Mind going here/there. Fast.
Yesterday’s ‘focus’ has turned today’s path into a whirlpool. Whatever you call a mini tornado thingy where there’s no sense of direction.. things scattering every which way. Direction? What’s that?
I had an incredible time the other night, but I’m not so certain that will be repeated. Darnit! Eh, it’s ok. Big Sea.
Halloween. Already, six coworkers have walked by and I didn’t recognize any of ‘em. We getta be kids again on this day. Smiles abound on October 31.
As I drove in, my brain yuckily drooped to the direction of some of today’s youth and the “in general” moral decline in our nation, our world. Egging a house has turned into keying a car. Dressing as a bum is now putting on a Scream mask and jumping out from the bushes.
Defiantly smoking a cigarette is now freely, openly dropping F-bombs infronta old and young alike with no conscience. I didn’t enjoy those minutes thinking of that crap – but they were there in my brain, so felt I should share.
Hurry up and wait. We want so badly for life to be as we picture it, that perfect “A”.. .the 100% “YES”… we look down and see a blank canvas.. and all the while so many wonderful C+, B-, A- days pass before us.. and it’s a cheese and crackers kinda thing.
Pumpkins. Frost. Dark. Candy. Excitement. Smiles. Flashlights. Walking. Sweating underneath the get-up.. Whadda great holiday.
40-some dollars filled the van today when not so long ago $60 wouldn’t do it. All that gas. The want to go pick someone up, take ‘em and show ‘em, and share.. See the trees that have been painted.. Visit local history.. Break bread.. Hurry up and wait…
Direction? See?
Was’a gal at work yesterday… Dizzy.. Darn near passed out at her computer. “Victor.. can you take her home?”… Uh huh.. Did.. Made sure we conversed the whole way so she wouldn’t pass out on me and then I’d… well, I wasn’t so damn sure what “I’d”…
Safely into the door of her sister’s house.. I retracked the three lefts, four rights.. “go thru this light”.. and I was lost. Shit. At least gas wasn’t $4. No direction. You’d make a turn, and had no idea whatinthehell direction you were going.
Life’s kinda like that now. Hurry up and wait. Come on “A”. I want 100%. And as I scatter thru the muck.. I miss the scenery. I miss some fun. I forget to feel. Live.
I spose life should be like football. Every play you “huddle up” and plan. I gots no plan. Running roughshod thru life. It’s an enjoyable life, but it’s roughshod.
Spooky, ain’t it?
In the cool of the evening when ev'rything is gettin' kind of groovy,
I call you up and ask you if you want to go and meet and see a movie,
First you say no, you've got some plans for the night,
And then you stop, and say, "All right."
Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.
You always keep me guessin', I never seem to know what you are thinkin'.
And if a fella looks at you, it's for sure your little eye will be a-winkin'.
I get confused, 'cause I don't know where I stand,
And then you smile, and hold my hand.
Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.
Spooky!
If you decide someday to stop this little game that you are playin',
I'm gonna tell you all what my heart's been a-dyin' to be sayin'.
Just like a ghost, you've been a-hauntin' my dreams,
So I'll propose... on Halloween.
Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.
Spooky,
Spooky,
Spooky,
Oh-whoa, all right,
I said Spooky!
Happy Halloween. Love, Victurd.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Focus…
Ex hated the Ford Focus. “That’s so ugly, why would anyone want one?”
Me I never gave it much thought. A small economic car, pretty much like the rest of ‘em.
A recent date, gal had a Ford Focus. I chuckled a bit. Funny how we all see life different.
Remember (u sonsaguns) I write to me. Hitchhikers welcome. I always thought having a word with two H’s in a row was impossible, but Bill Gates didn’t underline it, so hitchhikers must be spelled alike.
I encourage me (and u, if you wanna) to stop for a moment today and focus. Focus on one person, and then another. And another.
We’re all ego pigs – it feels good when someone focus’s on us. To have someone’s thought, eyes, heart pointed full fledged is a wonderful thing.
Find out, it’s a pretty damn good feel too when you’re on the focusing end.
With the style of cars, we’re all different. With focus, we’re, for the most part, similar.
I’ll never forget (back in ought-six).. yes, I’m old damnit.. I’ll never forget having my cataract surgery. One eye was completely covered… the other looking up at the light. Blurry chit, but could still detect it was a light.
Then, he took the equivalent of an “eye Dremel” and ‘jackhammered’ my lens. Oh chit. Weird feel. No focus. Blurry. Nuttin. Could detect white, that’s it. Not ten seconds later, the new lens. Perfect. I could see perfect.
I do abhore the word fuck, but sheepishly find myself using it for emphasis. Life is a fucking gift. Focus. On one. And another. And another.
Yes, we even need to focus on ourselves occasionally. Hell I’ve rubbed my own shoulders. I’ve done stupid, selfish stuff.. I think sometimes ya gotta.
Focus rocks. 7,297.
I hope someday I getta ride in the Focus again. Until next time, keep your eyes ahead, windshield clean… watch God as he paints again… Love… Like… Smile.. Enjoy..
Focus. Love, Victurd
Me I never gave it much thought. A small economic car, pretty much like the rest of ‘em.
A recent date, gal had a Ford Focus. I chuckled a bit. Funny how we all see life different.
Remember (u sonsaguns) I write to me. Hitchhikers welcome. I always thought having a word with two H’s in a row was impossible, but Bill Gates didn’t underline it, so hitchhikers must be spelled alike.
I encourage me (and u, if you wanna) to stop for a moment today and focus. Focus on one person, and then another. And another.
We’re all ego pigs – it feels good when someone focus’s on us. To have someone’s thought, eyes, heart pointed full fledged is a wonderful thing.
Find out, it’s a pretty damn good feel too when you’re on the focusing end.
With the style of cars, we’re all different. With focus, we’re, for the most part, similar.
I’ll never forget (back in ought-six).. yes, I’m old damnit.. I’ll never forget having my cataract surgery. One eye was completely covered… the other looking up at the light. Blurry chit, but could still detect it was a light.
Then, he took the equivalent of an “eye Dremel” and ‘jackhammered’ my lens. Oh chit. Weird feel. No focus. Blurry. Nuttin. Could detect white, that’s it. Not ten seconds later, the new lens. Perfect. I could see perfect.
I do abhore the word fuck, but sheepishly find myself using it for emphasis. Life is a fucking gift. Focus. On one. And another. And another.
Yes, we even need to focus on ourselves occasionally. Hell I’ve rubbed my own shoulders. I’ve done stupid, selfish stuff.. I think sometimes ya gotta.
Focus rocks. 7,297.
I hope someday I getta ride in the Focus again. Until next time, keep your eyes ahead, windshield clean… watch God as he paints again… Love… Like… Smile.. Enjoy..
Focus. Love, Victurd
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Change....
Skeery word. In our lives daily. Differnt types. We go to store, give green, get change. We sit at stoplights, wait for change. We shower, change (or flip, hehe)…
We age, we change. Can’t fight it, it happens. We look in mirror, think, “holy shit”, body change is a bit aheada the brain change.
Brain does change though. Hell, the other night reception on TV was bad, couldn’t see the World Series clear. Was’a time, I’da gotten in car and sped to nearest joint as I just couldn’t miss an inning. Changed there. Ain’t quite as important.
Gotta buddy who’d been through a rough time. He’s literally got his stuff together, completely stopped drinking. Hope he doesn’t swat me, but he’d written “Life's not too exciting for me any longer, but I really happen to like it. “ Way cool my friend. Sometimes change rocks.
Woah. Divorce. Does that bring change. Trade sleeping with gorgeous lady to aging old cat. Damn daddy. Two incomes down to one. Holy mackerel. One car insteada two. Breaks down “oh shit.” Conversation at dinner changes when there’s only one. ‘Bout allya do is think about chit to blog about. Change.
Weather. We in Midwest put up with change. Perhaps even enjoy it. We bitch at the heat, the snow, the rain, the wind. We don’t change in that aspect.
Jobs, friends, situations, towns, houses. We change all that crap. Yes, we have lifelong friends – but even that changes. It’s not similar to what it once was when you’d go, just you and your friend for the entire evening. People happened. Mates, children. Changed, yet still the attachment.
Dating. Wow. “I’ve grown accustomed to your face.” Huh uh. Now, ya gotta learn allover again what’s inside one’s brain, and just what makes them tick. Likes, dislikes. Different, so different. Change. Sometimes, their take changes your take. Mebbe the one before had somehow helped form your opines, and ‘another view’ mebbe jolts, changes that.
Us old farts. We abhor change, then it happens, and we grump and groan and play hell after the fact stating “I’m glad we did that.”
Biotches at work teasing me about the date thing and the age difference.. “why don’t you invite her over to see your album collection… or all of your 8 tracks.” Biotches. I wouldn’t change being friends with any of ‘em though.
Fraternity. Was brutal. You’d buy a new shirt. A new car. New shoes. Get a new haircut. Virtually always faced with “How much did you pay for that?” WHY? “’Cause you got some change comin’ back!!”.. Bastards. Loved ‘em. Hi rickety whoop tee doo, what’samatter with Siga Ma Nu! Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Wouldn’t change it for the world.
Gathered some 30 years later. Holy Shit. Change. “Who’s he?”.. No, that ain’t Broz is it?” Yep…
At bar some time ago. Sat next to punk that was in the class behind me. Didn’t recognize me. Held hand out, said “Dave? It’s Vic.” … long studious stare.. Then “WOW”… Bastard. Tis cool. Giggled. Hurt a moment, but I giggled. We do change.
Driving to work today. We’d been driving on the far right two lanes (outside left one was closed for resurfacing.) Today, they switched us to far left two lanes. Two GD lanes still, yet traffic was backed up for blocks. Sometimes we just don’t do well with change.
TV shows, baseball, football, basketball champs, news anchors, comedians, movie stars, all that chit changes. Change is our constant, if that makes any sense.
I love life and all it offers. Change sucks, is interesting, is wonderful, is uncontrollable, will/does happen. 7,298 left. I hope. Lotta change ahead. 1,042 weekends left. I wanna get outta Dodge onea these weekends. Change the routine.
In baseball, there’s the fastball and the curve, usually thrown from 80 to 95 miles per hour. It’s the 67 mile per hour change up that makes hitters look like fools though.
Change has a way of doing that to us all. I love/hate change. Better run now. Gotta flip my undies and get to work. I’ll change ‘em tomorrow. I’m the baby, gottta love me. Love, Victurd
(Editor’s note: It’s said, “the only time you can change a man is when he’s a baby.” Bastards.)
We age, we change. Can’t fight it, it happens. We look in mirror, think, “holy shit”, body change is a bit aheada the brain change.
Brain does change though. Hell, the other night reception on TV was bad, couldn’t see the World Series clear. Was’a time, I’da gotten in car and sped to nearest joint as I just couldn’t miss an inning. Changed there. Ain’t quite as important.
Gotta buddy who’d been through a rough time. He’s literally got his stuff together, completely stopped drinking. Hope he doesn’t swat me, but he’d written “Life's not too exciting for me any longer, but I really happen to like it. “ Way cool my friend. Sometimes change rocks.
Woah. Divorce. Does that bring change. Trade sleeping with gorgeous lady to aging old cat. Damn daddy. Two incomes down to one. Holy mackerel. One car insteada two. Breaks down “oh shit.” Conversation at dinner changes when there’s only one. ‘Bout allya do is think about chit to blog about. Change.
Weather. We in Midwest put up with change. Perhaps even enjoy it. We bitch at the heat, the snow, the rain, the wind. We don’t change in that aspect.
Jobs, friends, situations, towns, houses. We change all that crap. Yes, we have lifelong friends – but even that changes. It’s not similar to what it once was when you’d go, just you and your friend for the entire evening. People happened. Mates, children. Changed, yet still the attachment.
Dating. Wow. “I’ve grown accustomed to your face.” Huh uh. Now, ya gotta learn allover again what’s inside one’s brain, and just what makes them tick. Likes, dislikes. Different, so different. Change. Sometimes, their take changes your take. Mebbe the one before had somehow helped form your opines, and ‘another view’ mebbe jolts, changes that.
Us old farts. We abhor change, then it happens, and we grump and groan and play hell after the fact stating “I’m glad we did that.”
Biotches at work teasing me about the date thing and the age difference.. “why don’t you invite her over to see your album collection… or all of your 8 tracks.” Biotches. I wouldn’t change being friends with any of ‘em though.
Fraternity. Was brutal. You’d buy a new shirt. A new car. New shoes. Get a new haircut. Virtually always faced with “How much did you pay for that?” WHY? “’Cause you got some change comin’ back!!”.. Bastards. Loved ‘em. Hi rickety whoop tee doo, what’samatter with Siga Ma Nu! Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Wouldn’t change it for the world.
Gathered some 30 years later. Holy Shit. Change. “Who’s he?”.. No, that ain’t Broz is it?” Yep…
At bar some time ago. Sat next to punk that was in the class behind me. Didn’t recognize me. Held hand out, said “Dave? It’s Vic.” … long studious stare.. Then “WOW”… Bastard. Tis cool. Giggled. Hurt a moment, but I giggled. We do change.
Driving to work today. We’d been driving on the far right two lanes (outside left one was closed for resurfacing.) Today, they switched us to far left two lanes. Two GD lanes still, yet traffic was backed up for blocks. Sometimes we just don’t do well with change.
TV shows, baseball, football, basketball champs, news anchors, comedians, movie stars, all that chit changes. Change is our constant, if that makes any sense.
I love life and all it offers. Change sucks, is interesting, is wonderful, is uncontrollable, will/does happen. 7,298 left. I hope. Lotta change ahead. 1,042 weekends left. I wanna get outta Dodge onea these weekends. Change the routine.
In baseball, there’s the fastball and the curve, usually thrown from 80 to 95 miles per hour. It’s the 67 mile per hour change up that makes hitters look like fools though.
Change has a way of doing that to us all. I love/hate change. Better run now. Gotta flip my undies and get to work. I’ll change ‘em tomorrow. I’m the baby, gottta love me. Love, Victurd
(Editor’s note: It’s said, “the only time you can change a man is when he’s a baby.” Bastards.)
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Blinders….
Blinders, or blinkers or winkers, are a piece of horse tack that restrict the horse’s vision to the rear and, in some cases, to the side.
You’ve been here. You’ve seen me. It’s like I was left in the Basin of the Grand Canyon a few years back.. Thrown a pity party or three, and have raved off and on about the virtues of “how great life is” even in shit times.
A façade? Nah, not hardly. Even if it ain’t perfect, it’s a perty damn fine place.
Up the wall I’ve scaled – only to be occasionally bumped back down by this (car trouble), that (more bills than bank), or those (like her, wish the feelings were mutual.)
Climb. I’ve kept climbing, and along the way I’ve had some wonderful old times with old cronies from “the day.”… Even put the softball mitt back on and relived sore arm, aching joints, sweat soaked July shirts.
This past weekend was unlike all that. In marriage number two, I was very much in love. Blinders. My thoughts were about her. There was not a literal hour that went by that I didn’t imagine seeing her. It was a pleasure for oh so many years to come home to see her face, her smile.
Things end, I’m aware of that, and I stand here today appreciative God granted me this opportunity for so long.
This past weekend. Eh, I know I’m not right for ‘her’. She, a child of the 60’s, me, from the Ike era. While it does matter, I take from it “I KNOW I can have that ‘blinder’ feel again.”
I can’t explain the situation, but I just know it can’t/won’t happen… Nonetheless, I was smitten. To go so long without feeling smitten is El Stinko. I thank her for helping me regain, revisit ‘smitten’.
“Blinders” is all about smiles. Touch. A calm, quiet. Shared. Not a care in the world besides “two”. Of the 7,300 left (I hope) it was one I couldn’t have painted better.
As I push with my arms and lug my tubbo bod up over the Canyon wall… I stand. Turn back and shout to it “I CAN can-can-can, FEEL feel-feel-feel, AGAIN again-again-again.”
I i i i, HAD had had had BLINDERS blinder blinders AGAIN again again…
Life ain’t a footrace. It’s the hurdles. I’ve overcome one.
Why you are here I ain’t got the foggiest idea, but I’m thankful you are. Might you go on in life taking on those hurdles – and if you trip, fall… get right back up again.. muster up the courage – and approach it again. I hurdled this one without even being cognizant it was a hurdle.
Echoes are good, eh? eh eh eh… (CORBETT corbett corbett corbett CANYON canyon canyon canyon.)
I may not ever again have the opportunity to focus all thoughts on another… but at least now I know I have the capability to do so… Love is blind(er)… happy day, love, Victurd.
You’ve been here. You’ve seen me. It’s like I was left in the Basin of the Grand Canyon a few years back.. Thrown a pity party or three, and have raved off and on about the virtues of “how great life is” even in shit times.
A façade? Nah, not hardly. Even if it ain’t perfect, it’s a perty damn fine place.
Up the wall I’ve scaled – only to be occasionally bumped back down by this (car trouble), that (more bills than bank), or those (like her, wish the feelings were mutual.)
Climb. I’ve kept climbing, and along the way I’ve had some wonderful old times with old cronies from “the day.”… Even put the softball mitt back on and relived sore arm, aching joints, sweat soaked July shirts.
This past weekend was unlike all that. In marriage number two, I was very much in love. Blinders. My thoughts were about her. There was not a literal hour that went by that I didn’t imagine seeing her. It was a pleasure for oh so many years to come home to see her face, her smile.
Things end, I’m aware of that, and I stand here today appreciative God granted me this opportunity for so long.
This past weekend. Eh, I know I’m not right for ‘her’. She, a child of the 60’s, me, from the Ike era. While it does matter, I take from it “I KNOW I can have that ‘blinder’ feel again.”
I can’t explain the situation, but I just know it can’t/won’t happen… Nonetheless, I was smitten. To go so long without feeling smitten is El Stinko. I thank her for helping me regain, revisit ‘smitten’.
“Blinders” is all about smiles. Touch. A calm, quiet. Shared. Not a care in the world besides “two”. Of the 7,300 left (I hope) it was one I couldn’t have painted better.
As I push with my arms and lug my tubbo bod up over the Canyon wall… I stand. Turn back and shout to it “I CAN can-can-can, FEEL feel-feel-feel, AGAIN again-again-again.”
