Short is fun. Father was short, absorbed (very good naturedly) many’a joke over the years. Whatshername loved being with him – sure, because he was fun, but more likely because she ‘towered’ over him by a half inch.
Pretty sure I toldya about the midget wrestlers – but what the hey, I’m repetitive. Was working at the airport… just got off, heading for the employee bus at the end of the long horseshoe shaped terminal. Lo and behold a group of five or six midgets, grabbing their suitcases, making their way towards me/my coworkers..
The guy in the middle, certainly their leader, has a baseball cap on… but… the writing is horizontal, not vertical.. and.. it was very small, so you had to strain to see it.. as they came closer and closer.. .we, the four guys getting off work heading to the bus.. now each had our heads tilted far down to the left to try to read the horizontal writing.
One-upped we were. What normally, and unfortunately for them is ‘everyone staring at them’ because they weren’t what some deem ‘normal’ – they now had us the center of attention.. four airline idiots, heads tilted, walking in unison.
So what’d the hat say? It said “what in the fuck are you looking at?”… Midgets one, airline workers nothing.
Short, only gotta short time til work. Let’s meet for a short. Short stacka pancakes. Nice out, gonna put on my shorts. Short break. Short story. Sell short. Short circuit. Short attention span.
Short sayings. As confused as a hungry baby in a topless bar. Lights on, door open, nobody at home. I’ve seen better hands on a clock. As worn out as a cucumber in a convent. All stolen, sorry.
That’s the long and short of today. Twitter is short. Texts are short. Most emails are short. Phone calls even short nowadays too. Short seems in. We’re all too GD busy doing what we think is important, so most everything is deemed unimportant – and we give it a short look-see. (Slow down you move to fast… lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy.)
Gonna go smoke. Short one, not the 100’s… Kinda chilly though, will only stay a short. Then I’ll have a short time to look and see how many women ain’t emailed me before I take on my short of great salary job.
Short rocks. Sometimes. Loveya, Victurd.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Living today for visions of tomorrow…..
Reap what you sow…. We are what we eat….
Mickey D’s, 5:02am today. Quickly went over the KC Chief’s 34-14 drubbing. Learned that KC’s coach, pretty much a hothead, has had reality sink in and he’s indicated he understands he needs to control/watch his emotions.
Super Zack. Attended the Royal’s game yesterday. Images of yesteryear when the entire crowd got on their feet when Zack had a batter with two strikes… Talented the young man is.
Then (after reading about Super Zack’s performance) read the remaining pages of the newspaper, yes, including the obits.
If you have chance, and you’re reading this 9/28/09, it’s worth it for you to sink 75 cents into onea those blue machines and buy today’s paper. The “Tribute” is fun. The Tribute is a relaxed form of an obituary, that tells a little bit more about the person.
It’s a look back. It’s “what we’re left with” once we’re gone. It’s today’s vision, of yesterday’s living.
Person today, Dorothy Fox, 79. “She wasn’t a boring woman.” Intrigued I was at that header… Among the more fascinating things of this woman’s life:
Her mom died when she was 5. Her military father was absent from her life. Raised by widowed grandmother. “She cared nothing of rules.”
Joined Air Force. Married, had child. Returned to KC, hubby scooted. Dated a guy for 4 years.. dinner at the Savoy.. she asked the waiter “do you think this guy should marry me”.. Waiter replied “he’d be a fool not to.” Days later, they drove to Miami, OK, tied knot.
Embraced the beatnik lifestyle spending time in coffeehouses reciting poetry to a bongo beat. Wrote a limerick for each girl at birth. Told her kiddos the ice cream truck that rolled thru the neighborhood sold fish sticks. Kids couldn’t understand why other kids lined up to get a fish stick.
Took her daughter’s belly dancing – and too participated in the classes. Believed prostitution and marijuana should be legalized. Liked to tell dirty jokes. Strong opinions didn’t make her judgmental, her door was always open.
“Now that she’s gone, the world is quieter” said daughter.
Oh yes - but, I LOVE this lady and I never got the privilege to meet her. Her vision of today was built by her living yesterdays.. and my does it sound like she lived them.
I don’t propose anyone follow in the footsteps of anyone – but what I so enjoyed about this article- is that she lived life the way she wanted to…. didn’t swim in the mainstream.. and seemingly cared little if others perhaps didn’t agree with ‘her way.’
Leftfield. I love leftfield, and coming from. At the Royals game yesterday – I got to sit by my cousin – she’s the same age as my deceased sister. The game was actually FUN. It was “Bark at the Park” day. Dogs could come, but you hadta buy them a ticket (which went to various animal ‘causes).. Some had Royal’s shirts, hats, sunglasses on.. Some barked, some wagged, yes, some peed/pooped. Fun. Leftfield.
After Greinke’d worked his way out of a bases loaded no-out jam.. we’d been on our feet for three batters, ceremoniously clapping in anticipation of him getting out of it.. exhaustion set in as the last out was made, the batter pounded his bat into the ground in disgust… we sunk into our chairs… and I told ‘cous ‘if my dad were here, he’d say “Ok, buy I’m NOT staying for the fireworks” (it was a day game.).. My father’s vision of his living yesterday.
We tailgated before and after the game. My cousin’s g-kids included a little 3 yr curly headed blonde, and a darker haired little 3 yr old gal.. Spttin’ images of my cousin and my sister 50+ years ago. They’d sneak off as far as they could sneak… “GET BACK HERE”… they’d then grab a handful of BBQ chips, walk over to the side of the car, spit ‘em out to see who could make the biggest “glob.” Visions of today, yet, perhaps vicariously coming thru the living of my sister, my cousin in yesteryear. (Sister once got a brand new fancified doll house for Christmas.. dolls weren’t really her thing. Huge. Made of tin. Cousin and sister soon fetched it to the backyard where they, age 4 or 5, smashed it to smithereens. Living yesterday, visions for today.)
I have led a far, far from perfect life. However, I consider myself so very lucky. At times, I’ve dared to come from leftfield. I never wanna hurt anyone, but some things I do/say, and I don’t givea chit what others think. I have fun. Life is fun. My only hope is, someday, once I’m gone – people might ‘see’ my ‘tribute’ and simply smile. That’d be the greatest honor ever bestowed upon me. A simple smile. For I’ve smiled hella along the way to get there.
Peace out… bounce to the pace of the bongo... do something “Dorothy-like”.. smile, have fun.. fill the half full glass… toast a toast.. and enjoy….. love, Victurd
Mickey D’s, 5:02am today. Quickly went over the KC Chief’s 34-14 drubbing. Learned that KC’s coach, pretty much a hothead, has had reality sink in and he’s indicated he understands he needs to control/watch his emotions.
Super Zack. Attended the Royal’s game yesterday. Images of yesteryear when the entire crowd got on their feet when Zack had a batter with two strikes… Talented the young man is.
Then (after reading about Super Zack’s performance) read the remaining pages of the newspaper, yes, including the obits.
If you have chance, and you’re reading this 9/28/09, it’s worth it for you to sink 75 cents into onea those blue machines and buy today’s paper. The “Tribute” is fun. The Tribute is a relaxed form of an obituary, that tells a little bit more about the person.
It’s a look back. It’s “what we’re left with” once we’re gone. It’s today’s vision, of yesterday’s living.
Person today, Dorothy Fox, 79. “She wasn’t a boring woman.” Intrigued I was at that header… Among the more fascinating things of this woman’s life:
Her mom died when she was 5. Her military father was absent from her life. Raised by widowed grandmother. “She cared nothing of rules.”
Joined Air Force. Married, had child. Returned to KC, hubby scooted. Dated a guy for 4 years.. dinner at the Savoy.. she asked the waiter “do you think this guy should marry me”.. Waiter replied “he’d be a fool not to.” Days later, they drove to Miami, OK, tied knot.
Embraced the beatnik lifestyle spending time in coffeehouses reciting poetry to a bongo beat. Wrote a limerick for each girl at birth. Told her kiddos the ice cream truck that rolled thru the neighborhood sold fish sticks. Kids couldn’t understand why other kids lined up to get a fish stick.
Took her daughter’s belly dancing – and too participated in the classes. Believed prostitution and marijuana should be legalized. Liked to tell dirty jokes. Strong opinions didn’t make her judgmental, her door was always open.
“Now that she’s gone, the world is quieter” said daughter.
Oh yes - but, I LOVE this lady and I never got the privilege to meet her. Her vision of today was built by her living yesterdays.. and my does it sound like she lived them.
I don’t propose anyone follow in the footsteps of anyone – but what I so enjoyed about this article- is that she lived life the way she wanted to…. didn’t swim in the mainstream.. and seemingly cared little if others perhaps didn’t agree with ‘her way.’
Leftfield. I love leftfield, and coming from. At the Royals game yesterday – I got to sit by my cousin – she’s the same age as my deceased sister. The game was actually FUN. It was “Bark at the Park” day. Dogs could come, but you hadta buy them a ticket (which went to various animal ‘causes).. Some had Royal’s shirts, hats, sunglasses on.. Some barked, some wagged, yes, some peed/pooped. Fun. Leftfield.
After Greinke’d worked his way out of a bases loaded no-out jam.. we’d been on our feet for three batters, ceremoniously clapping in anticipation of him getting out of it.. exhaustion set in as the last out was made, the batter pounded his bat into the ground in disgust… we sunk into our chairs… and I told ‘cous ‘if my dad were here, he’d say “Ok, buy I’m NOT staying for the fireworks” (it was a day game.).. My father’s vision of his living yesterday.
We tailgated before and after the game. My cousin’s g-kids included a little 3 yr curly headed blonde, and a darker haired little 3 yr old gal.. Spttin’ images of my cousin and my sister 50+ years ago. They’d sneak off as far as they could sneak… “GET BACK HERE”… they’d then grab a handful of BBQ chips, walk over to the side of the car, spit ‘em out to see who could make the biggest “glob.” Visions of today, yet, perhaps vicariously coming thru the living of my sister, my cousin in yesteryear. (Sister once got a brand new fancified doll house for Christmas.. dolls weren’t really her thing. Huge. Made of tin. Cousin and sister soon fetched it to the backyard where they, age 4 or 5, smashed it to smithereens. Living yesterday, visions for today.)
I have led a far, far from perfect life. However, I consider myself so very lucky. At times, I’ve dared to come from leftfield. I never wanna hurt anyone, but some things I do/say, and I don’t givea chit what others think. I have fun. Life is fun. My only hope is, someday, once I’m gone – people might ‘see’ my ‘tribute’ and simply smile. That’d be the greatest honor ever bestowed upon me. A simple smile. For I’ve smiled hella along the way to get there.
Peace out… bounce to the pace of the bongo... do something “Dorothy-like”.. smile, have fun.. fill the half full glass… toast a toast.. and enjoy….. love, Victurd
Thursday, September 24, 2009
No songs….
Can’t thinka none. Double negative, I know. Oh well. That’s a song. Fleetwood Mac I believe. Even an Oh Well part II. Just looked. Already did that. Chit.
I repeat myself. Already did that too. Dangit there ain’t nuttin new. Ya know, sometimes that’s just the way life is…… El Boro. Mundane. Gray. Or Grey. Seen it spelled both ways, dunno, don’t care – grey…..
Boring days are like a blonde chick who’s roots need recoloring. A lady that has 9 nice fingernails glued on. Dude with a wrinkled shirt. Socks that don’t match. The last pair of clean undies. Kids going thru the motions. Driving to work in a trance. Oblivious, even to the radio.
Boring happens. You ever have a conversation with someone, ya gets a little uneasy, bored… unconsciously send body signals “I WAN’T OUTTA THIS” yet, they don’t pick that up? Man, I have. Lots. I guess that’s what whatshername meant when she said “people don’t always get as excited about your ideas as you do Victor.”
You have things that people have said to you in your life that you’ll never forget? Me too. Most are poopy things said. Those aren’t boring, they’re sad.
Boring is being single, reading profiles, and seeing people that are sepErated… get their your and you’re confused… their they’re and their messed up… Seen one today, lady has a graduate degree… is a school counselor… begins her profile, honest to goodness, first sentence: “I a single lady with my own home.”
I have to find chit like that to keep me amused. Friend, don’t tell, sent me their resume’ for me to forward to our HR Department. At very end…..”Refernces” Provided upon request.
Soon, I’ll go smoke (I’m early at work, boring normal thing for me.) As I smoke, I can justabout predict exactly what time, which car will pull in. How they/we all walk our own little boring way. Goin’ thru the motions. Hump day has past, but it ain’t the weekend yet. Thursday might be justa tad bit less boring than Tuesday, but not by much.
Our computers at work are likea car with 250,000 miles on them. Upon occasion, the better part of one’s day is spent staring at the GD (gosh darn) hourglass. Bored one day, created list of top ten things to do whilst staring at hourglass, sent coworkers. I wasn’t bored any longer. Bored is as bored does I rectum.
Small towns can be boring. Big cities can be boring. Boring just has a way of slipping into our lives. Then something cool happens. Outta left field. Or, someone says “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time.” Music happens.
You’ve got mail happens. Yippee. Ain’t seen/heard from that friend in awhile, how cool. The sun comes out. There’s a nip in the air. The tree tops are turning like that blonde with the root problem. Coworkers argue. One quits. Another gives 2 week notice.
KU football players fighting KU basketball players and vice versa. Can’t really blame ‘em, I hate ‘em both too. The KC Star hits the driveway. Coffee’s done perkin'. Yippee. Boring is over, done, finito.
“GD, I forgot how pretty she was” happens. You get an email from someone u recently slept with and they tell you that they had a really nice time.. VICTOR! Sorry, slipped.
Point is, it’s like anything else in life, there be ups, and there be downs. Halfa the glass is air, the other part water. Introvert, extrovert. IT guy/sales rep. Clerk/Vice President. Blue collar, white collar. FUN. Boring. Ya gotta love it all. If u don’t, you’ll go nuts.
