Love is in the air everywhere I look around
Love is in the air every sight and every sound
Love is. Love abounds. Not just he/she love, love of anything, everything. Friends. Job. Co-workers. Relatives. Life
And I don't know if I'm being foolish
I don't know if I'm being wise
But it's something that I must believe in
And it's there when I look in your eyes.
Next to smiles, eyes ‘talk’ the loudest. Capturing moments of folks having fun, enjoying another. Sucking up every inch, moment, second life has to offer…
Love is in the air, in the whisper of the trees,
Love is in the air in the thunder of the sea,
And I don't know if I'm just dreaming,
I don't know if I feel safe,
But it's something that I must believe in
And it's there when I call out your name.
Whilst I am not ‘with one’, happy to announce “I’m in love with life.” Whilst I may not like little bitty things about some, I love ‘em all. The daily occurrences, the every-so-often visits with others - it all adds up to who I am, you are, we are. And it’s a very good thing.
Love is in the air, love is in the air, oh, oh, oh, oh, uh,
Uh, uh, uh.
Love is in the air, in the rising of the sun,
Love is in the air, when the day is nearly done,
And I don't know if you are illusion,
Don't know if I see truth,
But you are something that I must believe in,
And you are there when I reach out for you.
So very true. Some seem to have that built in sonar to know when to sing another similar song “You’ve got a friend." Some have the timing to say something kinda fun, smartass, to assist in bringing the corners of the mouth up to bring on my smiles.. Your smiles..
Love is in the air everywhere I look around
Love is in the air every sight and every sound
And I don't know if I'm being foolish
I don't know if I'm being wise
But it's something that I must believe in
And it's there when I look in your eyes.
Love is in the air, love is in the air, oh, oh, oh, oh, uh,
Uh, uh, uh.
Gooey perhaps, I don’t care. The great thing about aging… another damn song, “I did it my way.” If I want to get on the stupid internet, announce that I “love love”, inspitea how it may not be someone’s cup of tea, screw that, I will anyways!
Life is a wonderful jigsaw puzzle - and lovers, friends, relatives, coworkers, teammates, et all - ‘snap together’ to compile a life. Puzzles with missing pieces perhaps indicate the loss of one - it just doesn’t look/feel right, yet we carry on in building that puzzle.
Love is in the air.. With every hello, smile, phone call, handshake, hug, nod, smartass comment, note, email, wave… “I’m in pieces, bits and pieces.” In a wonderful way.
Spring’s around the corner. Love happens. Make love not war. (Smartass comments ok though).. Love (is in the air), Victurd.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Inch…
I love that word. Virtually everything around us has ‘inch’ in it. The 34” belt I’m wearing. The 7 5/8” hat.. The 17” monitor you’re looking at to read this.. And uh huh, we have the inch word involved with our breast sizes and you-know-what sizes.. They say there is correlation ’tween the inches of a man’s thumb to his you-know-what.. Damn that I could never palm a basketball.. Inchy.. Oh Ok, I too know it's a 36" belt.. and YES, I realize it's getting pretty tight.
Obits. To me, people are people, all worthy. $ome, when they pass, get tons of more inches in the obits ‘cause they can affordta. Doesn’t make $ense to me, but reckon it does to the newspaper.
S’more diddies I ran down.. Every inch of the body has an average of 32 million bacteria on it. Keeping up with the Jones’s has us purchasing bigger and better inched HD TV’s. “Harvey just boughta 48”…., come on, we’re going to Best Buy.”
We grew up on 8 ½ by 11. Kids nowadays listen to Nine Inch Nails… Mommy and daddy buy for them the biggest inch display all-everything cell phone they can.. We were sposedta get ridda inch, go to metric in the 60’s, ain’t never happened.
We got 3 inches of rain. Don’t move an inch. Sometimes my van inches along very slowly. Inchworm. Men can read maps better than women. Cause only the male mind could conceive of one inch equaling a hundred miles. Give him an inch, and he takes a mile
I'm about five inches from being an outstanding golfer. That's the distance my left ear is from my right. ~Ben Crenshaw.. An inch of time is an inch of gold but you can't buy that inch of time with an inch of gold.