I i i i, HAD had had had BLINDERS blinder blinders AGAIN again again…
Life ain’t a footrace. It’s the hurdles. I’ve overcome one.
Why you are here I ain’t got the foggiest idea, but I’m thankful you are. Might you go on in life taking on those hurdles – and if you trip, fall… get right back up again.. muster up the courage – and approach it again. I hurdled this one without even being cognizant it was a hurdle.
Echoes are good, eh? eh eh eh… (CORBETT corbett corbett corbett CANYON canyon canyon canyon.)
I may not ever again have the opportunity to focus all thoughts on another… but at least now I know I have the capability to do so… Love is blind(er)… happy day, love, Victurd.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Hi...
And thanks for being here...
Got-ta counting... Fitty-six... Ya read the obits... There's a lotta 70's... So, if lucky.. another twenty years... mebbe... and at that, that's 7,300 days...
Skeery...
So. Gonna live. Gonna live eyes wide open. Not gonna take nuttin for granted. (Victor, that's a double negative, you can't do that.) This is a blog. And speakin' a negative - not gonna have it. Oh sure, i'll probably have to endure some @ work, at home, have to's - but for the most part, when negative happens in life, I'm gonna vaminos...
Last night.. One of the most rewarding days of my life... I happened to be there.. A friend.. this friend lost their spouse VERY recently.. They leaned, and I was glad they did.. Talked/cried into the wee hours.. Ten years ago, I'da run from this situation for fear of being uncomfy. Nuh uh, not now. This person talked gutteral - and I'm very glad they did - for if you hold that stuff in, it irritates the stomach lining forever...
Eyes wide open today, Mickey D's. A couple - oh, mebbe 5,000 days left. They'd ordered, had gone back behind the line - and he had his arm around her as they waited - as if High School sweethearts.. Nice. Very nice. They're living. They "get it."
Nuther lady there. Maybe only 1,000 days or so left. Very obviously affected by a stroke. She didn't care. Living. out and about. Doing. Going. Way cool.
City park. Two 17 yr olds out playing ball with their fathers, mebbe 10,950 days left. I hope their eyes were open. Time flies. Their lives, all, will change soon.. Pretty cool, do hope they appreciated..
Laundromat. Another lady, MAYBE hundreds of days left. Her washer musta been broke because she had two big baskets of wet clothes she was taking to car. She struggled to get there.. and stopped for the longest time. The big lumux me sat there. Soon, another lady, prolly 16,425 days left, came out and offered "would you allow me to assist you?"... and she smiled.. and did. Nice, 16,425 lady realizing only hunnerds left... "I'll help make this one better."
I think I'm done with Birthdays. Don't like fitty-four, fitty-five, fitty-six.. From now on - I'm counting the days backwards... Another reminder of just how precious our time is here.
Your age? 26? 17,885 days... 29? 16,790.. 31? 16,060... 40? 12,775..
Morbid? I don't think so. "But why count down to zero?"... Well... maybe you/I/we will live longer. Then we'll go into "overtime" - where we absolutely realize every day is special.. A year.. 365, two, 730.. ten, 5,650..
Another way to look at it.. based on projected 7,300 days left for me (Victor, you smoke, you drink, you eat Snickers bars, quit dreaming) that's only 1,0432 weekends.. Wow.. .Perspective..
Enjoy the day... Number 7,300 for me. You? Love, Victurd.
Got-ta counting... Fitty-six... Ya read the obits... There's a lotta 70's... So, if lucky.. another twenty years... mebbe... and at that, that's 7,300 days...
Skeery...
So. Gonna live. Gonna live eyes wide open. Not gonna take nuttin for granted. (Victor, that's a double negative, you can't do that.) This is a blog. And speakin' a negative - not gonna have it. Oh sure, i'll probably have to endure some @ work, at home, have to's - but for the most part, when negative happens in life, I'm gonna vaminos...
Last night.. One of the most rewarding days of my life... I happened to be there.. A friend.. this friend lost their spouse VERY recently.. They leaned, and I was glad they did.. Talked/cried into the wee hours.. Ten years ago, I'da run from this situation for fear of being uncomfy. Nuh uh, not now. This person talked gutteral - and I'm very glad they did - for if you hold that stuff in, it irritates the stomach lining forever...
Eyes wide open today, Mickey D's. A couple - oh, mebbe 5,000 days left. They'd ordered, had gone back behind the line - and he had his arm around her as they waited - as if High School sweethearts.. Nice. Very nice. They're living. They "get it."
Nuther lady there. Maybe only 1,000 days or so left. Very obviously affected by a stroke. She didn't care. Living. out and about. Doing. Going. Way cool.
City park. Two 17 yr olds out playing ball with their fathers, mebbe 10,950 days left. I hope their eyes were open. Time flies. Their lives, all, will change soon.. Pretty cool, do hope they appreciated..
Laundromat. Another lady, MAYBE hundreds of days left. Her washer musta been broke because she had two big baskets of wet clothes she was taking to car. She struggled to get there.. and stopped for the longest time. The big lumux me sat there. Soon, another lady, prolly 16,425 days left, came out and offered "would you allow me to assist you?"... and she smiled.. and did. Nice, 16,425 lady realizing only hunnerds left... "I'll help make this one better."
I think I'm done with Birthdays. Don't like fitty-four, fitty-five, fitty-six.. From now on - I'm counting the days backwards... Another reminder of just how precious our time is here.
Your age? 26? 17,885 days... 29? 16,790.. 31? 16,060... 40? 12,775..
Morbid? I don't think so. "But why count down to zero?"... Well... maybe you/I/we will live longer. Then we'll go into "overtime" - where we absolutely realize every day is special.. A year.. 365, two, 730.. ten, 5,650..
Another way to look at it.. based on projected 7,300 days left for me (Victor, you smoke, you drink, you eat Snickers bars, quit dreaming) that's only 1,0432 weekends.. Wow.. .Perspective..
Enjoy the day... Number 7,300 for me. You? Love, Victurd.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Today….
I woke up again. Yipee!.. Laughable, but not when u stop and think about it…
I copied the family thingy blog and sent it to cousins, nieces… and received somea the warmest, heartfelt replies.. I think my unknowing, not consciously aware of the intent or ‘want’ of “keeping them alive” somehow strangely worked.
We have this day, today. It’s just another day… or is it.
We can go thru the motions, never leave the mundane… or… we can use the words love, “I like you”, “hi”… we can wing smiles… we can promise to not get so bent outta shape with the things that we normally allow to get our dander.
We’re human, we’ll mess it up – but if we have that baby cognizance of “even in shit, life ain’t too bad” it makes it all so much easier.
That “I like you” part. There’s a young punk I played softball with. I was graced in that these guys even allowed me on the same field with them. I thought I’d be a burden. I know this guy so-so, and we’ve always had pleasant visits.. (He’s a hunk, and if you’re ever at a ‘joint’, within five minutes he’s talking to the best looking gal at the place.. thus his nickname “The Hillbilly Heartthrob”!)..
Anyways… we never really had any long, endearing talks… minutes here, five minutes there.. last game of the season… “un-alcohol induced” he walks up to me and says “I really like you Vic… you’re a nice guy… yada yada.” (Please know I/he each stare at women’s derrieres and cleavage, so there ain’t nuttin gay about that).. It was such a good feel.
I learned. I learned from him what it feels like to be on the receiving end of someone saying “I like you.” Farm out. Way cool. And I wanna spread that, thanks to his impetus.
So today, we have this day. A gift. Yes, another ole day – but it’s an opportunity. We can handout feel goods. Insteada Halloween candy, I’m gonna try to hand out feel goods. I won’t say ‘em if I don’t mean ‘em ---- but if I feel ‘em, I ain’t concealing ‘em any longer.
“You’re a good worker…”… “you do wonderful work.” “I love your love of your snotnoses.”… “you look nice today.” “I value your friendship.”.. “You’re always happy, what the hell is wrong with you?!!”
Thanks Mike, for that nice comment – it’s given me a new vision, a new way.
To me, there is no such thing as “insignificant” in life. It’s all huge. Every minute, every waking hour, even sleep!..
So, may I start October 24th, 2008 with “thanks… I like you blog people… I truly value you being here.. your eyeballs and comments boost me through the days.. in shared yuck times, WE will get better.. in the UP times, WE will celebrate (celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music…. no, nevermind. I’m too old, too white to dance.. you dance, I’ll watch ur butt.)
I copied the family thingy blog and sent it to cousins, nieces… and received somea the warmest, heartfelt replies.. I think my unknowing, not consciously aware of the intent or ‘want’ of “keeping them alive” somehow strangely worked.
We have this day, today. It’s just another day… or is it.
We can go thru the motions, never leave the mundane… or… we can use the words love, “I like you”, “hi”… we can wing smiles… we can promise to not get so bent outta shape with the things that we normally allow to get our dander.
We’re human, we’ll mess it up – but if we have that baby cognizance of “even in shit, life ain’t too bad” it makes it all so much easier.
That “I like you” part. There’s a young punk I played softball with. I was graced in that these guys even allowed me on the same field with them. I thought I’d be a burden. I know this guy so-so, and we’ve always had pleasant visits.. (He’s a hunk, and if you’re ever at a ‘joint’, within five minutes he’s talking to the best looking gal at the place.. thus his nickname “The Hillbilly Heartthrob”!)..
Anyways… we never really had any long, endearing talks… minutes here, five minutes there.. last game of the season… “un-alcohol induced” he walks up to me and says “I really like you Vic… you’re a nice guy… yada yada.” (Please know I/he each stare at women’s derrieres and cleavage, so there ain’t nuttin gay about that).. It was such a good feel.
I learned. I learned from him what it feels like to be on the receiving end of someone saying “I like you.” Farm out. Way cool. And I wanna spread that, thanks to his impetus.
So today, we have this day. A gift. Yes, another ole day – but it’s an opportunity. We can handout feel goods. Insteada Halloween candy, I’m gonna try to hand out feel goods. I won’t say ‘em if I don’t mean ‘em ---- but if I feel ‘em, I ain’t concealing ‘em any longer.
“You’re a good worker…”… “you do wonderful work.” “I love your love of your snotnoses.”… “you look nice today.” “I value your friendship.”.. “You’re always happy, what the hell is wrong with you?!!”
Thanks Mike, for that nice comment – it’s given me a new vision, a new way.
To me, there is no such thing as “insignificant” in life. It’s all huge. Every minute, every waking hour, even sleep!..
So, may I start October 24th, 2008 with “thanks… I like you blog people… I truly value you being here.. your eyeballs and comments boost me through the days.. in shared yuck times, WE will get better.. in the UP times, WE will celebrate (celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music…. no, nevermind. I’m too old, too white to dance.. you dance, I’ll watch ur butt.)
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The digs…
Computer on the fritz, nonetheless, cleaned the ‘office’ area at home. In doing so, ran across some pics of beloved ones – and now they ‘stare’ and smile at me every day.
This is personal, so I completely understand if you turn left here. No hard feelings, and apologies if it’s a bore.
My sister. Vibrant. Brilliant. Sure, biased, but others agreed. Born 1947, taken from this world in 1999.
She lived smiling. She smiled living. Infectious.
She had the uncanny knack to respond immediately to whatever was said in a way that was graceful, sometimes very humorous, and certainly uplifting.
She’d give reviews to her employees.. notate some things that needed attention, and then pat on the back about 9 others things the employee had done for the benefit of the company. They’d walk out “HECK YEAH!.. I’m GOOD.. and I’m gonna be BETTER!”..
She was the cog to our family. You’d feel honored just to be in her presence, and she’d quickly have that turned around to where she’d announce just the opposite.. “I’m sooo lucky to have you as a brother.”.. Good. She was good. Very good.
My mother. A writer. She worked for the small Liberal Arts college I attended, and wrote the weekly “Colleague”.. a diddy for coworkers… she spiced it with humor, sayings, and uplifted those she wrote about.
My mother demonstrated and believe in societal/legal “the right way”… I can still hear the voice on the other enda the phone call… “How’s my Victor!”… Father traveled, she was there to play catch or setup plastic army guys. To counsel. To encourage. To open the door communication-wise to let me figure things out myself.
My mother had a massive stroke in her fifties, and expired at the age of 67. Smart. Pretty. Real. Good. Ya couldn’t ask for a better mom.
Father. “Learnt” me, thru demonstrated behavior, that discrimination was wrong. He’d befriend anyone, everyone, and never talk down to, or up to anyone. He’d go from a talk with a local minister, to sharing a beer with the guy who picked up our trash.
He lived with a pep in his step. We were never without, but our lifestyle wasn’t lavish either. He was very simply happy in life.
He loved to go “fishing”, but not with rod and reel. He’d start a story, continue on and on (and on).. you’d be entranced… not believing.. then believing.. and he’d end it some ten minutes later with the pun he’d spent all that time working up to. You were left not knowing whether to smack him (with a smile) or pee your pants in laughter. He always got the best of you, but in a fun, fun way.
When his wife, my mother, had her stroke – he quit traveling. Bought D tags. Sold cars from the driveway. Additionally he cooked, cleaned house, took on all the sets of chores. Was he pissed? Had life been cruel? Hardly. He'd sing Mack the Knife as he cooked. He’d vacuum, maybe have a martini.. then clean the kitchen inbetween loads of laundry. He made good outta unfortunate.
His heart gave out in 2003.
“Don’t make us out to be martyrs” they’d say. And I’m not. Just damn good people. It’s my hope there’s a little of each in me. October 13, 1952, God put me in the perfect home. I am so very thankful for that – and selfishly I wish I’d had more time with each – but what we had was wonderful. And I know I was lucky.
I hope you have wonderful memories of your family – and if they’re still around for goodness sakes hug ‘em and love ‘em for that day does eventually happen to us all.
I often say (from what movie I don’t remember) “I’m the baby, gotta love me.” In this case, or in life’s case, that’s not a have to for all. Again, I’m so very lucky they chose to love me, and the feelings were/are mutual. Love, Victurd
This is personal, so I completely understand if you turn left here. No hard feelings, and apologies if it’s a bore.
My sister. Vibrant. Brilliant. Sure, biased, but others agreed. Born 1947, taken from this world in 1999.
She lived smiling. She smiled living. Infectious.
She had the uncanny knack to respond immediately to whatever was said in a way that was graceful, sometimes very humorous, and certainly uplifting.
She’d give reviews to her employees.. notate some things that needed attention, and then pat on the back about 9 others things the employee had done for the benefit of the company. They’d walk out “HECK YEAH!.. I’m GOOD.. and I’m gonna be BETTER!”..
She was the cog to our family. You’d feel honored just to be in her presence, and she’d quickly have that turned around to where she’d announce just the opposite.. “I’m sooo lucky to have you as a brother.”.. Good. She was good. Very good.
My mother. A writer. She worked for the small Liberal Arts college I attended, and wrote the weekly “Colleague”.. a diddy for coworkers… she spiced it with humor, sayings, and uplifted those she wrote about.
My mother demonstrated and believe in societal/legal “the right way”… I can still hear the voice on the other enda the phone call… “How’s my Victor!”… Father traveled, she was there to play catch or setup plastic army guys. To counsel. To encourage. To open the door communication-wise to let me figure things out myself.
My mother had a massive stroke in her fifties, and expired at the age of 67. Smart. Pretty. Real. Good. Ya couldn’t ask for a better mom.
Father. “Learnt” me, thru demonstrated behavior, that discrimination was wrong. He’d befriend anyone, everyone, and never talk down to, or up to anyone. He’d go from a talk with a local minister, to sharing a beer with the guy who picked up our trash.
He lived with a pep in his step. We were never without, but our lifestyle wasn’t lavish either. He was very simply happy in life.
He loved to go “fishing”, but not with rod and reel. He’d start a story, continue on and on (and on).. you’d be entranced… not believing.. then believing.. and he’d end it some ten minutes later with the pun he’d spent all that time working up to. You were left not knowing whether to smack him (with a smile) or pee your pants in laughter. He always got the best of you, but in a fun, fun way.
When his wife, my mother, had her stroke – he quit traveling. Bought D tags. Sold cars from the driveway. Additionally he cooked, cleaned house, took on all the sets of chores. Was he pissed? Had life been cruel? Hardly. He'd sing Mack the Knife as he cooked. He’d vacuum, maybe have a martini.. then clean the kitchen inbetween loads of laundry. He made good outta unfortunate.
His heart gave out in 2003.
“Don’t make us out to be martyrs” they’d say. And I’m not. Just damn good people. It’s my hope there’s a little of each in me. October 13, 1952, God put me in the perfect home. I am so very thankful for that – and selfishly I wish I’d had more time with each – but what we had was wonderful. And I know I was lucky.
I hope you have wonderful memories of your family – and if they’re still around for goodness sakes hug ‘em and love ‘em for that day does eventually happen to us all.
I often say (from what movie I don’t remember) “I’m the baby, gotta love me.” In this case, or in life’s case, that’s not a have to for all. Again, I’m so very lucky they chose to love me, and the feelings were/are mutual. Love, Victurd
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Pockets…
That’s kinda interesting. We all have ‘em. There ain’t very much in this world we all share, have. Homeless ain’t gotta front door, bed. Half of us don’t have a thingy. Not all have limbs, extremities. For the most part, we all gots pockets.
Amazing huh, doesn’t matter age, height, weight, paycheck size/lack thereof. We all gots pockets.
Whadda you keep in your pockets? Oh sure, change, keys, billfold for us men. You? Eyeliner? Breath freshener? You young punks? Rubber?
Pockets are a stopping point for “I’ll put it away later.”
We store phone numbers, halfa Levitra pill (VICTOR!), lint, $1 off 9 Lives coupons, nails, screws, bolts, nuts, washers.
Pockets help when the hands are warm, or nervous. If you’re country, hands in the back pockets are cool.
Some, you can tell just by peeking, what they’ve had in their pockets as ‘designs’ are formed. Skoal. Comb. Billfold. Change.
Interesting too to gander at the washing machine tub after doing a load. Lotta weird stuff falls out. Mostly garbled, but, goes a ways in telling of our lives..
High pockets. Old guys. Saggers, low to the ground pockets.
Ever walk into Mickey D’s with 78 cents in your pocket only to get inside and realize you’ve now only got 47 cents? Uh huh, we get holes in the pockets. Mom usedta say quickly after payday I’d have a hole in my pocket.