I love it all… especially that one email from that one chick. VICTOR! Going to smoke now, see if my boring predictions pan out. If you ever have a boring moment, conversation, just giggle to yourself, and picture the other person naked. Helps. Boring can even be kinda fun. Go. Do. Have fun. Gossip. Hump. Live. Love. Eat, drink, be merry. Later, love Victurd.
I repeat myself. Already did that too. Dangit there ain’t nuttin new. Ya know, sometimes that’s just the way life is…… El Boro. Mundane. Gray. Or Grey. Seen it spelled both ways, dunno, don’t care – grey…..
Boring days are like a blonde chick who’s roots need recoloring. A lady that has 9 nice fingernails glued on. Dude with a wrinkled shirt. Socks that don’t match. The last pair of clean undies. Kids going thru the motions. Driving to work in a trance. Oblivious, even to the radio.
Boring happens. You ever have a conversation with someone, ya gets a little uneasy, bored… unconsciously send body signals “I WAN’T OUTTA THIS” yet, they don’t pick that up? Man, I have. Lots. I guess that’s what whatshername meant when she said “people don’t always get as excited about your ideas as you do Victor.”
You have things that people have said to you in your life that you’ll never forget? Me too. Most are poopy things said. Those aren’t boring, they’re sad.
Boring is being single, reading profiles, and seeing people that are sepErated… get their your and you’re confused… their they’re and their messed up… Seen one today, lady has a graduate degree… is a school counselor… begins her profile, honest to goodness, first sentence: “I a single lady with my own home.”
I have to find chit like that to keep me amused. Friend, don’t tell, sent me their resume’ for me to forward to our HR Department. At very end…..”Refernces” Provided upon request.
Soon, I’ll go smoke (I’m early at work, boring normal thing for me.) As I smoke, I can justabout predict exactly what time, which car will pull in. How they/we all walk our own little boring way. Goin’ thru the motions. Hump day has past, but it ain’t the weekend yet. Thursday might be justa tad bit less boring than Tuesday, but not by much.
Our computers at work are likea car with 250,000 miles on them. Upon occasion, the better part of one’s day is spent staring at the GD (gosh darn) hourglass. Bored one day, created list of top ten things to do whilst staring at hourglass, sent coworkers. I wasn’t bored any longer. Bored is as bored does I rectum.
Small towns can be boring. Big cities can be boring. Boring just has a way of slipping into our lives. Then something cool happens. Outta left field. Or, someone says “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time.” Music happens.
You’ve got mail happens. Yippee. Ain’t seen/heard from that friend in awhile, how cool. The sun comes out. There’s a nip in the air. The tree tops are turning like that blonde with the root problem. Coworkers argue. One quits. Another gives 2 week notice.
KU football players fighting KU basketball players and vice versa. Can’t really blame ‘em, I hate ‘em both too. The KC Star hits the driveway. Coffee’s done perkin'. Yippee. Boring is over, done, finito.
“GD, I forgot how pretty she was” happens. You get an email from someone u recently slept with and they tell you that they had a really nice time.. VICTOR! Sorry, slipped.
Point is, it’s like anything else in life, there be ups, and there be downs. Halfa the glass is air, the other part water. Introvert, extrovert. IT guy/sales rep. Clerk/Vice President. Blue collar, white collar. FUN. Boring. Ya gotta love it all. If u don’t, you’ll go nuts.
I love it all… especially that one email from that one chick. VICTOR! Going to smoke now, see if my boring predictions pan out. If you ever have a boring moment, conversation, just giggle to yourself, and picture the other person naked. Helps. Boring can even be kinda fun. Go. Do. Have fun. Gossip. Hump. Live. Love. Eat, drink, be merry. Later, love Victurd.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Life and the Microsoft Word Document.......
To me, writing is kinda like living. You open this window thingy, there it is all blank, pure – and you gotta put your tippy toe down, type on the keyboard (patoeey on Dr. Laura’s sometimes ‘look down on you’ attitude – but I did, oh I did/do love her “now go take on the day.”)
Blank. Nuttin. You gotta color it, decorate it – or not. You can hide in the corner – you can jump in the middle and start hootin’ and hollerin’, however you wanna tackle, life, the Microsoft Word Document.
You can up them fonts, u can change colors, shades or you can be the bland ole, regular ole regular Times New Roman.
Most of us paint ‘em similarly daily. Not much dare in there to push the envelope, peek over the ledge. Nope, keep ‘em right down the middle – perfect margins on each side, laundry actually inside the hamper.
I love goofy. Outside the box. Fun, shock value. Makin’ a point to have fun. Whistling. I love to whistle. Can’t sing, might as well whistle. People hear and say “you’re a happy bird today”, so, hell, I keep whistling. Works.
Page after page of living, ultimately make-up who we are. Sometimes, we try in vain to get that keyboard to word it just right – but some stuff iis just outta our control.
We look back on those reams of paper we’ve used… Onea my favorite diddies – “if I’da sat you down in High School and told you ‘here’s how the next 30-40 years of your life are gonna go’… what would you say?”… Well, close your ears, I’da said “you gotta be shitting me?”…
Hey – we’re at the helm. We control the keyboard. We can wake up and be an ass. We can wake up and be happy. We can wake up, wanna go back to bed because “yesterday sucked”. Waller, mire. Run, jump. Crank the music, turn down the music. Veg out in bed watching whatever.. go, be amongst friends. We paint it. We type it. We live it.
Funny. I just looked in the upper left hand corner of this Bill Gates Microsoft Word Document page thingy, and it’s indicating “Normal.” Basta doesn’t know me well eh? I guess that refers to ‘formatting’. Again, many live on cruise control. Many select grump and groan, as if there’s a hole in their muffler of life.
Others simply smile hella. I love them kinda people. Melts me. Whatta gift, the smile. It can be given to anyone, any age, any time, for whatever reason. Feels good to smile, feels good to be on the receiving end of a smile.
I kinda-sorta take pride in allowing this ole brain to conjure up fun situations, then happen to walk past someone, share a chit-eaten grin, and let ‘em think “whatinthehell has he been up to?”… Fun, I’ve been up to fun.
Taught Elementary PE back in the day. Had a very nice 5th grade teacher there.. happened to be the spouse of the Baptist Preacher in town.. Prim, proper, good heart. I’ll never forget though, her saying “I just can’t imagine anyone laughing, joking all the time, living like that.” Sure, there’s a proper time to be serious, but I ask “the hell’s the matter with fun?” Long as one carries out one’s responsibilities, doesn’t ‘cause harm to another……
We all have our opines. Our own “keyboards to our Microsoft Word Document page”.. Our own speed, style, attitude, speech, gestures, passions, ways……. Paintin’ the page. Typing on the page. This font, that font, centered, way to the the left.. Green, blue, red, or automatic black. Normal. Ital. Bold. Underscored. Spellcheck, hell no I ain’t spellchecking.
The beauty of a blank page. Our choice. Ya don’t have to ‘read my page’, it’s my page, my life. I’ll decorate that basta any way I wanna. Watch me. Regrets? Sure, who ain’t.
Tis ok, it’s my page, my life, my keyboard, my whistling, my smiling, my whateverinthehehell I wanna do – within reason, within the laws.
I love the blank page. I love ‘painting it’. I love watching others paint – even if it’s the same ole chit daily. I love those that jump outta the margin, dare to have fun. I feel sorry for those that don’t wanna type, paint, go – take on the day. Mired there for a time, it sucks.
Better get the hell outta here. I can see you yawning. Don’t blame ya. Hey, go. Take on your page. Your document. Dress that sucker up whatever way you want, or don’t want. I do hope it includes smiling, I do hope you have fun – if that’s a permissible thing for you. I do love watching you paint, type.
Life screams of reams. I love it. Love them. Love the page. Blank. Fill it. Happy Page, love Victurd.
Blank. Nuttin. You gotta color it, decorate it – or not. You can hide in the corner – you can jump in the middle and start hootin’ and hollerin’, however you wanna tackle, life, the Microsoft Word Document.
You can up them fonts, u can change colors, shades or you can be the bland ole, regular ole regular Times New Roman.
Most of us paint ‘em similarly daily. Not much dare in there to push the envelope, peek over the ledge. Nope, keep ‘em right down the middle – perfect margins on each side, laundry actually inside the hamper.
I love goofy. Outside the box. Fun, shock value. Makin’ a point to have fun. Whistling. I love to whistle. Can’t sing, might as well whistle. People hear and say “you’re a happy bird today”, so, hell, I keep whistling. Works.
Page after page of living, ultimately make-up who we are. Sometimes, we try in vain to get that keyboard to word it just right – but some stuff iis just outta our control.
We look back on those reams of paper we’ve used… Onea my favorite diddies – “if I’da sat you down in High School and told you ‘here’s how the next 30-40 years of your life are gonna go’… what would you say?”… Well, close your ears, I’da said “you gotta be shitting me?”…
Hey – we’re at the helm. We control the keyboard. We can wake up and be an ass. We can wake up and be happy. We can wake up, wanna go back to bed because “yesterday sucked”. Waller, mire. Run, jump. Crank the music, turn down the music. Veg out in bed watching whatever.. go, be amongst friends. We paint it. We type it. We live it.
Funny. I just looked in the upper left hand corner of this Bill Gates Microsoft Word Document page thingy, and it’s indicating “Normal.” Basta doesn’t know me well eh? I guess that refers to ‘formatting’. Again, many live on cruise control. Many select grump and groan, as if there’s a hole in their muffler of life.
Others simply smile hella. I love them kinda people. Melts me. Whatta gift, the smile. It can be given to anyone, any age, any time, for whatever reason. Feels good to smile, feels good to be on the receiving end of a smile.
I kinda-sorta take pride in allowing this ole brain to conjure up fun situations, then happen to walk past someone, share a chit-eaten grin, and let ‘em think “whatinthehell has he been up to?”… Fun, I’ve been up to fun.
Taught Elementary PE back in the day. Had a very nice 5th grade teacher there.. happened to be the spouse of the Baptist Preacher in town.. Prim, proper, good heart. I’ll never forget though, her saying “I just can’t imagine anyone laughing, joking all the time, living like that.” Sure, there’s a proper time to be serious, but I ask “the hell’s the matter with fun?” Long as one carries out one’s responsibilities, doesn’t ‘cause harm to another……
We all have our opines. Our own “keyboards to our Microsoft Word Document page”.. Our own speed, style, attitude, speech, gestures, passions, ways……. Paintin’ the page. Typing on the page. This font, that font, centered, way to the the left.. Green, blue, red, or automatic black. Normal. Ital. Bold. Underscored. Spellcheck, hell no I ain’t spellchecking.
The beauty of a blank page. Our choice. Ya don’t have to ‘read my page’, it’s my page, my life. I’ll decorate that basta any way I wanna. Watch me. Regrets? Sure, who ain’t.
Tis ok, it’s my page, my life, my keyboard, my whistling, my smiling, my whateverinthehehell I wanna do – within reason, within the laws.
I love the blank page. I love ‘painting it’. I love watching others paint – even if it’s the same ole chit daily. I love those that jump outta the margin, dare to have fun. I feel sorry for those that don’t wanna type, paint, go – take on the day. Mired there for a time, it sucks.
Better get the hell outta here. I can see you yawning. Don’t blame ya. Hey, go. Take on your page. Your document. Dress that sucker up whatever way you want, or don’t want. I do hope it includes smiling, I do hope you have fun – if that’s a permissible thing for you. I do love watching you paint, type.
Life screams of reams. I love it. Love them. Love the page. Blank. Fill it. Happy Page, love Victurd.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Here we are and it’s Tuesday again….
Tuesday is an incline day. Uphill battle. Life ain’t a battle, but Tuesday sneaks in as one. Working to get to hump day, wade thru it. Going to closet on Monday is somewhat exciting, after wearing junk/casual all weekend, find a little bit nicer ‘business casual’ as they call it here… by Tuesday, who cares.
Taco Tuesday. Tackle it Tuesday. Tuesday Weld. Ruby Tuesday. Wiki says it comes from Middle English Tiwesday, from Old English Tiwes daeg, named after the Nordic god Tyr, who was the approximate equivalent of the Roman war god Mar, and Greek god Ares. Tuesday is war then?
Justanother day. A day in the life. Ever hear anyone say “got plans for Tuesday?”…. Hells no’s…
I think then, it should be permissible to be grumpy as hell on Tuesday. We could have, by United States agreement, grumpy Tuesday.
“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like a Super-sized Extra Value Meal?”… Hey ya little snotnose, are you insinuating I’m fat, and that I over eat? Why don’t you stick that school backpack over your zit-faced head u little creep……. YES, grumpy Tuesday.
We could permissibly stick our tongues out at ANYONE we want. Flipping the bird on Interstate – absolutely no road rage allowed – it’s Tuesday. Grumpy is Ok.
Thinka how it’d help a marriage. “Sure, go ahead and go… you never do shit around here anyways.”…. “Honey, why do you keep these twelve boxes of clothes here? There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be a size __ again.”… “Sex?.. are you CRAZY? It’s Tuesday!”…
“Screw you boss… I’ll get to it when I’m damn good and ready… Should I be scared? Scared of not getting that 2% raise?.. Patooey.” YES. Grumpy Tuesday.
Tuesday is boring as hell. We needta spiff it up. Insteada waving, u could take your fingers to your lips, then your chest, then your booty. KMA. KMA, it’s Tuesday. Some people are grumpy all the time, would be a damn fine time to get back at ‘em. Ya rotten bastard, how areya today? When’s the last time you got laid? Smiled? You LIVE Tuesdays!.....
