Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and singing his song..
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet…….
Tweeter.. Or twitter… or whateverinthehell u call it. Online, brief glimpses at a person’s day.
I guess checkenginelight.blogspot.com is no difference. A brief glimpse into the life. (Boy you must be bored sumbitches… all I can say.)
Tags expire 9/1/09. Tummy queasy. Simple answer - take a personal day off.
Mickey D’s.. I beat the old codger to the closest parking spot. So far, so good. Even splurged for Big Breakfast. Read paper. Nommuch new.
Drove by Meineke joint (Inspection)… Sign said “Open @ 7:30am”.. Chit. Twas 7:03am. Now I’ve had my time sleeping in the van - but too early. Coffee in me now. Back home. Oh chit, sorry Jackson, sorry Figaro… I’ll get cat food from the Piggly Wiggly today - a promise.
Checked email. Put on yesterday’s shirt (ewww)… hat on head.. Out the door.
“Well, we got some appointments… might be able to get to you by 10am.” Chit. “But, then again, I’m gonna give this one ten more minutes to get here, and if a no show, you’re up.”
Borrowing from my father, I spouted about a pleasant experience I’d had at their car shop before, and asked “how’s ole’ Hal?”….. Six minutes of smiling banter later.. I shook his hand, headed for the door. Thinking “hell yeah, I’m up!”…..
Damned if 30-something, gorgeous, tanned, hardly any clothes on chick walks in. Oh well, more coffee, another crossword puzzle.
Back to Meineke 40 minutes later. 30-something in lobby. She gets up to pace six or seven times, but I don’t look because she’s hardly got any clothes on at all. (Bridge? Florida?).. Snotnose (early 20’s) pulls her car up.. “It passed?”.. “Yep”… The dumbass mechanic.. If he woulda found something trivial wrong, he’da got to ogle at her 30-60 minutes more.
Time for me now. Early. Still not yet 9. Told my manager buddy “now I wanna tell you.. The driver’s side door will open from the inside, but it won’t from the outside.” He smiled, thanked me for telling him. I am my father’s son.
Same snotnose jumped in my car, pulled it into garage. Finished all the crossword ‘cept some stupid mountains in Russia. Slurped the remainder of my coffee. Peed a couple of times. (56 + 4 cups coffee = mucho pee)..
Manager walked up………. “WELLLLLLLL”… Oh chit. Brakes $149. Muffler “a hunnerd.” “Door won’t open, that’s illegal.” “Not enough tread on back tires.” I pictured me forking over $12... Going to that place - I call it “Cheers” - where everybody knows your name. That is, $30, here’s your sticker.
Yes manager friend… tell me tell me. “It passed, that’ll be $12 please. Well I’ll be sunny beach. To the courthouse.
Courthouse’s scare me. 90-something old crotchety ladies that ain’t been laid since Nixon was in office. Walked up to window. Surprise. A 40-something. She even smiled. YOU CAN’T DO THAT HERE.. NOT IN THE COURTHOUSE! NO ONE DOES!.. She did. “That’ll be $52.50”… and, just before I glanced at the 6 by 8 sign right next to me labeled “Please make checks out to Clay County Collector” I asked her “who do I make this out to?”..
Sheeeee--ittt… Barely 9am, and I’m 2/3rds of the way home.
License bureau. Tinted windows, can’t see inside. Not so many cars. Ha. Was I wrong. Opened door, and 7 people in line had to twist so I could fit in door. Sheee-iitt.. “There’re servin’ up free biscuits and gravy”some lost hippie smiled exposing his dental need smile. “Cool” I shot back. (By the time I finally got close to front of line, 23 others came in after me.. Same biscuit/gravy comment. I wanted to get ridda his other bicuspid by then.)
Lady, very calm - with kids, all boys, I’m guessing 3, 5 and 7. God Blessya ma’am. They were mostly well behaved - traversed a bit thru the office.. Bigger ones occasionally picked on littler ones… After we’d moved up six spots.. I asked “do u ever get a break?”.. .”Sometimes”… GD (gosh darn) if I were the hubby, I’d be thinking’ bout 2nd job “to make ends meet” (not frazzle my nerves.) She did well.. Well.. Almost.. Twenty-eight minutes of standing in line…..’mom… I gotta pee”.. “They don’t have a bathroom here honey.” I envisioned a hizzy - but somehow - we/they made it thru.
My turn. I SAW the “please make checks payable to the MO D.O.R…. aha, aheada the game. Anticipating an 80-something grumpy lady telling me “you ain’t got this form.. Go get it, come back to the enda the line, don’t pass go, and don’t collect two-hunner dolla’s…”.. I walked up to a smiling 50-something lady. She neatly took my paperwork. (She had no chair..geez).. I said “do you ever get a break?”.. she smiled.. “I won’t go there.”) I unnerstand. Dayum. I couldn’t own the joint and make those folks do that. I’d have massaging, soft, comfy chairs. Putting up with all that BS EVERY day.
Driver’s license eyeball examiner to our left. Old feller. Sure he was worried about eye test. “Now tell me again, what’s on line 5?”… Took his hat off to sneak a closer peek.. Felt sorry.. Shaking a little.. Maybe onset of Parkinsons.. Not good. Whew, he passed. Viva la go until you can’t.
“That’ll be $75.23 for two years.” Gee this is fun, are you sure I can’t pay double that? “Thanks ma’am, have a nice day.”
9:43am. Done. Finito. Do I put the stickers on now? Nah, it’s 8/28, basta don’t expire for three more days - I’ll remember by next weekend, surely. (Remember avoidance behavior?)..
So return home.. Again check email.. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Jax, Fig, I PROMISE I’ll go to store for cat food SOON.” I later heard one of ‘em sharpening claws on sofa. I’m in trouble here.
I’m heading for the Piggly Wiggly. I LOVE tweeting to you bored outta your guard folks. I’m thankful for every breatha life.. Every waking hour.. Every smile.. Every firm female booty (sorry).. And for the extra hours today I really didn’t think I’d have.
Rockin' robin, tweet tweet tweet
Rockin' robin' tweet tweetly-tweet
Blow rockin' robin
'Cause we're really gonna rock tonight
Havea really tweet weekend. Love, Victurd. (Thankfully, this story won’t be retold for two, count ‘em, two more years)…..
Friday, August 28, 2009
He rocks in the tree tops all day long……..
Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and singing his song..
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet…….
Tweeter.. Or twitter… or whateverinthehell u call it. Online, brief glimpses at a person’s day.
I guess checkenginelight.blogspot.com is no difference. A brief glimpse into the life. (Boy you must be bored sumbitches… all I can say.)
Tags expire 9/1/09. Tummy queasy. Simple answer - take a personal day off.
Mickey D’s.. I beat the old codger to the closest parking spot. So far, so good. Even splurged for Big Breakfast. Read paper. Nommuch new.
Drove by Meineke joint (Inspection)… Sign said “Open @ 7:30am”.. Chit. Twas 7:03am. Now I’ve had my time sleeping in the van - but too early. Coffee in me now. Back home. Oh chit, sorry Jackson, sorry Figaro… I’ll get cat food from the Piggly Wiggly today - a promise.
Checked email. Put on yesterday’s shirt (ewww)… hat on head.. Out the door.
“Well, we got some appointments… might be able to get to you by 10am.” Chit. “But, then again, I’m gonna give this one ten more minutes to get here, and if a no show, you’re up.”
Borrowing from my father, I spouted about a pleasant experience I’d had at their car shop before, and asked “how’s ole’ Hal?”….. Six minutes of smiling banter later.. I shook his hand, headed for the door. Thinking “hell yeah, I’m up!”…..