The average pencil is seven inches long, with just a half-inch eraser - in case you thought optimism was dead. Scarlett O'Hara had 16 inch waist in the beginning of Gone with the Wind....
If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool..
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.
If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.
You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).
I stole somea this. Bout an inch worth. Back in a few. Taking my 5’11” person to Lumber store. Gonna go buy me some 2 by 4’s. Then, I’ll chow down on a 6 inch sub. Dunno if I’ll have time to buy the much needed fitteen inch tires. Sorry this grew to so many inches. You know us men, we tend to overestimate the truth about inches. Rise up and tell the truth.
With love, from 1.25” margins, Victurd.
Obits. To me, people are people, all worthy. $ome, when they pass, get tons of more inches in the obits ‘cause they can affordta. Doesn’t make $ense to me, but reckon it does to the newspaper.
S’more diddies I ran down.. Every inch of the body has an average of 32 million bacteria on it. Keeping up with the Jones’s has us purchasing bigger and better inched HD TV’s. “Harvey just boughta 48”…., come on, we’re going to Best Buy.”
We grew up on 8 ½ by 11. Kids nowadays listen to Nine Inch Nails… Mommy and daddy buy for them the biggest inch display all-everything cell phone they can.. We were sposedta get ridda inch, go to metric in the 60’s, ain’t never happened.
We got 3 inches of rain. Don’t move an inch. Sometimes my van inches along very slowly. Inchworm. Men can read maps better than women. Cause only the male mind could conceive of one inch equaling a hundred miles. Give him an inch, and he takes a mile
I'm about five inches from being an outstanding golfer. That's the distance my left ear is from my right. ~Ben Crenshaw.. An inch of time is an inch of gold but you can't buy that inch of time with an inch of gold.
The average pencil is seven inches long, with just a half-inch eraser - in case you thought optimism was dead. Scarlett O'Hara had 16 inch waist in the beginning of Gone with the Wind....
If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool..
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.
If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.
You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).
I stole somea this. Bout an inch worth. Back in a few. Taking my 5’11” person to Lumber store. Gonna go buy me some 2 by 4’s. Then, I’ll chow down on a 6 inch sub. Dunno if I’ll have time to buy the much needed fitteen inch tires. Sorry this grew to so many inches. You know us men, we tend to overestimate the truth about inches. Rise up and tell the truth.
With love, from 1.25” margins, Victurd.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Cat in the hat?
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day. I sat there with ‘Sally.’ We sat there, we two. And I said, "How I wish We had something to do!" Too wet to go out And too cold to play ball.
(With apologies to Doc Seuss, most of the above is true. Names changed to protect the innocent…that.. and we realize you’re not innocent enough to believe “How I wish we had something to do.”)
So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all. So all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit!
Sit! And we did not like it. Not one little bit. And then Something went BUMP! How that bump made us jump! We looked! Then we saw him step in on the mat! We looked! And we saw him! The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us, "Why do you sit there like that?" I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny. But we can have Lots of good fun that is funny!" "I know some good games we could play," Said the cat. "I know some new tricks," said the Cat in the Hat. "A lot of good tricks. I will show them to you. Your mother Will not mind at all if I do."
( I said to myself “scram damn cat, don’t you realize it’s been actually YEARS since I’ve had a woman in this house… and you want to play games?”)
Then Sally and I did not know what to say. My mother was out of the house for the day. But our fish said, "No! No! Make that cat go away! Tell that Cat in the Hat You do NOT want to play. He should not be here. He should not be about. He should not be here When mother is out!"
(This smells fishy, ‘cause I don’t have a fish. The cat actually lives here, but for story sakes, read ahead.)
"Now! Now! Have no fear. Have no fear!" said the cat. "My tricks are not bad," Said the Cat in the Hat. "Why we can have lots of good fun, if you wish, with a game that I call Up-Up-Up with a fish!" said the fish. "This is no fun at all! Put me down!" said the fish. “I do not wish to fall!"
