football Coach Herm Edwards: “Get over it.”
And with each one, it is easier. If you’ve “been there done that” you too will know it’s just so discouraging to go thru profile after profile, FINALLY find one you think “yeah… mebbe.”.. and then you look at your “sent mail” and see “read/deleted.” Read/not thanks would be easier to handle, but, again - getting used to it.
Real cruelty to humans. Whilst I love this thing Al Gore invented years ago, it too sends shockwaves thru me upon occasion. I’ve met and become with no less than four very nice ladies here who’ve been thru sexual abuse by a parent/relative. That’s cruel. Makes “read/deleted” easy. Each I have met, remarkably (at least outwardly) comes across as “hey, it’s ok, it was a long time ago…. I’m better… over it.”
I wanna believe, but it’s real hard for me to. Several have made “amends” with the abuser. Not that they themselves had anything to amend. I am very uncomfy (and compassionate) in life when there’s absolutely no way I can wear those shoes, see the view from their eyes.
God Blessya all.
Cruelty of the physical kind. I watched my ex go to work at a battered women’s shelter, and learned first hand of the horror stories. (She never disclosed names, and I had to pry “what happened today”)… “On average” she said “it takes seven beatings for a woman to leave.”
Again, I’m lost on how to deal with this cruelty. I’ve seen my sister inlaw go thru it, my niece go thru it… and I was a spectator. Not even a liaison. Or confider. I sucked. I didn’t know how to approach. THANK GOD both FINALLY got out of those situations, and life for each is again good, full, whole, happy.
Gal at work. I did help. She was a temp. My help, turning her to HR for answers, assistance, led to the demise of her job. She was crying in the parking lot one day… we talked… finally I sensed “are you afraid for your physical safety?”… “YES”.. followed by boo koo tears…
I abhor cruelty. I “helped” that lady, and she lost her job. Today, there’s a gorgeous little gal in our office… black eye last week… soft cast this week… It’s obvious. Dare I say anything? Do I wrangle up a crew of seven of us men to go approach the bastard? It might work, but then again, it might do her in.
God Bless you if you are on the end of current abuse. PLEASE don’t allow the belittlement to twist your brain to think “Well… I deserve this… I’ll try to do better.” No, the problem is with the abuser.
Another onea those blogs where there’s no catchy ending. The verbal/physical abuse thing does kinda put dating “cruelty” in perspective though. I can very much handle “no”, even if it goes unsaid.
Let’s promote kindness.. We just never know the at home situation of those around us. Pump up other’s self esteem. It ain’t hard. Just tell ‘em. Email ‘em. Touch ‘em. Get that damn smile outta ‘em no matter what you do. Cruelty leads to very low self esteem. Let’s makea pact to do our best to offset that. Loveya, Victurd.
Wrong I was. Unless your name is Fido. Or Spot.
I’m talking human cruelty.
American Heritage says:
The quality or condition of being cruel.
Something, such as a cruel act or remark, that causes pain or suffering.
Law The infliction of physical or mental distress, especially when considered a determinant in granting a divorce.
Cruel is what you make of it, what you define it. Tonight, on onea them singles websites (Victor, are you still doing that?… Uh huh. Like the little kid pulling the wagon, sign on it said “Apples, $25,000”… Neighbor walked up and said “are you crazy?”… “No sir, it only takes one.”) So yes, I’m still there.
So, on onea them single’s sites, two emails from one gal, one from another. Both, extremely nice, both - very simply - just not my type. So, the cruel part is no response. I hate that, but much better to do that than lead one on.
Conversely. Saw a gal I REALLY liked. Her words spoke to exactly what I seek. Her lifestyle VERY similar. So I wrote and complimented her on her smile, pics… said “U musta come from good parents… I can tell you enjoy life and you are decent to all people.” And, bingo… ‘Read/Deleted.”