Damned if 30-something, gorgeous, tanned, hardly any clothes on chick walks in. Oh well, more coffee, another crossword puzzle.
Back to Meineke 40 minutes later. 30-something in lobby. She gets up to pace six or seven times, but I don’t look because she’s hardly got any clothes on at all. (Bridge? Florida?).. Snotnose (early 20’s) pulls her car up.. “It passed?”.. “Yep”… The dumbass mechanic.. If he woulda found something trivial wrong, he’da got to ogle at her 30-60 minutes more.
Time for me now. Early. Still not yet 9. Told my manager buddy “now I wanna tell you.. The driver’s side door will open from the inside, but it won’t from the outside.” He smiled, thanked me for telling him. I am my father’s son.
Same snotnose jumped in my car, pulled it into garage. Finished all the crossword ‘cept some stupid mountains in Russia. Slurped the remainder of my coffee. Peed a couple of times. (56 + 4 cups coffee = mucho pee)..
Manager walked up………. “WELLLLLLLL”… Oh chit. Brakes $149. Muffler “a hunnerd.” “Door won’t open, that’s illegal.” “Not enough tread on back tires.” I pictured me forking over $12... Going to that place - I call it “Cheers” - where everybody knows your name. That is, $30, here’s your sticker.
Yes manager friend… tell me tell me. “It passed, that’ll be $12 please. Well I’ll be sunny beach. To the courthouse.
Courthouse’s scare me. 90-something old crotchety ladies that ain’t been laid since Nixon was in office. Walked up to window. Surprise. A 40-something. She even smiled. YOU CAN’T DO THAT HERE.. NOT IN THE COURTHOUSE! NO ONE DOES!.. She did. “That’ll be $52.50”… and, just before I glanced at the 6 by 8 sign right next to me labeled “Please make checks out to Clay County Collector” I asked her “who do I make this out to?”..
Sheeeee--ittt… Barely 9am, and I’m 2/3rds of the way home.
License bureau. Tinted windows, can’t see inside. Not so many cars. Ha. Was I wrong. Opened door, and 7 people in line had to twist so I could fit in door. Sheee-iitt.. “There’re servin’ up free biscuits and gravy”some lost hippie smiled exposing his dental need smile. “Cool” I shot back. (By the time I finally got close to front of line, 23 others came in after me.. Same biscuit/gravy comment. I wanted to get ridda his other bicuspid by then.)
Lady, very calm - with kids, all boys, I’m guessing 3, 5 and 7. God Blessya ma’am. They were mostly well behaved - traversed a bit thru the office.. Bigger ones occasionally picked on littler ones… After we’d moved up six spots.. I asked “do u ever get a break?”.. .”Sometimes”… GD (gosh darn) if I were the hubby, I’d be thinking’ bout 2nd job “to make ends meet” (not frazzle my nerves.) She did well.. Well.. Almost.. Twenty-eight minutes of standing in line…..’mom… I gotta pee”.. “They don’t have a bathroom here honey.” I envisioned a hizzy - but somehow - we/they made it thru.
My turn. I SAW the “please make checks payable to the MO D.O.R…. aha, aheada the game. Anticipating an 80-something grumpy lady telling me “you ain’t got this form.. Go get it, come back to the enda the line, don’t pass go, and don’t collect two-hunner dolla’s…”.. I walked up to a smiling 50-something lady. She neatly took my paperwork. (She had no chair..geez).. I said “do you ever get a break?”.. she smiled.. “I won’t go there.”) I unnerstand. Dayum. I couldn’t own the joint and make those folks do that. I’d have massaging, soft, comfy chairs. Putting up with all that BS EVERY day.
Driver’s license eyeball examiner to our left. Old feller. Sure he was worried about eye test. “Now tell me again, what’s on line 5?”… Took his hat off to sneak a closer peek.. Felt sorry.. Shaking a little.. Maybe onset of Parkinsons.. Not good. Whew, he passed. Viva la go until you can’t.
“That’ll be $75.23 for two years.” Gee this is fun, are you sure I can’t pay double that? “Thanks ma’am, have a nice day.”
9:43am. Done. Finito. Do I put the stickers on now? Nah, it’s 8/28, basta don’t expire for three more days - I’ll remember by next weekend, surely. (Remember avoidance behavior?)..
So return home.. Again check email.. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Jax, Fig, I PROMISE I’ll go to store for cat food SOON.” I later heard one of ‘em sharpening claws on sofa. I’m in trouble here.
I’m heading for the Piggly Wiggly. I LOVE tweeting to you bored outta your guard folks. I’m thankful for every breatha life.. Every waking hour.. Every smile.. Every firm female booty (sorry).. And for the extra hours today I really didn’t think I’d have.
Rockin' robin, tweet tweet tweet
Rockin' robin' tweet tweetly-tweet
Blow rockin' robin
'Cause we're really gonna rock tonight
Havea really tweet weekend. Love, Victurd. (Thankfully, this story won’t be retold for two, count ‘em, two more years)…..
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet…….
Tweeter.. Or twitter… or whateverinthehell u call it. Online, brief glimpses at a person’s day.
I guess checkenginelight.blogspot.com is no difference. A brief glimpse into the life. (Boy you must be bored sumbitches… all I can say.)
Tags expire 9/1/09. Tummy queasy. Simple answer - take a personal day off.
Mickey D’s.. I beat the old codger to the closest parking spot. So far, so good. Even splurged for Big Breakfast. Read paper. Nommuch new.
Drove by Meineke joint (Inspection)… Sign said “Open @ 7:30am”.. Chit. Twas 7:03am. Now I’ve had my time sleeping in the van - but too early. Coffee in me now. Back home. Oh chit, sorry Jackson, sorry Figaro… I’ll get cat food from the Piggly Wiggly today - a promise.
Checked email. Put on yesterday’s shirt (ewww)… hat on head.. Out the door.
“Well, we got some appointments… might be able to get to you by 10am.” Chit. “But, then again, I’m gonna give this one ten more minutes to get here, and if a no show, you’re up.”
Borrowing from my father, I spouted about a pleasant experience I’d had at their car shop before, and asked “how’s ole’ Hal?”….. Six minutes of smiling banter later.. I shook his hand, headed for the door. Thinking “hell yeah, I’m up!”…..
Damned if 30-something, gorgeous, tanned, hardly any clothes on chick walks in. Oh well, more coffee, another crossword puzzle.
Back to Meineke 40 minutes later. 30-something in lobby. She gets up to pace six or seven times, but I don’t look because she’s hardly got any clothes on at all. (Bridge? Florida?).. Snotnose (early 20’s) pulls her car up.. “It passed?”.. “Yep”… The dumbass mechanic.. If he woulda found something trivial wrong, he’da got to ogle at her 30-60 minutes more.
Time for me now. Early. Still not yet 9. Told my manager buddy “now I wanna tell you.. The driver’s side door will open from the inside, but it won’t from the outside.” He smiled, thanked me for telling him. I am my father’s son.
Same snotnose jumped in my car, pulled it into garage. Finished all the crossword ‘cept some stupid mountains in Russia. Slurped the remainder of my coffee. Peed a couple of times. (56 + 4 cups coffee = mucho pee)..
Manager walked up………. “WELLLLLLLL”… Oh chit. Brakes $149. Muffler “a hunnerd.” “Door won’t open, that’s illegal.” “Not enough tread on back tires.” I pictured me forking over $12... Going to that place - I call it “Cheers” - where everybody knows your name. That is, $30, here’s your sticker.
Yes manager friend… tell me tell me. “It passed, that’ll be $12 please. Well I’ll be sunny beach. To the courthouse.