"Have no fear!" said the cat. "I will not let you fall. I will hold you up high As I stand on this ball. With a book on one hand! And a cup on my hat! But that is not ALL I can do!" Said the cat...
(This cat is really starting to piss me off now… screw fish games, I wanna play spin the bottle… maybe “hide the weenie” (VICTOR!).. sorry.. scroll to “been a long time.”
"Look at me Look at me now!" said the cat. "With a cup and a cake on top of my hat! I can hold up TWO books! I can hold up the fish! And a little toy ship! And some milk on a dish!
And Look! I can hop up and down on the ball! But that is not all! Oh, no. That is not all...
"Look at me! Look at me! Look at me now! It is fun to have fun but you have to know how.
That is what the cat said... Then he fell on his head! He came down with a bump From up there on the ball.
And Sally and I, saw all the things fall! And our fish came down, too. He fell into a pot! He said, "Do I like this? Oh, no! I do not! This is not a good game," Said our fish as he lit,
"And I do not like it, Not one little bit!" "Now look what you did!" Said the fish to the cat. "Now look at this house! Look at this! Look at that!
You sank our toy ship, sank it deep in the cake. You shook up our house And you bent our new rake.”
(Now wait just a gosh darn minute… ONE GOSH DARN MINUTE… You KNOW that ain’t the way it went.. Yes, I do remember, there wasn’t even a fish.. The cat did try some tricks – jumping here, jumping there, moaning hideously – I believe very JEALOUS he suddenly realized it wasn’t just him and me…. Sally was there.)
I loved Cat in the Hat, an alltime favorite nursery rhyme..
Sorry to say, twasn’t that end this time….
So… so very sadly true this turn of the verse…..
Sally was ready to go, learned the cat had peed on her purse.
(Sadly true.. story of my life… checkenginelight. No reverse. Roof leaking in three rooms. Waaay too frequent Happy Hour attendant… and the damn cat peed on her purse.)
It’s a fable ain’t it Aesop? Love, Victurd.
(With apologies to Doc Seuss, most of the above is true. Names changed to protect the innocent…that.. and we realize you’re not innocent enough to believe “How I wish we had something to do.”)
So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all. So all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit!
Sit! And we did not like it. Not one little bit. And then Something went BUMP! How that bump made us jump! We looked! Then we saw him step in on the mat! We looked! And we saw him! The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us, "Why do you sit there like that?" I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny. But we can have Lots of good fun that is funny!" "I know some good games we could play," Said the cat. "I know some new tricks," said the Cat in the Hat. "A lot of good tricks. I will show them to you. Your mother Will not mind at all if I do."
( I said to myself “scram damn cat, don’t you realize it’s been actually YEARS since I’ve had a woman in this house… and you want to play games?”)
Then Sally and I did not know what to say. My mother was out of the house for the day. But our fish said, "No! No! Make that cat go away! Tell that Cat in the Hat You do NOT want to play. He should not be here. He should not be about. He should not be here When mother is out!"
(This smells fishy, ‘cause I don’t have a fish. The cat actually lives here, but for story sakes, read ahead.)
"Now! Now! Have no fear. Have no fear!" said the cat. "My tricks are not bad," Said the Cat in the Hat. "Why we can have lots of good fun, if you wish, with a game that I call Up-Up-Up with a fish!" said the fish. "This is no fun at all! Put me down!" said the fish. “I do not wish to fall!"
"Have no fear!" said the cat. "I will not let you fall. I will hold you up high As I stand on this ball. With a book on one hand! And a cup on my hat! But that is not ALL I can do!" Said the cat...
(This cat is really starting to piss me off now… screw fish games, I wanna play spin the bottle… maybe “hide the weenie” (VICTOR!).. sorry.. scroll to “been a long time.”
"Look at me Look at me now!" said the cat. "With a cup and a cake on top of my hat! I can hold up TWO books! I can hold up the fish! And a little toy ship! And some milk on a dish!