Pockets can be erotic. Every pull one closer using the pockets as a grasping point? Uh huh, what I thought.
Our pockets are private. Don’t intrude. As a kid, lady in Dime Store accused us of stealing a needle thingy that you pump air into footballs, basketballs. Stopped three of us, ages 8-10, grabbed into our pockets to search. I’ll never forget that. An unwanted intrusion.
We store reminders there. Some keep their bankroll there with a money clip. Some are slow to the pockets when the tab comes. “Don’t worry Ralph, I’ll get this one.”
In my day, I’ve stored money, bills, change, phone numbers, paper clips (no idea why), mints, fliers, buttons, peanuts, gum, directions, key to new house/car, engagement ring(s), cigs, lighter, matches, Piggly Wiggly discount card, marbles, golf balls, jacks, pens, pencils, cologne, eye drops, lemon drops, photos, pick-me-up sayings, grocery lists…..
Usedta plant notes in whatshername’s pockets. “You look gorgeous.” Or, for the backpocket, “I love your booty!”…
Hotpockets. Sidepockets. Polly pockets. Magic pockets. Periodontal pockets. Suited pockets.
Pockets are world known, yet contents private. Our pockets tell of our lives.
As a former snotnose age school teacher, said lovingly, nothing better (worse?) than having a second grader keep that piece of candy for his PE teacher in his pocket all day thru class, during lunch, recess… only to hand to his teach the last hour of the day. Kinda cool when you think about it. Resisting temptation all day – then giving to his teacher friend.
As the economy sucks, we think more of our pockets. Every day decisions surround the pockets. Even something as simple as a drive to the store brings our pockets to mind as we take the most direct route.
Hey. I hope, if only for a minute, your mind was taken off everyday woes. Bill worries. Relationship scrambles. Have to’s.
I’ve gotta long list of things for me to assist me getting to where I wanna get tomorrow. Gonna put that list in my pocket. Take it out at night, study it, then put it in my pocket again in the morning. Mebbe, just mebbe one day I’ll work on the list, a little at a time.
Amazing how important something as unimportant as a pocket can be.
Wonder what George W has in his pockets during the day? Obama? Condoleezza? Sarah Jessica Parker? Elisabeth Shue?
My folks (and two other sets of parents) did go to that store and make that lady apologize. She was naturally grumpy anyways, don’t think it rearranged her take on life. Pockets is private lady, even urs.
Pull your lover up close, pocket to pocket. Enjoy the day, love, Victurd
Amazing huh, doesn’t matter age, height, weight, paycheck size/lack thereof. We all gots pockets.
Whadda you keep in your pockets? Oh sure, change, keys, billfold for us men. You? Eyeliner? Breath freshener? You young punks? Rubber?
Pockets are a stopping point for “I’ll put it away later.”
We store phone numbers, halfa Levitra pill (VICTOR!), lint, $1 off 9 Lives coupons, nails, screws, bolts, nuts, washers.
Pockets help when the hands are warm, or nervous. If you’re country, hands in the back pockets are cool.
Some, you can tell just by peeking, what they’ve had in their pockets as ‘designs’ are formed. Skoal. Comb. Billfold. Change.
Interesting too to gander at the washing machine tub after doing a load. Lotta weird stuff falls out. Mostly garbled, but, goes a ways in telling of our lives..
High pockets. Old guys. Saggers, low to the ground pockets.
Ever walk into Mickey D’s with 78 cents in your pocket only to get inside and realize you’ve now only got 47 cents? Uh huh, we get holes in the pockets. Mom usedta say quickly after payday I’d have a hole in my pocket.
Pockets can be erotic. Every pull one closer using the pockets as a grasping point? Uh huh, what I thought.
Our pockets are private. Don’t intrude. As a kid, lady in Dime Store accused us of stealing a needle thingy that you pump air into footballs, basketballs. Stopped three of us, ages 8-10, grabbed into our pockets to search. I’ll never forget that. An unwanted intrusion.
We store reminders there. Some keep their bankroll there with a money clip. Some are slow to the pockets when the tab comes. “Don’t worry Ralph, I’ll get this one.”
In my day, I’ve stored money, bills, change, phone numbers, paper clips (no idea why), mints, fliers, buttons, peanuts, gum, directions, key to new house/car, engagement ring(s), cigs, lighter, matches, Piggly Wiggly discount card, marbles, golf balls, jacks, pens, pencils, cologne, eye drops, lemon drops, photos, pick-me-up sayings, grocery lists…..
Usedta plant notes in whatshername’s pockets. “You look gorgeous.” Or, for the backpocket, “I love your booty!”…
Hotpockets. Sidepockets. Polly pockets. Magic pockets. Periodontal pockets. Suited pockets.
Pockets are world known, yet contents private. Our pockets tell of our lives.
As a former snotnose age school teacher, said lovingly, nothing better (worse?) than having a second grader keep that piece of candy for his PE teacher in his pocket all day thru class, during lunch, recess… only to hand to his teach the last hour of the day. Kinda cool when you think about it. Resisting temptation all day – then giving to his teacher friend.
As the economy sucks, we think more of our pockets. Every day decisions surround the pockets. Even something as simple as a drive to the store brings our pockets to mind as we take the most direct route.
Hey. I hope, if only for a minute, your mind was taken off everyday woes. Bill worries. Relationship scrambles. Have to’s.
I’ve gotta long list of things for me to assist me getting to where I wanna get tomorrow. Gonna put that list in my pocket. Take it out at night, study it, then put it in my pocket again in the morning. Mebbe, just mebbe one day I’ll work on the list, a little at a time.
Amazing how important something as unimportant as a pocket can be.
Wonder what George W has in his pockets during the day? Obama? Condoleezza? Sarah Jessica Parker? Elisabeth Shue?
My folks (and two other sets of parents) did go to that store and make that lady apologize. She was naturally grumpy anyways, don’t think it rearranged her take on life. Pockets is private lady, even urs.
Pull your lover up close, pocket to pocket. Enjoy the day, love, Victurd
Saturday, October 18, 2008
(Harp and Jawbone Intro)
Chicken train
runnin' all day
chicken train
runnin' all day
chicken train
runnin' all day
I can't get on
I can't get off
chicken train take your chickens away....
This song has absolutely nothing to do with everything. Again, using what brain cells that be left “up there” I was tossin' and turnin' about whatinthehell to write. I thought about “fun stuff”.. I was driving around, and somea my favs came on.. Fatbottom girl... Can't always get what you want... I was thinka stuff like “popping bubble wrap”... and then this song came on...
(Harp and jawbone break)
laser beam
in my dream
laser beam
in my dream
I can't get on
I can't get off
laser beam's like a sawed off dream...
I realized, listening to music is onea my favorite things to do. I'm not whoopy on going to a bar, being stuck with who's there, what they're playing (but admit to many a good time)... I prefer selectin' my own.. My own “old fart” radio station....
I also have fun going to the same fast food joints repeatedly, not being able to see the microphone person, but to open the lips and mimic the same ole same ole ones as they do “welcome to Church's this is Diane may I hep you?”.. or, wonderfuly Hispanically “welcome to Wendies may I take your order please?” (Her looks match her peppiness)...
(Harp and Jawbone break)
(While you do chicken sounds)
chicken train
runnin' all day
chicken train
runnin' all day
I can't get on
I can't get off
Chicken train take your chickens away
braaa... braaaaaaaack.... braaaaaaa...
(More chicken sounds)
Whoda known? I don't really share opines of political goodies, and this is no intent to do so.. I just thought this was fun. braaaaaaaack...
I like to people watch... have fun with critters... see smiles.. catch a kid in mid invigorism.. catch an old fart in mid invigorism...
Were you really doing chicken sounds?
Computers are fun, mostly. I think too, fun is avoiding what ain't fun. There you go again Victor, that avoidance behavior. Yeah, mebbe. Argument at my joint last night, I wasn't a participant. Couldn't sleep thru it.. went out to van, zonked. For the night. Stupid, yet kinda fun.
To McDonalds, 5:10am (I'm there that early during the week.).. Lady comes to door holding up 6 fingers (well, 5 fingers anda thumb).. back to van for snoozing.
Paper. Breakfast. Coffee (fitty-four cent senior coffee).. Fun..
To library. 8:20am. Darn. "Saturday 9-5". Back to van. Nuther nap. Weekends are fun.
Little things are fun. Perhaps that makes me a simpleton. Don't care. I knows my fun. Like right now, I'm at a station (one of fitteen wrapped around in rectangle fashion) at the library (Home PC on fritz, not fun) and over here there's a kid chewon the string to his hoodie. There two 11 year old snotnoses sharing a chair looking at puter. Another kid, looking down, writing, looking back up at pc, not smiling, obviously homework, not fun.
Every day crap in life is fun. I reckon that is if you let it be. (Oh shit, another music blog coming.) Well mebbe.. When I find myself in times of trouble.......... heheh.... I seek fun.
A mom helping a kid login. The library version of 'paper or plastic'... full internet access or filtered access?.. Darnit. Eh, don't worry kid, one day even you too can watch Pam and Tommy.
I'm about funned out. Thanks for the ear. (Hey! Another blog! "Starry starry night")... Victor, you're sick. No. I just like fun. It beats hearing arguments.
Gonna go nap in my van now. Might u find a ray of fun within the day.......
Braaaaaaaaaaaaack... (More chicken sounds.) Love, Victurd.
runnin' all day
chicken train
runnin' all day
chicken train
runnin' all day
I can't get on
I can't get off
chicken train take your chickens away....
This song has absolutely nothing to do with everything. Again, using what brain cells that be left “up there” I was tossin' and turnin' about whatinthehell to write. I thought about “fun stuff”.. I was driving around, and somea my favs came on.. Fatbottom girl... Can't always get what you want... I was thinka stuff like “popping bubble wrap”... and then this song came on...
(Harp and jawbone break)
laser beam
in my dream
laser beam
in my dream
I can't get on
I can't get off
laser beam's like a sawed off dream...
I realized, listening to music is onea my favorite things to do. I'm not whoopy on going to a bar, being stuck with who's there, what they're playing (but admit to many a good time)... I prefer selectin' my own.. My own “old fart” radio station....
I also have fun going to the same fast food joints repeatedly, not being able to see the microphone person, but to open the lips and mimic the same ole same ole ones as they do “welcome to Church's this is Diane may I hep you?”.. or, wonderfuly Hispanically “welcome to Wendies may I take your order please?” (Her looks match her peppiness)...
(Harp and Jawbone break)
(While you do chicken sounds)
chicken train
runnin' all day
chicken train
runnin' all day
I can't get on
I can't get off
Chicken train take your chickens away
braaa... braaaaaaaack.... braaaaaaa...
(More chicken sounds)
Whoda known? I don't really share opines of political goodies, and this is no intent to do so.. I just thought this was fun. braaaaaaaack...
I like to people watch... have fun with critters... see smiles.. catch a kid in mid invigorism.. catch an old fart in mid invigorism...
Were you really doing chicken sounds?
Computers are fun, mostly. I think too, fun is avoiding what ain't fun. There you go again Victor, that avoidance behavior. Yeah, mebbe. Argument at my joint last night, I wasn't a participant. Couldn't sleep thru it.. went out to van, zonked. For the night. Stupid, yet kinda fun.
To McDonalds, 5:10am (I'm there that early during the week.).. Lady comes to door holding up 6 fingers (well, 5 fingers anda thumb).. back to van for snoozing.
Paper. Breakfast. Coffee (fitty-four cent senior coffee).. Fun..
To library. 8:20am. Darn. "Saturday 9-5". Back to van. Nuther nap. Weekends are fun.
Little things are fun. Perhaps that makes me a simpleton. Don't care. I knows my fun. Like right now, I'm at a station (one of fitteen wrapped around in rectangle fashion) at the library (Home PC on fritz, not fun) and over here there's a kid chewon the string to his hoodie. There two 11 year old snotnoses sharing a chair looking at puter. Another kid, looking down, writing, looking back up at pc, not smiling, obviously homework, not fun.
Every day crap in life is fun. I reckon that is if you let it be. (Oh shit, another music blog coming.) Well mebbe.. When I find myself in times of trouble.......... heheh.... I seek fun.
A mom helping a kid login. The library version of 'paper or plastic'... full internet access or filtered access?.. Darnit. Eh, don't worry kid, one day even you too can watch Pam and Tommy.
I'm about funned out. Thanks for the ear. (Hey! Another blog! "Starry starry night")... Victor, you're sick. No. I just like fun. It beats hearing arguments.
Gonna go nap in my van now. Might u find a ray of fun within the day.......
Braaaaaaaaaaaaack... (More chicken sounds.) Love, Victurd.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The life of the party…..
We’re all seen ‘em. We all know ‘em. Recognize ‘em. Mebbe try to emulate ‘em. Can’t. They’re them, we’re we.
Dressed, not necessarily to the max – but perfectly. As if on an interview – one step above what’s norm for the ‘job’. Mingling, mixing, contently, comfortably with all.
Continually smiling, calm, confident yet no heir of cockiness. Comfy in own shoes.
The life of the party has this unique gift of “getting it.” They’re givers. You connect with them, and you think “surely this will be all about him/her” and before you know it, he/she has managed to turn the spotlight on you… shower you with good tidings.. comfort you if you’re down, say a little diddy to pick you up.. or, if you happen to be ‘up’, they’re your biggest cheerleader.
No cliques. The life of the party eyes all the same. Doesn’t matter wallet, height, weight, relationship status, job status – treats all the same.
How can this person be so with it? Don’t they have sucky moments? Do they ever sit in the corner and think “I don’t wanna be here?”…
Sure they do. They’re human to. The life of the party has flunked a test before. Had a flat tire. Gotten a speeding ticket. Been late to work. Have been lonesome. Have been teary over a loved one’s suffering. Have looked at caller ID, had a down moment, and didn’t answer your/the call. They too are human.
The distinction, again “they get it.” They realize anything and everything is controlled by a decision within.
Rather. No, not Dan. Rather than attempt to BE the life of the party, they turn that stuff around and move on with “the party of life.” Life is a party, and they understand that. They mend their own weakness by assisting other’s thru theirs. They ‘pump you up’ in effort to pump themselves up.
You can bet, upon occasion, they grit their teeth too. They perhaps twiddle their thumbs, fingers, nervously. They have no desire to strive to be known as the Life of the Party. Yet, on the exterior they paint “the party of life”, thus, they’re transformed into the life of the party. Decent artwork eh?
The lemonade outta lemons is an old statement – but one so ‘with it’ today, and every day. Sometimes there’s simply crap within life – yet these ‘leaders’ understand, the party of life.
I have a picture on my desk. My sister. With some handsome redheaded dude with arm around. To look at her smile, you can tell she was “the life of the party.” And she truly was. She ‘got it.’ Oh she had crap happen in her life – but rather than crawl under the corners, lock herself in the bedroom… she “I’ll be damned Life, I’m not gonna do that. There’s too much good. This ride is fun, or at least I’m gonna make it be.” And she did. Sure, I’m biased – but those who knew her felt the same. She truly was the party of life enjoying the life of the party.
Is a little gal here at work.. Happens to be black. Bubbly. First time I met her, in three minutes she’d said five good things about me. Somehow twisted it to “I’m lucky to know you.” She rocks. She’s hella smiley. She’s a life of the party.
Yesterday, prior to work. Some of us were working on our smoking habit pre 8am. She walked by, head down, no eye contact, thru the door she went. Unlike her. Two hours later, get this apologetic email about same. “I’ve just been down.” I emailed back “tis ok. We’re all on this rollercoaster of life. Please remember, if ‘down’ happens..’up’ ain’t too far behind.” Even the life of the party has down moments, yet, they eventually get back on track and celebrate the party of life.
If you.. and you, and you and you and you.. wanna hookup and visit/share that party of life. Gimme a holler. Oh, mebbe 48-ish.. Blonde.. HWP.. Have halfa ‘his’ pension coming.. hehe.. Dress (or undress) to the max.. Holler… 867-5309.. We’ll collectively enjoy this sometimes bumpy, ever wonderful, party of life. Love, Victurd.
Dressed, not necessarily to the max – but perfectly. As if on an interview – one step above what’s norm for the ‘job’. Mingling, mixing, contently, comfortably with all.
Continually smiling, calm, confident yet no heir of cockiness. Comfy in own shoes.
The life of the party has this unique gift of “getting it.” They’re givers. You connect with them, and you think “surely this will be all about him/her” and before you know it, he/she has managed to turn the spotlight on you… shower you with good tidings.. comfort you if you’re down, say a little diddy to pick you up.. or, if you happen to be ‘up’, they’re your biggest cheerleader.
No cliques. The life of the party eyes all the same. Doesn’t matter wallet, height, weight, relationship status, job status – treats all the same.
How can this person be so with it? Don’t they have sucky moments? Do they ever sit in the corner and think “I don’t wanna be here?”…
Sure they do. They’re human to. The life of the party has flunked a test before. Had a flat tire. Gotten a speeding ticket. Been late to work. Have been lonesome. Have been teary over a loved one’s suffering. Have looked at caller ID, had a down moment, and didn’t answer your/the call. They too are human.
The distinction, again “they get it.” They realize anything and everything is controlled by a decision within.
Rather. No, not Dan. Rather than attempt to BE the life of the party, they turn that stuff around and move on with “the party of life.” Life is a party, and they understand that. They mend their own weakness by assisting other’s thru theirs. They ‘pump you up’ in effort to pump themselves up.
You can bet, upon occasion, they grit their teeth too. They perhaps twiddle their thumbs, fingers, nervously. They have no desire to strive to be known as the Life of the Party. Yet, on the exterior they paint “the party of life”, thus, they’re transformed into the life of the party. Decent artwork eh?
The lemonade outta lemons is an old statement – but one so ‘with it’ today, and every day. Sometimes there’s simply crap within life – yet these ‘leaders’ understand, the party of life.
I have a picture on my desk. My sister. With some handsome redheaded dude with arm around. To look at her smile, you can tell she was “the life of the party.” And she truly was. She ‘got it.’ Oh she had crap happen in her life – but rather than crawl under the corners, lock herself in the bedroom… she “I’ll be damned Life, I’m not gonna do that. There’s too much good. This ride is fun, or at least I’m gonna make it be.” And she did. Sure, I’m biased – but those who knew her felt the same. She truly was the party of life enjoying the life of the party.