And the very nicest people of all.. Wouldn’t it be fun JUST once to hear ‘em hang up the phone after visiting with someone and state… “BITCH”… I’d love it. Nice people grumpy – YES. Permissible. Tuesday sucks, let’s spice it up to where we look forward to it…
“Next Tuesday, I’m gonna put that whoopee cushion on Mary’s chair… then I’m gonna write ‘honk, I’m an asshole’ in shoe polish on the backa Ernie’s car.. Then, I’ll change my screensaver to BITE ME for the day…… I’ll call my dearest friend and have fun “whatinthehell have you been up to bitch” conversation…
It’ll probably never work. Nice people will always be nice people. Grumpy people will always be grumpy people. Flipping someone off on 435 could lead to them running you off the road, perhaps pointing a gun at your… tailgating you at 68 mph. We couldn’t handle permissible grumpy.
I don’t admire grumpy people, but I wouldn’t mind if it were permissible on Tuesday. Tuesday sucks. Have a great Tuesday. I’m certain you’ve been waiting for this day with baited breath. Eyeballin’ that calendar, “YES, Tuesday September 22nd is FINALLY here.” Yeah right.
Tune in tomorrow, mebbe, where the topic may be “Why everyone on the planet should (required by law) hump on Hump Day.” ….. Life is interesting. Love, Victurd.
Taco Tuesday. Tackle it Tuesday. Tuesday Weld. Ruby Tuesday. Wiki says it comes from Middle English Tiwesday, from Old English Tiwes daeg, named after the Nordic god Tyr, who was the approximate equivalent of the Roman war god Mar, and Greek god Ares. Tuesday is war then?
Justanother day. A day in the life. Ever hear anyone say “got plans for Tuesday?”…. Hells no’s…
I think then, it should be permissible to be grumpy as hell on Tuesday. We could have, by United States agreement, grumpy Tuesday.
“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like a Super-sized Extra Value Meal?”… Hey ya little snotnose, are you insinuating I’m fat, and that I over eat? Why don’t you stick that school backpack over your zit-faced head u little creep……. YES, grumpy Tuesday.
We could permissibly stick our tongues out at ANYONE we want. Flipping the bird on Interstate – absolutely no road rage allowed – it’s Tuesday. Grumpy is Ok.
Thinka how it’d help a marriage. “Sure, go ahead and go… you never do shit around here anyways.”…. “Honey, why do you keep these twelve boxes of clothes here? There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be a size __ again.”… “Sex?.. are you CRAZY? It’s Tuesday!”…
“Screw you boss… I’ll get to it when I’m damn good and ready… Should I be scared? Scared of not getting that 2% raise?.. Patooey.” YES. Grumpy Tuesday.
Tuesday is boring as hell. We needta spiff it up. Insteada waving, u could take your fingers to your lips, then your chest, then your booty. KMA. KMA, it’s Tuesday. Some people are grumpy all the time, would be a damn fine time to get back at ‘em. Ya rotten bastard, how areya today? When’s the last time you got laid? Smiled? You LIVE Tuesdays!.....
And the very nicest people of all.. Wouldn’t it be fun JUST once to hear ‘em hang up the phone after visiting with someone and state… “BITCH”… I’d love it. Nice people grumpy – YES. Permissible. Tuesday sucks, let’s spice it up to where we look forward to it…
“Next Tuesday, I’m gonna put that whoopee cushion on Mary’s chair… then I’m gonna write ‘honk, I’m an asshole’ in shoe polish on the backa Ernie’s car.. Then, I’ll change my screensaver to BITE ME for the day…… I’ll call my dearest friend and have fun “whatinthehell have you been up to bitch” conversation…
It’ll probably never work. Nice people will always be nice people. Grumpy people will always be grumpy people. Flipping someone off on 435 could lead to them running you off the road, perhaps pointing a gun at your… tailgating you at 68 mph. We couldn’t handle permissible grumpy.
I don’t admire grumpy people, but I wouldn’t mind if it were permissible on Tuesday. Tuesday sucks. Have a great Tuesday. I’m certain you’ve been waiting for this day with baited breath. Eyeballin’ that calendar, “YES, Tuesday September 22nd is FINALLY here.” Yeah right.
Tune in tomorrow, mebbe, where the topic may be “Why everyone on the planet should (required by law) hump on Hump Day.” ….. Life is interesting. Love, Victurd.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Woahhhhhhh Nelly….
It’s a mixed up, jumbled up, wonderful world.
My “tweet-kend”……. Friday… The excitement of a date for the very first time in a long time. A 12 mile drive to meet and I swear I musta smoked 7 cigs. The idea of just putting one foot infronta the other gave a baby boost to my psyche…
A very attractive lady. A very nice lady. A wonderful smile lady. Whole lotta good- good mom, educated, humanitarian. Couple of drinks – shared meal.. In departing, “well then will you let me buy the next time we go out?”.. Another bump up to my psyche.. Shee-ittt, this is gonna be a great weekend…
Back to town later that night, met buddies…… “How’d it go?”.. “I think real good, thanks.” Had a beer with them – Friday is usually my very late night out ‘playing idiot’ – but, for some reason, just didn’t feel it. Went home – at peace. Walked in door Friday night early and……….
“Figgy?... Figaro, please, NO, you can’t be dead?”….. Was. Seventeen year old cat. Son’s favorite. Dayum. Fig was a wonderful, interesting kitty. Had the coolest ‘cinnamon bun’ swirl on both sides of his body you’d ever seen. Poor little feller was cross-eyed, but it didn’t deter him from going to discover. He’d run into a wall, bounce back, turn, and full steam ahead.
Took son to work Saturday morning, didn’t have the heart to tell him. Did tell him on the way home. ”That’s messed up… I loved that cat.” And I know he did. Fig was a conversation piece between us… his ‘2nd’ nickname was “Sweets”, and also “Petey.” Son would ask “how’s sweets and what he doing?” He was usually either in the tub, on the bed, on a cool spot on the floor – a content feller, seemed to enjoy life.
Figgy was the only cat I’ve ever seen where, if you call him, whistle for him, he’d come. Perhaps he was our answer to no longer having any dogs. Anyways, blessya Fig, you almost died ten years ago (urinary tract infection.. some $400 vet bills later vet said.. “last hope.. gonna give him Gatorade in an IV”.. worked for ten years.
More tweetkend. Saturday, didn’t even feeling like going out – did for about an hour – back home to cruise the internet. I’d sent Ms. Friday night date a note thanking her, and actually an invite to go out Saturday. Where I’d sent the note – you could tell if someone had opened/read, and the entire night passed – no look at the email. I’d only checked 267 times to see if she had read it. Hehe.
Sunday morning, still nuttin’. Got son to work. “So pops, after I get off, you drive me to get new shoes, and I’d like to stop at Best Buy.”…. Sure son. My 40th class reunion planning meeting was at 3pm. Son gets off work downtown KC at 3pm. I’d emailed (said with love) whatshername earlier in the week to ask for assistance with a ride for son, explained the 40th reunion planning party.. no response. Par for the course.
Onea my alltime favorite teachers/professors was a guy named Dr. Schmock. Psychology, William Jewell college. Onea the ‘games people play’ I remember him telling us was the game “ain’t it awful’.. and I find myself today perhaps pitifully participating in a game I’d really rather never play – but hey, woah nelly, here I am.
I know! Good shit, followed by bad shit, more bad shit… I’ll watch the Chiefs! Rollercoaster – please – tell me… it’s time for the uphill ain’t it? Arch rival, Oakland Raiders in town… worst quarterback in the league.. 70+ thousand screaming, red-wearing fans.. home opener.. YES! YES! YES! Just what the doctor ordered! Lost, last two minutes of the game. Shee-it.
Picked up son, missed meeting. Went home, checked on Figgy’s grave to make sure no critters unearthed him. Checked email. Finally. “I still believe in others.” Hmmm. So, reckon that meant we’re not going out on a 2nd date. Oh I feel so foolish for telling buddies “went well, thanks.”
Before you call in the shrink, first know: I love life. I even loved most parts of the weekend. Great music. Reminiscing about Fig, how I’d brought him home as a kitten in the first place. Looking thru old pics of my family.. Even the Chiefs, in defeat, had some good things happen.
And on the dating thing. Don’t feel sorry for me. There’s a fair number of women that make contact with me. I am just too GD picky. My right though (and, the right of Ms. Friday night date too.)
At work now, Monday morning. Will do my share of horsing around today. I ain’t no gardener, but onea my favorite things in the world is to “see how many smiles I can grow” in a day. For real. It makes ME happier when I try to make others happy/laugh. Some efforts are pretty lame, I’ll admit – but then sometimes, I’m rewarded back by a co-worker with a shit-eaten grin.. and I’m reminded “yes… thanks God… this IS a pretty darn good world, life…. even if it doesn’t always workout like a paint by the numbers plan.”
K. Done. Nuff said. No more horsing around here. Woah Nelly. Happy day, love, Victurd.
My “tweet-kend”……. Friday… The excitement of a date for the very first time in a long time. A 12 mile drive to meet and I swear I musta smoked 7 cigs. The idea of just putting one foot infronta the other gave a baby boost to my psyche…
A very attractive lady. A very nice lady. A wonderful smile lady. Whole lotta good- good mom, educated, humanitarian. Couple of drinks – shared meal.. In departing, “well then will you let me buy the next time we go out?”.. Another bump up to my psyche.. Shee-ittt, this is gonna be a great weekend…
Back to town later that night, met buddies…… “How’d it go?”.. “I think real good, thanks.” Had a beer with them – Friday is usually my very late night out ‘playing idiot’ – but, for some reason, just didn’t feel it. Went home – at peace. Walked in door Friday night early and……….
“Figgy?... Figaro, please, NO, you can’t be dead?”….. Was. Seventeen year old cat. Son’s favorite. Dayum. Fig was a wonderful, interesting kitty. Had the coolest ‘cinnamon bun’ swirl on both sides of his body you’d ever seen. Poor little feller was cross-eyed, but it didn’t deter him from going to discover. He’d run into a wall, bounce back, turn, and full steam ahead.
Took son to work Saturday morning, didn’t have the heart to tell him. Did tell him on the way home. ”That’s messed up… I loved that cat.” And I know he did. Fig was a conversation piece between us… his ‘2nd’ nickname was “Sweets”, and also “Petey.” Son would ask “how’s sweets and what he doing?” He was usually either in the tub, on the bed, on a cool spot on the floor – a content feller, seemed to enjoy life.
Figgy was the only cat I’ve ever seen where, if you call him, whistle for him, he’d come. Perhaps he was our answer to no longer having any dogs. Anyways, blessya Fig, you almost died ten years ago (urinary tract infection.. some $400 vet bills later vet said.. “last hope.. gonna give him Gatorade in an IV”.. worked for ten years.
More tweetkend. Saturday, didn’t even feeling like going out – did for about an hour – back home to cruise the internet. I’d sent Ms. Friday night date a note thanking her, and actually an invite to go out Saturday. Where I’d sent the note – you could tell if someone had opened/read, and the entire night passed – no look at the email. I’d only checked 267 times to see if she had read it. Hehe.
Sunday morning, still nuttin’. Got son to work. “So pops, after I get off, you drive me to get new shoes, and I’d like to stop at Best Buy.”…. Sure son. My 40th class reunion planning meeting was at 3pm. Son gets off work downtown KC at 3pm. I’d emailed (said with love) whatshername earlier in the week to ask for assistance with a ride for son, explained the 40th reunion planning party.. no response. Par for the course.
Onea my alltime favorite teachers/professors was a guy named Dr. Schmock. Psychology, William Jewell college. Onea the ‘games people play’ I remember him telling us was the game “ain’t it awful’.. and I find myself today perhaps pitifully participating in a game I’d really rather never play – but hey, woah nelly, here I am.
I know! Good shit, followed by bad shit, more bad shit… I’ll watch the Chiefs! Rollercoaster – please – tell me… it’s time for the uphill ain’t it? Arch rival, Oakland Raiders in town… worst quarterback in the league.. 70+ thousand screaming, red-wearing fans.. home opener.. YES! YES! YES! Just what the doctor ordered! Lost, last two minutes of the game. Shee-it.
Picked up son, missed meeting. Went home, checked on Figgy’s grave to make sure no critters unearthed him. Checked email. Finally. “I still believe in others.” Hmmm. So, reckon that meant we’re not going out on a 2nd date. Oh I feel so foolish for telling buddies “went well, thanks.”
Before you call in the shrink, first know: I love life. I even loved most parts of the weekend. Great music. Reminiscing about Fig, how I’d brought him home as a kitten in the first place. Looking thru old pics of my family.. Even the Chiefs, in defeat, had some good things happen.
And on the dating thing. Don’t feel sorry for me. There’s a fair number of women that make contact with me. I am just too GD picky. My right though (and, the right of Ms. Friday night date too.)
At work now, Monday morning. Will do my share of horsing around today. I ain’t no gardener, but onea my favorite things in the world is to “see how many smiles I can grow” in a day. For real. It makes ME happier when I try to make others happy/laugh. Some efforts are pretty lame, I’ll admit – but then sometimes, I’m rewarded back by a co-worker with a shit-eaten grin.. and I’m reminded “yes… thanks God… this IS a pretty darn good world, life…. even if it doesn’t always workout like a paint by the numbers plan.”
K. Done. Nuff said. No more horsing around here. Woah Nelly. Happy day, love, Victurd.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Familiar….
Comfy. Norm. Well known. I remember. Down this road before. All dat chit is familiar.
Oh yeah, I remember her, uh huh, I thought she looked familiar.