And Look! I can hop up and down on the ball! But that is not all! Oh, no. That is not all...
"Look at me! Look at me! Look at me now! It is fun to have fun but you have to know how.
That is what the cat said... Then he fell on his head! He came down with a bump From up there on the ball.
And Sally and I, saw all the things fall! And our fish came down, too. He fell into a pot! He said, "Do I like this? Oh, no! I do not! This is not a good game," Said our fish as he lit,
"And I do not like it, Not one little bit!" "Now look what you did!" Said the fish to the cat. "Now look at this house! Look at this! Look at that!
You sank our toy ship, sank it deep in the cake. You shook up our house And you bent our new rake.”
(Now wait just a gosh darn minute… ONE GOSH DARN MINUTE… You KNOW that ain’t the way it went.. Yes, I do remember, there wasn’t even a fish.. The cat did try some tricks – jumping here, jumping there, moaning hideously – I believe very JEALOUS he suddenly realized it wasn’t just him and me…. Sally was there.)
I loved Cat in the Hat, an alltime favorite nursery rhyme..
Sorry to say, twasn’t that end this time….
So… so very sadly true this turn of the verse…..
Sally was ready to go, learned the cat had peed on her purse.
(Sadly true.. story of my life… checkenginelight. No reverse. Roof leaking in three rooms. Waaay too frequent Happy Hour attendant… and the damn cat peed on her purse.)
It’s a fable ain’t it Aesop? Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Twenty minutes….
Twenty minutes until work beckons… right? Write….
Can do many things in 20 minutes.. Make a baby.. Drive to Mickey D’s/eat.. Wing down to the city.. Why, we men could do the 3 S’s in 20 minutes…
You could marry in 20 minutes.. Get fired.. Get hired.. Watch the Erin Andrews video four times.. Sorry.. (Damn it was too grainy!)… Watch a 30 minute sitcom that’s been recorded and u tivo thru the commercials..
You could get bored in 20 minutes – which I am now.. so I know if I am, you sureashell are.
The weather – BLAH!.. Weather feller this morning “The average temp for this timea year is 48… well.. our wind chill presently is one below, and we won’t see forty for quite some time.”
I’m reminded.. people… it’s infectious.. we’re tired of it.. “I am SO ready for Spring” one said yesterday.. Anudder, on way out door to smoke “OHHHHHHHHH”.. We’re mebbe a bit testy.
I’m reminded.. our attitudes.. ya ever seen a dog just before he attacks? He gives you that sideways look… not really catching your eyes.. but somehow confidently aware you’re aware.. and then it happens… one side of the upper lip slowly raises up, and goes kinda spaz.. speaks volumes about how the hound feels.. emotions pent, now leaking out.. furrowed.. GRRRRRRR.. That’s us, all of us, here in the frozen tundra. We are in the snarl mode.
I think it would be fun to walk around the office… out and about with friends.. and stop, give that sideways look, and snarl.. raising (just one side) of the upper lip.. I’ve had it, we’ve had it, Global Warming preachers are idiots, it’s cold, I want my mommy.
Aha, I know. I can go sit in the sauna for 20 minutes.. or.. the Jacuzzi.. Heaven.. Yeah, guess you could get to Heaven in 20 minutes.. or the other place.. pending on how much you’ve snarled through your life..
Speakin’ o hounds.. wouldn’t it be great if peopledom allowed us too to walk around, pick any spot, a friend’s car, a coworkers desk, buddy’s barstool – and we could stop, mebbe snarl a bit, and then hike a leg up and just pee? (Victor, are you really fitty-something?).. Uh huh, but not for long. Few more years. Several thousand twenty-minutes..
When you stop and think about it, dogs have it made. They get to furrow, raise that front lip on one side – and they still get petted, don’t haveta go to the grocery store, buy their own food.. letalone ever work a day in their life. They can walkup anywhere they want and hike a leg. They can even, close you’re ears, doink in broad daylight if they wanna.. No marriages, no lawyers.. they wean their young young.. I wanna be a dog. (Some might say you are one Victor.) Mebbe. Arf. Snarl. Furrow. Hike.