Courthouse’s scare me. 90-something old crotchety ladies that ain’t been laid since Nixon was in office. Walked up to window. Surprise. A 40-something. She even smiled. YOU CAN’T DO THAT HERE.. NOT IN THE COURTHOUSE! NO ONE DOES!.. She did. “That’ll be $52.50”… and, just before I glanced at the 6 by 8 sign right next to me labeled “Please make checks out to Clay County Collector” I asked her “who do I make this out to?”..
Sheeeee--ittt… Barely 9am, and I’m 2/3rds of the way home.
License bureau. Tinted windows, can’t see inside. Not so many cars. Ha. Was I wrong. Opened door, and 7 people in line had to twist so I could fit in door. Sheee-iitt.. “There’re servin’ up free biscuits and gravy”some lost hippie smiled exposing his dental need smile. “Cool” I shot back. (By the time I finally got close to front of line, 23 others came in after me.. Same biscuit/gravy comment. I wanted to get ridda his other bicuspid by then.)
Lady, very calm - with kids, all boys, I’m guessing 3, 5 and 7. God Blessya ma’am. They were mostly well behaved - traversed a bit thru the office.. Bigger ones occasionally picked on littler ones… After we’d moved up six spots.. I asked “do u ever get a break?”.. .”Sometimes”… GD (gosh darn) if I were the hubby, I’d be thinking’ bout 2nd job “to make ends meet” (not frazzle my nerves.) She did well.. Well.. Almost.. Twenty-eight minutes of standing in line…..’mom… I gotta pee”.. “They don’t have a bathroom here honey.” I envisioned a hizzy - but somehow - we/they made it thru.
My turn. I SAW the “please make checks payable to the MO D.O.R…. aha, aheada the game. Anticipating an 80-something grumpy lady telling me “you ain’t got this form.. Go get it, come back to the enda the line, don’t pass go, and don’t collect two-hunner dolla’s…”.. I walked up to a smiling 50-something lady. She neatly took my paperwork. (She had no chair..geez).. I said “do you ever get a break?”.. she smiled.. “I won’t go there.”) I unnerstand. Dayum. I couldn’t own the joint and make those folks do that. I’d have massaging, soft, comfy chairs. Putting up with all that BS EVERY day.
Driver’s license eyeball examiner to our left. Old feller. Sure he was worried about eye test. “Now tell me again, what’s on line 5?”… Took his hat off to sneak a closer peek.. Felt sorry.. Shaking a little.. Maybe onset of Parkinsons.. Not good. Whew, he passed. Viva la go until you can’t.
“That’ll be $75.23 for two years.” Gee this is fun, are you sure I can’t pay double that? “Thanks ma’am, have a nice day.”
9:43am. Done. Finito. Do I put the stickers on now? Nah, it’s 8/28, basta don’t expire for three more days - I’ll remember by next weekend, surely. (Remember avoidance behavior?)..
So return home.. Again check email.. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Jax, Fig, I PROMISE I’ll go to store for cat food SOON.” I later heard one of ‘em sharpening claws on sofa. I’m in trouble here.
I’m heading for the Piggly Wiggly. I LOVE tweeting to you bored outta your guard folks. I’m thankful for every breatha life.. Every waking hour.. Every smile.. Every firm female booty (sorry).. And for the extra hours today I really didn’t think I’d have.
Rockin' robin, tweet tweet tweet
Rockin' robin' tweet tweetly-tweet
Blow rockin' robin
'Cause we're really gonna rock tonight
Havea really tweet weekend. Love, Victurd. (Thankfully, this story won’t be retold for two, count ‘em, two more years)…..
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Hide the beagle… Vick’s an Eagle…..
At first glance, this is one of the more humorous quotes/signs I’ve seen in awhile… Was a lady demonstrating outside the Philadelphia Eagle’s Stadium.. No doubt with Pita. Mixed feelings. Yes, atrocious were the things Michael Vick has done – yet, he paid two+ years of his life for the crime. No, it won’t undo the torture, but it wasn’t his determination as to how long he must repay society.
The Pita lady.. Hiding as well. My take. We all hide at some point, from something. Sometimes reasons unknown.
When we hide, we obsess. Pita is obsessing. Again, my take. Alcohol is hiding, obsessing. Overeating can be hiding, obsessing. Social anxiety is hiding. Economic inequity can even ‘cause hiding. Perceived “looks” or lack thereof can prompt hiding.
As a kid, hide and seek was a wonderful thing. The thrill of being unexposed caused giggles that sometime got you caught. The twists and turns and formations we put our bodies in to hide were amazing. We always knew the end though – and that was that hiding would eventually end. Caught. Tagged. Dinner bell. Darkness. Whatever, you were safe in hiding, ‘cause you knew it was temporary.
Hiding in life is different. There’s no one to come tag you. The dinner bell rings – you still hide. The phone rings, it goes unanswered.
Victor, this is getting depressing. Yes, that’s because hiding IS depressing. I’ve done it, you’ve probably done it, and we’ll all probably do it again.
Hiding is akin to working the New York Times Crossword puzzle. “There’s just no fucking way I’m gonna get outta here…. whadda I do?”..
Hiding is like digging a hole. Whilst hiding, you keep digging. The longer you hide, the more you wanna get the frig outta that hole – the farther it is to escape – the deeper it gets… and doom accompanies.
What ‘rescues’ folks from hiding? Friends. Loved ones. Altered habits. Sometimes I’m certain religion. (Danger danger Will Robinson, scroll to Pita/obsession)..
Yes… I’ve heard the label “avoidance behavior” substituted for hiding. Mebbe so. Probably so. Oh Ok, sure. Fine. Call it what you want.
Observations……. “I’m not going to the class reunion… LOOK at me!”… Duh, who cares. We is what we is. Love us or don’t love us.
I tend to hide from what I call “two fork dining”. I’m just a common man, drive a common van.. Did have a Yorkie once that had papers/pedigree… Smokey Butterball,.. .. Wonderful ex-sis inlaw got him for me at a puppy mill auction.. “$25.. he’s too large, and undesirous to breed.”.. Smokey was wonderful – ‘cept he understandably hid for one full year behind the bed… His hiding was induced, understandable. He’d lived in a one and one-half foot by two foot kennel his entire life.. Took awhile, but one day he realized he was FREEE!.. Dared to run.. Dared to enjoy.. “Hey, it’s OK if I wag my tail, YIPEE!”..
Kenneled. Somehow we got back to the headline. Fitting though. Hiding/kenneled. Finding the way out. What to do, how to react, relate, once we are out.
For some, there might even be comfort in hiding. Nomme. Hiding is not balance. Hiding is extreme. Obsession. Some by choice, some by happenstance, some by low self esteem. I’ve perhaps demonstrated a little bitta eacha those parts.
One day, I will follow my role model, Smokey Butterball – and I will run like the wind. Well… at age 56, it may be more like run like a breeze, but it’ll happen. Moments where I come out. Even days where I come out. Feels good. Rectum I oughta do that more.
Here’s to ladders for getting outta dug holes. Here’s to friends who stop by, call, just cause they care. Here’s to loved ones whose blood runs thru. Here’s to internal willpower, renewed self esteem – for it’s one of the most powerful things on the planet.
Thanks for listening. Sneaking out the back door now, hiding from management to have a quick cig. Sometimes hiding is fun, titillating. If you are in the hiding mode, God Blessya.. If by choice – that’s ok. If not, again, God Bless you to somehow find the power, the people, the inner strength – to escape from the hole.
Happy trails to you……… Until…. we meet…. again……. Love, Victurd.
The Pita lady.. Hiding as well. My take. We all hide at some point, from something. Sometimes reasons unknown.