I think I’ve decided, that’s a great, great reason that it’s so very GD (gosh darn) hard to date at age fitty-something. Yes, we’re all – that age – familiar with John, George, Paul, Ringo….. JFK…. Joe Willie… Don’t change Dicks in the middle of a screw/vote for Nixon in ’72…
Familiar with that we are. Motown. CCR. CSN&Y… Laugh In.. Here’s Johnny…Green Acres is the place to be… Knot’s Landing.. Where oh where are you tonight – why did you leave me here all alone.. I’ve searched the world over and thought I’d found true love – you met another and ---pphhhhfppp – you were gone.
Unfamiliar. We did, lived, all that crap. (Crap said teasingly, I really mean wonderfully.) Article in morning paper by some chicky from LA – talking about music – and still how the 60’s music has never been challenged by any other decade. Hell yeah.
So we’ve all been thru that. Viet Nam… Woodstock.. Paul Harvey – the resta the story. Billy Graham.. Batman.. Alf.. Burt Reynolds. Goldie Hawn.. Familiar with that crap.
We’re familiar with the ones we’ve loved, grown up with – the streets we’ve ridden down – the stores we’ve been in. The direction we’re going.
HHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllttttt
WHO GOES THERE? I ain’t familiar with you – get the hell outta here. Oh sure, it’s said more nicely than that – but it happens… and I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been on both sidesa that.
Howinthehell do you make up for 50, 55 years of familiarity with a ‘new’ person? You don’t, can’t. We know all the same chit, we just didn’t share it along the way. Therefore – we’re ‘foreign.’ Thus, “ah, that’s a story for another day” is simply easier untold – trudge on, seek familiarity – but in the backa your mind you know you ain’t gonna find it.
I also think we’re all visual pigs. Only when we’re toe to toe with the GD mirror do we come to our senses and realize – “the old gray mare”.. But, we walk out that door, we try to find one to .. become familiar with.. and we think we’re like back in 1960-something, and we have’ta find one that looks like they did back then.. and that’s stupid as hell but it’s also common as hell.
I do believe we, in general, overestimate ourselves, and underestimate others. Not consciously, but I think we do. That said, I think we flit about at “78 speed” (see, know you’re fitty-something and you’re familiar with that.. we just ain’t been familiar with each other, why this chit won’t work at our age..or, ain’t working)… so we flit at 78, focusing on the visual when we should crank it down to AT LEAST 45, if not 33 and stop, smell roses (familiar smell?) and focus perhaps on what’s really more important.
Like sands thru the hourglass, so go the days of our lives. Sound familiar? So – insteada spending time, taking the time to become familiar with someone “new” – we turn our nose up (or have noses turned up at us) and think/say “nah, I ain’t familiar with you… sorry” and return to our sorryass sheltered worlds.
I say. Come get me. Familiar this. Familiar that. We can talk JFK, MLK, YMCA. You picka record, then I’ll pick one. We’re probably familiar with each. I know. A spin in the country. Developing a love, appreciation for the unfamiliar. (And yes, give us each a little time – perhaps thoughts would turn to “I’d sureashell like to get familiar with what’s under that top”.. VICTOR! sorry.. I’ll behave now. )
Anways, familiar is good. Thinka the newborn. Der ain’t shit he/she’s familiar with. Mebbe we should learn from that. Tales, stories, good times, remembrances – they form our familiarities. I vote – expand on that. Take a chance. Give it a whirl. Test the water. Sample the wine. Today’s events breed tomorrow’s familiarity.
It’s just so damn hard at age fitty-something. Happy day, Love, Victurd. (Sound familiar?)
Oh yeah, I remember her, uh huh, I thought she looked familiar.
I think I’ve decided, that’s a great, great reason that it’s so very GD (gosh darn) hard to date at age fitty-something. Yes, we’re all – that age – familiar with John, George, Paul, Ringo….. JFK…. Joe Willie… Don’t change Dicks in the middle of a screw/vote for Nixon in ’72…
Familiar with that we are. Motown. CCR. CSN&Y… Laugh In.. Here’s Johnny…Green Acres is the place to be… Knot’s Landing.. Where oh where are you tonight – why did you leave me here all alone.. I’ve searched the world over and thought I’d found true love – you met another and ---pphhhhfppp – you were gone.
Unfamiliar. We did, lived, all that crap. (Crap said teasingly, I really mean wonderfully.) Article in morning paper by some chicky from LA – talking about music – and still how the 60’s music has never been challenged by any other decade. Hell yeah.
So we’ve all been thru that. Viet Nam… Woodstock.. Paul Harvey – the resta the story. Billy Graham.. Batman.. Alf.. Burt Reynolds. Goldie Hawn.. Familiar with that crap.
We’re familiar with the ones we’ve loved, grown up with – the streets we’ve ridden down – the stores we’ve been in. The direction we’re going.
HHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllttttt
WHO GOES THERE? I ain’t familiar with you – get the hell outta here. Oh sure, it’s said more nicely than that – but it happens… and I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been on both sidesa that.
Howinthehell do you make up for 50, 55 years of familiarity with a ‘new’ person? You don’t, can’t. We know all the same chit, we just didn’t share it along the way. Therefore – we’re ‘foreign.’ Thus, “ah, that’s a story for another day” is simply easier untold – trudge on, seek familiarity – but in the backa your mind you know you ain’t gonna find it.
I also think we’re all visual pigs. Only when we’re toe to toe with the GD mirror do we come to our senses and realize – “the old gray mare”.. But, we walk out that door, we try to find one to .. become familiar with.. and we think we’re like back in 1960-something, and we have’ta find one that looks like they did back then.. and that’s stupid as hell but it’s also common as hell.
I do believe we, in general, overestimate ourselves, and underestimate others. Not consciously, but I think we do. That said, I think we flit about at “78 speed” (see, know you’re fitty-something and you’re familiar with that.. we just ain’t been familiar with each other, why this chit won’t work at our age..or, ain’t working)… so we flit at 78, focusing on the visual when we should crank it down to AT LEAST 45, if not 33 and stop, smell roses (familiar smell?) and focus perhaps on what’s really more important.
Like sands thru the hourglass, so go the days of our lives. Sound familiar? So – insteada spending time, taking the time to become familiar with someone “new” – we turn our nose up (or have noses turned up at us) and think/say “nah, I ain’t familiar with you… sorry” and return to our sorryass sheltered worlds.
I say. Come get me. Familiar this. Familiar that. We can talk JFK, MLK, YMCA. You picka record, then I’ll pick one. We’re probably familiar with each. I know. A spin in the country. Developing a love, appreciation for the unfamiliar. (And yes, give us each a little time – perhaps thoughts would turn to “I’d sureashell like to get familiar with what’s under that top”.. VICTOR! sorry.. I’ll behave now. )
Anways, familiar is good. Thinka the newborn. Der ain’t shit he/she’s familiar with. Mebbe we should learn from that. Tales, stories, good times, remembrances – they form our familiarities. I vote – expand on that. Take a chance. Give it a whirl. Test the water. Sample the wine. Today’s events breed tomorrow’s familiarity.
It’s just so damn hard at age fitty-something. Happy day, Love, Victurd. (Sound familiar?)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Tweeter from the teeter totter……
Good morning good morning good morning. Tuesday. One day closer to the weekend, yet, a “have to” day. Once done, still more work than weekend ahead. Tis ok, we kinda go thru the motions on Tuesday – the past weekend in the rear view mirror – too early to get excited about the next weekend.
Driving in, skeered shirtless of deer. It’s dark you see (or you don’t really see… too good.).. I go the back way to get outta our wonderful metropolis. I’m not fond of bumper to bumper, traffic light after traffic light, lights, people allover. Give me the backroad with an occasional jogger, assurance of safety, lacka noise, peace. To that end, gotta watch for deer (dear).. Usedta tell ole whatshername that when driving the backroads.. “Watch for deer dear.” Obviously humor, attempts thereof, weren’t enough to keep her fastened in the seatbelt. Oh well.
The teeter totter. In between looking for Bambi, listening to Sport’s talk, smoking a cig, shaving… yes, shaving.. on the way to work this morning – I thought about the teeter totter. Why, I ain’t got any idea in hell. Did.
The teeter totter is a wondrous toy, no matter if just one person – or two. As a single old fart – I’ve taken that walk up the board… get to that point where you come off the ground for a sec… then balance… then… oh shit.. boom… down you go. Fun. Life.
Dos. Two on teeter totter – oh, must be keen, keep focused, each work just as hard. Dayum. Sounds like marriage, relationship. Uh huh, does. Fun, exhilarating. Rhythmic. (Pervert, I know what you’re thinking.).. Smiling. Laughing. Wash those troubles away, teeter all day.
Many ways to exit the teeter totter, until another time. Congenially, four legs planted, stronger one of the two normally let’s the other exit nicely. (Akin to holding the car door, holding a door, letter the other go first.)..
Or, of course, one can jump off whilst the other person is at the top. And the walls.. came tumbling down. Ouch. My butt. (Onea my alltime favorite little comical pics is of two chocolate rabbits.. one has a humongous chunk bitten outta his booty.. he’s exclaiming ‘MY BUTT HURTS”… the other bunny.. someone has bitten off his ears.. and of course he counters with “WHAT?”… )
So, whadda we deduct from this useless blog Victor? The tweet about the teet. (I’m glad you spelled that with two ‘e’s Victor.) You’re welcome. I wouldn’t be a boob like that.
We deduct lots. Life, like the teeter totter in this sweet tweet, is a game. Life is fun. Life can be harmonious. Life can be working together. Life/teeter’s – can include, exhibit niceness. Life can be rhythmic (I NEVER can spell that word right the first time… WHY, oh great linguist inventor, did you make sucha a beautiful word.. so GD hard to spell?)… Where was I?
Oh yeah. Ouch. My butt hurts. (WHAT?).. Uh huh, does. So, you step back from the teeter totter – and there’s all kindsa lessons about life, relationships – even perilous travel as a single. It’s cheap entertainment, can be invigorating, exhilarating, cause laughter, get the heart rate up… fun.
Done. No more teeter totter. (You mean you’re too old… will never teeter-totter again?).. Ahm, did u just get here? Remember, I played softball this past summer. I pride myself by being the oldest player in the league. Sure I’ll teet again. Might haveta handcuff me a goshdarn woman to do so, but I will teeter again.
Tune in tomorrow. Or Thursday. Or this weekend. My regularity ain’t what it usedta be. (Don’t let your mind wander on that one.).. Victor, u really think people read this? I dunno, would be tweet if they did. Would teeter my totter. I think I’d better get to work, this is going South. Ouch. My butt hurts.
WHAT?... Love, Victurd.
Driving in, skeered shirtless of deer. It’s dark you see (or you don’t really see… too good.).. I go the back way to get outta our wonderful metropolis. I’m not fond of bumper to bumper, traffic light after traffic light, lights, people allover. Give me the backroad with an occasional jogger, assurance of safety, lacka noise, peace. To that end, gotta watch for deer (dear).. Usedta tell ole whatshername that when driving the backroads.. “Watch for deer dear.” Obviously humor, attempts thereof, weren’t enough to keep her fastened in the seatbelt. Oh well.
The teeter totter. In between looking for Bambi, listening to Sport’s talk, smoking a cig, shaving… yes, shaving.. on the way to work this morning – I thought about the teeter totter. Why, I ain’t got any idea in hell. Did.
The teeter totter is a wondrous toy, no matter if just one person – or two. As a single old fart – I’ve taken that walk up the board… get to that point where you come off the ground for a sec… then balance… then… oh shit.. boom… down you go. Fun. Life.
Dos. Two on teeter totter – oh, must be keen, keep focused, each work just as hard. Dayum. Sounds like marriage, relationship. Uh huh, does. Fun, exhilarating. Rhythmic. (Pervert, I know what you’re thinking.).. Smiling. Laughing. Wash those troubles away, teeter all day.
Many ways to exit the teeter totter, until another time. Congenially, four legs planted, stronger one of the two normally let’s the other exit nicely. (Akin to holding the car door, holding a door, letter the other go first.)..
Or, of course, one can jump off whilst the other person is at the top. And the walls.. came tumbling down. Ouch. My butt. (Onea my alltime favorite little comical pics is of two chocolate rabbits.. one has a humongous chunk bitten outta his booty.. he’s exclaiming ‘MY BUTT HURTS”… the other bunny.. someone has bitten off his ears.. and of course he counters with “WHAT?”… )
So, whadda we deduct from this useless blog Victor? The tweet about the teet. (I’m glad you spelled that with two ‘e’s Victor.) You’re welcome. I wouldn’t be a boob like that.
We deduct lots. Life, like the teeter totter in this sweet tweet, is a game. Life is fun. Life can be harmonious. Life can be working together. Life/teeter’s – can include, exhibit niceness. Life can be rhythmic (I NEVER can spell that word right the first time… WHY, oh great linguist inventor, did you make sucha a beautiful word.. so GD hard to spell?)… Where was I?
Oh yeah. Ouch. My butt hurts. (WHAT?).. Uh huh, does. So, you step back from the teeter totter – and there’s all kindsa lessons about life, relationships – even perilous travel as a single. It’s cheap entertainment, can be invigorating, exhilarating, cause laughter, get the heart rate up… fun.
Done. No more teeter totter. (You mean you’re too old… will never teeter-totter again?).. Ahm, did u just get here? Remember, I played softball this past summer. I pride myself by being the oldest player in the league. Sure I’ll teet again. Might haveta handcuff me a goshdarn woman to do so, but I will teeter again.
Tune in tomorrow. Or Thursday. Or this weekend. My regularity ain’t what it usedta be. (Don’t let your mind wander on that one.).. Victor, u really think people read this? I dunno, would be tweet if they did. Would teeter my totter. I think I’d better get to work, this is going South. Ouch. My butt hurts.
WHAT?... Love, Victurd.
Monday, September 14, 2009
But I don’t wanna….
Right. Write. But I don’t wanna. Or… mebbe just don’t feel like it. Not that there’s every anything clever up there in that fitty-six year old brain – it’s just that today, there fer sure ain’t.