Is a little gal here at work.. Happens to be black. Bubbly. First time I met her, in three minutes she’d said five good things about me. Somehow twisted it to “I’m lucky to know you.” She rocks. She’s hella smiley. She’s a life of the party.
Yesterday, prior to work. Some of us were working on our smoking habit pre 8am. She walked by, head down, no eye contact, thru the door she went. Unlike her. Two hours later, get this apologetic email about same. “I’ve just been down.” I emailed back “tis ok. We’re all on this rollercoaster of life. Please remember, if ‘down’ happens..’up’ ain’t too far behind.” Even the life of the party has down moments, yet, they eventually get back on track and celebrate the party of life.
If you.. and you, and you and you and you.. wanna hookup and visit/share that party of life. Gimme a holler. Oh, mebbe 48-ish.. Blonde.. HWP.. Have halfa ‘his’ pension coming.. hehe.. Dress (or undress) to the max.. Holler… 867-5309.. We’ll collectively enjoy this sometimes bumpy, ever wonderful, party of life. Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
(The parentheses of life)….
Good morning. (I may or may not mean that, but it’s a custom in our lives, so) good morning.
How are you? (Not that I really wanna know, again, it’s just something we say - sometimes we stand back after saying, sometimes we reap bullshit answers, sometimes good shit..)
Sure boss, I’ll get on that right away. (You friggin’ idiot, do you realize how far apart we are in the sense of urgency here? I mean I’ve got all this other crap to do - my regular workload- and you want me to stop, drop everything and work on your piddly little project simply because your daddy started the company eons ago, you came from his wife’s womb, thus, by right, I stop and drop everything on your silly little whims?)… I’ll have it for you soon boss.
Hi, how are you today (My goodness she’s gorgeous. Every time I see her I dream of what she’d look like nekkie… VICTOR!!!.. Sorry, all men are piggies!)…
Uh huh.. .I see (you lost me ten minutes ago bucko.. I’m sitting here listening because I can’t find a way to get up, an excuse to use to get up, and you’re only in chapter 12 of this seemingly 33 chapter story… I’m drifting.) Yes, uh huh.
How are you Victor? Hey, I’m fine, thanks for asking. (“IT” has been awhile. I usedta love “IT”, but “IT”s been awhile. The kid is now 23 with no signs of jumping outta the nest. Washer’s on the fritz. Behind on the gas bill. I fell right on my tailbone a few days back, and I think I’m coming down with the crud.) Fine, just fine thanks.
How ‘bout that Greek place for lunch.. “Hmmm.” (Are you fucking crazy? Lamb? Bahhhhhh’d idea. Barf. No. Not just no, hell’s no‘s.) Ahm, I’ll go wherever you guys wanna go.
Victor, you doing ok? Yep! Ya sure? (Why you on ere polecat you. No. Sometimes life ain’t perfect, but I smile hella a lot. I enjoy it. I ain’t artistic, so sometimes it ain’t drawn exactly like I like it… but I’ve been ‘dog ear’ since I started carrying a notebook in 2nd grade. How dare you say “ya sure?”.. I bet if you dropped your drawers right now, there’d be skid marks. We all have skid marks in life, and last I remember, there was only one here who was perfect.)
Victor, your blog is kinda negative this morning. (No, no. You’re not getting it at all… It’s just that this wonderful, remarkable thing we call our brain… it’s the parentheses of our life.. It’s our cross-checker.. It keeps us in place.. It’s the valve on the tire where occasionally we can wade thru all the crap, and let some air out internally. Our parentheses contain the stuff we’d sometimes like to say.. And usually do.. But only internally so that we can hear it - not the person/people we’re with.)
Well I’d like it a little more than I’m getting it. (Holy behoogety sakes. You didn’t just say that?? You? A female? Living with someone and you have to say THAT? Does this poor chap know how you feel? Hells bells, I’d be sitting on the couch peeking at the curtains watching for your car to pull in.. A little Barry White in the background.. Some scented candles, a piecea vanilla incense whaffing thru the air..) Hmm. Sorry bout that.
Well, I’ll tell you what it is. (Yes, we all knew you would. There’s not a thing you don’t know about. Once, just ONCE, I’d love to hear your own parentheses open up and say “Gee… I dunno.. I just dunno.) Sure ____, tell us what it is.
What are you doing this weekend? (Again, it’s the polite thing to ask. You always say “oh, probably nothing”, but mebbe, just mebbe for once you’ll have cooked up something cool to tell me.) Yeah, me too.
I’m going to the bathroom. (Why? Why do you announce that. I’d much prefer you stand up and say “Doing #1 this time.”.. or, “Does anyone know, is there plenty of toilet paper in the john?”).. K….
Hi.. this is Vic, can I help you? (I saw your number on caller ID. You call a lot. I love and value the fact we work together, but you’re kinda like the boss. Your urgency just doesn’t quite match my urgency.) You bet bud, I’ll have an answer for you here soon…
Good morning Vic.. Hi.. (I like you. You’re nice. You don’t moan about life. You’re always smiley. You’re a giver. You’re always concerned - genuinely - of everyone else’s concerns - even in times when your own life may be down.).. How are you this morning Mary?
Parentheses are good. They’re our equalizer, our sanity maker. Our private sense of humor. Sometimes they’re the “what I’d really like to say”.. or for sure “what I’m really thinking.”
Life, it be good. (The kid’s never gonna fly. I hate the Laundromat. I’d better get my booty rolling to work.)
Have a great day (I really do mean that one.) You look nice today. (I’d love to one article at a time undress you, hehe).. Love (call me, 867-5309, we’ll do ‘lunch’), Victurd
How are you? (Not that I really wanna know, again, it’s just something we say - sometimes we stand back after saying, sometimes we reap bullshit answers, sometimes good shit..)
Sure boss, I’ll get on that right away. (You friggin’ idiot, do you realize how far apart we are in the sense of urgency here? I mean I’ve got all this other crap to do - my regular workload- and you want me to stop, drop everything and work on your piddly little project simply because your daddy started the company eons ago, you came from his wife’s womb, thus, by right, I stop and drop everything on your silly little whims?)… I’ll have it for you soon boss.
Hi, how are you today (My goodness she’s gorgeous. Every time I see her I dream of what she’d look like nekkie… VICTOR!!!.. Sorry, all men are piggies!)…
Uh huh.. .I see (you lost me ten minutes ago bucko.. I’m sitting here listening because I can’t find a way to get up, an excuse to use to get up, and you’re only in chapter 12 of this seemingly 33 chapter story… I’m drifting.) Yes, uh huh.
How are you Victor? Hey, I’m fine, thanks for asking. (“IT” has been awhile. I usedta love “IT”, but “IT”s been awhile. The kid is now 23 with no signs of jumping outta the nest. Washer’s on the fritz. Behind on the gas bill. I fell right on my tailbone a few days back, and I think I’m coming down with the crud.) Fine, just fine thanks.
How ‘bout that Greek place for lunch.. “Hmmm.” (Are you fucking crazy? Lamb? Bahhhhhh’d idea. Barf. No. Not just no, hell’s no‘s.) Ahm, I’ll go wherever you guys wanna go.
Victor, you doing ok? Yep! Ya sure? (Why you on ere polecat you. No. Sometimes life ain’t perfect, but I smile hella a lot. I enjoy it. I ain’t artistic, so sometimes it ain’t drawn exactly like I like it… but I’ve been ‘dog ear’ since I started carrying a notebook in 2nd grade. How dare you say “ya sure?”.. I bet if you dropped your drawers right now, there’d be skid marks. We all have skid marks in life, and last I remember, there was only one here who was perfect.)
Victor, your blog is kinda negative this morning. (No, no. You’re not getting it at all… It’s just that this wonderful, remarkable thing we call our brain… it’s the parentheses of our life.. It’s our cross-checker.. It keeps us in place.. It’s the valve on the tire where occasionally we can wade thru all the crap, and let some air out internally. Our parentheses contain the stuff we’d sometimes like to say.. And usually do.. But only internally so that we can hear it - not the person/people we’re with.)
Well I’d like it a little more than I’m getting it. (Holy behoogety sakes. You didn’t just say that?? You? A female? Living with someone and you have to say THAT? Does this poor chap know how you feel? Hells bells, I’d be sitting on the couch peeking at the curtains watching for your car to pull in.. A little Barry White in the background.. Some scented candles, a piecea vanilla incense whaffing thru the air..) Hmm. Sorry bout that.
Well, I’ll tell you what it is. (Yes, we all knew you would. There’s not a thing you don’t know about. Once, just ONCE, I’d love to hear your own parentheses open up and say “Gee… I dunno.. I just dunno.) Sure ____, tell us what it is.
What are you doing this weekend? (Again, it’s the polite thing to ask. You always say “oh, probably nothing”, but mebbe, just mebbe for once you’ll have cooked up something cool to tell me.) Yeah, me too.
I’m going to the bathroom. (Why? Why do you announce that. I’d much prefer you stand up and say “Doing #1 this time.”.. or, “Does anyone know, is there plenty of toilet paper in the john?”).. K….
Hi.. this is Vic, can I help you? (I saw your number on caller ID. You call a lot. I love and value the fact we work together, but you’re kinda like the boss. Your urgency just doesn’t quite match my urgency.) You bet bud, I’ll have an answer for you here soon…
Good morning Vic.. Hi.. (I like you. You’re nice. You don’t moan about life. You’re always smiley. You’re a giver. You’re always concerned - genuinely - of everyone else’s concerns - even in times when your own life may be down.).. How are you this morning Mary?
Parentheses are good. They’re our equalizer, our sanity maker. Our private sense of humor. Sometimes they’re the “what I’d really like to say”.. or for sure “what I’m really thinking.”
Life, it be good. (The kid’s never gonna fly. I hate the Laundromat. I’d better get my booty rolling to work.)
Have a great day (I really do mean that one.) You look nice today. (I’d love to one article at a time undress you, hehe).. Love (call me, 867-5309, we’ll do ‘lunch’), Victurd
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Today’s topic is……..
Sorry. I ain’t got one.
Victor, tell ‘em about the time you went up the courthouse steps in a jeep? Ahm, no. No thanks. At 19, that mighta gotta few raves, I believe that might be to the contrary here.
What about the time you took your first business trip.. Flew to, wherewasit? ? Ok City? And you couldn’t rent a car for sale’s calls because your credit card payment was late?.. No. They’ve heard that one.
Whadda ‘bout the time you coached the women’s college basketball team.. You had “Odd” numbers for the road, and “Even” numbers for home games.. And your manager filled out the scorebook just the opposite.. You started the game with 5 technical fouls for “illegal player(s)”.. Ahm, I believe I’ve told that too…
Have you told about the time you worked for the airlines, and you/family flew to Orlando for Disney/et al, and when your suitcases came up the belt.. they were all labeled (IN BIG LETTERS thanks to airline co-workers) “VIC “LAST NAME“, PRESIDENT, KANSAS CITY GAY LIBERATION SOCIETY”… I believe that one’s here somewhere as well.
How bout the time you had to poop, REALLY REALLY bad, you were at the City Park RUNNING FOR THE BATHROOM AND………. (((((((((((((((STOP!!!!))))))))))))))) Some things are just better off left private.
Did u tell the one about, when you were a Senior in HS, your folks were going outta town.. (Father was a book salesman.. Many accounts.. One of which was KU which, surprisingly Lisa, had a Gay section in their bookstore)… And… Your father knew you’d throw a party.. So he took onea the gay books, opened it, signed “To Victor, with Love, John Whomever the Author was” and left it on desk for your cronies to find that night.. YES YES, told that one.
Could you replay the one about Oscar the raccoon in the trash can when you worked at Sooooooper 8 and he attacked you? No. Can’t.
How bout the time you were in Cargo Sale’s for Braniff… Hosting a Golf Tournament for Customers.. Top prizes: Trips for two anywhere Braniff flies.. And you got beeped on the 7th hole.. “Vic, they’re pulling all the planes into Orlando.. We’re going belly up”… No, they’ve heard that.
Howabout, when you had your hydrocele (enlarged testicle, a valve leaked, correctible thru surgery..).. You’d gotten divorced.. You figured “I’d better get this fixed rather than embarrassingly explain.”:.. and.. When you woke up in Recovery, the attendant WAS THE VERY FIRST PERSON YOU’D GONE OUT WITH AFTER WHATSHERNAME!.. That’s on here too someone. Intrigue me, this is all boring repetitive.
Whatabout the time you and ex numero uno went skiing the very first time, and on the first ride up the slope, she dropped $32 worth of a pair of $64 mittens on an X-RATED SLOPE. Boring, they’ve seen.
Did you tell them about when, in High School, you and your buddies usedta go the the Drive In to see X-rated movies, and you’d duck down so no one would see you? WILL YOU SHUDDUP!
Do they know about the Peekapoo that had gotten hit by a car.. U nursed it back to health for like 12 weeks in a ‘box’ in the basement… but… years later, you realized it couldn’t swim.. And when you got your first house with a pool, and you had cronies over, you’d have (brief) demonstrations? I think that’s here somewhere.
Do they know how many women you’ve REALLY loved? No. Do they know how many women you’ve slept ((((((STOP))))))…
Do they know how many jobs you’ve had, cars you’ve had, houses you’ve lived in (((((((STOP!!!))))))….
Victor, you’re not very private are you. You’ve even told stories of your privates. Yes, have, I reckon. But they were short stories. Novel idea eh?
Tomorrow I turn 56. I was delivered in St. Louie, MO by a female physician, but I probably already told u that. I feel bizarre. Like my life’s a window, and you know what color/type of undies I wear. That’s ok. I’m glad, IF there’s any one here, that you are.
I’ll try my damdest to be creative as tomorrow comes… I just couldn’t thinka shit tonight. Thanks for being here. Happy Columbus Day. Love, Victurd
Victor, tell ‘em about the time you went up the courthouse steps in a jeep? Ahm, no. No thanks. At 19, that mighta gotta few raves, I believe that might be to the contrary here.
What about the time you took your first business trip.. Flew to, wherewasit? ? Ok City? And you couldn’t rent a car for sale’s calls because your credit card payment was late?.. No. They’ve heard that one.
Whadda ‘bout the time you coached the women’s college basketball team.. You had “Odd” numbers for the road, and “Even” numbers for home games.. And your manager filled out the scorebook just the opposite.. You started the game with 5 technical fouls for “illegal player(s)”.. Ahm, I believe I’ve told that too…
Have you told about the time you worked for the airlines, and you/family flew to Orlando for Disney/et al, and when your suitcases came up the belt.. they were all labeled (IN BIG LETTERS thanks to airline co-workers) “VIC “LAST NAME“, PRESIDENT, KANSAS CITY GAY LIBERATION SOCIETY”… I believe that one’s here somewhere as well.
How bout the time you had to poop, REALLY REALLY bad, you were at the City Park RUNNING FOR THE BATHROOM AND………. (((((((((((((((STOP!!!!))))))))))))))) Some things are just better off left private.
Did u tell the one about, when you were a Senior in HS, your folks were going outta town.. (Father was a book salesman.. Many accounts.. One of which was KU which, surprisingly Lisa, had a Gay section in their bookstore)… And… Your father knew you’d throw a party.. So he took onea the gay books, opened it, signed “To Victor, with Love, John Whomever the Author was” and left it on desk for your cronies to find that night.. YES YES, told that one.
Could you replay the one about Oscar the raccoon in the trash can when you worked at Sooooooper 8 and he attacked you? No. Can’t.
How bout the time you were in Cargo Sale’s for Braniff… Hosting a Golf Tournament for Customers.. Top prizes: Trips for two anywhere Braniff flies.. And you got beeped on the 7th hole.. “Vic, they’re pulling all the planes into Orlando.. We’re going belly up”… No, they’ve heard that.
Howabout, when you had your hydrocele (enlarged testicle, a valve leaked, correctible thru surgery..).. You’d gotten divorced.. You figured “I’d better get this fixed rather than embarrassingly explain.”:.. and.. When you woke up in Recovery, the attendant WAS THE VERY FIRST PERSON YOU’D GONE OUT WITH AFTER WHATSHERNAME!.. That’s on here too someone. Intrigue me, this is all boring repetitive.
Whatabout the time you and ex numero uno went skiing the very first time, and on the first ride up the slope, she dropped $32 worth of a pair of $64 mittens on an X-RATED SLOPE. Boring, they’ve seen.
Did you tell them about when, in High School, you and your buddies usedta go the the Drive In to see X-rated movies, and you’d duck down so no one would see you? WILL YOU SHUDDUP!
Do they know about the Peekapoo that had gotten hit by a car.. U nursed it back to health for like 12 weeks in a ‘box’ in the basement… but… years later, you realized it couldn’t swim.. And when you got your first house with a pool, and you had cronies over, you’d have (brief) demonstrations? I think that’s here somewhere.
Do they know how many women you’ve REALLY loved? No. Do they know how many women you’ve slept ((((((STOP))))))…
Do they know how many jobs you’ve had, cars you’ve had, houses you’ve lived in (((((((STOP!!!))))))….
Victor, you’re not very private are you. You’ve even told stories of your privates. Yes, have, I reckon. But they were short stories. Novel idea eh?
Tomorrow I turn 56. I was delivered in St. Louie, MO by a female physician, but I probably already told u that. I feel bizarre. Like my life’s a window, and you know what color/type of undies I wear. That’s ok. I’m glad, IF there’s any one here, that you are.
I’ll try my damdest to be creative as tomorrow comes… I just couldn’t thinka shit tonight. Thanks for being here. Happy Columbus Day. Love, Victurd
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Youth.. Circa 1978-ish, compared to those today in 2008...
I went to the bar tonight. Victor, that’s the most shocking thing we’ve heard in awhile. No kidding?
Hey, it’s not like you think (this time.).. I drank Pepsi. Eyeballs on my poor Missouri Tigers (Formally #3 ranked in the nation, defeated tonight… hush Lisa/Kendra, ur team has a loss as well!)….
Pub crawl. It’s a thing where 20-somethings pay some kinda-fee, get some kinda-transportation - around our humble town, to each and every bar for like an hour and a half. (I think we have four bars.) The fee charged, goes to charity. This one, I believe, was specifically cancer related. We’ve all been touched by that - so a good ‘cause.