When we hide, we obsess. Pita is obsessing. Again, my take. Alcohol is hiding, obsessing. Overeating can be hiding, obsessing. Social anxiety is hiding. Economic inequity can even ‘cause hiding. Perceived “looks” or lack thereof can prompt hiding.
As a kid, hide and seek was a wonderful thing. The thrill of being unexposed caused giggles that sometime got you caught. The twists and turns and formations we put our bodies in to hide were amazing. We always knew the end though – and that was that hiding would eventually end. Caught. Tagged. Dinner bell. Darkness. Whatever, you were safe in hiding, ‘cause you knew it was temporary.
Hiding in life is different. There’s no one to come tag you. The dinner bell rings – you still hide. The phone rings, it goes unanswered.
Victor, this is getting depressing. Yes, that’s because hiding IS depressing. I’ve done it, you’ve probably done it, and we’ll all probably do it again.
Hiding is akin to working the New York Times Crossword puzzle. “There’s just no fucking way I’m gonna get outta here…. whadda I do?”..
Hiding is like digging a hole. Whilst hiding, you keep digging. The longer you hide, the more you wanna get the frig outta that hole – the farther it is to escape – the deeper it gets… and doom accompanies.
What ‘rescues’ folks from hiding? Friends. Loved ones. Altered habits. Sometimes I’m certain religion. (Danger danger Will Robinson, scroll to Pita/obsession)..
Yes… I’ve heard the label “avoidance behavior” substituted for hiding. Mebbe so. Probably so. Oh Ok, sure. Fine. Call it what you want.
Observations……. “I’m not going to the class reunion… LOOK at me!”… Duh, who cares. We is what we is. Love us or don’t love us.
I tend to hide from what I call “two fork dining”. I’m just a common man, drive a common van.. Did have a Yorkie once that had papers/pedigree… Smokey Butterball,.. .. Wonderful ex-sis inlaw got him for me at a puppy mill auction.. “$25.. he’s too large, and undesirous to breed.”.. Smokey was wonderful – ‘cept he understandably hid for one full year behind the bed… His hiding was induced, understandable. He’d lived in a one and one-half foot by two foot kennel his entire life.. Took awhile, but one day he realized he was FREEE!.. Dared to run.. Dared to enjoy.. “Hey, it’s OK if I wag my tail, YIPEE!”..
Kenneled. Somehow we got back to the headline. Fitting though. Hiding/kenneled. Finding the way out. What to do, how to react, relate, once we are out.
For some, there might even be comfort in hiding. Nomme. Hiding is not balance. Hiding is extreme. Obsession. Some by choice, some by happenstance, some by low self esteem. I’ve perhaps demonstrated a little bitta eacha those parts.
One day, I will follow my role model, Smokey Butterball – and I will run like the wind. Well… at age 56, it may be more like run like a breeze, but it’ll happen. Moments where I come out. Even days where I come out. Feels good. Rectum I oughta do that more.
Here’s to ladders for getting outta dug holes. Here’s to friends who stop by, call, just cause they care. Here’s to loved ones whose blood runs thru. Here’s to internal willpower, renewed self esteem – for it’s one of the most powerful things on the planet.
Thanks for listening. Sneaking out the back door now, hiding from management to have a quick cig. Sometimes hiding is fun, titillating. If you are in the hiding mode, God Blessya.. If by choice – that’s ok. If not, again, God Bless you to somehow find the power, the people, the inner strength – to escape from the hole.
Happy trails to you……… Until…. we meet…. again……. Love, Victurd.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Of fastballs, curves and sinkers….
Baseball been berry berry good to me.
Baseball, or pitching/batting – very well likens life. Fastballs. Heat. Smokin’. When the goin’ is good. Amongst friends. Jubilation for one’s self, for a friend, for a loved one. Right down the middle. Perfect. A blazin’ fastball is akin to being in a situation where you think to yourself “I love it here, now…. it couldn’t get much better.”
We all have experienced fastballs… Some more than others.. Some, aplenty.. Some, not so much… but we all have…
Curveballs… Sneaky little devils.. Just when you start all that energy, motion, routineness forward – then it spins.. changes… job loss… divorce.. illness.. loss of a loved one.. financial setback… an aging parent.. pet..
Ya ain’t prepared for it.. while you know curveballs are part of the package of life – they still can mess one up.. momma’s two diddies of wisdom passed down: 1) The true key to success is how you react to plan B… A curve ball is the impetus to plan B. Reactions vary.. HOLY SHIT!.. Aha, NOT gonna fool me!.. Bring it on baby.. Can I sit this one out?.. Swing and a miss..
Oh, her second motherly diddy? Thought you’d never ask. “Finish everything you start.. except sex.” I guess ‘balk’ fits in the conversation today somewhere.
So curves.. How do we adapt? Some do so very easily, with no assistance.. with internal fortitude.. with the help of a loving mate.. Some go down swinging – fight it, struggle with it, cuss a bit, yet take on the game.. The “minor leagues” of life – or perhaps more appropriately – upbringing – help to prepare us. Some rise to the top.. Some wade thru mediocrity.. some fail.. (Pretend to hear the whistle of “The Good, the Bad, the Ugly” here.)
Sinkers. Much like curves, ceptin’ brings ya to the depths. There’s little positive to come of a sinker. Everything drops off the table. Severe depths. Again, fortitude, getting right back up, saying, “throw me that sonofabitch again you bastard” is a great approach.. Many though, throw in the towel. Give up. Mire thru the days, months, years.
Rectum there are other sound bites of baseball that relate to life. The single. Young couple’s first house. Double. Pay raise. New car. Triple. Titillation, braggadocios. Bunt single. Sneaky little basta – but gets away with it. Walk. The easy way out, yet, a positive. Hit by pitch. Fender bender. Cut. Burn. Fall.
Signals. Oh, so many. The eyes. The mouth. The text. The body signals.
Dugout humor. Onea my fav’s. The runnin’ buds.. Good humored makin’ kinda-sorta fun of another.
Texas Leaguer. I would say probably anything underwire with DD attached to it.
Rain out. Take the day off. Stuck inside. Gimme sun, pretty please.
Off day. Hell yeah. Weekends. A Holiday. Laziness. I ain’t doing squat today.
Home run. “Oh baby Oh baby.”
I, at age 56, am too GD (gosh darn) old to still be playing ball. Don’t care. Do. Will. Did. Have. Gonna. I love life, and I love baseball. No, don’t move like I usedta. Slowpitch. Ain’t gotta put up with, adapt to fastballs, curves, sinkers. I get to enjoy the dugout humor. (We play one hour, talk about it for four afterwords.)
There’s just something about having a glove and spikes in the car that I don’t wanna give up. I intend to play until I get to the point I’m a detriment to my team (or, until I pee my pants and forget my name.)
Being on the bench of life can be a bitch what with the fastballs, curves and sinkers. S’Ok. Baseball, and life, been berry berry good to me.
Hit ‘em where they ain’t. Love, Victurd.
Baseball, or pitching/batting – very well likens life. Fastballs. Heat. Smokin’. When the goin’ is good. Amongst friends. Jubilation for one’s self, for a friend, for a loved one. Right down the middle. Perfect. A blazin’ fastball is akin to being in a situation where you think to yourself “I love it here, now…. it couldn’t get much better.”
We all have experienced fastballs… Some more than others.. Some, aplenty.. Some, not so much… but we all have…
Curveballs… Sneaky little devils.. Just when you start all that energy, motion, routineness forward – then it spins.. changes… job loss… divorce.. illness.. loss of a loved one.. financial setback… an aging parent.. pet..