Wouldn’t it be awesome if someone entered your yard, your cubicle, your wherever you were – you could stop, give ‘em that sideways look, snarl, and the bark your ass off? Would be great for the cubicle. A dog’s life. Permanent vacation. The only time you’d have to face this awful cold is to pee or poop. Sign me up.
Blog. You can blog in 20 minutes. Or, do 13 tweets. I ain’ta tweeter. Not even on Facebook. I did the Lycos, then MSN, then Yahoo, then MySpace.. huh uh, that’s it, enough. Blow the whistle. Tweet. Done. Blogging is plenty.
The last ten minutes of my twenty, I shall go smoke. BRRRRRRR..
Or……… you can waste twenty minutes as you/I’ve just done. Sorry. But, hope you had baby smile. If not, a snarl is good. Bark if u wanna. Or hell, hike a leg. Doesn’t mutter to me. Have a great one. Lotta twenty minutes within a day – have ‘em how you want. Love, Victurd.
Can do many things in 20 minutes.. Make a baby.. Drive to Mickey D’s/eat.. Wing down to the city.. Why, we men could do the 3 S’s in 20 minutes…
You could marry in 20 minutes.. Get fired.. Get hired.. Watch the Erin Andrews video four times.. Sorry.. (Damn it was too grainy!)… Watch a 30 minute sitcom that’s been recorded and u tivo thru the commercials..
You could get bored in 20 minutes – which I am now.. so I know if I am, you sureashell are.
The weather – BLAH!.. Weather feller this morning “The average temp for this timea year is 48… well.. our wind chill presently is one below, and we won’t see forty for quite some time.”
I’m reminded.. people… it’s infectious.. we’re tired of it.. “I am SO ready for Spring” one said yesterday.. Anudder, on way out door to smoke “OHHHHHHHHH”.. We’re mebbe a bit testy.
I’m reminded.. our attitudes.. ya ever seen a dog just before he attacks? He gives you that sideways look… not really catching your eyes.. but somehow confidently aware you’re aware.. and then it happens… one side of the upper lip slowly raises up, and goes kinda spaz.. speaks volumes about how the hound feels.. emotions pent, now leaking out.. furrowed.. GRRRRRRR.. That’s us, all of us, here in the frozen tundra. We are in the snarl mode.
I think it would be fun to walk around the office… out and about with friends.. and stop, give that sideways look, and snarl.. raising (just one side) of the upper lip.. I’ve had it, we’ve had it, Global Warming preachers are idiots, it’s cold, I want my mommy.
Aha, I know. I can go sit in the sauna for 20 minutes.. or.. the Jacuzzi.. Heaven.. Yeah, guess you could get to Heaven in 20 minutes.. or the other place.. pending on how much you’ve snarled through your life..
Speakin’ o hounds.. wouldn’t it be great if peopledom allowed us too to walk around, pick any spot, a friend’s car, a coworkers desk, buddy’s barstool – and we could stop, mebbe snarl a bit, and then hike a leg up and just pee? (Victor, are you really fitty-something?).. Uh huh, but not for long. Few more years. Several thousand twenty-minutes..
When you stop and think about it, dogs have it made. They get to furrow, raise that front lip on one side – and they still get petted, don’t haveta go to the grocery store, buy their own food.. letalone ever work a day in their life. They can walkup anywhere they want and hike a leg. They can even, close you’re ears, doink in broad daylight if they wanna.. No marriages, no lawyers.. they wean their young young.. I wanna be a dog. (Some might say you are one Victor.) Mebbe. Arf. Snarl. Furrow. Hike.
Wouldn’t it be awesome if someone entered your yard, your cubicle, your wherever you were – you could stop, give ‘em that sideways look, snarl, and the bark your ass off? Would be great for the cubicle. A dog’s life. Permanent vacation. The only time you’d have to face this awful cold is to pee or poop. Sign me up.