But… that’s the way “dating 2008” goes. Usedta be we’d sneak 20 hours or peeking at one we’d wanted to ask out… observing in the HS hallway.. On the college campus.. At a party of mutual friends… Consulting with mutual friends.. and then “yes, I wanna talk to her.”:
Nuh uh. Today it’s like CNN breaking news. In a millisecond, enough info to deem yay/nay is flashed across the internet - and the (heart) breaking news is flashed. Damnit. Darnit. I HATE being on both sides.
I abhor hurt (and being hurt), but it’s plain ole plain ole impossible in today’s generation. Again, quoting the infinite wisdom of our KC Chief’s Football Coach Herm Edwards: “Get over it.”
And with each one, it is easier. If you’ve “been there done that” you too will know it’s just so discouraging to go thru profile after profile, FINALLY find one you think “yeah… mebbe.”.. and then you look at your “sent mail” and see “read/deleted.” Read/not thanks would be easier to handle, but, again - getting used to it.
Real cruelty to humans. Whilst I love this thing Al Gore invented years ago, it too sends shockwaves thru me upon occasion. I’ve met and become with no less than four very nice ladies here who’ve been thru sexual abuse by a parent/relative. That’s cruel. Makes “read/deleted” easy. Each I have met, remarkably (at least outwardly) comes across as “hey, it’s ok, it was a long time ago…. I’m better… over it.”
I wanna believe, but it’s real hard for me to. Several have made “amends” with the abuser. Not that they themselves had anything to amend. I am very uncomfy (and compassionate) in life when there’s absolutely no way I can wear those shoes, see the view from their eyes.
God Blessya all.
Cruelty of the physical kind. I watched my ex go to work at a battered women’s shelter, and learned first hand of the horror stories. (She never disclosed names, and I had to pry “what happened today”)… “On average” she said “it takes seven beatings for a woman to leave.”
Again, I’m lost on how to deal with this cruelty. I’ve seen my sister inlaw go thru it, my niece go thru it… and I was a spectator. Not even a liaison. Or confider. I sucked. I didn’t know how to approach. THANK GOD both FINALLY got out of those situations, and life for each is again good, full, whole, happy.
Gal at work. I did help. She was a temp. My help, turning her to HR for answers, assistance, led to the demise of her job. She was crying in the parking lot one day… we talked… finally I sensed “are you afraid for your physical safety?”… “YES”.. followed by boo koo tears…
I abhor cruelty. I “helped” that lady, and she lost her job. Today, there’s a gorgeous little gal in our office… black eye last week… soft cast this week… It’s obvious. Dare I say anything? Do I wrangle up a crew of seven of us men to go approach the bastard? It might work, but then again, it might do her in.
God Bless you if you are on the end of current abuse. PLEASE don’t allow the belittlement to twist your brain to think “Well… I deserve this… I’ll try to do better.” No, the problem is with the abuser.
Another onea those blogs where there’s no catchy ending. The verbal/physical abuse thing does kinda put dating “cruelty” in perspective though. I can very much handle “no”, even if it goes unsaid.
Let’s promote kindness.. We just never know the at home situation of those around us. Pump up other’s self esteem. It ain’t hard. Just tell ‘em. Email ‘em. Touch ‘em. Get that damn smile outta ‘em no matter what you do. Cruelty leads to very low self esteem. Let’s makea pact to do our best to offset that. Loveya, Victurd.
Write on….
Victor, you must write. NO!!!! It’s the weekend! It’s a Holiday!
It’s Labor Day, hop to it.
K, dammit! Gotta fitty-four cent “small senior coffee” giggle at Mickey D’s this morning.. Seems two parachutists, jumping out to take this game ball to start the North Carolina football game were a bit confused.
“Ralph, look like this is just about where we should jump out?”…. “Yep, let’s go, you first.”
Land they did. At Duke Stadium. Some eight miles away from the North Carolina Stadium. Oh shit.
Wow does that sometimes resemble life. We’re ready to jump - we do, and sonofabitch “this ain’t the right place… but hell… I can’t bootscoot back up into the airplane… what now?”
I’ve even found myself “I’ve been in the right place, but it musta been the wrong time.”