Ya ain’t prepared for it.. while you know curveballs are part of the package of life – they still can mess one up.. momma’s two diddies of wisdom passed down: 1) The true key to success is how you react to plan B… A curve ball is the impetus to plan B. Reactions vary.. HOLY SHIT!.. Aha, NOT gonna fool me!.. Bring it on baby.. Can I sit this one out?.. Swing and a miss..
Oh, her second motherly diddy? Thought you’d never ask. “Finish everything you start.. except sex.” I guess ‘balk’ fits in the conversation today somewhere.
So curves.. How do we adapt? Some do so very easily, with no assistance.. with internal fortitude.. with the help of a loving mate.. Some go down swinging – fight it, struggle with it, cuss a bit, yet take on the game.. The “minor leagues” of life – or perhaps more appropriately – upbringing – help to prepare us. Some rise to the top.. Some wade thru mediocrity.. some fail.. (Pretend to hear the whistle of “The Good, the Bad, the Ugly” here.)
Sinkers. Much like curves, ceptin’ brings ya to the depths. There’s little positive to come of a sinker. Everything drops off the table. Severe depths. Again, fortitude, getting right back up, saying, “throw me that sonofabitch again you bastard” is a great approach.. Many though, throw in the towel. Give up. Mire thru the days, months, years.
Rectum there are other sound bites of baseball that relate to life. The single. Young couple’s first house. Double. Pay raise. New car. Triple. Titillation, braggadocios. Bunt single. Sneaky little basta – but gets away with it. Walk. The easy way out, yet, a positive. Hit by pitch. Fender bender. Cut. Burn. Fall.
Signals. Oh, so many. The eyes. The mouth. The text. The body signals.
Dugout humor. Onea my fav’s. The runnin’ buds.. Good humored makin’ kinda-sorta fun of another.
Texas Leaguer. I would say probably anything underwire with DD attached to it.
Rain out. Take the day off. Stuck inside. Gimme sun, pretty please.
Off day. Hell yeah. Weekends. A Holiday. Laziness. I ain’t doing squat today.
Home run. “Oh baby Oh baby.”
I, at age 56, am too GD (gosh darn) old to still be playing ball. Don’t care. Do. Will. Did. Have. Gonna. I love life, and I love baseball. No, don’t move like I usedta. Slowpitch. Ain’t gotta put up with, adapt to fastballs, curves, sinkers. I get to enjoy the dugout humor. (We play one hour, talk about it for four afterwords.)
There’s just something about having a glove and spikes in the car that I don’t wanna give up. I intend to play until I get to the point I’m a detriment to my team (or, until I pee my pants and forget my name.)
Being on the bench of life can be a bitch what with the fastballs, curves and sinkers. S’Ok. Baseball, and life, been berry berry good to me.
Hit ‘em where they ain’t. Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Hurry…
A strange word. I’m here at 7:19am. Work starts at 8am. Hurry Victor. You promised yourself you would write, now get with it and write.
K. Bitch.
With hurry comes racing hearts. Just reminded that on the Interstate. Basta’s wheeling 70 mph down three lanes.. guy behind me one car length cushion. Why? Why hurry like that? You’re going to work! But we do – we speed, we switch lanes, we see a slow car in the distance – move over Rover… we see the car coming from the ramp to get into the traffic flow.. “huh UH.. u ain’t gettin’ in before me!” HURRY!
Sex. Or so I’ve heard. Been awhile, but, hAsN’t AfFeCtEd Me… honest.. People hurry into sex. WHY? It’s SEX! Onea the grandest things God has given to us – and we HURRY! Holly mackerel.. go slow and enjoy! He’ll/she’ll be there for some time – ain’t no reason to pitter-patter-oh-baby-COME-ON thru it! We take our time at work, but we RACE thru sex. I no comprende.
Sometimes hurry understood. Few years back – buddya mine gotta phone call. His daughter living in Anchorage – he here in the middle of the US… “You’ve got to come quick.. she was tubing behind the pickup truck, hit a tree, her neck is broken.” Can u imagine? The fret, the tummy yuck, the tears, of hurrying all the way from Kansas City to Anchorage? Happy to say, good ending, she’s fine. Godspeed, as in hurry – and she did.
Thirty three minutes until work – yet, I HAVE to have that cig at 7-fitty… Smoke break, can’t wait. HURRY. Eyes eyeball the hour – 9:30am happens, ZOOM. Hurrying off to pollute my lungs. And I enjoy it. Go figure.
Airports, we hurry. We hurry for sex, and then we hurry to jump on the airplane where we can absorb three hours of white knuckles, tummy ache, and damn near aerobic-sized heart paces.. This does not compute.
Grabbing that last item you needed off the shelf at the Piggly Wiggly. Lane 7 only has one other person in it, and I see that bitch with two kids rolling towards it.. NUH UH! That spot is MINE! HURRY!
Going to a concert, ballgame, theater… HURRY! Kids, get dressed damnit. We’re gonna be late if you don’t step it up!.. Again, don’t understand. You’ve got a set time for the event starting. You’re headed for enjoyment, yet, you frantically get ready at home, rush to the car – race down the highway.. drag little Johnny by the arm running a 4.8 second forty from the parking lot to the ticket window.. HURRY! We’ve got fun ahead, COME ON DANGIT!
Kid’sll be home in thirty minutes. HURRY!.....
Pulling a prank on a friend. Fun hurry. Smiling hurry. Laughing hurry.
Like virtually everything in life, hurry has it’s bad and it’s good. Timed tests in school, remember those SOB’s? I hated ‘em. Normally, within’ minutes my number 2 lead would snap, I’d pee a bit, raise my hand to request another. Then, I was that much farther behind, and besides, that GD Susan sitting to my left was waay smarter than me – and now she’s got a 2 and ½ minute lead. HURRY VICTOR!
I have heard “You’re kind of a laid back guy.” Rectum. Believe me though – I’ve certainly had my hurry moments in life. Hurry and tell me this is a dream. Hurry we’ve got to get to the concert/ballgame/theater. GD I can’t wait to get white knuckles. Biotch, move over, I’ve got 8 minutes to traverse 10 miles to get to work on time. Baby I ain’t had sex in so long, screw the buttons, let’s rip these puppies off, k?
I MADE IT!.. I’m done. I know, you wanted me to hurry and get this shit over with didn’t ya? Did. It’s 7:39am… I’ve still got time to check my email and see how many women haven’t written me. Why I might even hurry out for an additional cig.
Penny for your thoughts? HURRY!
Much love, Victurd.
K. Bitch.
With hurry comes racing hearts. Just reminded that on the Interstate. Basta’s wheeling 70 mph down three lanes.. guy behind me one car length cushion. Why? Why hurry like that? You’re going to work! But we do – we speed, we switch lanes, we see a slow car in the distance – move over Rover… we see the car coming from the ramp to get into the traffic flow.. “huh UH.. u ain’t gettin’ in before me!” HURRY!
Sex. Or so I’ve heard. Been awhile, but, hAsN’t AfFeCtEd Me… honest.. People hurry into sex. WHY? It’s SEX! Onea the grandest things God has given to us – and we HURRY! Holly mackerel.. go slow and enjoy! He’ll/she’ll be there for some time – ain’t no reason to pitter-patter-oh-baby-COME-ON thru it! We take our time at work, but we RACE thru sex. I no comprende.
Sometimes hurry understood. Few years back – buddya mine gotta phone call. His daughter living in Anchorage – he here in the middle of the US… “You’ve got to come quick.. she was tubing behind the pickup truck, hit a tree, her neck is broken.” Can u imagine? The fret, the tummy yuck, the tears, of hurrying all the way from Kansas City to Anchorage? Happy to say, good ending, she’s fine. Godspeed, as in hurry – and she did.