First difference I gathered ‘tween “had this kinda thing happened back-in-the-day.. How would our group have approached?”… Kids today gots money. Kids yesterday didn’t. So I imagine the starting different mighta been “Hey Squat (nickname for our fearless fraternity leader).. Can u loan me ten bucks?”….
These kids have bucks. And plastic. And unlimited messaging, long distance, minutes, and camera phones…
Physically? About the same. We too had hard bodies then. It was a time when the guy’s hairstyle was “long is in”… and we had that. An occasional rebel here and there, but for the most part, barbers hated us.
Today, the guys hairstyle (and the gal’s hairstyle for that matter) is/are “individual.”.. No one thing seems to be in. Yes, several dudes fairly closely cropped - but just as many with longer, even a white dude with an Afro, and a Tye (home makeover) look alike.
The gals, back then, I don’t remember. No real extremes I recall. There was some short, and some medium. A few long.
The gals today. Kinda the same. I liked the uniqueness. Short here, long there, round cut here, squared there… Two colors here, ballcap there. Ball caps. They are fairly big. As in frontwards or backwards, don’t matter. Fitted (not the cheapy “one size fits all” plastic snap thingy) seems to be in vogue..
Drinking. DEFINITELY, the ‘78 group did morea that. Still echoing in my brain is “Here’s to brother Victor, brother Victor… so drink chugalug drink chugalug.. Here’s to brother Victor, the BEST of them all.” And by 9pm, just getting into the second bar (of the four on the pub crawl agenda) we’d be history. Blithering idiots.
Today’s kids… Not-so-much. And a good thing. In their lime colored T-Shirts (given to them by the arrangers of the Crawl) they mostly visited. Not-so-much on the drink.. But, you could tell a couple of them were kinda sorta “en route”…
Back in the day.. We male idiots woulda hung out with us male idiots. Done interesting stuff like armpit farts, arm-rasslin’, and writing in magic marker allover the body of the dude that had already passed out after Pub Crawl Stop #2.
I love today’s kids. I do. They mingled. Not clique-ish (our day was.. Not proud of that, but it was… It was “I’ll be damned if I’ll get in that conversation with that faggy Fiji (fraternity) dude… I’d rather be tar and feathered.”
Today’s kids “get it.” They hug. A lot. Guys with gals, gals with guys, gals with gals, guys with guys. Touch is a damn good thing. Heartfelt. Emotional. Much better represented than our day, where late night heroics usually involved two football players having a 1:00am head butting contest. Gentle, “I like you” touch - way better. Kudos youth of today.
Cell phone addiction. They’ve all got it. Now had I been 20-something, in this group.. Group’a FINE looking women who’ve not seen the effects of childbirth, aging, work, et all.. I’da had my eyeballs going like sixty around the room. Not these folks. Conversation here. Read the text message there. Group hug here, walk outside to talk on cell there.
Pictures. In our day, to takes pictures of such an event, it meant going by the pharmacy to buy flashbulbs for the camera. (Why was it we had to go to the pharmacy to buy that crap?)… On special occasions.. “Mom’s Day” for instance, at our fraternity, we’d buy out the entire stocka flashbulbs from Begg’s Pharmacy for the event.
Not-so-much today. Each and every one’a them dudes/dudettes were equipped with cell phone cameras… and oh did they take pics.. Six of ‘em group hugging here.. A pic across the bar of two college mates.. A self snapshot of the camera owner and ‘long time no see’ friend. And.. Before the USA Today newspaper can even hit the ground - it’s certain those snapshots have been downloaded, emailed - and the entire campus can see what’s gone on that evening by 2am online.
Not-so-much “pairing-up”.. (Editor’s note.. Where I was, ‘twas only the second stop on their Crawl.. Me thinks, by the enda the 4th stop, considerable pairing up probably happened.. ). In our day, if you had a woman, or a woman had a fella… it was the “lessons learned from our no divorce parents” - we simply stay glued to one another the entire evening. Not this group.
Sure, there were couples… but today’s day and age it’s cool to mingle. Get out there. See many. “She’s ok over here, I’m going to talk to Mark, Tia and Kaitlyn for a short”.. and that’s all good. Never woulda happened back in the day. I guess we realized what pigs we all were, and u didn’t dare leave your girlfriend unattended for longer than 30 seconds.
Love. Yes, we had this back in the day, and my memories from that time are incredible. A special bond at that age. As we age and become bankers, real estate sales folks, entrepreneurs, light company employees, truck drivers - we’re separated. Divided. No longer attached. Families happen. Kids take the time.
However - the days of when we had no wrinkles, abs of steel, no real pressing “have to’s/responsibilities”.. we were given a choice of who we hang with. And when we made those choices - lifelong bonds were formed. I’ve encountered many friends from that day.. And it doesn’t matter if he makes $200,000, that guy makes $24,000, another $62,000.. We’re “one”.. A lifelong bond.
I departed feeling our country is in good hands for tomorrow.. Nice kids, all. Respectful, all (but again, this was only their second stop!)… Great looking’ kids, all. Way more mature than we 1970-somethings were - yet still, they were having fun in their own way.
Yesterday’s blog (I know) was kinda-sorta a downer. Shouldn’t have been. I loved 1970-something. I have this warehouse in my brain where events, times, happenings from then are stored. My childhood, again, picture perfect. The 70’s, the 80’s, the 90’s (mostly) perfect. This new millennium has been interesting, but the intrigue of tomorrow DOES excite me.
Such is the comparison of kids 1978-ish/2008-ish. By Henry Gibson. Love, American Style. Victurd.
Hey, it’s not like you think (this time.).. I drank Pepsi. Eyeballs on my poor Missouri Tigers (Formally #3 ranked in the nation, defeated tonight… hush Lisa/Kendra, ur team has a loss as well!)….
Pub crawl. It’s a thing where 20-somethings pay some kinda-fee, get some kinda-transportation - around our humble town, to each and every bar for like an hour and a half. (I think we have four bars.) The fee charged, goes to charity. This one, I believe, was specifically cancer related. We’ve all been touched by that - so a good ‘cause.
First difference I gathered ‘tween “had this kinda thing happened back-in-the-day.. How would our group have approached?”… Kids today gots money. Kids yesterday didn’t. So I imagine the starting different mighta been “Hey Squat (nickname for our fearless fraternity leader).. Can u loan me ten bucks?”….
These kids have bucks. And plastic. And unlimited messaging, long distance, minutes, and camera phones…
Physically? About the same. We too had hard bodies then. It was a time when the guy’s hairstyle was “long is in”… and we had that. An occasional rebel here and there, but for the most part, barbers hated us.
Today, the guys hairstyle (and the gal’s hairstyle for that matter) is/are “individual.”.. No one thing seems to be in. Yes, several dudes fairly closely cropped - but just as many with longer, even a white dude with an Afro, and a Tye (home makeover) look alike.
The gals, back then, I don’t remember. No real extremes I recall. There was some short, and some medium. A few long.
The gals today. Kinda the same. I liked the uniqueness. Short here, long there, round cut here, squared there… Two colors here, ballcap there. Ball caps. They are fairly big. As in frontwards or backwards, don’t matter. Fitted (not the cheapy “one size fits all” plastic snap thingy) seems to be in vogue..
Drinking. DEFINITELY, the ‘78 group did morea that. Still echoing in my brain is “Here’s to brother Victor, brother Victor… so drink chugalug drink chugalug.. Here’s to brother Victor, the BEST of them all.” And by 9pm, just getting into the second bar (of the four on the pub crawl agenda) we’d be history. Blithering idiots.
Today’s kids… Not-so-much. And a good thing. In their lime colored T-Shirts (given to them by the arrangers of the Crawl) they mostly visited. Not-so-much on the drink.. But, you could tell a couple of them were kinda sorta “en route”…
Back in the day.. We male idiots woulda hung out with us male idiots. Done interesting stuff like armpit farts, arm-rasslin’, and writing in magic marker allover the body of the dude that had already passed out after Pub Crawl Stop #2.
I love today’s kids. I do. They mingled. Not clique-ish (our day was.. Not proud of that, but it was… It was “I’ll be damned if I’ll get in that conversation with that faggy Fiji (fraternity) dude… I’d rather be tar and feathered.”
Today’s kids “get it.” They hug. A lot. Guys with gals, gals with guys, gals with gals, guys with guys. Touch is a damn good thing. Heartfelt. Emotional. Much better represented than our day, where late night heroics usually involved two football players having a 1:00am head butting contest. Gentle, “I like you” touch - way better. Kudos youth of today.
Cell phone addiction. They’ve all got it. Now had I been 20-something, in this group.. Group’a FINE looking women who’ve not seen the effects of childbirth, aging, work, et all.. I’da had my eyeballs going like sixty around the room. Not these folks. Conversation here. Read the text message there. Group hug here, walk outside to talk on cell there.
Pictures. In our day, to takes pictures of such an event, it meant going by the pharmacy to buy flashbulbs for the camera. (Why was it we had to go to the pharmacy to buy that crap?)… On special occasions.. “Mom’s Day” for instance, at our fraternity, we’d buy out the entire stocka flashbulbs from Begg’s Pharmacy for the event.
Not-so-much today. Each and every one’a them dudes/dudettes were equipped with cell phone cameras… and oh did they take pics.. Six of ‘em group hugging here.. A pic across the bar of two college mates.. A self snapshot of the camera owner and ‘long time no see’ friend. And.. Before the USA Today newspaper can even hit the ground - it’s certain those snapshots have been downloaded, emailed - and the entire campus can see what’s gone on that evening by 2am online.
Not-so-much “pairing-up”.. (Editor’s note.. Where I was, ‘twas only the second stop on their Crawl.. Me thinks, by the enda the 4th stop, considerable pairing up probably happened.. ). In our day, if you had a woman, or a woman had a fella… it was the “lessons learned from our no divorce parents” - we simply stay glued to one another the entire evening. Not this group.
Sure, there were couples… but today’s day and age it’s cool to mingle. Get out there. See many. “She’s ok over here, I’m going to talk to Mark, Tia and Kaitlyn for a short”.. and that’s all good. Never woulda happened back in the day. I guess we realized what pigs we all were, and u didn’t dare leave your girlfriend unattended for longer than 30 seconds.
Love. Yes, we had this back in the day, and my memories from that time are incredible. A special bond at that age. As we age and become bankers, real estate sales folks, entrepreneurs, light company employees, truck drivers - we’re separated. Divided. No longer attached. Families happen. Kids take the time.
However - the days of when we had no wrinkles, abs of steel, no real pressing “have to’s/responsibilities”.. we were given a choice of who we hang with. And when we made those choices - lifelong bonds were formed. I’ve encountered many friends from that day.. And it doesn’t matter if he makes $200,000, that guy makes $24,000, another $62,000.. We’re “one”.. A lifelong bond.
I departed feeling our country is in good hands for tomorrow.. Nice kids, all. Respectful, all (but again, this was only their second stop!)… Great looking’ kids, all. Way more mature than we 1970-somethings were - yet still, they were having fun in their own way.
Yesterday’s blog (I know) was kinda-sorta a downer. Shouldn’t have been. I loved 1970-something. I have this warehouse in my brain where events, times, happenings from then are stored. My childhood, again, picture perfect. The 70’s, the 80’s, the 90’s (mostly) perfect. This new millennium has been interesting, but the intrigue of tomorrow DOES excite me.
Such is the comparison of kids 1978-ish/2008-ish. By Henry Gibson. Love, American Style. Victurd.
The dream……
The brain is a wonderful, cruel, harsh, magnificent thing.
At times, I’m a daydream believer. Oh come on Victor, PLEASE not the Monkees.. Ok, I’ll cut you a break, but only ‘cause u asked kinda nicely.
My brain, dunno about yours, but my brain - has these dreams where I’m falling, outta control… a cliff.. From an airplane.. The car going downhill, stoplight ahead, no brakes..
Being chased. Insignificant (not an insignificant person, but some who’ve had a ‘bit part’ in real life) people ganging up… no way to escape…
THE WORST, about to happen…
And then ya awaken. Grab the wits. What day is it? That didn’t really happen did it? One, two, three, four.. YES! I have all my limbs!.. Whew.. It’s 40 degrees out, why I’m a sweating so profusely?
Occasionally my brain wierds out - and I have these recurrences sitting at my desk at work… or mebbe driving in my car to/fro… It’s bizarre.. Makes one think maybe this did, or is, gonna happen. Know better, but then again that brain is a bad mother (‘shut your mouth”)…
And then… (No.. not the song “And then it happened”).. and then… there are times in life when one wheel is off the road - so to speak.. When the ‘train’ goes off the tracks.. The slot car becomes disjointed…
And there’s free fall… Can’t stop… Wanna… but behaviors are repeated.. You wanna grab onta something and halt this slide, fall… but ya fear you’ll break your damn arm off if you do… so you continue the path of free fall.. Knowing it will end sometime, knowing “while it’s been going on for some time now” it’s not the ‘real’ you..
Some perhaps call the end of this… the crashing thud to the ground… the car finally stopping due to some object that ain’t gonnna move.. The basta’s ‘chasin’ (or leading astray - in spite of you being at fault as you’re a big boy now and you make your own calls) finally running outta breath..
Rock bottom I guess some would call it. To me, rock bottom is not quite as hideous as one would think. What did Morrison say? “Been down so GD (gosh darn) long it looks like up to me.” Victor, there are those here that weren’t even born before Jim bit the dust. I know, I know.
I’m at a point in my life where I’m not living the real me. I know that’s a pile of crap, and I know I am what I am. I know I put the key in the car. I know my wonderful, cruel, harsh, magnificent brain controls “left foot goes here.. Right foot comes next… headed that away.”
I am in a long transition. Mebbe a little gum on the soles making me stay here longer than I want, but that’s where I am. Hey, I’m the stock market!
Victor, this was one real sad, stupid, depressing blog.
Oh no. To the contrary. No matter the transition, level, current path, condition, behaviors (good OR bad) - life is grand. Truly.
I know so many remarkable people. I see so many wonderful things. Want cheered up? Any time? Get outdoors. Needa smile? Got the frowns down? Pickup the phone. By your lonesome, can’t do any of those? Thinka a precious moment in the rear view mirror.
Ups. Downs. Situations. Transitions. Dates. No dates. Marriage, no marriage. Live in, move out. Level road. Hilly road. Straight path. Windy sumbitch. Calm. Storm. Rain. Sunny. There’s good in all. Everything about life, even the temporary situational crap.
Victor? This is whatshername. Remember me? Your sounding board? Your ‘guidance’ counselor? Well hi, yes.. I do.. How’s ZZ doing? Does it tire ironing all those overalls? Hehe. Sorry. Yes, I do remember you, and have very good thoughts about you. Thanks. I just wanted to say - are you really gonna publish all of that? You’re sharing your personal information with anyone and everyone that stops by. Uh huh. Am. Got me a new sounding board, counselor. Even iron my own pants now.
I am a lover of life. The roller coaster, along with every dip, nip, tuck and turn. Life’s a freefall. Grab on.
Going to take a nap now. With tongue in cheek, back in the old days, as I/we retired I’d say “night Mar’ “… hehe.. Sweet dreams. Love, Victurd
At times, I’m a daydream believer. Oh come on Victor, PLEASE not the Monkees.. Ok, I’ll cut you a break, but only ‘cause u asked kinda nicely.
My brain, dunno about yours, but my brain - has these dreams where I’m falling, outta control… a cliff.. From an airplane.. The car going downhill, stoplight ahead, no brakes..
Being chased. Insignificant (not an insignificant person, but some who’ve had a ‘bit part’ in real life) people ganging up… no way to escape…
THE WORST, about to happen…
And then ya awaken. Grab the wits. What day is it? That didn’t really happen did it? One, two, three, four.. YES! I have all my limbs!.. Whew.. It’s 40 degrees out, why I’m a sweating so profusely?
Occasionally my brain wierds out - and I have these recurrences sitting at my desk at work… or mebbe driving in my car to/fro… It’s bizarre.. Makes one think maybe this did, or is, gonna happen. Know better, but then again that brain is a bad mother (‘shut your mouth”)…
And then… (No.. not the song “And then it happened”).. and then… there are times in life when one wheel is off the road - so to speak.. When the ‘train’ goes off the tracks.. The slot car becomes disjointed…
And there’s free fall… Can’t stop… Wanna… but behaviors are repeated.. You wanna grab onta something and halt this slide, fall… but ya fear you’ll break your damn arm off if you do… so you continue the path of free fall.. Knowing it will end sometime, knowing “while it’s been going on for some time now” it’s not the ‘real’ you..
Some perhaps call the end of this… the crashing thud to the ground… the car finally stopping due to some object that ain’t gonnna move.. The basta’s ‘chasin’ (or leading astray - in spite of you being at fault as you’re a big boy now and you make your own calls) finally running outta breath..
Rock bottom I guess some would call it. To me, rock bottom is not quite as hideous as one would think. What did Morrison say? “Been down so GD (gosh darn) long it looks like up to me.” Victor, there are those here that weren’t even born before Jim bit the dust. I know, I know.
I’m at a point in my life where I’m not living the real me. I know that’s a pile of crap, and I know I am what I am. I know I put the key in the car. I know my wonderful, cruel, harsh, magnificent brain controls “left foot goes here.. Right foot comes next… headed that away.”
I am in a long transition. Mebbe a little gum on the soles making me stay here longer than I want, but that’s where I am. Hey, I’m the stock market!
Victor, this was one real sad, stupid, depressing blog.
Oh no. To the contrary. No matter the transition, level, current path, condition, behaviors (good OR bad) - life is grand. Truly.
I know so many remarkable people. I see so many wonderful things. Want cheered up? Any time? Get outdoors. Needa smile? Got the frowns down? Pickup the phone. By your lonesome, can’t do any of those? Thinka a precious moment in the rear view mirror.
Ups. Downs. Situations. Transitions. Dates. No dates. Marriage, no marriage. Live in, move out. Level road. Hilly road. Straight path. Windy sumbitch. Calm. Storm. Rain. Sunny. There’s good in all. Everything about life, even the temporary situational crap.