However, this weekend has been a damned good one. Victor, no one cares about your weekend. Hey, I know that, but this is a blog. My blog. I think we old farts kinda sorta usedta call it a diary ya know? K, have at. Thanks. I will.
Friday night. Great nephew’s HS football game. He scored a touchdown, ran for two separate 2 point conversions, had his name mentioned on tackles hella many times.. And ever greater, he’s a wonderful young man. Got-to visit with my two nieces. Something that just doesn’t happen very often. It’s kinda sorta all we have left and rare is the day the three of us share together.
Saturday. Went to best friend’s 6th grade son’s Pee Wee football game. This man and his family mean a lot to me, and I treasured the time.
Saturday night. With another friend watching Missouri kick booty in football. Victor, that’s a lotta football. Yes, yes it was. Enjoyable however.
Sunday. I’d gotten an email from first cousin. Lives in same town, we’re all “from” Fulton, some two and one-half hours East’a here. Regarding the uncle that had gone from upright to bedridden, to just a matter of time. “Going down and back for the day, leaving at 8:15am. Holler if you wanna go.”
Seventy-three different things I needed to do Sunday, but somehow they all felt insignificant compared to the opportunity to go, see this man I love, and help be supportive. VERY glad I went. Talked old times. His days in the Merchant Marines.. The places he’d been. Korea, Hawaii, Sweden, Thailand, Guam, Cuba… “So Hawaii was probably your favorite?”… “Nope, Sweden.”
Had a picture of he and two other handsome dudes, 18 years old, all. They were in a bar in Havana. One of the fellers was his best friend whom enlisted with him in the buddy plan. One too many Rum and Cokes later the buddy stands up and yells “I’m a Baptist, I’m from Fulton, Missouri, and I hate Cuba!”.. Run they did, back to the Base. Whew. Made it.
“I’m ready to go… I’ve had a wonderful life.. I know I’m going one of two places.. Doesn’t matter.. I’m just ready.”
As we walked out of the room, we knew we’d never see him again. Tears ran down the face of my cousin’s kid. Internal tears happened to us older farts. A good man. If there is sucha thing as a good end, he’s having it.
He’d one day called his son in to the bedroom. “Go get the key that’s hidden ______. You’re the only one I trust with it. Then go get the strong box, it’s ______________.” Inside was everything that meant something to him in life. Including a will.
My uncle lost his wife 15 years or so ago. He’d met a wonderful lady some five years later, and she is assisting the family by spending a ten hour shift daily with him. “Now let’s talk about the obituary.” “Ok” his son replied. “I want Betty in there.” “We can do that dad, we’ll put “also surviving his special friend Betty.” “No, I want “VERY special friend Betty.” Ok dad, we’ll list “Very special friend Betty.” Relieved he was. As was his son.
One day we’ll all get to Glenn’s point. Where hope of tomorrow doesn’t compare at all to the hope of today. It’s our time now. We must live without regrets. We must tell those we love - we love ‘em. We must cherish the sights along the way. We must continually smile, for it beats the hell out of the alternative.
Time is short. Life is fleeting. As always, remember, I’m here to talk to me. Hitch hikers welcome. Don’t let the little shit bug you. Smile in the face of adversity. Love like there’s no tomorrow, for one day there won’t be.
I’m very glad I put off the 73 things I needed to do yesterday. Oddly, it’s been a wonderful weekend. Life has it’s treasures. Glenn is one of them. As is my best friend. My great nephew, my nieces, my runnin’ buds, my cousins, my cousin’s kids. The weekend hasn’t been Labor at all. To the contrary, it’s been virtually picture perfect.
Ok, I’m done blabbing. Sorry! Loveya, Victurd.
It’s Labor Day, hop to it.
K, dammit! Gotta fitty-four cent “small senior coffee” giggle at Mickey D’s this morning.. Seems two parachutists, jumping out to take this game ball to start the North Carolina football game were a bit confused.
“Ralph, look like this is just about where we should jump out?”…. “Yep, let’s go, you first.”