Thirty three minutes until work – yet, I HAVE to have that cig at 7-fitty… Smoke break, can’t wait. HURRY. Eyes eyeball the hour – 9:30am happens, ZOOM. Hurrying off to pollute my lungs. And I enjoy it. Go figure.
Airports, we hurry. We hurry for sex, and then we hurry to jump on the airplane where we can absorb three hours of white knuckles, tummy ache, and damn near aerobic-sized heart paces.. This does not compute.
Grabbing that last item you needed off the shelf at the Piggly Wiggly. Lane 7 only has one other person in it, and I see that bitch with two kids rolling towards it.. NUH UH! That spot is MINE! HURRY!
Going to a concert, ballgame, theater… HURRY! Kids, get dressed damnit. We’re gonna be late if you don’t step it up!.. Again, don’t understand. You’ve got a set time for the event starting. You’re headed for enjoyment, yet, you frantically get ready at home, rush to the car – race down the highway.. drag little Johnny by the arm running a 4.8 second forty from the parking lot to the ticket window.. HURRY! We’ve got fun ahead, COME ON DANGIT!
Kid’sll be home in thirty minutes. HURRY!.....
Pulling a prank on a friend. Fun hurry. Smiling hurry. Laughing hurry.
Like virtually everything in life, hurry has it’s bad and it’s good. Timed tests in school, remember those SOB’s? I hated ‘em. Normally, within’ minutes my number 2 lead would snap, I’d pee a bit, raise my hand to request another. Then, I was that much farther behind, and besides, that GD Susan sitting to my left was waay smarter than me – and now she’s got a 2 and ½ minute lead. HURRY VICTOR!
I have heard “You’re kind of a laid back guy.” Rectum. Believe me though – I’ve certainly had my hurry moments in life. Hurry and tell me this is a dream. Hurry we’ve got to get to the concert/ballgame/theater. GD I can’t wait to get white knuckles. Biotch, move over, I’ve got 8 minutes to traverse 10 miles to get to work on time. Baby I ain’t had sex in so long, screw the buttons, let’s rip these puppies off, k?
I MADE IT!.. I’m done. I know, you wanted me to hurry and get this shit over with didn’t ya? Did. It’s 7:39am… I’ve still got time to check my email and see how many women haven’t written me. Why I might even hurry out for an additional cig.
Penny for your thoughts? HURRY!
Much love, Victurd.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Thoughts…….
Thoughts…….
Uh huh, what I thought.. Paper this morning… Barbara Eden 75 (Say it ain’t so Major Healy!).. Shelly Long, Rick Springfield, each 60 today.. Was it that long ago they were each heartthrobs to America?… Nifty article on Streisand.. now 67..
Listening to Sport’s Psychology show on radio.. Feller being interviewed about “life after announcement of brain tumor”… “Things I thought were important, now don’t seem so.. What matters now is my God and my family… I usedta often not even stare when I walked past a gorgeous flower… now I take the time to stop and absorb the aroma..”
Question of the day in newspaper.. “Should United States schools ‘group’ children by ability instead of age?”… Overwhelming 57% “yes:”.. Again, say it ain’t so. I LOVE the fact that the buddies I hang out with are still, to me, “Juniors,” albeit almost 40 years ago. Went to lunch with 3 coworkers, 2 trucking sale’s reps.. I’d always liked, trusted, appreciated the rep I rode with.. At the luncheon, learned I am two months older than him…
In the return trip back to work, we zestfully visited about Vietnam, our lottery numbers, Jimi Hendrix and the musical era we shared.. Sports of the day.. Long hair.. Dress codes abolished or toned down.. THE day.. We honestly each lit up to know we’d been thru, experienced, loved the same chronological goings on. Hell no don’t group kids by ability. Have multiple classes for same age kids - then separate by ability - but please keep “Our Time” our time. “The Way We Were” right Barbara?
Mem’ries light the corners of my mind…
I will never forget Sam Gillham (Class of ‘69) and Vic Rowan (‘70) driving around the Koo Koo (our hamburger joint hangout) 69 times in Sam’s Chevy. Sam pulled over, parked. Vic got out, walked the 70th and final lap. Driving around once for “A”, twice for “B”, three times for “C” just doesn’t have the same ring to it. (Or, halfway for “Incomplete”). Please continue to honor “our time.”
Anger. Why does it have sucha grip on America? Couple of guys playing basketball, having fun. Late night. Group of guys that didn’t even know them drive by, shout obscenities.. Get out.. Beat the guy to a pulp (6 on 1), life threatening injuries. What for? Why? Where’d the anger come from?
Anger is a cataract to the soul. Wasted time. Meds can help, yet most won’t seek them - continuing to concentrate on the negative. No comprende. I feel very sorry for those that spend 24/7 pent. There is so much out here to enjoy, behold, say thanks for. Wish they could too.
Beauty, nature’s elixer to anger. A grandmother smiling as she stares at her grandchild. Seeing the elderly man wheel his wife to the buffet table.. Assisting her in getting exactly what she wants… listening to children talk… learning, emulating, formulating their own ideas. Excitement in their speech that hopefully will never wane…
Seeing no color. Walking out of the local Community Center.. Two middle aged white ladies, one middle aged black lady.. Formally dressed…No idea why the celebration.. Elderly black lady pulls car up.. They part ways, grouped by color.. But.. .before they do, they trade hugs.. Say ‘thanks’.. one turns to the elderly driver and says “Thanks for having her!”.. they obviously, thru life, maintained learning, emulating, formulating their own ideas - and still, at middle age, show excitement in their speech. Far out.
Ok, the yard needs mowed, the house needs clean (OH does it).. I still gotta do laundry, yet here I sit. Better get the hell up and do something.
In closing, a toast to the Class of 70... And please… please share it with those you walked to school with.. Played kick the can.. Shared the Driver’s Ed car.. Tuned in the same radio station with from your day……..
Misty water-colored memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures,
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? Could we?
Mem'ries, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it's the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember...
The way we were...
The way we were...
Aren’t most thoughts wonderful? Love, Victurd.
Uh huh, what I thought.. Paper this morning… Barbara Eden 75 (Say it ain’t so Major Healy!).. Shelly Long, Rick Springfield, each 60 today.. Was it that long ago they were each heartthrobs to America?… Nifty article on Streisand.. now 67..
Listening to Sport’s Psychology show on radio.. Feller being interviewed about “life after announcement of brain tumor”… “Things I thought were important, now don’t seem so.. What matters now is my God and my family… I usedta often not even stare when I walked past a gorgeous flower… now I take the time to stop and absorb the aroma..”
Question of the day in newspaper.. “Should United States schools ‘group’ children by ability instead of age?”… Overwhelming 57% “yes:”.. Again, say it ain’t so. I LOVE the fact that the buddies I hang out with are still, to me, “Juniors,” albeit almost 40 years ago. Went to lunch with 3 coworkers, 2 trucking sale’s reps.. I’d always liked, trusted, appreciated the rep I rode with.. At the luncheon, learned I am two months older than him…
In the return trip back to work, we zestfully visited about Vietnam, our lottery numbers, Jimi Hendrix and the musical era we shared.. Sports of the day.. Long hair.. Dress codes abolished or toned down.. THE day.. We honestly each lit up to know we’d been thru, experienced, loved the same chronological goings on. Hell no don’t group kids by ability. Have multiple classes for same age kids - then separate by ability - but please keep “Our Time” our time. “The Way We Were” right Barbara?
Mem’ries light the corners of my mind…
I will never forget Sam Gillham (Class of ‘69) and Vic Rowan (‘70) driving around the Koo Koo (our hamburger joint hangout) 69 times in Sam’s Chevy. Sam pulled over, parked. Vic got out, walked the 70th and final lap. Driving around once for “A”, twice for “B”, three times for “C” just doesn’t have the same ring to it. (Or, halfway for “Incomplete”). Please continue to honor “our time.”