Victor? This is whatshername. Remember me? Your sounding board? Your ‘guidance’ counselor? Well hi, yes.. I do.. How’s ZZ doing? Does it tire ironing all those overalls? Hehe. Sorry. Yes, I do remember you, and have very good thoughts about you. Thanks. I just wanted to say - are you really gonna publish all of that? You’re sharing your personal information with anyone and everyone that stops by. Uh huh. Am. Got me a new sounding board, counselor. Even iron my own pants now.
I am a lover of life. The roller coaster, along with every dip, nip, tuck and turn. Life’s a freefall. Grab on.
Going to take a nap now. With tongue in cheek, back in the old days, as I/we retired I’d say “night Mar’ “… hehe.. Sweet dreams. Love, Victurd
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Is….
Is is (can u say ‘is’ twice in succession?).. Is is an interesting thing. (Can u find a sentence where “I is” is proper?... Sure! I is the 9th letter of the alphabet!)..
Is…
Today. Today IS.
As Maynard and I were driving to work – thoughts ran thru the brain, the same ole thoughts… “I can’t wait to get outta this house… I can’t wait to live by myself.. then mebbe I can live with a new partner… I can’t wait to get outta this financial jungle.. I can’t wait until Maynard’s brain is ripe, he flies on own outta nest.. He has own car to go purchase $1 Double Cheeseburgers (plain).. or Bud Ice..”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow…. Things’ll be better then.. Wishin’.. and hopin’.. and dreamin’… “
And then ya know what?
We forget “is”. Today “is”. The now. The moment. Our only chance at that moment. We go with blinders on headed (probably mostly ill-fatedly) to “a better day.” A better time.
Victor, do you remember that you write to yourself? Yes you idiot, I just typed that, why would you ask sucha stupid question?
Ok, good. What I thought. Then remember, you only have one chance with the moments of the day. If you spend all of your time worrying/hoping/hurrying ‘tomorrow’ – you’re messing up today.
Take the blinders off. Look at Maynard, appreciate the now. Did you hear him say he loved you? He’s 23, you’re lucky, not many kids that age tell their folks that. Did u read the emails lately from those good buds of yours – and from your family -that were all signed “love”?
Are ur friggin’ eyes open to even see what God’s doing to the trees around us? He’s got his easel out again.
Don’t you remember the man at the license bureau walking up the 20 concrete steps – and how long it took him? His tomorrow is today – and I’ll bet your ass once he got to the top – he appreciated “is”. Accomplishment. Today. Not a “better tomorrow.”
Birthday soon. Even as one ages, they’re kinda special (inwardly).. Takes ya back to your youth. As I collect birthdays now – they do serve as reminders to “is.” The now. Enjoying the now, cause buddy, year number fitty-five just flew by. Take anything from it – or were you too GD (gosh darn) worried about ‘that better day ahead’?
I know I know. What it is. I is workin’ on improving, remembering the “is” we live in. This moment. (Oh shit, another song… he’s gonna blog “This magic moment.”) No, but notta bad idea. I is writing that down for another day. I is gonna enjoy is right now.
Have a spiffy day. Be like the baby at the license bureau. If ya can’t give a verbal hello to all you meet, please smile at them. You’re gorgeous when you smile. It makes the is better. Be thankful for small accomplishments – like the old feller making it to the toppa the steps. Life IS good. Life is. I is happy. Is u?
Love, Victurd
Is…
Today. Today IS.
As Maynard and I were driving to work – thoughts ran thru the brain, the same ole thoughts… “I can’t wait to get outta this house… I can’t wait to live by myself.. then mebbe I can live with a new partner… I can’t wait to get outta this financial jungle.. I can’t wait until Maynard’s brain is ripe, he flies on own outta nest.. He has own car to go purchase $1 Double Cheeseburgers (plain).. or Bud Ice..”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow…. Things’ll be better then.. Wishin’.. and hopin’.. and dreamin’… “
And then ya know what?
We forget “is”. Today “is”. The now. The moment. Our only chance at that moment. We go with blinders on headed (probably mostly ill-fatedly) to “a better day.” A better time.
Victor, do you remember that you write to yourself? Yes you idiot, I just typed that, why would you ask sucha stupid question?
Ok, good. What I thought. Then remember, you only have one chance with the moments of the day. If you spend all of your time worrying/hoping/hurrying ‘tomorrow’ – you’re messing up today.
Take the blinders off. Look at Maynard, appreciate the now. Did you hear him say he loved you? He’s 23, you’re lucky, not many kids that age tell their folks that. Did u read the emails lately from those good buds of yours – and from your family -that were all signed “love”?
Are ur friggin’ eyes open to even see what God’s doing to the trees around us? He’s got his easel out again.
Don’t you remember the man at the license bureau walking up the 20 concrete steps – and how long it took him? His tomorrow is today – and I’ll bet your ass once he got to the top – he appreciated “is”. Accomplishment. Today. Not a “better tomorrow.”
Birthday soon. Even as one ages, they’re kinda special (inwardly).. Takes ya back to your youth. As I collect birthdays now – they do serve as reminders to “is.” The now. Enjoying the now, cause buddy, year number fitty-five just flew by. Take anything from it – or were you too GD (gosh darn) worried about ‘that better day ahead’?
I know I know. What it is. I is workin’ on improving, remembering the “is” we live in. This moment. (Oh shit, another song… he’s gonna blog “This magic moment.”) No, but notta bad idea. I is writing that down for another day. I is gonna enjoy is right now.
Have a spiffy day. Be like the baby at the license bureau. If ya can’t give a verbal hello to all you meet, please smile at them. You’re gorgeous when you smile. It makes the is better. Be thankful for small accomplishments – like the old feller making it to the toppa the steps. Life IS good. Life is. I is happy. Is u?
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
The license bureau…….
Winter storm… Phone call you receive where bad news has happened to a loved one… Job hunting.. Seeing someone you think “oh baby - oh baby” about, approach them, and get cold shoulder…
Hemorrhoids.. Diarrhea.. Bronchitis.. Opening the gas bill in winter.. Opening the electrical bill in Summer…
The License Bureau is in that group. For real, are you acquainted with anyone who ever woke up and said “Yeeeeee-haaaaa, I getta go to the license bureau today!”……… Nope, me neither.
So I bought the Green Hornet. (Am buying the Green Hornet, thank to you know who.)…SO I must license it… In Missouri, we have these wonderful mandatory inspections… Gravel truck pulls in fronta ya, throws a rock at your windshield… forms a long crack.. Sorry, must get it fixed to drive on our Missouri roads…
Squeaky brakes, no left turn signal, no gas cap, windshield wipers need replacing’.. Sorry, can’t.
So, I gots my inspection.. “Victor, your 3rd brake light is out.. You’ll have to get that fixed, then we’ll get you an approval certificate.”…….. I said to myself… “ahm, if I hit the brakes, and the driver behind me sees two brake lights, don’t ya think the basta would know to slow down”…
So how much to fix that? “$12”… Just do it. Time is money, I suck mechanically (and I had on nice clothes…)
Oh boy oh boy, “passed”!.. YES!..
“Shit.” When I buried the Hot… Rod.. Lincoln……… Along with it went my proof of paying my 2007 Personal Property taxes.. Damnit Jim…
Don’t gots no printer, can’t print a new receipt online. Library. Yes. They have free computers, and you can print for .10 cents a page.
“Sorry, can’t log you on.” WHAT?.. WHY?.. I walks to front desk.. . “Yes Victor, you were four days late in July for two DVD’s and three books.. U owe us $6.” Thumbed the cash out, I printed my receipt. To the License Bureau…
Saturday, 11:15am, they’re open til noon. I’ve got my inspection, my title, cash in my fat wallet, proof of insurance… not a bad line… (any line is bad.. There were twelve infronta me).. Life ain’t so bad…
I’M NEXT!!!! I’M NEXT!!! I hope I don’t get “that lady”.. the one that looks like she’s worked there since 1963... I’d seen her give a few looks over the toppa her glasses.. Scares the behoogety outta me!
MY TURN! YES! YES!… Uh oh. Her. I hand her the necessities.. She thumbs thru them.. “There’s a lien on this title… you need a lien release form from the seller.”.. He’s got the title? Ain’t that good enough? They wouldn’t have given him that without him paying the Green Hornet off would they?.. “Sorry, it’s the law. Gotta have a Lien Release from the seller.”
By now, it’s 11:25am.. Thirty five minutes.. I drives to my niece/nephew’s house.. “outta breath mutter ‘Lien Release’?… I gave it to you Victor. Shit. He did. Was in glove box.
Drive back to the License Bureau, 11:40am…
In line by couple with a crying baby. Eh, figure what the hell, that’s what they do. They took turns trying to pacify. I don’t blame the little shit, license bureau’s are no fun.
YES! YES! MY TURN!… Same lady. Damnit Jim. Here. Here’s the Lien Release, here’s the title, here’s the proof’a insurance, here’s the taxes paid statement, here’s my driver’s license, and for good measure, here’s my Sam’s Club card.
“This Lien Release says it has to be notarized.” Shit. I looked at it. It WAS notarized. “Nope, the Notary has signed it, but there’s no stamp.”
11:fitty, ten more minutes. I speed to niece/nephews house. No cars.
Damnit Jim.
So, my nephew inlaw brings me the original Lien Release (where you can see the "Seal").. life is again, good.
Tuesday. I’ll do it Tuesday at work. On my lunch hour. Lunch hour comes. I drive to License Bureau in town where I work. Thought it was the GD Chief’s game there were so many people there. “Are you all in line?”… “You gotta get a number.”
By now, 15 minutes of my lunch hour had expired.. I find the number thingy, pull of “#32.” Cool. I sit for ten more minutes.. Finally.. They call out “NUMBER TWO PLEASE.” Shit.
I’ll do this tomorrow. I drove to work that day. Glanced over to the left. Hella big woman driving, eating. Why? I’ve had two very good friends that were way too big expire in their 50’s because they were way too big. Saddens me.
Sneak outta work at 10:45. #31 this time, but, they were already on #21. Cool. Followed some older folks in. Wondered to myself “I wonder if this is the last time they will get a renewal?”… “Is that scary for them?”.. “I’m sure it’s on their mind.”
Just then.. I hear “Hi”.. a soft, baby-ish voice.. And “Hi” again… And again, and again.
Was a toddler in a stroller, greeting each new number-taker that entered. What is it about life that gets in the way of us being so friendly? Us old folks didn’t say hi. She, the toddler, was innocent, and not ‘learned’ of ‘hard’.. All she knew was love. What changes us?
“#31 please.” Yes (notice no capitals, I’ve been to this point before.. I ain’t 100% sure it’s gonna happen.)….
Lady’s large. Very large. By the time I’d handed her my paperwork, given her my phone number, she’d downed two one-inch Tootsie Rolls.. “Why lady?” I said to myself. I don’t know you, but I love you, and you’re killing yourself. You’re maybe 33, you keep this up you’ll be gone in 15 years.
“Were you aware that since you didn’t license this within the mandatory 30 days that there’ll be a $25 fine?”… Ok, cool.. Yeah, that’s fine.
“And did you want to transfer the plates ($5, expire in February) or get new ones and they’ll be good for one year ($33)?”… Can’t you license cars for two years now?.. “Well.. Yes sir, you can.. (another Tootsie Roll).. But, your car is a ‘99, and you can only license even-yeared cars for two years during an even year. But next year you can license your odd-yeared car for two years.”… Make sense to me. What friggin’ State Representative came up with that law - I said to myself. No sense saying to her, she was eyeing the Tootsie Rolls.
$144 later, I walk out the door with new plates. No more staring in the Rear View mirror to see if it’s a cop.. (I’d illegally transferred my plates.) YIPEE!..
Whereinthehell is my screwdriver. I have a toolbox, another thing with tools in it. No GD screwdriver to take my old plates off. Idiot. I’m an idiot.
Back at work. Borrow maintenance dude's flathead screwdriver. I'm legal. (Even put it back in his office.)
Librarians. Order-takers (most) at Mickey D’s. HR personnel (most.).. Managers (a great percent).. And the License Bureau.
I’m legally tagged now. Life is good. I canardly wait for October 2009.
I’m the baby, gotta love me. Love, Victurd.
Hemorrhoids.. Diarrhea.. Bronchitis.. Opening the gas bill in winter.. Opening the electrical bill in Summer…
The License Bureau is in that group. For real, are you acquainted with anyone who ever woke up and said “Yeeeeee-haaaaa, I getta go to the license bureau today!”……… Nope, me neither.
So I bought the Green Hornet. (Am buying the Green Hornet, thank to you know who.)…SO I must license it… In Missouri, we have these wonderful mandatory inspections… Gravel truck pulls in fronta ya, throws a rock at your windshield… forms a long crack.. Sorry, must get it fixed to drive on our Missouri roads…
Squeaky brakes, no left turn signal, no gas cap, windshield wipers need replacing’.. Sorry, can’t.
So, I gots my inspection.. “Victor, your 3rd brake light is out.. You’ll have to get that fixed, then we’ll get you an approval certificate.”…….. I said to myself… “ahm, if I hit the brakes, and the driver behind me sees two brake lights, don’t ya think the basta would know to slow down”…
So how much to fix that? “$12”… Just do it. Time is money, I suck mechanically (and I had on nice clothes…)
Oh boy oh boy, “passed”!.. YES!..
“Shit.” When I buried the Hot… Rod.. Lincoln……… Along with it went my proof of paying my 2007 Personal Property taxes.. Damnit Jim…
Don’t gots no printer, can’t print a new receipt online. Library. Yes. They have free computers, and you can print for .10 cents a page.
“Sorry, can’t log you on.” WHAT?.. WHY?.. I walks to front desk.. . “Yes Victor, you were four days late in July for two DVD’s and three books.. U owe us $6.” Thumbed the cash out, I printed my receipt. To the License Bureau…
Saturday, 11:15am, they’re open til noon. I’ve got my inspection, my title, cash in my fat wallet, proof of insurance… not a bad line… (any line is bad.. There were twelve infronta me).. Life ain’t so bad…
I’M NEXT!!!! I’M NEXT!!! I hope I don’t get “that lady”.. the one that looks like she’s worked there since 1963... I’d seen her give a few looks over the toppa her glasses.. Scares the behoogety outta me!
MY TURN! YES! YES!… Uh oh. Her. I hand her the necessities.. She thumbs thru them.. “There’s a lien on this title… you need a lien release form from the seller.”.. He’s got the title? Ain’t that good enough? They wouldn’t have given him that without him paying the Green Hornet off would they?.. “Sorry, it’s the law. Gotta have a Lien Release from the seller.”
By now, it’s 11:25am.. Thirty five minutes.. I drives to my niece/nephew’s house.. “outta breath mutter ‘Lien Release’?… I gave it to you Victor. Shit. He did. Was in glove box.
Drive back to the License Bureau, 11:40am…
In line by couple with a crying baby. Eh, figure what the hell, that’s what they do. They took turns trying to pacify. I don’t blame the little shit, license bureau’s are no fun.
YES! YES! MY TURN!… Same lady. Damnit Jim. Here. Here’s the Lien Release, here’s the title, here’s the proof’a insurance, here’s the taxes paid statement, here’s my driver’s license, and for good measure, here’s my Sam’s Club card.
“This Lien Release says it has to be notarized.” Shit. I looked at it. It WAS notarized. “Nope, the Notary has signed it, but there’s no stamp.”
11:fitty, ten more minutes. I speed to niece/nephews house. No cars.
Damnit Jim.
So, my nephew inlaw brings me the original Lien Release (where you can see the "Seal").. life is again, good.
Tuesday. I’ll do it Tuesday at work. On my lunch hour. Lunch hour comes. I drive to License Bureau in town where I work. Thought it was the GD Chief’s game there were so many people there. “Are you all in line?”… “You gotta get a number.”
By now, 15 minutes of my lunch hour had expired.. I find the number thingy, pull of “#32.” Cool. I sit for ten more minutes.. Finally.. They call out “NUMBER TWO PLEASE.” Shit.
I’ll do this tomorrow. I drove to work that day. Glanced over to the left. Hella big woman driving, eating. Why? I’ve had two very good friends that were way too big expire in their 50’s because they were way too big. Saddens me.
Sneak outta work at 10:45. #31 this time, but, they were already on #21. Cool. Followed some older folks in. Wondered to myself “I wonder if this is the last time they will get a renewal?”… “Is that scary for them?”.. “I’m sure it’s on their mind.”
Just then.. I hear “Hi”.. a soft, baby-ish voice.. And “Hi” again… And again, and again.
Was a toddler in a stroller, greeting each new number-taker that entered. What is it about life that gets in the way of us being so friendly? Us old folks didn’t say hi. She, the toddler, was innocent, and not ‘learned’ of ‘hard’.. All she knew was love. What changes us?
“#31 please.” Yes (notice no capitals, I’ve been to this point before.. I ain’t 100% sure it’s gonna happen.)….
Lady’s large. Very large. By the time I’d handed her my paperwork, given her my phone number, she’d downed two one-inch Tootsie Rolls.. “Why lady?” I said to myself. I don’t know you, but I love you, and you’re killing yourself. You’re maybe 33, you keep this up you’ll be gone in 15 years.
“Were you aware that since you didn’t license this within the mandatory 30 days that there’ll be a $25 fine?”… Ok, cool.. Yeah, that’s fine.
“And did you want to transfer the plates ($5, expire in February) or get new ones and they’ll be good for one year ($33)?”… Can’t you license cars for two years now?.. “Well.. Yes sir, you can.. (another Tootsie Roll).. But, your car is a ‘99, and you can only license even-yeared cars for two years during an even year. But next year you can license your odd-yeared car for two years.”… Make sense to me. What friggin’ State Representative came up with that law - I said to myself. No sense saying to her, she was eyeing the Tootsie Rolls.
$144 later, I walk out the door with new plates. No more staring in the Rear View mirror to see if it’s a cop.. (I’d illegally transferred my plates.) YIPEE!..
Whereinthehell is my screwdriver. I have a toolbox, another thing with tools in it. No GD screwdriver to take my old plates off. Idiot. I’m an idiot.
Back at work. Borrow maintenance dude's flathead screwdriver. I'm legal. (Even put it back in his office.)
Librarians. Order-takers (most) at Mickey D’s. HR personnel (most.).. Managers (a great percent).. And the License Bureau.
I’m legally tagged now. Life is good. I canardly wait for October 2009.