Land they did. At Duke Stadium. Some eight miles away from the North Carolina Stadium. Oh shit.
Wow does that sometimes resemble life. We’re ready to jump - we do, and sonofabitch “this ain’t the right place… but hell… I can’t bootscoot back up into the airplane… what now?”
I’ve even found myself “I’ve been in the right place, but it musta been the wrong time.”
However, this weekend has been a damned good one. Victor, no one cares about your weekend. Hey, I know that, but this is a blog. My blog. I think we old farts kinda sorta usedta call it a diary ya know? K, have at. Thanks. I will.
Friday night. Great nephew’s HS football game. He scored a touchdown, ran for two separate 2 point conversions, had his name mentioned on tackles hella many times.. And ever greater, he’s a wonderful young man. Got-to visit with my two nieces. Something that just doesn’t happen very often. It’s kinda sorta all we have left and rare is the day the three of us share together.
Saturday. Went to best friend’s 6th grade son’s Pee Wee football game. This man and his family mean a lot to me, and I treasured the time.
Saturday night. With another friend watching Missouri kick booty in football. Victor, that’s a lotta football. Yes, yes it was. Enjoyable however.
Sunday. I’d gotten an email from first cousin. Lives in same town, we’re all “from” Fulton, some two and one-half hours East’a here. Regarding the uncle that had gone from upright to bedridden, to just a matter of time. “Going down and back for the day, leaving at 8:15am. Holler if you wanna go.”
Seventy-three different things I needed to do Sunday, but somehow they all felt insignificant compared to the opportunity to go, see this man I love, and help be supportive. VERY glad I went. Talked old times. His days in the Merchant Marines.. The places he’d been. Korea, Hawaii, Sweden, Thailand, Guam, Cuba… “So Hawaii was probably your favorite?”… “Nope, Sweden.”
Had a picture of he and two other handsome dudes, 18 years old, all. They were in a bar in Havana. One of the fellers was his best friend whom enlisted with him in the buddy plan. One too many Rum and Cokes later the buddy stands up and yells “I’m a Baptist, I’m from Fulton, Missouri, and I hate Cuba!”.. Run they did, back to the Base. Whew. Made it.
“I’m ready to go… I’ve had a wonderful life.. I know I’m going one of two places.. Doesn’t matter.. I’m just ready.”
As we walked out of the room, we knew we’d never see him again. Tears ran down the face of my cousin’s kid. Internal tears happened to us older farts. A good man. If there is sucha thing as a good end, he’s having it.
He’d one day called his son in to the bedroom. “Go get the key that’s hidden ______. You’re the only one I trust with it. Then go get the strong box, it’s ______________.” Inside was everything that meant something to him in life. Including a will.
My uncle lost his wife 15 years or so ago. He’d met a wonderful lady some five years later, and she is assisting the family by spending a ten hour shift daily with him. “Now let’s talk about the obituary.” “Ok” his son replied. “I want Betty in there.” “We can do that dad, we’ll put “also surviving his special friend Betty.” “No, I want “VERY special friend Betty.” Ok dad, we’ll list “Very special friend Betty.” Relieved he was. As was his son.
One day we’ll all get to Glenn’s point. Where hope of tomorrow doesn’t compare at all to the hope of today. It’s our time now. We must live without regrets. We must tell those we love - we love ‘em. We must cherish the sights along the way. We must continually smile, for it beats the hell out of the alternative.
Time is short. Life is fleeting. As always, remember, I’m here to talk to me. Hitch hikers welcome. Don’t let the little shit bug you. Smile in the face of adversity. Love like there’s no tomorrow, for one day there won’t be.
I’m very glad I put off the 73 things I needed to do yesterday. Oddly, it’s been a wonderful weekend. Life has it’s treasures. Glenn is one of them. As is my best friend. My great nephew, my nieces, my runnin’ buds, my cousins, my cousin’s kids. The weekend hasn’t been Labor at all. To the contrary, it’s been virtually picture perfect.
Ok, I’m done blabbing. Sorry! Loveya, Victurd.
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