Anger. Why does it have sucha grip on America? Couple of guys playing basketball, having fun. Late night. Group of guys that didn’t even know them drive by, shout obscenities.. Get out.. Beat the guy to a pulp (6 on 1), life threatening injuries. What for? Why? Where’d the anger come from?
Anger is a cataract to the soul. Wasted time. Meds can help, yet most won’t seek them - continuing to concentrate on the negative. No comprende. I feel very sorry for those that spend 24/7 pent. There is so much out here to enjoy, behold, say thanks for. Wish they could too.
Beauty, nature’s elixer to anger. A grandmother smiling as she stares at her grandchild. Seeing the elderly man wheel his wife to the buffet table.. Assisting her in getting exactly what she wants… listening to children talk… learning, emulating, formulating their own ideas. Excitement in their speech that hopefully will never wane…
Seeing no color. Walking out of the local Community Center.. Two middle aged white ladies, one middle aged black lady.. Formally dressed…No idea why the celebration.. Elderly black lady pulls car up.. They part ways, grouped by color.. But.. .before they do, they trade hugs.. Say ‘thanks’.. one turns to the elderly driver and says “Thanks for having her!”.. they obviously, thru life, maintained learning, emulating, formulating their own ideas - and still, at middle age, show excitement in their speech. Far out.
Ok, the yard needs mowed, the house needs clean (OH does it).. I still gotta do laundry, yet here I sit. Better get the hell up and do something.
In closing, a toast to the Class of 70... And please… please share it with those you walked to school with.. Played kick the can.. Shared the Driver’s Ed car.. Tuned in the same radio station with from your day……..
Misty water-colored memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures,
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? Could we?
Mem'ries, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it's the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember...
The way we were...
The way we were...
Aren’t most thoughts wonderful? Love, Victurd.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
You deserve a break today…………
The day started like virtually every, any day. Brushed the chops.. Greeted the mirror with “Good Morning Sir, you, once again, look like shit.”… small acknowledging grin followed..
Bathe? Wash hair? Nah… “See them shorts you wore last night?”… Uh huh. “Get ‘em”.. K. Deodorant. Brushed chops. Washed face… and out the door I went.
Bout the same time every morning.. I have a favorite parking place… It’s the one that puts the least wear and tear on my old body. Virtually every morning I race this grumpy looking old man, and his even grumpier, older looking banged up, rusted out Chevy truck - to THE SPOT.
AHA! Gotcha today Mister! (Couldn’t wait to catch his eyes, flash the shit-eatin’ grin of jubilation, victory. Did. When he ‘wins’, it’s the same grumpy leer - ne’er a smile. Oh well, my way.. his way..
“Yes, today I’d like the Big Breakfast, a cup of water and a Senior coffee.” I have no idea how old you must be to afford the Senior coffee at Mickey D’s, but one morning I’d ordered cofffee and the snotnose repeated back and prefaced with “and one Senior coffee.” (They’re 69 cents, and u get hella refills.). So, hence forward, “and a Senior coffee please.”
Chopped the sausage… jellied the biscuit… Salt and peppered the eggs.. grabbed a paper outta the wooden rack... Relaxed, read, ate… Life, especially on weekends - is good.
Read about the losses of our local pro sport’s teams… went thru the main section… questions of Obama.. A financial dude saying “economy getting better.” Skipped over an article on gays.. Peeked at the weather.. Read of local shooting, accidents.. And yes, I read the obits. Sadistic perhaps - but I just don’t wanna meet up some day with someone and ask “so how’s old so-and-so?”… “DIDN’T YOU HEAR?”… oh shit. So I read the obits.
By now, two trips to refill the coffee… a couplea spins of toilet paper… hands washed… face washed… yep, still look like shit. Back to clean the table.
With back to the arched snotnoses - I throw away my trash.. Place the front and sport’s section back in the rack.. Neatly fold the FYI section (u know, the Crossword puzzle… I’m an addict.).. Hold it so my body is between it and the kids behind the counter - and off I go to my car…
AHA! Did it again! Saved seventy-five cents.. Took their FYI/Crossword puzzle section!
Into the Piggly Wiggly lot I pull. (No, not to do groceries - u see I’m single, or divorced whichever you prefer.. I see cats at home. That’s it. Oh, there’s people on the TV, but it just ain’t quite the same.. So… I park.. .I people watch.. I listen to good music.. And I challenge the basta’s that daily create my puzzle.)
Read my horoscope.. Peeked at the birthdays of 80 and 90-something celebrities - feel old.. But it’s ok, I’ve still got my puzzle. Crank the sound a bit, the Temps came on… windows down, wonderful 50-something degree weather about…
Finally…
The the crossword page…..
WHAT?………. WHAT!!!!?…. Some bitch had already filled it out… Ok.. I give.. Forgive me Father for I have sinned… and I ‘earned ‘ this.
I hadta pee anyways. Mickey D’s on the way home. At my age, better stop as it’s three more blocks.. I no longer run like a race horse, but I do pee like one.
Went inside. No looks from the snotnoses. Peed. Swung by the newspaper rack on the way out……… Nanny nanny boo boo… I got me another one!
Back to Piggly Wiggly.. Filled out all but four letters - which, like my golf game, is par for the course. Seen five or six single ladies where I thought “uh huh.. She’s pretty damn pretty.” (Beats staring at cats. I will admit it is interesting to happen upon them in their newest sleeping place - but again, they’re cats.)
So….. Now I’m here. At the PC. “Two for three.” I beat the grumpy old man. Some bitch filled out my crossword. I took a second chance and won.
Single? Bored? Lonely? So get up and get away, to McDonalds.
McLove, Victurd
Bathe? Wash hair? Nah… “See them shorts you wore last night?”… Uh huh. “Get ‘em”.. K. Deodorant. Brushed chops. Washed face… and out the door I went.
Bout the same time every morning.. I have a favorite parking place… It’s the one that puts the least wear and tear on my old body. Virtually every morning I race this grumpy looking old man, and his even grumpier, older looking banged up, rusted out Chevy truck - to THE SPOT.
AHA! Gotcha today Mister! (Couldn’t wait to catch his eyes, flash the shit-eatin’ grin of jubilation, victory. Did. When he ‘wins’, it’s the same grumpy leer - ne’er a smile. Oh well, my way.. his way..
“Yes, today I’d like the Big Breakfast, a cup of water and a Senior coffee.” I have no idea how old you must be to afford the Senior coffee at Mickey D’s, but one morning I’d ordered cofffee and the snotnose repeated back and prefaced with “and one Senior coffee.” (They’re 69 cents, and u get hella refills.). So, hence forward, “and a Senior coffee please.”
Chopped the sausage… jellied the biscuit… Salt and peppered the eggs.. grabbed a paper outta the wooden rack... Relaxed, read, ate… Life, especially on weekends - is good.
Read about the losses of our local pro sport’s teams… went thru the main section… questions of Obama.. A financial dude saying “economy getting better.” Skipped over an article on gays.. Peeked at the weather.. Read of local shooting, accidents.. And yes, I read the obits. Sadistic perhaps - but I just don’t wanna meet up some day with someone and ask “so how’s old so-and-so?”… “DIDN’T YOU HEAR?”… oh shit. So I read the obits.
By now, two trips to refill the coffee… a couplea spins of toilet paper… hands washed… face washed… yep, still look like shit. Back to clean the table.