I don’t wanna is an uncomfy feeling. I likes comfy. Comfy hard to find. Well, maybe easily found, just hard to stay content.
Whatshername (Victor, it’s been a lotta years, don’t go there).. ahm… Whatshername came home one day and announced “if there’s something I don’t want to do, I’m not going to do it.” And, regardless if it was a holiday family gathering, a sporting event, a movie, a certain restaurant, she held true to her word.
Dating. Especially at this old, ripe age. The online thing. Sometimes an email is winged one way… I don’t wanna happens. No response, or no responding. Cruel. Hurtful – but hey, that’s today.
You climb back up the mountain (several dates, maybe even months) and “I don’t wanna happens”… again, two-way street, but happens.. and such are the rules of today’s game.
I don’t wanna = divorce. Breakup. Friends becoming more detached. Hiding. Excuse making. Thanks but no thanks.
Procrastination sometimes equals I don’t wanna. Deadlines. Yes, you know you’ll get there, but.. not now. I don’t wanna. Not yet.
You know you’ve been promising to…… uh huh… and will… later though… I don’t wanna.
We have the generic “I don’t wanna” (go to work… .pay bills… clean house.. cook… go to the grocery.. ).. Most often “haveta” wins out.
Infants have that little squeamish, devilish “hmmppphhhh”.. I don’t wanna. “NO!” They fold their arms, stiffen the upper lip, and solidify their little 20 pound body as if to say “MAKE ME.” So we do.
Can’t with old farts. Can’t make me, make you. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna = selfish, sometimes. I don’t wanna = peace, sometimes. I don’t wanna = running, sometimes.
Perhaps one of life’s hardest lessons, one only controls themself. And sometimes, I don’t even wanna do that.
Leaving now. Wanna. I wasn’t real fond of Dr. Laura, but did enjoy her little “Go take on the day.” Do that please……………… if u wanna. Love, Victurd.
I don’t wanna is an uncomfy feeling. I likes comfy. Comfy hard to find. Well, maybe easily found, just hard to stay content.
Whatshername (Victor, it’s been a lotta years, don’t go there).. ahm… Whatshername came home one day and announced “if there’s something I don’t want to do, I’m not going to do it.” And, regardless if it was a holiday family gathering, a sporting event, a movie, a certain restaurant, she held true to her word.
Dating. Especially at this old, ripe age. The online thing. Sometimes an email is winged one way… I don’t wanna happens. No response, or no responding. Cruel. Hurtful – but hey, that’s today.
You climb back up the mountain (several dates, maybe even months) and “I don’t wanna happens”… again, two-way street, but happens.. and such are the rules of today’s game.
I don’t wanna = divorce. Breakup. Friends becoming more detached. Hiding. Excuse making. Thanks but no thanks.
Procrastination sometimes equals I don’t wanna. Deadlines. Yes, you know you’ll get there, but.. not now. I don’t wanna. Not yet.
You know you’ve been promising to…… uh huh… and will… later though… I don’t wanna.
We have the generic “I don’t wanna” (go to work… .pay bills… clean house.. cook… go to the grocery.. ).. Most often “haveta” wins out.
Infants have that little squeamish, devilish “hmmppphhhh”.. I don’t wanna. “NO!” They fold their arms, stiffen the upper lip, and solidify their little 20 pound body as if to say “MAKE ME.” So we do.
Can’t with old farts. Can’t make me, make you. I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna = selfish, sometimes. I don’t wanna = peace, sometimes. I don’t wanna = running, sometimes.
Perhaps one of life’s hardest lessons, one only controls themself. And sometimes, I don’t even wanna do that.
Leaving now. Wanna. I wasn’t real fond of Dr. Laura, but did enjoy her little “Go take on the day.” Do that please……………… if u wanna. Love, Victurd.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Shed some light on it……
Without. Whenya think of “what would I hate most to live without?”.. Hmm… I spose if you walked into the room designated “Men”, the responses would center around sex. Trust me though, one can live without it. So far, it really HaSn’T aFfEcTeD mE. Hehe.
Companion. Sure, tough. Can be done. Some never even have one. Some lose one, get another. Some jump ship.. think “eh, lemme find a different one.” We can fer sure survive withouta mate.
Money. Delivered mail in the very poorest section of Kansas City, KS. I knew nothing about Kansas City, KS prior to working there. Those wonderful people taught me you very definitely could live without money, and actually live quite happily.
Water. Ok, ya got me. Ya gotta have water, but that wasn’t where I was barking.
Light. Can u imagine not having light? If I didn’t have light, hell, I might as well marry someone ugly like me! I dunno howinthehell them Alaskans do it. Six months, I’d be soooo depressed. I guess mebbe it’d kinda reinvigorate a marriage huh? “Hell Shirley, I ain’t seen u in halfa year.. you don’t look too bad.”…
Friday night lights.. My great nephew. Playing in his senior year of football. I hope he doesn’t take those lights for granted. Good head on shoulders, certain he doesn’t. One day those lights won’t be quite as bright. He’ll be just another spectator in the stands.
Night. Lights. Blair Witch Project. Spooky. Flashlight in the basement, hearda noise. Electricity out. Eerie.
In my bathroom, I have this fixture above the sink with 5, count em 5, little round white bulbs. I love/hate it. For years there were 100 watt bulbs in there – and that was all well and fine, but hell – she was very pretty – and had zilcho to hide. Me? Now? 40 watt bulbs. Long as I can see to get the toothpaste on the brush, aim and hit the stool ok, that’s all I need.
Frankly, us older people hate digital cameras, HD, LCD, that shit. We’re much more fond of dark shadows, not being in the limelight than HEY LET’S SEE EVERY CRACK, CREVICE, MOLE, PIMPLE, CHIPPED TOOTH, ZIT, FRECKLE, BROWNSPOT.. Hate ‘em. Gimme a room with the lights low – right up my alley.
Each day greets us with light. It’s a Godly thing. Taken for granted, but oh whatta blessing. “YES! I made another day!”… The taken for granted part. GD we hurry in life. Someday, soon, I wanna plop myself in a chair.. no computer nearby. No newspaper. No animals to “have to” pet. No radio. No TV. Just me, and the horizon, as the sun comes up. When’s the last time you did that? I know, me too, been too gosh darn long. Life truly is amazing, and that’s onea the greater ‘free’ things ever.
Left for work before daylight today. Interesting the vehicles, their lights on the road. 18-wheelers, way up high. Little snotnose ‘driving-on-my-daddy’s-dollar’ bright neon headlights – shed enough light for all of us… fine when in front – but a real pain if in our rear view mirror.
I remember coaching a few years back. Women’s college basketball. Traveled to a similar small, liberal arts college – oh, hour or so away. Nice place, kinda old gym. The kind where u had a stage behind one basket. Gym served two purposes. Well, ‘bout the time onea our girls got to the free throw line to shoot – JUST as she lifted the ball to shoot, light on the stage went out. Bastards. Light matters. Light startles. Change in light affects us. Knew it wasn’t coincidence the 3rd time it happened. Eh, whatever, if that’s what you gotta do to win.
Speed of light. Light years. Sunlight. Florescent light. Come on baby light my fire. Wasn’t it the Goonies “BRIGHT LIGHT!”?.. Candlelight. Moonlight. Gotta light? A smile lit up her face. You, light up my life. Light weight. Light duty. Bud Lite. You’re blocking my light. We’ll leave the light on, hear? Different light. I saw the light. Blinded by the light.
Light is just a damn fun word. I’m a little light, canya loan me Five until payday? Ahm, I think he’s maybe light in his loafers. Not the brightest bulb in the box.
I’m thankful for light. Hell, thinka computers without light. Thinka our lives without light. Uh huh, I’d still probably rank sex above light (tis fun even in the dark), but light ranks right up there in wonder, amazement. Need. Want.
May the day be lit up with your smile. Your happiness great, and your burdens light. Can u shed some light on the subject? Love, Victurd. (Light’s out)……….
Companion. Sure, tough. Can be done. Some never even have one. Some lose one, get another. Some jump ship.. think “eh, lemme find a different one.” We can fer sure survive withouta mate.
Money. Delivered mail in the very poorest section of Kansas City, KS. I knew nothing about Kansas City, KS prior to working there. Those wonderful people taught me you very definitely could live without money, and actually live quite happily.
Water. Ok, ya got me. Ya gotta have water, but that wasn’t where I was barking.
Light. Can u imagine not having light? If I didn’t have light, hell, I might as well marry someone ugly like me! I dunno howinthehell them Alaskans do it. Six months, I’d be soooo depressed. I guess mebbe it’d kinda reinvigorate a marriage huh? “Hell Shirley, I ain’t seen u in halfa year.. you don’t look too bad.”…
Friday night lights.. My great nephew. Playing in his senior year of football. I hope he doesn’t take those lights for granted. Good head on shoulders, certain he doesn’t. One day those lights won’t be quite as bright. He’ll be just another spectator in the stands.
Night. Lights. Blair Witch Project. Spooky. Flashlight in the basement, hearda noise. Electricity out. Eerie.
In my bathroom, I have this fixture above the sink with 5, count em 5, little round white bulbs. I love/hate it. For years there were 100 watt bulbs in there – and that was all well and fine, but hell – she was very pretty – and had zilcho to hide. Me? Now? 40 watt bulbs. Long as I can see to get the toothpaste on the brush, aim and hit the stool ok, that’s all I need.
Frankly, us older people hate digital cameras, HD, LCD, that shit. We’re much more fond of dark shadows, not being in the limelight than HEY LET’S SEE EVERY CRACK, CREVICE, MOLE, PIMPLE, CHIPPED TOOTH, ZIT, FRECKLE, BROWNSPOT.. Hate ‘em. Gimme a room with the lights low – right up my alley.
Each day greets us with light. It’s a Godly thing. Taken for granted, but oh whatta blessing. “YES! I made another day!”… The taken for granted part. GD we hurry in life. Someday, soon, I wanna plop myself in a chair.. no computer nearby. No newspaper. No animals to “have to” pet. No radio. No TV. Just me, and the horizon, as the sun comes up. When’s the last time you did that? I know, me too, been too gosh darn long. Life truly is amazing, and that’s onea the greater ‘free’ things ever.
Left for work before daylight today. Interesting the vehicles, their lights on the road. 18-wheelers, way up high. Little snotnose ‘driving-on-my-daddy’s-dollar’ bright neon headlights – shed enough light for all of us… fine when in front – but a real pain if in our rear view mirror.
I remember coaching a few years back. Women’s college basketball. Traveled to a similar small, liberal arts college – oh, hour or so away. Nice place, kinda old gym. The kind where u had a stage behind one basket. Gym served two purposes. Well, ‘bout the time onea our girls got to the free throw line to shoot – JUST as she lifted the ball to shoot, light on the stage went out. Bastards. Light matters. Light startles. Change in light affects us. Knew it wasn’t coincidence the 3rd time it happened. Eh, whatever, if that’s what you gotta do to win.
Speed of light. Light years. Sunlight. Florescent light. Come on baby light my fire. Wasn’t it the Goonies “BRIGHT LIGHT!”?.. Candlelight. Moonlight. Gotta light? A smile lit up her face. You, light up my life. Light weight. Light duty. Bud Lite. You’re blocking my light. We’ll leave the light on, hear? Different light. I saw the light. Blinded by the light.
Light is just a damn fun word. I’m a little light, canya loan me Five until payday? Ahm, I think he’s maybe light in his loafers. Not the brightest bulb in the box.
I’m thankful for light. Hell, thinka computers without light. Thinka our lives without light. Uh huh, I’d still probably rank sex above light (tis fun even in the dark), but light ranks right up there in wonder, amazement. Need. Want.
May the day be lit up with your smile. Your happiness great, and your burdens light. Can u shed some light on the subject? Love, Victurd. (Light’s out)……….
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The benefits of being fitty-five (and older)……
You can leave your billfold/purse (ID) at home and still buy liquor.
Fitty-nine cent senior coffee at Mickey D’s. (The back of the menu at Denny’s… they too should have a Grand(pa) and Grand(ma) Slam.)
Ass kissing no longer happens anywhere except the bedroom.
Ladders are no longer climbed, both occupationally, and the ones with rungs.
Once or twice a year you get to see someone you haven’t seen since high school and you think “ohhhhh shit.” (We’re often forgetful too that just mebbe we’ve changed a bit in the mirror.)
We can no longer produce offspring. (Hell yeah!)…
We sit back in awe as our bodies “garden”. One just never knows which ear a long ole hair will suddenly sprout… or… exactly where that new brownspot will grow root.
Even though it’s not the biggest bedroom in the house, we move into it because it’s so close to the bathroom. What usedta be close calls are now “uh oh’s”.
Running is for young punks. As we watch them run, we can sit back and think “I told you so” in that one day soon they’ll have aching knee joints, less cushion there, lower back problems – and that no matter what, one day their abdominal area will look very much like everyone else’s abdominal area at age fitty-five. So why?
It’s sooooooooooo incredibly wonderful to listen, converse, visit – and where maybe ten, twenty years ago we’da wanted to blurt “you friggin’ idiot! Are you crazy?” we now can just sit back, smile, match ‘em eye for eye and think it instead.
Snow is colder. Rain is wetter. Sunshine is hotter.
Clouds are prettier, older ones are funner to watch, the invigorism of the real young ones bring genuine smiles.
Resume. Has nothing to do with a formal typed document. It has to do with waking up to pee at 2am, and resuming sleep.
If married, sex has gone from tri-weekly, to try-weekly. If single and you ever happen to get that far – perhaps it’s fear that sends each scurrying (not running, but scurrying) back to their own abodes. Naked, whilst anytime is wonderful, it too is a little scarier at age fitty-five.