Blog. You can blog in 20 minutes. Or, do 13 tweets. I ain’ta tweeter. Not even on Facebook. I did the Lycos, then MSN, then Yahoo, then MySpace.. huh uh, that’s it, enough. Blow the whistle. Tweet. Done. Blogging is plenty.
The last ten minutes of my twenty, I shall go smoke. BRRRRRRR..
Or……… you can waste twenty minutes as you/I’ve just done. Sorry. But, hope you had baby smile. If not, a snarl is good. Bark if u wanna. Or hell, hike a leg. Doesn’t mutter to me. Have a great one. Lotta twenty minutes within a day – have ‘em how you want. Love, Victurd.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Bassackwards......
The weird thing - to me - about blogs, is they're like a bassackwards book. You have your library of the world, thoughts... ya type... ya pickup 'the book' (blog) and you start at the last page... insteada the intro, Chapter 1.
Soooooooooooo.. this will probably be nonsensical to those that stop by. (Victor, you idiot - aren't you aware YOU'RE the only one here, and more than likely the only one who EVER stops by?).. Yeah, prolly... Oh well.. (Oh well, btw, is onea my alltime favorite Fleetwood songs.. mebbe only 2nd behind Oh well Part II... a blog for another day?)
Sooo... the knots in the tummy... the worry of the drive.. blizzard conditions.. the rear-wheel drive '99 Dodge Van... no reverse.. surely I'll have a 2 foot mountain of snow at the edgea my driveway to 'hop' over before I even attempt to make it up onea the three hills I have to undertake just to get the hell outta my neighborhood.
Alarm set for 5am. Peepers opened at 3am. Dayum. Nerves. Tummy. Tarkio. Got my phone, but whothehell would I call if I'm 3 wheels in a ditch somewhere 'tween here and work?
4am news.. Hey, the broadcasters made it, maybe I can too.. 4:10am, reset the alarm for 5:30am.. "that'll still gimme enough time."
Started van up. Snow up over the houseslippers, tis ok. It kept dying when I took my foot off the gas... Twenty-third try, finally it kept running.. Yippee.. The street crews had been by, road infronta the house actually not too bad. Nuther Yippee. Pile created by snowplows in fronta driveway only one and one-half foot. I think I can I think I can.
Showered. Shaved. Dressed. Fed the damn cat.
Shoveled. Actually shoveled. I know my neighbors will have coronaries, but I, Victor, actually shoveled my walk. Layer of ice underneath the fresh snow. Knots in tummy again. "Yes, that Victor, he was an Ok guy.. did u hear how it all ended on 435 at that ravine over by Worldsa Fun?". Hehe..
Baby slips going up largest hill.. whew.. Ran the stop-sign atop, who cares.
You know what? The drive in was pretty uneventful. I'm sure there's one of the crevices on my face I've created over the years thanks to nerves/worries that's maybe a little deeper today - but I made it. I even saw the speedometer get up to 65 once. Dayum.
Perhaps even weirder - my last game ever coaching - we won the Missouri Women's Small College Basketball Championship against... Tarkio. Uh huh. Did.
Shows to go - mebbe sometimes things ain't as bad in life as ya think. We'll make it. You'll make it. I'll make it. I likes life - even when worrying about knots in tummy, Tarkio, blizzards. Tis interesting. Slip sliding away - love, Victurd.
Soooooooooooo.. this will probably be nonsensical to those that stop by. (Victor, you idiot - aren't you aware YOU'RE the only one here, and more than likely the only one who EVER stops by?).. Yeah, prolly... Oh well.. (Oh well, btw, is onea my alltime favorite Fleetwood songs.. mebbe only 2nd behind Oh well Part II... a blog for another day?)
Sooo... the knots in the tummy... the worry of the drive.. blizzard conditions.. the rear-wheel drive '99 Dodge Van... no reverse.. surely I'll have a 2 foot mountain of snow at the edgea my driveway to 'hop' over before I even attempt to make it up onea the three hills I have to undertake just to get the hell outta my neighborhood.