With back to the arched snotnoses - I throw away my trash.. Place the front and sport’s section back in the rack.. Neatly fold the FYI section (u know, the Crossword puzzle… I’m an addict.).. Hold it so my body is between it and the kids behind the counter - and off I go to my car…
AHA! Did it again! Saved seventy-five cents.. Took their FYI/Crossword puzzle section!
Into the Piggly Wiggly lot I pull. (No, not to do groceries - u see I’m single, or divorced whichever you prefer.. I see cats at home. That’s it. Oh, there’s people on the TV, but it just ain’t quite the same.. So… I park.. .I people watch.. I listen to good music.. And I challenge the basta’s that daily create my puzzle.)
Read my horoscope.. Peeked at the birthdays of 80 and 90-something celebrities - feel old.. But it’s ok, I’ve still got my puzzle. Crank the sound a bit, the Temps came on… windows down, wonderful 50-something degree weather about…
Finally…
The the crossword page…..
WHAT?………. WHAT!!!!?…. Some bitch had already filled it out… Ok.. I give.. Forgive me Father for I have sinned… and I ‘earned ‘ this.
I hadta pee anyways. Mickey D’s on the way home. At my age, better stop as it’s three more blocks.. I no longer run like a race horse, but I do pee like one.
Went inside. No looks from the snotnoses. Peed. Swung by the newspaper rack on the way out……… Nanny nanny boo boo… I got me another one!
Back to Piggly Wiggly.. Filled out all but four letters - which, like my golf game, is par for the course. Seen five or six single ladies where I thought “uh huh.. She’s pretty damn pretty.” (Beats staring at cats. I will admit it is interesting to happen upon them in their newest sleeping place - but again, they’re cats.)
So….. Now I’m here. At the PC. “Two for three.” I beat the grumpy old man. Some bitch filled out my crossword. I took a second chance and won.
Single? Bored? Lonely? So get up and get away, to McDonalds.
McLove, Victurd
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio……
Me? Ain’t been anywhere – basically literally. Same ole’ same ole’. Rut? Eh, life is weird in that – whilst we traverse the rollercoaster – there’s hella times of plateau within as well.
Like Ground Hog’s Day.. . the movie. Ya get up.. ya fill the same coffeemaker… Same tap.. Same tub.. sink.. same mirror.. same person.. same closet.. same empty bed (ok, an occasional cat within)…
Same road to work.. Same vehicle.. Same coworkers.. tasks.. Same payday.. same after work junk.. Whilst it seems fun at the time – ya look back and think “hell, I’m another year older and I ain’t experienced much in the last year.”
So… reckon why I ain’t written. Not smitten. Well, maybe am smitten – but, obstacles.
And you? The last time you got laid? The last time you went barefoot in the rain? The last time you used a phone with a cord to call your best friend? The last time you smooched at the Drive In? The last time it took you in excess of 30 seconds to unsnap a damn bra?
The last time you wrote on the computer and the sunofabitch underlined a word in red that you were just CERTAIN it was spelled correctly. People can be like Spellcheck ya know? Some, always there with suggestions, corrections, advice – and usually, their own back yard is stinky!
Victor, this isn’t sounding positive. Are you positive it ain’t positive? I rectum it’s simply reality. There’s shit within glory. Depths en route to mountaintops. Drab along with spectacular. Numbness coupled with “oh baby – oh baby”.
Actually – there’s been some very good ‘good’ in my life – always. You know what it looks like and feels like to see someone with their skin slashed – the yucky stuff showing? That’s kinda life. Outwardly, smiles, bright eyes, friendly chats – and there’s always that yuck stuff underneath. I thank goodness I realize this. I seek fun, to snuff out, de-amplify the yuck within.
Made it thru another season of softball without striking out or getting hurt – goals #1 and #2. The Brett Favre recent signing (again) makes me snicker in that I, like he, am the oldest dude in our respective leagues. Don’t care – in addition to ‘yuck within’, there’s ‘kid within’. Any day with a ballglove on is a great one.
I’ve not taken the beauty of summer for granted. We, us male piggies, delight in summer. Women, some, wear little diddies that certainly find male eyeballs ‘grabbing’ at… “hhhmphff” usually means “aha, it worked.” Just as bigga pigs as us – but you’re female, you (most) can’t admit that.
As the plateau and the rollercoaster of life travel congruently, facing winter again has me eyeballing Florida.. I know, I know “Victor what about the BUGS and the HUMIDITY?”.. (Please scroll to “little diddies” – and we’re talking 12 months a year!)..
I go now. Not mired, but following this present groove of life. A slot car that sometimes falls off the track. Normally circles and circles and circles – and then a diversion. Racing thru life is fun. And dreary. And UP. And, occasionally low. Hell, how could we not enjoy the ups so much if we hadn’t sloshed thru the mud?
What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson
‘Joltin Joe’ has left and gone away?
(Hey hey hey – hey hey hey)
Chalk another year up. It’s been a ride. With love until the day I pee my pants and forget my name, Victurd.
Like Ground Hog’s Day.. . the movie. Ya get up.. ya fill the same coffeemaker… Same tap.. Same tub.. sink.. same mirror.. same person.. same closet.. same empty bed (ok, an occasional cat within)…
Same road to work.. Same vehicle.. Same coworkers.. tasks.. Same payday.. same after work junk.. Whilst it seems fun at the time – ya look back and think “hell, I’m another year older and I ain’t experienced much in the last year.”
So… reckon why I ain’t written. Not smitten. Well, maybe am smitten – but, obstacles.
And you? The last time you got laid? The last time you went barefoot in the rain? The last time you used a phone with a cord to call your best friend? The last time you smooched at the Drive In? The last time it took you in excess of 30 seconds to unsnap a damn bra?
The last time you wrote on the computer and the sunofabitch underlined a word in red that you were just CERTAIN it was spelled correctly. People can be like Spellcheck ya know? Some, always there with suggestions, corrections, advice – and usually, their own back yard is stinky!
Victor, this isn’t sounding positive. Are you positive it ain’t positive? I rectum it’s simply reality. There’s shit within glory. Depths en route to mountaintops. Drab along with spectacular. Numbness coupled with “oh baby – oh baby”.
Actually – there’s been some very good ‘good’ in my life – always. You know what it looks like and feels like to see someone with their skin slashed – the yucky stuff showing? That’s kinda life. Outwardly, smiles, bright eyes, friendly chats – and there’s always that yuck stuff underneath. I thank goodness I realize this. I seek fun, to snuff out, de-amplify the yuck within.
Made it thru another season of softball without striking out or getting hurt – goals #1 and #2. The Brett Favre recent signing (again) makes me snicker in that I, like he, am the oldest dude in our respective leagues. Don’t care – in addition to ‘yuck within’, there’s ‘kid within’. Any day with a ballglove on is a great one.
I’ve not taken the beauty of summer for granted. We, us male piggies, delight in summer. Women, some, wear little diddies that certainly find male eyeballs ‘grabbing’ at… “hhhmphff” usually means “aha, it worked.” Just as bigga pigs as us – but you’re female, you (most) can’t admit that.
As the plateau and the rollercoaster of life travel congruently, facing winter again has me eyeballing Florida.. I know, I know “Victor what about the BUGS and the HUMIDITY?”.. (Please scroll to “little diddies” – and we’re talking 12 months a year!)..
I go now. Not mired, but following this present groove of life. A slot car that sometimes falls off the track. Normally circles and circles and circles – and then a diversion. Racing thru life is fun. And dreary. And UP. And, occasionally low. Hell, how could we not enjoy the ups so much if we hadn’t sloshed thru the mud?
What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson
‘Joltin Joe’ has left and gone away?
(Hey hey hey – hey hey hey)
Chalk another year up. It’s been a ride. With love until the day I pee my pants and forget my name, Victurd.
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