The list of “have to’s” has really dwindled. Instead of our youthful “I want what I want and I want it now”… we’ve replaced it with “I’ll do whateverinthehell I want, whenever (or not) I want.”
Going to get the mail is a sufficient cardiovascular workout for the day. Even Fido agrees as he meets you at the door. He acts as if you’ve been to the Bahamas for two weeks.
Opening the mail is usually just cause for a nap.
You don’t listen or like any music produced since 1980.
You get toward the bottom of lists like this and your mind wonders. Attention span not what it once was. Please scroll to “I’ll do whateverinthehell I want, whenever (or not) I want.”
Sorry, that’s all for today. I’m gonna go pee, look for new golden ear hairs, brownspots and to see if the “oopsies” en route to the bathroom would entail new undies for the day, or simply if flipping them would suffice until tomorrow.
I can drive fitty-five. (And usually do. It really pisses people off on the Interstate.) Always remember, fitty-five times two is a hunnerd and ten. You/I ain’t never gonna see that… so please… soak up the day, make it of note.. if u can’t get the corners of your mouth to point upward – stand on your head. With mucho love, Victurd.
Fitty-nine cent senior coffee at Mickey D’s. (The back of the menu at Denny’s… they too should have a Grand(pa) and Grand(ma) Slam.)
Ass kissing no longer happens anywhere except the bedroom.
Ladders are no longer climbed, both occupationally, and the ones with rungs.
Once or twice a year you get to see someone you haven’t seen since high school and you think “ohhhhh shit.” (We’re often forgetful too that just mebbe we’ve changed a bit in the mirror.)
We can no longer produce offspring. (Hell yeah!)…
We sit back in awe as our bodies “garden”. One just never knows which ear a long ole hair will suddenly sprout… or… exactly where that new brownspot will grow root.
Even though it’s not the biggest bedroom in the house, we move into it because it’s so close to the bathroom. What usedta be close calls are now “uh oh’s”.
Running is for young punks. As we watch them run, we can sit back and think “I told you so” in that one day soon they’ll have aching knee joints, less cushion there, lower back problems – and that no matter what, one day their abdominal area will look very much like everyone else’s abdominal area at age fitty-five. So why?
It’s sooooooooooo incredibly wonderful to listen, converse, visit – and where maybe ten, twenty years ago we’da wanted to blurt “you friggin’ idiot! Are you crazy?” we now can just sit back, smile, match ‘em eye for eye and think it instead.
Snow is colder. Rain is wetter. Sunshine is hotter.
Clouds are prettier, older ones are funner to watch, the invigorism of the real young ones bring genuine smiles.
Resume. Has nothing to do with a formal typed document. It has to do with waking up to pee at 2am, and resuming sleep.
If married, sex has gone from tri-weekly, to try-weekly. If single and you ever happen to get that far – perhaps it’s fear that sends each scurrying (not running, but scurrying) back to their own abodes. Naked, whilst anytime is wonderful, it too is a little scarier at age fitty-five.
The list of “have to’s” has really dwindled. Instead of our youthful “I want what I want and I want it now”… we’ve replaced it with “I’ll do whateverinthehell I want, whenever (or not) I want.”
Going to get the mail is a sufficient cardiovascular workout for the day. Even Fido agrees as he meets you at the door. He acts as if you’ve been to the Bahamas for two weeks.
Opening the mail is usually just cause for a nap.
You don’t listen or like any music produced since 1980.
You get toward the bottom of lists like this and your mind wonders. Attention span not what it once was. Please scroll to “I’ll do whateverinthehell I want, whenever (or not) I want.”
Sorry, that’s all for today. I’m gonna go pee, look for new golden ear hairs, brownspots and to see if the “oopsies” en route to the bathroom would entail new undies for the day, or simply if flipping them would suffice until tomorrow.
I can drive fitty-five. (And usually do. It really pisses people off on the Interstate.) Always remember, fitty-five times two is a hunnerd and ten. You/I ain’t never gonna see that… so please… soak up the day, make it of note.. if u can’t get the corners of your mouth to point upward – stand on your head. With mucho love, Victurd.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
What if….
Fun game. I likes ‘what if’… Can ‘cause creativity… wow… eww.. all that stuff.
Like.. what if Michael Vick was signed by the Cleveland Browns insteada the Eagles? Would “the Dog Pound” love him?
What if…. (ok, personal) Victor found a woman (who would take him!)…. The folks at the Dish.. They’d sit around… Norm… Cliffy.. reminisce “remember ole’ Victor.. wonder whatever happened to him?”..
What if….. we ran outta oil? Holy tanker truck Batman.. Me thinks we’d learn we’re spoiled. Liberty to Grandview? Howinthehell would I do that?
What if… (I’ve worried about this since day #1).. something happened to Obama. Those of us old farts who’ve been around long enough to have observed racism in real life – the remarkable (way too GD slow, late) progress we’ve made. It’d set us back eons, and I pray nothing ever happens…
Found a book with lotta interesting, thought provoking questions. Like……..
What if you found out you were adopted?
What if you could be invisible? (Holy crap wouldn’t THAT be fun… Pervert.. I know what your were thinking!)
What if you won the lottery?
What if you knew the world was ending in a month?
What if you could eat anything and not get fat? (BBQ ribs, here I come!)
What if you were granted three wishes? Well.. #1, take me back to 1974.. I’d like a ‘do-over’… Ohhhh don’t gimme wrong, I think I’da just been a little wiser (Victor, do you mean more mature?).. KMA.. yes. I think I’d “keep it in my pocket” for at least the first six months of dating anyone. I think I’d live a minimum of two years with someone before matrimony. And I’d be good (better than I have) to “K”.. As in 401K.. If I could have that one (being 22 again), screw the other two.
What if everyone looked identical? Weird. I guess you could make out with anyone at the Piggly Wiggly. Perhaps there would be no ‘cause for affair. The grass wouldn’t be any greener, ya know?
And…. some’a my own:
What if farts were a normal, acceptable, open thing of life… kinda like sneezing, coughing? I’d love that one. Could take side bets as to whether it was a ‘shart’ or not. Stuck in the cubicle with one you’re not real fond of? Let ‘er go baby! Blast ‘em outta there. Played basketball with a guy that could literally clear the gym. I bet he’d enjoy it.
What if clothing were never invented... Again, would make for fun at the Piggly Wiggly. The High School football game. Church. A Royals or Chief’s game.
What if you could say anything you wanted to anyone you wanted with no recourse? Well, I know it’d never happen.. but, howabout picking a day.. say, May 12th, you could say whatever you want to whomever, and again, no recourse. I think I’d like that!
What if, we could fly on our own?.. Run 65 mph?.. Jump over buildings?.. Defy gravity?..
What if they figured out how to prevent aging – at what age then, would u wanna die? Or would u wanna?
What if you came into work an hour and a half early to get caught up, and then you realized you instead went to writing about “what if?”.. Oh yeah, guess you’re right. What if we didn’t have left brain talking to right brain.. or vice versa…
Make your own ‘what if’s? up. Tis fun (to me anyways.).. “Victor, you perhaps just don’t realize that some people may not be into ‘such-n-such’ quite just like you are.” (What if you went a lifetime and NEVER remembered the occasional piercing statements you’re left to rehash over and over in a lifetime.)
What if I actually got caught up at work? What if I said “Have a great day?”… wouldya? Hope so.. love, Victurd
Like.. what if Michael Vick was signed by the Cleveland Browns insteada the Eagles? Would “the Dog Pound” love him?
What if…. (ok, personal) Victor found a woman (who would take him!)…. The folks at the Dish.. They’d sit around… Norm… Cliffy.. reminisce “remember ole’ Victor.. wonder whatever happened to him?”..
What if….. we ran outta oil? Holy tanker truck Batman.. Me thinks we’d learn we’re spoiled. Liberty to Grandview? Howinthehell would I do that?
What if… (I’ve worried about this since day #1).. something happened to Obama. Those of us old farts who’ve been around long enough to have observed racism in real life – the remarkable (way too GD slow, late) progress we’ve made. It’d set us back eons, and I pray nothing ever happens…
Found a book with lotta interesting, thought provoking questions. Like……..
What if you found out you were adopted?
What if you could be invisible? (Holy crap wouldn’t THAT be fun… Pervert.. I know what your were thinking!)
What if you won the lottery?
What if you knew the world was ending in a month?
What if you could eat anything and not get fat? (BBQ ribs, here I come!)
What if you were granted three wishes? Well.. #1, take me back to 1974.. I’d like a ‘do-over’… Ohhhh don’t gimme wrong, I think I’da just been a little wiser (Victor, do you mean more mature?).. KMA.. yes. I think I’d “keep it in my pocket” for at least the first six months of dating anyone. I think I’d live a minimum of two years with someone before matrimony. And I’d be good (better than I have) to “K”.. As in 401K.. If I could have that one (being 22 again), screw the other two.
What if everyone looked identical? Weird. I guess you could make out with anyone at the Piggly Wiggly. Perhaps there would be no ‘cause for affair. The grass wouldn’t be any greener, ya know?
And…. some’a my own:
What if farts were a normal, acceptable, open thing of life… kinda like sneezing, coughing? I’d love that one. Could take side bets as to whether it was a ‘shart’ or not. Stuck in the cubicle with one you’re not real fond of? Let ‘er go baby! Blast ‘em outta there. Played basketball with a guy that could literally clear the gym. I bet he’d enjoy it.
What if clothing were never invented... Again, would make for fun at the Piggly Wiggly. The High School football game. Church. A Royals or Chief’s game.
What if you could say anything you wanted to anyone you wanted with no recourse? Well, I know it’d never happen.. but, howabout picking a day.. say, May 12th, you could say whatever you want to whomever, and again, no recourse. I think I’d like that!
What if, we could fly on our own?.. Run 65 mph?.. Jump over buildings?.. Defy gravity?..
What if they figured out how to prevent aging – at what age then, would u wanna die? Or would u wanna?
What if you came into work an hour and a half early to get caught up, and then you realized you instead went to writing about “what if?”.. Oh yeah, guess you’re right. What if we didn’t have left brain talking to right brain.. or vice versa…
Make your own ‘what if’s? up. Tis fun (to me anyways.).. “Victor, you perhaps just don’t realize that some people may not be into ‘such-n-such’ quite just like you are.” (What if you went a lifetime and NEVER remembered the occasional piercing statements you’re left to rehash over and over in a lifetime.)
What if I actually got caught up at work? What if I said “Have a great day?”… wouldya? Hope so.. love, Victurd
Sunday, September 06, 2009
But........... I believe in you.........
(Victor.. you can't start a sentence with 'but'. Watch me. Just did. 'But' out.)
I don't believe in superstars,
Organic food and foreign cars.
Not all that smart, but, with all the foreign automakers selling here, and the profits heading back to their lands… doesn’t seem like Cash For Clunkers made a whole lotta sense to stimulate our economy.
I don't believe the price of gold;
The certainty of growing old.
Mr. Williams, I’ll have to differ with you here. As one who usedta, reasonably fast, circle the bases, old happens. Brown spots happen. Crevices form. We get forgetful.
Where was I?
That right is right and left is wrong,
That north and south can't get along.
That east is east and west is west.
And being first is always best.
Sure. Russians, when we usteda beat them in sports in the Cold War days, would say “Russia 2nd! US next-to-last!”..
But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.
Wow. Lot said there. Love is a many splendid thing. I was at a bar….. Imagine that. Buddy’o mine I REALLY have a lotta respect for. We each were of the opine “Whilst this is fun, free, frivolous, I’d much rather be home, sitting on the couch… with another.”
I feel very sadly for those that didn’t have good experiences with ‘mom and dad.’ I was lucky. We all struggle with self-worth, and I can’t begin to imagine how those experiences might have adversely affected you. God Blessya, and I loveya.
Well, I don't believe that heaven waits,
For only those who congregate.
I like to think of God as love:
He's down below, He's up above.
He's watching people everywhere.
He knows who does and doesn't care.
And I'm an ordinary man,
Sometimes I wonder who I am.
Again, hits home Don, thanks. I always thought your true religion is the life you lead and not necessarily the creed one professes.
But I believe in love.
I believe in music.
I believe in magic.
And I believe in you.
Love. When you think of love, “oh baby oh baby” of course comes to mind. To me, much more to the word. Yes, love of significant other, brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, grandkids… The word though, is limitless. Love of life. Love of sport. Love of occupation. Love of friends. Love of people watching. Love of the seasons. Love of outdoors. Love of protection indoors. Love of geography. Love of linguistics. Love of lasagna (or enter your choice here).. Love of coworkers. Love for the party. Love of smiles. Love of watching kids. Old folks.
Music. It’s an elixir. I’m generally tuned to Sport’s Talk enroute to/from work (cause the guys are hilarious) - but I too enjoy music. I sidetracks the mind from yuck. It penetrates the sole and causes excitement, relaxation, feel. We all enjoy our different types.
Well, I know with all my certainty,
What's going on with you and me,
Is a good thing.
It's true, I believe in you.
Well, again, situationally single. I have believed. Hope to again. I do believe in you here, your eyeballs. They lift me, and I’m thankful. I value our friendship.
I don't believe virginity,
Is as common as it used to be.
In working days and sleeping nights,
That black is black and white is white.
That Superman and Robin Hood,
Are still alive in Hollywood.
That gasoline's in short supply,
The rising cost of getting by.
I think this song was written in 1980, but oh is it time honored. “The rising cost of getting by.” The Superman/Robin Hood thing - I think it maybe means “being a kid all my life” and that plays huge with me. Fun is something else I forgot when defining love. I do think gas is in short supply, witness Iraq/Afghanistan and our occupation there.
But I believe in love.
I believe in old folks.
I believe in children.
I believe in you.
But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.