Alarm set for 5am. Peepers opened at 3am. Dayum. Nerves. Tummy. Tarkio. Got my phone, but whothehell would I call if I'm 3 wheels in a ditch somewhere 'tween here and work?
4am news.. Hey, the broadcasters made it, maybe I can too.. 4:10am, reset the alarm for 5:30am.. "that'll still gimme enough time."
Started van up. Snow up over the houseslippers, tis ok. It kept dying when I took my foot off the gas... Twenty-third try, finally it kept running.. Yippee.. The street crews had been by, road infronta the house actually not too bad. Nuther Yippee. Pile created by snowplows in fronta driveway only one and one-half foot. I think I can I think I can.
Showered. Shaved. Dressed. Fed the damn cat.
Shoveled. Actually shoveled. I know my neighbors will have coronaries, but I, Victor, actually shoveled my walk. Layer of ice underneath the fresh snow. Knots in tummy again. "Yes, that Victor, he was an Ok guy.. did u hear how it all ended on 435 at that ravine over by Worldsa Fun?". Hehe..
Baby slips going up largest hill.. whew.. Ran the stop-sign atop, who cares.
You know what? The drive in was pretty uneventful. I'm sure there's one of the crevices on my face I've created over the years thanks to nerves/worries that's maybe a little deeper today - but I made it. I even saw the speedometer get up to 65 once. Dayum.
Perhaps even weirder - my last game ever coaching - we won the Missouri Women's Small College Basketball Championship against... Tarkio. Uh huh. Did.
Shows to go - mebbe sometimes things ain't as bad in life as ya think. We'll make it. You'll make it. I'll make it. I likes life - even when worrying about knots in tummy, Tarkio, blizzards. Tis interesting. Slip sliding away - love, Victurd.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
I am a rock………..
A winter's day
In a deep and dark December; (February)
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Global warming? It’s been a winter from hell. It’s roughly 10 hours until I must start car, shovel, scrape, pray, 2 hands (TIGHTLY) affixed to wheel/cig in mouth, slip slide away. Work beckons. I gotta.
On this day, it snowed. And snowed. And snowed. Wet. Crusty. Slushy. You name it, we got it. Watched weather channel shortly before 5pm “and the snow should hit again around 7pm, but I think it might get here earlier.” Looked out window. It never had stopped!
Tarkio College. Back in dinosaur days, usedta coach women’s college basketball here locally. Had to play Tarkio twice a year. Their place. Our place. This was around the time when women’s/girl’s basketball (finally) cranked up in full force. Tarkio sat near the Iowa border, Iowa girls had been playing for years. So, you know the rest. They kicked our ass each and every time we played ‘em. Thinking of the drive into work tomorrow has me revisiting the knots in my tummy of having to play Tarkio. “Don’t wanna, but gotta.” Damnit.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
No no no Simon, Art. That ain’t me. Remember? My ceiling LEAKS! (When the walls.. come tumble-ing down).. I LOVE my fiends - but ok, admit, I have perhaps demonstrated fortress that can be tough to penetrate. I LOVE love. I’m a rock only in that I plant my fatass here… On this internet island.
Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Love. Hmmmm.. Ain’t sure feelings ever die do they? One walked, the other doinked their way out - feelings for each! Sure. Rock? Stoneface mebbe. Island, fer sure.
I have my books (Internet)
And my poetry to protect me; (Blog)
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Hiding in my room? Avoidance behavior? Color me………. Guilty! I touch no one ‘cause have you ever tried dating at this God-forsaken age?
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
Life is pretty pain free. Not perfect, but still, very very enjoyable. I’ve cried, and I’m very thankful for that. Again, the hell’s the use in being here if you ain’t never felt?
Please Mr. Custer, I don’t wanna go-oh-oh (to work.)
But I must. Alarm set an hour early. (Checkenginelight Garage Door broke, thus, the rear wheel drive ß shitty in snow, 1999 Dodge Van sits in driveway.) Mebbe 7 inches now. It ain’t letting up anytime soon. Tarkio. Knots. Brrrrrrrr.. Sheeee-ittt. Have to’s.