I’m the baby, gotta love me. Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Digital cameras and dating….
Been at this about 7 years now… Oh, it’s tailed off here of late, but, follow the trends from this dating service/site, to that dating service/site.
Met’a gal that musta had an 8 year headstart on me, ‘cause her photo was 8 years old, and she kinda-sorta had the audacity to laugh about it…
I spose I’ve been guilty in the past as well… Transfer the photos ‘cause it’s easier. I ain’t gotta camera.. and whointhehell wants to be on the picture-taking end of “will you take a picture of this cheesy old fitty-five year old so I can put it on a dating site?”..I sure wouldn’t wanna be..
Yahoo.. MSN, Lycos… Matchdoctor.. Match.. Singlesnet.. Plentyoffish.. I’ve probably missed one or two…
And each time ya transfer, start anew, it’s like “well I’ll be damned, there’s old whatshername, yep.. same pic.” Happens again, and again, and again. You know they gotta change in looks.. Whatsup with that?
Daily, we look in the mirror. Nope, no change. Then again, sometimes we smack-faced with reality.
Such was yesterday. Pics from the wedding. I got the Kodak file thingy with excitement.. thumbed thru.. and then it happened.. . I was as letdown as Ralphie when he unscrambled the Ovaltine code… I felt as bad as when Bill Buckner let the ball go between his legs to lose the World Series.. but it was me, my pic, GD digital.. I hate this new HD IPOD MP3 Best Buy era…
SURELY that’s not me, but it was. The topping to the seeing the pic was when onea the dudes at the wedding.. I’d pulled up with my two 20-somethings friends.. truly good friends.. never put ‘creepy grandpa moves’ on either onea em.. when we pulled up one dude later said “hell, I thought that was Hugh Hefner.” Gulp. Ahm. Ok.
Victor, what’d u expect you’d look like? U don’t eat well, u don’t sleep enough, u work too many hours, u play too many hours. Yeah, well I’d like to think it was all the smiling I’ve done that’s made me look this way!
Wrinkly, shrively, old, tarnished… what in tarnation was I thinking wanting new pics? (There’s a photo of me and my beloved sister on my desk at work… occasionally someone will wander by, ask “who’s that?”… oh, that’s my gorgeous sister.. “no, I meant the guy.”.. It’s hell getting old!)
I ams what I ams. I’m the (old, wrinkly, I hate digital) baby, gotta love me (or hold the door open, or pickup something I dropped, or take my arm as we go down/up steps)….
I knew I shoulda drank more Ovaltine. Love, Victurd.
Met’a gal that musta had an 8 year headstart on me, ‘cause her photo was 8 years old, and she kinda-sorta had the audacity to laugh about it…
I spose I’ve been guilty in the past as well… Transfer the photos ‘cause it’s easier. I ain’t gotta camera.. and whointhehell wants to be on the picture-taking end of “will you take a picture of this cheesy old fitty-five year old so I can put it on a dating site?”..I sure wouldn’t wanna be..
Yahoo.. MSN, Lycos… Matchdoctor.. Match.. Singlesnet.. Plentyoffish.. I’ve probably missed one or two…
And each time ya transfer, start anew, it’s like “well I’ll be damned, there’s old whatshername, yep.. same pic.” Happens again, and again, and again. You know they gotta change in looks.. Whatsup with that?
Daily, we look in the mirror. Nope, no change. Then again, sometimes we smack-faced with reality.
Such was yesterday. Pics from the wedding. I got the Kodak file thingy with excitement.. thumbed thru.. and then it happened.. . I was as letdown as Ralphie when he unscrambled the Ovaltine code… I felt as bad as when Bill Buckner let the ball go between his legs to lose the World Series.. but it was me, my pic, GD digital.. I hate this new HD IPOD MP3 Best Buy era…
SURELY that’s not me, but it was. The topping to the seeing the pic was when onea the dudes at the wedding.. I’d pulled up with my two 20-somethings friends.. truly good friends.. never put ‘creepy grandpa moves’ on either onea em.. when we pulled up one dude later said “hell, I thought that was Hugh Hefner.” Gulp. Ahm. Ok.
Victor, what’d u expect you’d look like? U don’t eat well, u don’t sleep enough, u work too many hours, u play too many hours. Yeah, well I’d like to think it was all the smiling I’ve done that’s made me look this way!
Wrinkly, shrively, old, tarnished… what in tarnation was I thinking wanting new pics? (There’s a photo of me and my beloved sister on my desk at work… occasionally someone will wander by, ask “who’s that?”… oh, that’s my gorgeous sister.. “no, I meant the guy.”.. It’s hell getting old!)
I ams what I ams. I’m the (old, wrinkly, I hate digital) baby, gotta love me (or hold the door open, or pickup something I dropped, or take my arm as we go down/up steps)….
I knew I shoulda drank more Ovaltine. Love, Victurd.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Agreeing to disagree… and, of batting .300
Last week, coworker friend excitedly told me of her son’s Saturday Pee Wee football game… “Undefeated!.. . 5 and 0... And he blocked FOUR, count ‘em FOUR punts!”
Saturday, at wedding.. Asked her “so how’d today’s game go?”.. . “Eh, not-so-well… he’s having a tough time.. .they lost.. He’d never experienced that… Today’s rough for him.”
Nebraska football coach Bo Pelini is a sore loser - which helps explain his sideline blowup late in the Cornhuskers' loss to Virginia Tech.
The 35-30 setback was Pelini's first as Nebraska's head coach. Counting his Alamo Bowl win over Michigan State as interim head coach in 2003, he's 4-1 with the Cornhuskers.
"I'm a poor loser. I'm not very fun to be around the next day," Pelini said Tuesday. "I take losses hard. I took them hard as a coordinator and position coach. When I start enjoying losing, or when I can handle it well, it's time for me to go into another profession."
Pelini said Monday that he had no concerns about his ability to control his temper and that no one, such as athletic director Tom Osborne, had told him to keep his cool on the sidelines.
Pelini on Tuesday acknowledged that he used bad judgment by drawing an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty late in the fourth quarter against Virginia Tech. He called an official an unflattering name after Huskers lineman Ndamukong Suh was penalized for hitting Hokies quarterback Tyrod Taylor out of bounds.
Ok. Pelini hates losing. We all do. But we keep our cool. I’m reminded of the abusive spouse, the belligerent coworker, the insolent child.
I’m reminded of me, and that initial feeling I get upon rejection… work (perhaps) constructive criticism.. A friend winging it from such a ridiculous angle, I wanna shout “YOU FRIGGIN’ IDIOT!”….
Thankfully, the older I/we get, the more we understand we don’t always get our way, we don’t always win, and people have different viewpoints - and that’s ok. (Editor’s note: exempt from this rule is the “B” in account’s receivable who storms into my cubicle ready to lynch me before she’s ever heard word-one of my side’a the story.”) Hehe.
Pride is hard to swallow, but it will do down. Again, aging helps one to “think about it” for a minute.. Try to see from ‘their’ shoes.. And react. Calmly, respectfully.
Losses happen. Per our 1-4 head football coach (KC Chief’s Herman Edwards) “get over it.”
Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times. Lance Armstrong got testicular cancer (‘50-50” chance of survival) and won how many Tour De France’s after?.. Jim Abbott won 87 games as a pitcher in the Major Leagues. Nowhere near a record - but he did it with one arm.
Some people mebbe hurt by saying/indicating/not responding “thanks, but no thanks,” We lose. Not all the time, but sometimes. Picking one’s self up after a loss is essential. For some of us, it’s a little lengthier recovery than for others of us. Some ne’er recover.
It’s given we’ll lose. It’s given, no matter our heart, some simply won’t like us. We, humans, will fall, strikeout, get sick, extend our heart willingly and without fear of the same not being returned… and sometimes it just doesn’t workout.
Victor? Where you goin’ with this. Heck I dunno. Good happens too. Not always, but does. There’s the homer, the laugh, the handshake after a discussion, the making up after an argument, the respect filed away for the spunk of the other when in debate.. And let’s not forget, the orgasm. VICTOR! Well hell! Babe Ruth did have 714 homes runs too to go along with the 1330 strike outs! The kid DID block FOUR punts!
“I’m disturbed by Pelini’s outburst” said longtime TV announcer Kevin Harlan… and whilst I don’t remember verbatim what else he said, somewhere along the way he expoused we don’t always win. We need to handle the losses as well as we handle the wins.
Batting .300 is a very good thing in baseball. It also means failure happens 70% of the time. In our making it thru this wonderful thing called life - mebbe it’s a good lesson for us all.
Tune in tomorrow… when I might relate the story of.. One day this dude was like 38 over par.. On the final hole.. He’d hit two into the water hazard right infronta him. And then a third. He kinda-sorta lost it. Picked up entire bag, clubs and all, tossed them into the water. Headed for car.
Five minutes later, here he comes back down to pond. “Aha, he’s rethunk it, it’s life, IT HAPPENS!”… Dude wades into pond. Fishes and finds golf bag. Lifts it out. Unzips side pocket, gets car keys. Tosses bag back in water and walks to car.
I’m the baby, gotta love me! Love, Victurd.
Saturday, at wedding.. Asked her “so how’d today’s game go?”.. . “Eh, not-so-well… he’s having a tough time.. .they lost.. He’d never experienced that… Today’s rough for him.”
Nebraska football coach Bo Pelini is a sore loser - which helps explain his sideline blowup late in the Cornhuskers' loss to Virginia Tech.
The 35-30 setback was Pelini's first as Nebraska's head coach. Counting his Alamo Bowl win over Michigan State as interim head coach in 2003, he's 4-1 with the Cornhuskers.
"I'm a poor loser. I'm not very fun to be around the next day," Pelini said Tuesday. "I take losses hard. I took them hard as a coordinator and position coach. When I start enjoying losing, or when I can handle it well, it's time for me to go into another profession."
Pelini said Monday that he had no concerns about his ability to control his temper and that no one, such as athletic director Tom Osborne, had told him to keep his cool on the sidelines.
Pelini on Tuesday acknowledged that he used bad judgment by drawing an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty late in the fourth quarter against Virginia Tech. He called an official an unflattering name after Huskers lineman Ndamukong Suh was penalized for hitting Hokies quarterback Tyrod Taylor out of bounds.
Ok. Pelini hates losing. We all do. But we keep our cool. I’m reminded of the abusive spouse, the belligerent coworker, the insolent child.
I’m reminded of me, and that initial feeling I get upon rejection… work (perhaps) constructive criticism.. A friend winging it from such a ridiculous angle, I wanna shout “YOU FRIGGIN’ IDIOT!”….
Thankfully, the older I/we get, the more we understand we don’t always get our way, we don’t always win, and people have different viewpoints - and that’s ok. (Editor’s note: exempt from this rule is the “B” in account’s receivable who storms into my cubicle ready to lynch me before she’s ever heard word-one of my side’a the story.”) Hehe.
Pride is hard to swallow, but it will do down. Again, aging helps one to “think about it” for a minute.. Try to see from ‘their’ shoes.. And react. Calmly, respectfully.
Losses happen. Per our 1-4 head football coach (KC Chief’s Herman Edwards) “get over it.”
Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times. Lance Armstrong got testicular cancer (‘50-50” chance of survival) and won how many Tour De France’s after?.. Jim Abbott won 87 games as a pitcher in the Major Leagues. Nowhere near a record - but he did it with one arm.
Some people mebbe hurt by saying/indicating/not responding “thanks, but no thanks,” We lose. Not all the time, but sometimes. Picking one’s self up after a loss is essential. For some of us, it’s a little lengthier recovery than for others of us. Some ne’er recover.
It’s given we’ll lose. It’s given, no matter our heart, some simply won’t like us. We, humans, will fall, strikeout, get sick, extend our heart willingly and without fear of the same not being returned… and sometimes it just doesn’t workout.
Victor? Where you goin’ with this. Heck I dunno. Good happens too. Not always, but does. There’s the homer, the laugh, the handshake after a discussion, the making up after an argument, the respect filed away for the spunk of the other when in debate.. And let’s not forget, the orgasm. VICTOR! Well hell! Babe Ruth did have 714 homes runs too to go along with the 1330 strike outs! The kid DID block FOUR punts!
“I’m disturbed by Pelini’s outburst” said longtime TV announcer Kevin Harlan… and whilst I don’t remember verbatim what else he said, somewhere along the way he expoused we don’t always win. We need to handle the losses as well as we handle the wins.
Batting .300 is a very good thing in baseball. It also means failure happens 70% of the time. In our making it thru this wonderful thing called life - mebbe it’s a good lesson for us all.
Tune in tomorrow… when I might relate the story of.. One day this dude was like 38 over par.. On the final hole.. He’d hit two into the water hazard right infronta him. And then a third. He kinda-sorta lost it. Picked up entire bag, clubs and all, tossed them into the water. Headed for car.
Five minutes later, here he comes back down to pond. “Aha, he’s rethunk it, it’s life, IT HAPPENS!”… Dude wades into pond. Fishes and finds golf bag. Lifts it out. Unzips side pocket, gets car keys. Tosses bag back in water and walks to car.
I’m the baby, gotta love me! Love, Victurd.
Dear Bloggery (Diary)….
Victor, this is the internet. This is a blog. You’re sposedta try to entertain here, not keepa GD (gosh darn) ‘record’ of your life.
Ahm, as we’ve discussed before – a blog is just that, whateverinthehell one wants it to be. So there. Nanny nanny boo boo..
Dear Victor. This morning you read the KC Star (yes, smoked too gosh darn many cigs, drank too many cuppa coffees) and u actually knew two people in the obits. Sad. Bummer.
And.. you’re sitting here at work.. yes, it’s Sunday – but I was enroute home and either Maynard or “free agent” (Maynard’s buddy who ain’t gots no money or home, thus, he is temporarily planting his butt on our sofa.. month #5) messed up the computer – so I’m here to write (‘record’), not to work.
I’m at work and I lookup… there’s a nifty big calendar on the wall for 2008. It’s mebbe two feet by three feet. Behind it, there’s one for 2007, and behind that, one for 2006, and etc.
What do those years mean? Whatthehell happened during them? Should there be any particular dates I should remember?
So there, creepola who said “you must entertain” – I scoff and say “I’m gonna write, record” because I did have a special day – and when the 2008 calendar is hidden somewhere under the 2012 calendar (the Good Lord willing) – I will remember because I blogged about it. So there. So nanny nanny boo boo.
Friend at work. Married last night. Great gal, hearta gold. Two former coworkers, both late 20’s, whyinthehell they’ve befriended an old fart like me I ain’t gots no clue, but they have - and I’m very thankful.
Wedding. Gorgeous. Bride/Groom, gorgeous/handsome. In love, more important. Flower girl, younger model spittin’ image of mom/the bride. Wonderful smalltown ceremony – the only glitch – the preacher (his first ever wedding) forgot to tell us to sit back down after the bride came down the aisle. I’m old, wanted to sit – still, wonderful ceremony.
After. The VFW. Yes, the VFW. Entire Hall to ourselves. Mebbe a hundred folks. All happy. His friends/relatives, her friends/relatives – there to mold together becoming ‘their’ friends/relatives.
Co-workers young daughter, mebbe all of four. Stole the show. A dancing fool. My buddy Kendra was her primary partner. Kendra, like me, partnerless – would surely enjoy toetapping with some hunk – but the huge heart pointed her to be little Breanna’s dance partner. It did a heart good to watch them.
Drinks. Food. S’more drinks. S’more food. To the bar, just down the road – me, and my two 20-something buddies. Back ‘home’, first by the VFW to grab what remained of the 2nd keg, then to 20-something’s house. Party. Victor? Wasn’t this the night you watched Missouri kick Nebraska’s ass too? Yes, thanks for reminding me, it was.
Long about midnight, I was all pleasured out. From 3pm until midnight – I had smiles. Tons. Cigs, beers, prolly too many – but the pace was so it was all good – and I wasn’t a blithering idiot.
I crashed. We talked about the young ones – how they “Go go go” until they can’t go any more for the day – and they crash… that was me. I, for once, was my sister. She got more outta life in one day than anyone I’ve ever known. I had me onea them days.
I think it’d be nifty if mebbe u kept some kinda record of your life as u go along. I have read my mother’s writing from her life. Father’s too. It’s a blessing to me somewhere along the way they stopped to give us reminders of exactly what was on those calendars that hang from the wall. Precious.
Bloggery. Diary. Good times, great friends, awesome wedding, even better day/night.
Farm out. Love, Victurd
Ahm, as we’ve discussed before – a blog is just that, whateverinthehell one wants it to be. So there. Nanny nanny boo boo..
Dear Victor. This morning you read the KC Star (yes, smoked too gosh darn many cigs, drank too many cuppa coffees) and u actually knew two people in the obits. Sad. Bummer.
And.. you’re sitting here at work.. yes, it’s Sunday – but I was enroute home and either Maynard or “free agent” (Maynard’s buddy who ain’t gots no money or home, thus, he is temporarily planting his butt on our sofa.. month #5) messed up the computer – so I’m here to write (‘record’), not to work.
I’m at work and I lookup… there’s a nifty big calendar on the wall for 2008. It’s mebbe two feet by three feet. Behind it, there’s one for 2007, and behind that, one for 2006, and etc.
What do those years mean? Whatthehell happened during them? Should there be any particular dates I should remember?
So there, creepola who said “you must entertain” – I scoff and say “I’m gonna write, record” because I did have a special day – and when the 2008 calendar is hidden somewhere under the 2012 calendar (the Good Lord willing) – I will remember because I blogged about it. So there. So nanny nanny boo boo.
Friend at work. Married last night. Great gal, hearta gold. Two former coworkers, both late 20’s, whyinthehell they’ve befriended an old fart like me I ain’t gots no clue, but they have - and I’m very thankful.
Wedding. Gorgeous. Bride/Groom, gorgeous/handsome. In love, more important. Flower girl, younger model spittin’ image of mom/the bride. Wonderful smalltown ceremony – the only glitch – the preacher (his first ever wedding) forgot to tell us to sit back down after the bride came down the aisle. I’m old, wanted to sit – still, wonderful ceremony.
After. The VFW. Yes, the VFW. Entire Hall to ourselves. Mebbe a hundred folks. All happy. His friends/relatives, her friends/relatives – there to mold together becoming ‘their’ friends/relatives.