I believe in Santa… hands held… Fun emails to/from friends… making out… smiles… giving pats on back when due.. Peace and civility.. Respectfulness.. Admiration.. Fritos (sorry, a personal fav’).. BBQ ribs… doubling down in blackjack (a rush).. That first cup of coffee.. The newspaper hitting the drive.. The crack of a little league bat (ok, ‘ping’ nowadays.).. Rainbows.. Blue sky days.. A fresh fallen snow…. (Close your ears) Watching ‘her’ get up to go to the restroom after. Sorry. Kinda. Little piggy in all us men I guess.
There are many people out there I believe in, and I’m thankful for all the times, moments, hours we shared to get to that point.
Organic food? Nah. Not me. I’m off to get a 300 burger from the bowling alley. If you ever venture to Liberty, MO.. It’s a must.
Bye old folks. Mom, dad. Babies. You. I believe in you. Love, Victurd.
I don't believe in superstars,
Organic food and foreign cars.
Not all that smart, but, with all the foreign automakers selling here, and the profits heading back to their lands… doesn’t seem like Cash For Clunkers made a whole lotta sense to stimulate our economy.
I don't believe the price of gold;
The certainty of growing old.
Mr. Williams, I’ll have to differ with you here. As one who usedta, reasonably fast, circle the bases, old happens. Brown spots happen. Crevices form. We get forgetful.
Where was I?
That right is right and left is wrong,
That north and south can't get along.
That east is east and west is west.
And being first is always best.
Sure. Russians, when we usteda beat them in sports in the Cold War days, would say “Russia 2nd! US next-to-last!”..
But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.
Wow. Lot said there. Love is a many splendid thing. I was at a bar….. Imagine that. Buddy’o mine I REALLY have a lotta respect for. We each were of the opine “Whilst this is fun, free, frivolous, I’d much rather be home, sitting on the couch… with another.”
I feel very sadly for those that didn’t have good experiences with ‘mom and dad.’ I was lucky. We all struggle with self-worth, and I can’t begin to imagine how those experiences might have adversely affected you. God Blessya, and I loveya.
Well, I don't believe that heaven waits,
For only those who congregate.
I like to think of God as love:
He's down below, He's up above.
He's watching people everywhere.
He knows who does and doesn't care.
And I'm an ordinary man,
Sometimes I wonder who I am.
Again, hits home Don, thanks. I always thought your true religion is the life you lead and not necessarily the creed one professes.
But I believe in love.
I believe in music.
I believe in magic.
And I believe in you.
Love. When you think of love, “oh baby oh baby” of course comes to mind. To me, much more to the word. Yes, love of significant other, brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, grandkids… The word though, is limitless. Love of life. Love of sport. Love of occupation. Love of friends. Love of people watching. Love of the seasons. Love of outdoors. Love of protection indoors. Love of geography. Love of linguistics. Love of lasagna (or enter your choice here).. Love of coworkers. Love for the party. Love of smiles. Love of watching kids. Old folks.
Music. It’s an elixir. I’m generally tuned to Sport’s Talk enroute to/from work (cause the guys are hilarious) - but I too enjoy music. I sidetracks the mind from yuck. It penetrates the sole and causes excitement, relaxation, feel. We all enjoy our different types.
Well, I know with all my certainty,
What's going on with you and me,
Is a good thing.
It's true, I believe in you.
Well, again, situationally single. I have believed. Hope to again. I do believe in you here, your eyeballs. They lift me, and I’m thankful. I value our friendship.
I don't believe virginity,
Is as common as it used to be.
In working days and sleeping nights,
That black is black and white is white.
That Superman and Robin Hood,
Are still alive in Hollywood.
That gasoline's in short supply,
The rising cost of getting by.
I think this song was written in 1980, but oh is it time honored. “The rising cost of getting by.” The Superman/Robin Hood thing - I think it maybe means “being a kid all my life” and that plays huge with me. Fun is something else I forgot when defining love. I do think gas is in short supply, witness Iraq/Afghanistan and our occupation there.
But I believe in love.
I believe in old folks.
I believe in children.
I believe in you.
But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.
I believe in Santa… hands held… Fun emails to/from friends… making out… smiles… giving pats on back when due.. Peace and civility.. Respectfulness.. Admiration.. Fritos (sorry, a personal fav’).. BBQ ribs… doubling down in blackjack (a rush).. That first cup of coffee.. The newspaper hitting the drive.. The crack of a little league bat (ok, ‘ping’ nowadays.).. Rainbows.. Blue sky days.. A fresh fallen snow…. (Close your ears) Watching ‘her’ get up to go to the restroom after. Sorry. Kinda. Little piggy in all us men I guess.
There are many people out there I believe in, and I’m thankful for all the times, moments, hours we shared to get to that point.
Organic food? Nah. Not me. I’m off to get a 300 burger from the bowling alley. If you ever venture to Liberty, MO.. It’s a must.
Bye old folks. Mom, dad. Babies. You. I believe in you. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Do I repeat myself here? Do I repeat myself here?
(Editor’s note… this is the 3rd attempt at this GD [Gosh Darn] tweeter, blog, expose, whateverinthehell you wanna call it… I typed 3 pages on the original two, and kaboom, gone, lost. I ain’t no IT person. Dunno whatthehell happened. Just please note: The first and the second were MUCH more entertaining than this one!)
Yes, I repeat myself. Sorry. Can’t help it. Old. Happens. I’ve found myself many times in a crowd, looking them over.. I have an appropriate/related story, but not sure whointhehell I’ve told it to… So.. I blurt it out.. .and, normally, ten seconds into it I hear “yeah… that’s what you were saying”.. Chit. K, sorry. So this blog is about football, as in High School football.. I know I’ve touched on it a time or two, but tis new day… so………….. Solly!
Friday. Rained mosta the day. Continual. Not downpours, but steady. Piddled around after getting off at 5pm, taking the back roads to make the trek 15 miles East of The Big City so see my wonderful (he is) great nephew’s High School football game.
Cancer. Big cities are like cancer. In the years I’ve made this drive, the ‘greenspaces’ are disappearing. Friggin’ Big City is stretching, growing, ‘bout to get to this town… yet.. It still remains “Smalltown.” A very good thing.
Parked, walked toward the gate. Noticed a parking spot roped off.. Guy’s name painted on it.. Lots of painted notes from friends. Dunno.
Before I even got to my seat, the visitor’s had run back the opening kickoff for a touchdown. NO WAY! CAN’T BE! This is my great nephew’s Senior Season.. .THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. Did. Down the asphalt path.. Up the slippery aluminum stairs.. Founda seat. Wet it was. Had a program. Wanted to read it, keep it, but, figured dry butt outweighed reading program, plopped it down, sat.
You can’t beat High School football. It’s relief. It’s respite. Each and every sole at the game used the evening for their own purpose. Twenty percent, mebbe, were into each and every play. Dads wearing their kid’s jersey number.. Moms with hella sized blown up photo’s of their football playing kid on a button, attached to their top.
Forty percent. Simply there because it’s the smalltown thing to do.. See coworkers, friends, neighbors.. Chat.. (Or “chap” as my young stepson usedta call it) and occasionally steal a glance at the football field.
Bout that time “EAGLES 32 YARD TOUCHDOWN RUN BY #45 (enter my great nephew’s name here)”!!!!! Yeah! Fans clapped loudly and heartily.. I clapped too - but it was the ‘family clap’, perhaps a bit more intense and lengthy.
My great nephew, you see, is the grandson of my deceased sister. (Victor, you’ve told this before.).. Sorry, can’t help it, gotta continue. Sure, I’m biased, but many are in his corner as “great kid”.. and, a pretty damn fine football player. Middle Linebacker, Fullback. He’s got my sister’s initials on his cleats in magic marker. Far far out.
Literally moments after his score, a rainbow encompassed the entire stadium. YES. I do believe. And YES, I think there’s a connection.
I sat on the enda the row.. Adjacent to a banister railing.. Time after time, snotnoses from 4 to 12 would see the railing, climb atop.. Slide down.. And get up and do it again. I seriously considered using my grumpy old man voice to say “HEY.. I can’t see the game.. Can you STOP?”.. .didn’t.. I simply bobbed and weaved my head around them… as… Victor, don’t spoil it for them - we each have our own way, purpose on this night.. And to them, the sliding is a blast. I behaved.
Teams traded touchdowns. Nailbiter. Needa cig. Remember the rain. Some seventy yards away was the restroom, the concession stand, and the smoking area. En route, there was a 6’ wide asphalt path.. And on either side of it wet, muddy, green grass. Some highly sloped.
Outta my seat.. Down the slickass steps.. To the path.. However… Snotnoses huddled, talking, completely unaware or uncaring that they’re in the way of all of us to get from Point A to Point B. So, we go around. I felt sorry for the 60 and 70-somethings that had to traverse thru the slippery, muddy grass to make it around the snotnoses. One old fart in particular (me) slipped on the slope as he attempted to go around.. Damn near falling to his knees before he caught his balance, quickly checked out body parts to make sure “all ok?”.. As this old fart was mid-America’s Funniest Videos”, a group of ten to twelve snotnoses leaning up agin the fence burst out in laughter. I considered the grumpy ole man mode… then simply giggled inside.. For had I been in their size 5 shoes, I’da done the same thing.
Finally, a cig. Mom, dad, 3 yr old infronta me. Smokers too. Well, not the 3 yr old. Give her a few. Anyways, 3 yr old runs off behind me. You ever notice little chits? They play that game “I wanna JUST how far I can go before they holler my name, tell me to get back here.” Dad.. Noticing she was behind me.. Looked me in the eyes, admonished her and finished with “don’t you get out of our sight”. A sad statement to our day and age, but I certainly understood.
Ran inta onea my two gorgeous nieces.. This one happens to be mom to #45. Great visit, she looked, sounded great. Asked her about the blocked off parking space.. “Oh.. Sad deal.. One of the players committed suicide right before the first game.” Damn. Darn. No. So much life ahead. No going back. Wish we could. Privy to way too many incidents of this in my life. In spite of personal bouts of situational depression, I’ve NEVER understood suicide. Never.
Bout that time, onea the older moms on the team, she, wearing the big button with her son’s face plastered on it… walked by.. And ya know, she actually gave me a very very flirtatious smile. The immediate male, instinctive thing told me to “tackle her, kiss her, be swift with your tongue.” The old man in me giggled… thought.. “too dark, she must notta noticed these crevices… or, perhaps… I mighta looked like her dad.” Niece supplied the feel good ending with “hey. .maybe she simply was flirting with you.”.. I peed a bit, then went back to watching game.
Halftime. Marching band. “Bees” (everyone in stadium) in motion. Groups snotnoses old enough to be out of sight of their folks, yet too young to drive gathered on the grassy knoll. They had a football. Cool,, I thought. I get to see some future “Eagles”. Nope. They were playing a game. It involved one football.. 22 cell phones.. Tons of little groups, conversations.. And.. When the moment was ‘just right’, the one with the football tried to throw and blast the face of one who wasn’t paying attention. Strange game, but hey, I’m from the 60’s, whatever works.
Second half. Seated on program. In my most, truly, uncreepy-like-old man thoughts, words.. Up walked a very pretty little gal.. As she walked past, I noticed on the back of her shirt “Class of 2016.” All at once I felt “no friggin way”.. “please, someone touch me.. Am I dead?”.. and “GD, that’s a lotta years.”
HEY HEY… touchdown numero 2 for #45!.. Again, that loud family clap.. Proud I was. Truthfully, I couldn’ta cared if he was a 350 lb tuba player instead.. He’s just a good, good kid. It so happens, he’s a very good football player.
With two minutes remaining, old guy traverses the 6’ wide path toward his car. “Good guys” up by 12. Yeah! I’d seen old folks. Young folks. Snotnoses every age. Happy folks. Beautiful people, and not so beautiful people. Serious people, and very laid back people. You gotta love Friday night High School football games - no matter where you are in America.
I don’t have any catchy ending, saying here. Just a few hours out of my life that I TRULY enjoyed. (Woulda, even had we been on the short end, or, if I was watching/cheering the tuba player).. I love small towns. I love Friday nights. I love the fact that each and every person there was there for their purpose - and that it was a respite from the every day hustle/bustle.
I love people watching, and I think I love that mom with the button that smiled at me. Jk, kinda.
I hope your Labor Day weekend wasn’t laborious. I’ve thankfully managed to fit fun in mine. God Blessya.. With love… Victurd.
Yes, I repeat myself. Sorry. Can’t help it. Old. Happens. I’ve found myself many times in a crowd, looking them over.. I have an appropriate/related story, but not sure whointhehell I’ve told it to… So.. I blurt it out.. .and, normally, ten seconds into it I hear “yeah… that’s what you were saying”.. Chit. K, sorry. So this blog is about football, as in High School football.. I know I’ve touched on it a time or two, but tis new day… so………….. Solly!
Friday. Rained mosta the day. Continual. Not downpours, but steady. Piddled around after getting off at 5pm, taking the back roads to make the trek 15 miles East of The Big City so see my wonderful (he is) great nephew’s High School football game.
Cancer. Big cities are like cancer. In the years I’ve made this drive, the ‘greenspaces’ are disappearing. Friggin’ Big City is stretching, growing, ‘bout to get to this town… yet.. It still remains “Smalltown.” A very good thing.
Parked, walked toward the gate. Noticed a parking spot roped off.. Guy’s name painted on it.. Lots of painted notes from friends. Dunno.
Before I even got to my seat, the visitor’s had run back the opening kickoff for a touchdown. NO WAY! CAN’T BE! This is my great nephew’s Senior Season.. .THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. Did. Down the asphalt path.. Up the slippery aluminum stairs.. Founda seat. Wet it was. Had a program. Wanted to read it, keep it, but, figured dry butt outweighed reading program, plopped it down, sat.
You can’t beat High School football. It’s relief. It’s respite. Each and every sole at the game used the evening for their own purpose. Twenty percent, mebbe, were into each and every play. Dads wearing their kid’s jersey number.. Moms with hella sized blown up photo’s of their football playing kid on a button, attached to their top.
Forty percent. Simply there because it’s the smalltown thing to do.. See coworkers, friends, neighbors.. Chat.. (Or “chap” as my young stepson usedta call it) and occasionally steal a glance at the football field.
Bout that time “EAGLES 32 YARD TOUCHDOWN RUN BY #45 (enter my great nephew’s name here)”!!!!! Yeah! Fans clapped loudly and heartily.. I clapped too - but it was the ‘family clap’, perhaps a bit more intense and lengthy.
My great nephew, you see, is the grandson of my deceased sister. (Victor, you’ve told this before.).. Sorry, can’t help it, gotta continue. Sure, I’m biased, but many are in his corner as “great kid”.. and, a pretty damn fine football player. Middle Linebacker, Fullback. He’s got my sister’s initials on his cleats in magic marker. Far far out.
Literally moments after his score, a rainbow encompassed the entire stadium. YES. I do believe. And YES, I think there’s a connection.
I sat on the enda the row.. Adjacent to a banister railing.. Time after time, snotnoses from 4 to 12 would see the railing, climb atop.. Slide down.. And get up and do it again. I seriously considered using my grumpy old man voice to say “HEY.. I can’t see the game.. Can you STOP?”.. .didn’t.. I simply bobbed and weaved my head around them… as… Victor, don’t spoil it for them - we each have our own way, purpose on this night.. And to them, the sliding is a blast. I behaved.
Teams traded touchdowns. Nailbiter. Needa cig. Remember the rain. Some seventy yards away was the restroom, the concession stand, and the smoking area. En route, there was a 6’ wide asphalt path.. And on either side of it wet, muddy, green grass. Some highly sloped.
Outta my seat.. Down the slickass steps.. To the path.. However… Snotnoses huddled, talking, completely unaware or uncaring that they’re in the way of all of us to get from Point A to Point B. So, we go around. I felt sorry for the 60 and 70-somethings that had to traverse thru the slippery, muddy grass to make it around the snotnoses. One old fart in particular (me) slipped on the slope as he attempted to go around.. Damn near falling to his knees before he caught his balance, quickly checked out body parts to make sure “all ok?”.. As this old fart was mid-America’s Funniest Videos”, a group of ten to twelve snotnoses leaning up agin the fence burst out in laughter. I considered the grumpy ole man mode… then simply giggled inside.. For had I been in their size 5 shoes, I’da done the same thing.
Finally, a cig. Mom, dad, 3 yr old infronta me. Smokers too. Well, not the 3 yr old. Give her a few. Anyways, 3 yr old runs off behind me. You ever notice little chits? They play that game “I wanna JUST how far I can go before they holler my name, tell me to get back here.” Dad.. Noticing she was behind me.. Looked me in the eyes, admonished her and finished with “don’t you get out of our sight”. A sad statement to our day and age, but I certainly understood.
Ran inta onea my two gorgeous nieces.. This one happens to be mom to #45. Great visit, she looked, sounded great. Asked her about the blocked off parking space.. “Oh.. Sad deal.. One of the players committed suicide right before the first game.” Damn. Darn. No. So much life ahead. No going back. Wish we could. Privy to way too many incidents of this in my life. In spite of personal bouts of situational depression, I’ve NEVER understood suicide. Never.
Bout that time, onea the older moms on the team, she, wearing the big button with her son’s face plastered on it… walked by.. And ya know, she actually gave me a very very flirtatious smile. The immediate male, instinctive thing told me to “tackle her, kiss her, be swift with your tongue.” The old man in me giggled… thought.. “too dark, she must notta noticed these crevices… or, perhaps… I mighta looked like her dad.” Niece supplied the feel good ending with “hey. .maybe she simply was flirting with you.”.. I peed a bit, then went back to watching game.
Halftime. Marching band. “Bees” (everyone in stadium) in motion. Groups snotnoses old enough to be out of sight of their folks, yet too young to drive gathered on the grassy knoll. They had a football. Cool,, I thought. I get to see some future “Eagles”. Nope. They were playing a game. It involved one football.. 22 cell phones.. Tons of little groups, conversations.. And.. When the moment was ‘just right’, the one with the football tried to throw and blast the face of one who wasn’t paying attention. Strange game, but hey, I’m from the 60’s, whatever works.
Second half. Seated on program. In my most, truly, uncreepy-like-old man thoughts, words.. Up walked a very pretty little gal.. As she walked past, I noticed on the back of her shirt “Class of 2016.” All at once I felt “no friggin way”.. “please, someone touch me.. Am I dead?”.. and “GD, that’s a lotta years.”
HEY HEY… touchdown numero 2 for #45!.. Again, that loud family clap.. Proud I was. Truthfully, I couldn’ta cared if he was a 350 lb tuba player instead.. He’s just a good, good kid. It so happens, he’s a very good football player.
With two minutes remaining, old guy traverses the 6’ wide path toward his car. “Good guys” up by 12. Yeah! I’d seen old folks. Young folks. Snotnoses every age. Happy folks. Beautiful people, and not so beautiful people. Serious people, and very laid back people. You gotta love Friday night High School football games - no matter where you are in America.
I don’t have any catchy ending, saying here. Just a few hours out of my life that I TRULY enjoyed. (Woulda, even had we been on the short end, or, if I was watching/cheering the tuba player).. I love small towns. I love Friday nights. I love the fact that each and every person there was there for their purpose - and that it was a respite from the every day hustle/bustle.
I love people watching, and I think I love that mom with the button that smiled at me. Jk, kinda.
I hope your Labor Day weekend wasn’t laborious. I’ve thankfully managed to fit fun in mine. God Blessya.. With love… Victurd.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Stand By Me……
When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me
Life. Friends. Loved ones. Coworkers. Past coworkers. Old school buds. Little League teammate. Neighborhood friend. Yes, perhaps even former lovers.
And darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh now now stand by me
Stand by me, stand by me
This theory works both ways of course. Sometimes it’s tough – sometimes you don’t want ‘stood by’… Sometimes u just don’t feel like standing by. Time. Time helps.
If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
And the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me
Tears are ok, my book. Sure, it’s even ok [perhaps in private if we can] to shed an occasional tear for one’s self. To walk around emitting gloom and doom somehow just ain’t right. Speaks of the game “ain’t it awful.”.. Try not to do that. Think I do an Ok job. I am so very thankful for those that have stood by me – and if there have been times I’ve been absent – please know in mind I ain’t. I’m there. My best friend Sanford recently demonstrated the kinda loyalty I’m referring to. Included the word “forever.” I likes that. Feelings are mutual.
And darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh stand by me
Stand by me, stand by me, stand by me-e, yeah
You go Benny, sing it brother. Something about this song just gives me chills – makes me wanna hug whoeverinthehell is right next to me. The movie rocked too. Our family watched it over, and over, and over again. Stand by me.
Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me, oh now now stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me, stand by me
Darlin', darlin', stand by me-e, stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me, stand by me
I’m reminded too of the Jesus/footprints in the sand story. You know the one. Life rocks. Camaraderie, love, mutual respect/appreciation make the world healthy. Scram hatred, there’s love in the air.
Whenever you’re in trouble won’t you stand by me……… Tune in tomorrow when we might do “I’ll be there”….
In ending, a friend sent a pretty good email of a 60 Minutes story. I think there’s a quickie Intel ad infronta it (sorry).. Hope you enjoy the story as much as I. Has stand by me written allover it. Life is good baby, let them tears flow………. Love, Victurd.
http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=5000003n
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me
Life. Friends. Loved ones. Coworkers. Past coworkers. Old school buds. Little League teammate. Neighborhood friend. Yes, perhaps even former lovers.
And darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh now now stand by me
Stand by me, stand by me
This theory works both ways of course. Sometimes it’s tough – sometimes you don’t want ‘stood by’… Sometimes u just don’t feel like standing by. Time. Time helps.
If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
And the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me
Tears are ok, my book. Sure, it’s even ok [perhaps in private if we can] to shed an occasional tear for one’s self. To walk around emitting gloom and doom somehow just ain’t right. Speaks of the game “ain’t it awful.”.. Try not to do that. Think I do an Ok job. I am so very thankful for those that have stood by me – and if there have been times I’ve been absent – please know in mind I ain’t. I’m there. My best friend Sanford recently demonstrated the kinda loyalty I’m referring to. Included the word “forever.” I likes that. Feelings are mutual.
And darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh stand by me
Stand by me, stand by me, stand by me-e, yeah
You go Benny, sing it brother. Something about this song just gives me chills – makes me wanna hug whoeverinthehell is right next to me. The movie rocked too. Our family watched it over, and over, and over again. Stand by me.
Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me, oh now now stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me, stand by me
Darlin', darlin', stand by me-e, stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me, stand by me
I’m reminded too of the Jesus/footprints in the sand story. You know the one. Life rocks. Camaraderie, love, mutual respect/appreciation make the world healthy. Scram hatred, there’s love in the air.
Whenever you’re in trouble won’t you stand by me……… Tune in tomorrow when we might do “I’ll be there”….
In ending, a friend sent a pretty good email of a 60 Minutes story. I think there’s a quickie Intel ad infronta it (sorry).. Hope you enjoy the story as much as I. Has stand by me written allover it. Life is good baby, let them tears flow………. Love, Victurd.
http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=5000003n
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Brass in pocket
Got brass in pocket
Got bottle, I'm gonna use it
Intention, I feel inventive
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Got motion, restrained emotion
Been driving, Detroit leaning
No reason, just seems so pleasing
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Wow, been awhile. Been a few. This whole ‘trip’ began in 2001. The Big Sep. Tippy toeing in the waters, in search of a new. A ‘replacement’? “Another.” “The one” (third).. “Her.”
Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination
Gonna use the internet. Gonna use nightclubs. Gonna use work. Gonna use friends.
Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me
Whilst Chrissie Hynde so wonderfully sings the lyrics of a song that makes one REALLY REALLY “FEEL” – I ain’t so sure I gots the confidence to accompany the lyrics. If I did, me thinks I wouldn’t share my bed with a GD (Gosh Darn – and I love him) cat.
Got rhythm, I can't miss a beat
Got new skank, it's so reet
Got something, I'm winking at you
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Searching blindly. Grabbing without fingers. Eyeing without verbalizing. Touching only to run. Hugging, with silent goodbyes.
Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination
Done all that. The Chase can really be poopy. U like one, she no like u. One like u, u no like her. U both like, then little idiosyncrasies make you ask “do I really wanna do this until the enda time?” And usually ‘no’. So u go. Or she goes.
Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me
Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me
I DO feel I’m special – it’s just that about 99% of the time I can’t convince myself that. When that confidence rarely sets in – I go, I do, I be, we be. There’s always an end. Reckon everything ends. I’d just like to gnaw on the whole rib for awhile (relax, I’m talking barbecue) versus having short, burnt ends. Six months or so has been the longest ride (after a six year thingy and a 20+ year thingy.)
Some wonderful ladies, some wonderful, incredible times. Like a stiff arm block in football – usually one side or the other fends it off.
Victor, you’re weird. Uh huh, prolly so. Don’t care, tis me. Likea play in the third act, I’m kinda excited to see how this puppy ends.
Gonna use my fingers. (Pervert - I'm talking about typing)....
Gonna use my, my, my imagination. Don’t worry, be horny………. er, be happy. Love, Victurd.
Got bottle, I'm gonna use it
Intention, I feel inventive
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Got motion, restrained emotion
Been driving, Detroit leaning
No reason, just seems so pleasing
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Wow, been awhile. Been a few. This whole ‘trip’ began in 2001. The Big Sep. Tippy toeing in the waters, in search of a new. A ‘replacement’? “Another.” “The one” (third).. “Her.”
Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination
Gonna use the internet. Gonna use nightclubs. Gonna use work. Gonna use friends.
Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me
Whilst Chrissie Hynde so wonderfully sings the lyrics of a song that makes one REALLY REALLY “FEEL” – I ain’t so sure I gots the confidence to accompany the lyrics. If I did, me thinks I wouldn’t share my bed with a GD (Gosh Darn – and I love him) cat.
Got rhythm, I can't miss a beat
Got new skank, it's so reet
Got something, I'm winking at you
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice
Searching blindly. Grabbing without fingers. Eyeing without verbalizing. Touching only to run. Hugging, with silent goodbyes.
Gonna use my arms
Gonna use my legs
Gonna use my style
Gonna use my sidestep
Gonna use my fingers
Gonna use my, my, my imagination
Done all that. The Chase can really be poopy. U like one, she no like u. One like u, u no like her. U both like, then little idiosyncrasies make you ask “do I really wanna do this until the enda time?” And usually ‘no’. So u go. Or she goes.
Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me
Coz I, gonna make you see
There's nobody else here
No one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention
Give it to me
I DO feel I’m special – it’s just that about 99% of the time I can’t convince myself that. When that confidence rarely sets in – I go, I do, I be, we be. There’s always an end. Reckon everything ends. I’d just like to gnaw on the whole rib for awhile (relax, I’m talking barbecue) versus having short, burnt ends. Six months or so has been the longest ride (after a six year thingy and a 20+ year thingy.)
Some wonderful ladies, some wonderful, incredible times. Like a stiff arm block in football – usually one side or the other fends it off.
Victor, you’re weird. Uh huh, prolly so. Don’t care, tis me. Likea play in the third act, I’m kinda excited to see how this puppy ends.
Gonna use my fingers. (Pervert - I'm talking about typing)....
Gonna use my, my, my imagination. Don’t worry, be horny………. er, be happy. Love, Victurd.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)