Co-workers young daughter, mebbe all of four. Stole the show. A dancing fool. My buddy Kendra was her primary partner. Kendra, like me, partnerless – would surely enjoy toetapping with some hunk – but the huge heart pointed her to be little Breanna’s dance partner. It did a heart good to watch them.
Drinks. Food. S’more drinks. S’more food. To the bar, just down the road – me, and my two 20-something buddies. Back ‘home’, first by the VFW to grab what remained of the 2nd keg, then to 20-something’s house. Party. Victor? Wasn’t this the night you watched Missouri kick Nebraska’s ass too? Yes, thanks for reminding me, it was.
Long about midnight, I was all pleasured out. From 3pm until midnight – I had smiles. Tons. Cigs, beers, prolly too many – but the pace was so it was all good – and I wasn’t a blithering idiot.
I crashed. We talked about the young ones – how they “Go go go” until they can’t go any more for the day – and they crash… that was me. I, for once, was my sister. She got more outta life in one day than anyone I’ve ever known. I had me onea them days.
I think it’d be nifty if mebbe u kept some kinda record of your life as u go along. I have read my mother’s writing from her life. Father’s too. It’s a blessing to me somewhere along the way they stopped to give us reminders of exactly what was on those calendars that hang from the wall. Precious.
Bloggery. Diary. Good times, great friends, awesome wedding, even better day/night.
Farm out. Love, Victurd
Saturday, October 04, 2008
(yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
They say this song was recorded to warn of the dangers of LSD. I’ve never known/done LSD, but me likes the lyric ‘what condition my condition was in’….
I woke up this mornin with the sundown shinin in
I found my mind in a brown paper bag within
I tripped on a cloud and fell-a eight miles high
I tore my mind on a jagged sky
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
We awaken. We think of the day before - and how it played out. We’re either satisfied with it or not - then thoughts turn to today (with occasional drifting back to yesterday, yesteryear.)…. Tripping on a cloud and falling eight miles high - sure - could be some chemical ‘enhanced’ trip - but too, it could be divorce, the loss of a loved one, the loss of a job.. Tripping… jagged… what condition my condition was in….
(yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
I’m very excited about my condition for today. Tonight you see, one of my coworkers is getting married - and there along in the pews will be many current and former co-workers. An entire evening devoted to “us”… No hurries, no gotta get home’s.. some observing of what condition their condition is in (but not judgmentally).. Reflecting.. Recreating..
I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in
I watched myself crawlin out as I was a-crawlin in
I got up so tight I couldnt unwind
I saw so much I broke my mind
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
I’ve noticed something about me. Last night I was IM’ing one.. And this one musta not been in too good’a brain condition.. Coulda been momentary, I dunno.. But it wasn’t smiley… So I departed.. Just like that..
(yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
My condition is, I want smiles. I gravitate to smiles. I get on these dating sites - and I’m magnetized to the smiley ones. I go to work, I loiter by the smiley ones. Time is precious, smiles are infectious. Frowns drown.
Someone painted april fool in big black letters on a dead end sign
I had my foot on the gas as I left the road and blew out my mind
Eight miles outta memphis and I got no spare
Eight miles straight up downtown somewhere
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
Could be Memphis, Kansas City, San Francisco, Manhattan, Tampa, Raytown, Lindsborg, Topeka, Grain Valley, Hooterville, Liberty Missouri…. It’s the same theme.. Smiles melt.. With melt comes cohesiveness.. With cohesiveness comes love.. With love comes happiness… with happiness comes smiles. It’s a wonderful thing this circle of life… I’ve just dropped in..
I said I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
Yeah yeah oh-yeah
Hooterville, here we come. Smiles there. Cohesiveness.. Love.. Happiness…
Yeah yeah oh-yeah…….. Love, Victurd.
I woke up this mornin with the sundown shinin in
I found my mind in a brown paper bag within
I tripped on a cloud and fell-a eight miles high
I tore my mind on a jagged sky
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
We awaken. We think of the day before - and how it played out. We’re either satisfied with it or not - then thoughts turn to today (with occasional drifting back to yesterday, yesteryear.)…. Tripping on a cloud and falling eight miles high - sure - could be some chemical ‘enhanced’ trip - but too, it could be divorce, the loss of a loved one, the loss of a job.. Tripping… jagged… what condition my condition was in….
(yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
I’m very excited about my condition for today. Tonight you see, one of my coworkers is getting married - and there along in the pews will be many current and former co-workers. An entire evening devoted to “us”… No hurries, no gotta get home’s.. some observing of what condition their condition is in (but not judgmentally).. Reflecting.. Recreating..
I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in
I watched myself crawlin out as I was a-crawlin in
I got up so tight I couldnt unwind
I saw so much I broke my mind
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
I’ve noticed something about me. Last night I was IM’ing one.. And this one musta not been in too good’a brain condition.. Coulda been momentary, I dunno.. But it wasn’t smiley… So I departed.. Just like that..
(yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
My condition is, I want smiles. I gravitate to smiles. I get on these dating sites - and I’m magnetized to the smiley ones. I go to work, I loiter by the smiley ones. Time is precious, smiles are infectious. Frowns drown.
Someone painted april fool in big black letters on a dead end sign
I had my foot on the gas as I left the road and blew out my mind
Eight miles outta memphis and I got no spare
Eight miles straight up downtown somewhere
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
Could be Memphis, Kansas City, San Francisco, Manhattan, Tampa, Raytown, Lindsborg, Topeka, Grain Valley, Hooterville, Liberty Missouri…. It’s the same theme.. Smiles melt.. With melt comes cohesiveness.. With cohesiveness comes love.. With love comes happiness… with happiness comes smiles. It’s a wonderful thing this circle of life… I’ve just dropped in..
I said I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
Yeah yeah oh-yeah
Hooterville, here we come. Smiles there. Cohesiveness.. Love.. Happiness…
Yeah yeah oh-yeah…….. Love, Victurd.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Rubber trucky, you’re the one…….
Rubber Trucky,
you're the one,
You make bathtime lots of fun,
Rubber Trucky,
I'm awfully fond of you;
(woh woh, bee doh!)
Breaking news… Stolen in Mexico City… Tractor trailer promoting HIV/AIDS awareness… Contents within the truck: 5,000 rubbers… 800 HIV test kits… not to mention a 23’ blow up prophylactic…
Rubber Trucky, joy of joys,
When I squeeze you, you make noise!
Rubber Trucky,
You're my very best friend, it's true!
(doo doo doo doooo, doo doo)
The coordinator of an HIV/AIDS awareness tour, Polo Gomez, said the truck was taken Sunday from its parking spot in front of a friend's house in Mexico City….
Hey, I’ve got an idea Polo… Grab your buddy Marco… You and he each grab three quarters… Oh, sorry… forgot the exchange thingy…. Ahem… If you’d each grab 8.408 Pesos, stand 100 yards apart or so… clang the coins… and yell… “MARCO…. POLO… MARCO… POLO…” Mebbe, just mebbe, rubber trucky would show up… (All-ee all-ee in free)…
Every day when I make my to the tubby
I find a little fella who's
Cute and yellow and chubby
(rub-a-dub-a-dubby!)
What do you do with 365 used rubbers?… Melt them down, make a tire, and call it a Goodyear.
Ok, this is getting serious compadre.. We’ve gots to find these rubbers. They’d have to have been stolen by men (pardon me, Senior’s)… so… if you semen driving down the road in “Rubber Truck” (It features painted images of a peeled banana, the exposed part shaped like a condom, and a shirtless man saying: "I protect myself. Do you?")… call 9-1-1.. NO, WAIT.. Dial nueve-uno-uno… The Policia will be there pronto… ARREST THE LITTLE SQUIRTS!
Rubber Trucky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of you.
Ok, I just got out my calculator. If I were to have stolen this tractor trailer.. And based upon the mathematic formula of “how it’s been going” the last few years… I’ve ‘ciphered I’m “good” until the age of 1156 years of age before I’d ever haveta purchase a “no glove/no love” again. You perverts may get your calculators out…En su marca, es puesto, es ido (on your mark, get set, go!)
Every day when I make my to the tubby
I find a little fella who's
Cute and yellow and chubby
(rub-a-dub-a-dubby!)
WAIT! WHAT? S’more breaking news? They found the truck? MINUS the 5,000 rubbers? Hehe, even if those dudes are prolific, say, two of them, once a day… they’re good until roughly 2015... Eso es mucho sexo (That’s a lot of sex!)
Rubber Trucky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber trucky, I'm awfully fond of -
Rubber trucky, I'd like a whole pond of -
Rubber trucky I'm awfully fond of you!
(doo doo, be doo.)
So, close your ears, we’ve come to the end of this rubber dilemma… We’ve witnessed the rubber match. (Another stupid joke [close your ears] “do you know what’s inscribed on the very end of a rubber after you’ve unrolled it all the way?”… me neither, I’ve never unrolled one all the way.)
I’ve just decided… I’m too old for this stuff.
Eh, I saw the article, it kinda intrigued me, so I wrote. Sorry. Come again, wouldya?
Love, Victurd
you're the one,
You make bathtime lots of fun,
Rubber Trucky,
I'm awfully fond of you;
(woh woh, bee doh!)
Breaking news… Stolen in Mexico City… Tractor trailer promoting HIV/AIDS awareness… Contents within the truck: 5,000 rubbers… 800 HIV test kits… not to mention a 23’ blow up prophylactic…
Rubber Trucky, joy of joys,
When I squeeze you, you make noise!
Rubber Trucky,
You're my very best friend, it's true!
(doo doo doo doooo, doo doo)
The coordinator of an HIV/AIDS awareness tour, Polo Gomez, said the truck was taken Sunday from its parking spot in front of a friend's house in Mexico City….
Hey, I’ve got an idea Polo… Grab your buddy Marco… You and he each grab three quarters… Oh, sorry… forgot the exchange thingy…. Ahem… If you’d each grab 8.408 Pesos, stand 100 yards apart or so… clang the coins… and yell… “MARCO…. POLO… MARCO… POLO…” Mebbe, just mebbe, rubber trucky would show up… (All-ee all-ee in free)…
Every day when I make my to the tubby
I find a little fella who's
Cute and yellow and chubby
(rub-a-dub-a-dubby!)
What do you do with 365 used rubbers?… Melt them down, make a tire, and call it a Goodyear.
Ok, this is getting serious compadre.. We’ve gots to find these rubbers. They’d have to have been stolen by men (pardon me, Senior’s)… so… if you semen driving down the road in “Rubber Truck” (It features painted images of a peeled banana, the exposed part shaped like a condom, and a shirtless man saying: "I protect myself. Do you?")… call 9-1-1.. NO, WAIT.. Dial nueve-uno-uno… The Policia will be there pronto… ARREST THE LITTLE SQUIRTS!
Rubber Trucky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber ducky, I'm awfully fond of you.
Ok, I just got out my calculator. If I were to have stolen this tractor trailer.. And based upon the mathematic formula of “how it’s been going” the last few years… I’ve ‘ciphered I’m “good” until the age of 1156 years of age before I’d ever haveta purchase a “no glove/no love” again. You perverts may get your calculators out…En su marca, es puesto, es ido (on your mark, get set, go!)
Every day when I make my to the tubby
I find a little fella who's
Cute and yellow and chubby
(rub-a-dub-a-dubby!)
WAIT! WHAT? S’more breaking news? They found the truck? MINUS the 5,000 rubbers? Hehe, even if those dudes are prolific, say, two of them, once a day… they’re good until roughly 2015... Eso es mucho sexo (That’s a lot of sex!)
Rubber Trucky, you're so fine
And I'm lucky that you're mine
Rubber trucky, I'm awfully fond of -
Rubber trucky, I'd like a whole pond of -
Rubber trucky I'm awfully fond of you!
(doo doo, be doo.)
So, close your ears, we’ve come to the end of this rubber dilemma… We’ve witnessed the rubber match. (Another stupid joke [close your ears] “do you know what’s inscribed on the very end of a rubber after you’ve unrolled it all the way?”… me neither, I’ve never unrolled one all the way.)
I’ve just decided… I’m too old for this stuff.
Eh, I saw the article, it kinda intrigued me, so I wrote. Sorry. Come again, wouldya?
Love, Victurd
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
The power of one…..
A line crossed. Something different, more different than anything in our regular ole life. It’s simply my opine, when two become one – there’s a lifelong bond. A uniqueness, a specialness. No, it doesn’t mean the feelings at the time will be there with the same intensity in ten years, twenty years, in six and a half months.. but it’s powerful.. altering.. and yes, wonderful.
Some ‘lists’ are small, some mebbe have so many it’s rough to grasp the names in one sitting. No matter, again, it’s an ‘event’, a celebration, a very personal thing – that does make one have a bond for life.
Then again, whatshername always said “You know Victor, not everyone gets as whooped up on your ideas as you do.” Yes, I realize that – and in spitea those words, she is another that there’ll always be that bond, that oneness.
Victor, I’m not asking if you have, but what about one-niters? How can you say that creates a lifelong bond? Well, I DO realize not everyone is as whoopy on my ideas, my thoughts – I don’t care… even if fleeting – “that” moment was shared – and it is a lifelong bond kinda thing.
I giggle now – ‘cause there’s a gal I have (to me) a lifelong bond with. I see her occasionally on Yahoo – and I IM her. Her responses stopped probably three-four years ago. The days, times have faded a bit, sure – but again, ‘that’ is forever. I thought interesting her reply as to “why can’t you just occasionally say “hi”?
She departed me due to “you won’t ever stop smoking, and I don’t think you’ll ever show the necessary fortitude with your son.” (Smart lady!)…. Here’s her take:
“The fact that you still IM me after all this time (drunk or not) does sort of substantiate my comment about not moving on. We were a long time ago and not really for very long. I have not responded because you have not really said anything...I don't look at IM very frequently, so I don't notice it until long after the fact...I never have responded to the one-sentence drive-bys.”
My reply was…..
“I very much disagree here. Yes, we were a long time ago, and yes, we weren't for very long. I've always been of the belief, once two become one, from my shoes - there's an everlasting bond for life. No, that doesn't mean every time I come runnin' there are expectations of her to drop her drawers and love me to no end. Regarding drive-bys - I have many friends I've made over the years (not just intimate friends) - many I've never even met in the flesh - to me, it's rewarding to make a 'touch' to see what's going on in their life... Where they're at, where they're going, and how they're doing. For the many times you've never responded - there's a ten to one ratio of those that do/have, and it's been blessed. I'm not quite so sure on who's missing out here.”
Life is affected by control. We only control ourselves – and that’s a very good and very bad thing, I guess…. Victor, do you just realize you shared what she wrote with the entire world?.. Relax the back Jack, I’ve seen the numbers.. the number of readers here couldn’t even fill up the General Admission section at a Royal’s game.
She said other things – in effort to awaken me to “the moves you need to make”… I am me. While I probably ain’t been doing a good job in controlling that – it’s for me to control, not her, or anyone else. And that goes vice-versa.
Bottom line, no matta the view from her shoes, or from anyone else in the Victurd-boat, I will always carry that bond for life. It is wonderful. It is special. It is very personal. It ain’t forever physically – but I believe it is mentally. No, I don’t seek a house with however many bedrooms – one for each… it’s just that I keep them, our times, “that”, in my attic (brain) forever.
If you too are interested in that bond, please call me. 867-5309. We’ll do lunch. Hehe.
Love. Loved. Victurd.
Some ‘lists’ are small, some mebbe have so many it’s rough to grasp the names in one sitting. No matter, again, it’s an ‘event’, a celebration, a very personal thing – that does make one have a bond for life.
Then again, whatshername always said “You know Victor, not everyone gets as whooped up on your ideas as you do.” Yes, I realize that – and in spitea those words, she is another that there’ll always be that bond, that oneness.
Victor, I’m not asking if you have, but what about one-niters? How can you say that creates a lifelong bond? Well, I DO realize not everyone is as whoopy on my ideas, my thoughts – I don’t care… even if fleeting – “that” moment was shared – and it is a lifelong bond kinda thing.
I giggle now – ‘cause there’s a gal I have (to me) a lifelong bond with. I see her occasionally on Yahoo – and I IM her. Her responses stopped probably three-four years ago. The days, times have faded a bit, sure – but again, ‘that’ is forever. I thought interesting her reply as to “why can’t you just occasionally say “hi”?
She departed me due to “you won’t ever stop smoking, and I don’t think you’ll ever show the necessary fortitude with your son.” (Smart lady!)…. Here’s her take:
“The fact that you still IM me after all this time (drunk or not) does sort of substantiate my comment about not moving on. We were a long time ago and not really for very long. I have not responded because you have not really said anything...I don't look at IM very frequently, so I don't notice it until long after the fact...I never have responded to the one-sentence drive-bys.”
My reply was…..
“I very much disagree here. Yes, we were a long time ago, and yes, we weren't for very long. I've always been of the belief, once two become one, from my shoes - there's an everlasting bond for life. No, that doesn't mean every time I come runnin' there are expectations of her to drop her drawers and love me to no end. Regarding drive-bys - I have many friends I've made over the years (not just intimate friends) - many I've never even met in the flesh - to me, it's rewarding to make a 'touch' to see what's going on in their life... Where they're at, where they're going, and how they're doing. For the many times you've never responded - there's a ten to one ratio of those that do/have, and it's been blessed. I'm not quite so sure on who's missing out here.”
Life is affected by control. We only control ourselves – and that’s a very good and very bad thing, I guess…. Victor, do you just realize you shared what she wrote with the entire world?.. Relax the back Jack, I’ve seen the numbers.. the number of readers here couldn’t even fill up the General Admission section at a Royal’s game.
She said other things – in effort to awaken me to “the moves you need to make”… I am me. While I probably ain’t been doing a good job in controlling that – it’s for me to control, not her, or anyone else. And that goes vice-versa.
Bottom line, no matta the view from her shoes, or from anyone else in the Victurd-boat, I will always carry that bond for life. It is wonderful. It is special. It is very personal. It ain’t forever physically – but I believe it is mentally. No, I don’t seek a house with however many bedrooms – one for each… it’s just that I keep them, our times, “that”, in my attic (brain) forever.
If you too are interested in that bond, please call me. 867-5309. We’ll do lunch. Hehe.
Love. Loved. Victurd.
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