I’m notta rock.. I feel pain (but again, life - it’s good)…
I ain’t an island, ‘cause I do cry. It’s blessed, admittedly, any day we wake up. Sorry, I ain’t real hootin’ tootin’ excited about waking up tomorrow. Brrrrrrrrr.
“GO AHEAD, GIMME THAT DIRTY LOOK!… I MIGHT GO FITTEEN MILES AN HOUR SLOWER THAN EVERYONE ELSE… BUT I MAKE IT!”… Oh Tarkio. Damnit.
Happy sliding. Be safe. Write the number of two tow services down before ya head out. If you have a working garage door, I hate your guts. Jk.
A winter’s day… in a deep and dark February…….. Love, Victurd.
In a deep and dark December; (February)
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Global warming? It’s been a winter from hell. It’s roughly 10 hours until I must start car, shovel, scrape, pray, 2 hands (TIGHTLY) affixed to wheel/cig in mouth, slip slide away. Work beckons. I gotta.
On this day, it snowed. And snowed. And snowed. Wet. Crusty. Slushy. You name it, we got it. Watched weather channel shortly before 5pm “and the snow should hit again around 7pm, but I think it might get here earlier.” Looked out window. It never had stopped!
Tarkio College. Back in dinosaur days, usedta coach women’s college basketball here locally. Had to play Tarkio twice a year. Their place. Our place. This was around the time when women’s/girl’s basketball (finally) cranked up in full force. Tarkio sat near the Iowa border, Iowa girls had been playing for years. So, you know the rest. They kicked our ass each and every time we played ‘em. Thinking of the drive into work tomorrow has me revisiting the knots in my tummy of having to play Tarkio. “Don’t wanna, but gotta.” Damnit.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
No no no Simon, Art. That ain’t me. Remember? My ceiling LEAKS! (When the walls.. come tumble-ing down).. I LOVE my fiends - but ok, admit, I have perhaps demonstrated fortress that can be tough to penetrate. I LOVE love. I’m a rock only in that I plant my fatass here… On this internet island.
Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Love. Hmmmm.. Ain’t sure feelings ever die do they? One walked, the other doinked their way out - feelings for each! Sure. Rock? Stoneface mebbe. Island, fer sure.
I have my books (Internet)
And my poetry to protect me; (Blog)
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Hiding in my room? Avoidance behavior? Color me………. Guilty! I touch no one ‘cause have you ever tried dating at this God-forsaken age?
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
Life is pretty pain free. Not perfect, but still, very very enjoyable. I’ve cried, and I’m very thankful for that. Again, the hell’s the use in being here if you ain’t never felt?
Please Mr. Custer, I don’t wanna go-oh-oh (to work.)
But I must. Alarm set an hour early. (Checkenginelight Garage Door broke, thus, the rear wheel drive ß shitty in snow, 1999 Dodge Van sits in driveway.) Mebbe 7 inches now. It ain’t letting up anytime soon. Tarkio. Knots. Brrrrrrrr.. Sheeee-ittt. Have to’s.
I’m notta rock.. I feel pain (but again, life - it’s good)…
I ain’t an island, ‘cause I do cry. It’s blessed, admittedly, any day we wake up. Sorry, I ain’t real hootin’ tootin’ excited about waking up tomorrow. Brrrrrrrrr.
“GO AHEAD, GIMME THAT DIRTY LOOK!… I MIGHT GO FITTEEN MILES AN HOUR SLOWER THAN EVERYONE ELSE… BUT I MAKE IT!”… Oh Tarkio. Damnit.
Happy sliding. Be safe. Write the number of two tow services down before ya head out. If you have a working garage door, I hate your guts. Jk.
A winter’s day… in a deep and dark February…….. Love, Victurd.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Life is a highway........
Article this morning about one of the last Negro Baseball League players passing away… Slick Surrett I believe his name was.. A happy man. Was in WWII. Played baseball for 7 or 8 years, then onto the Ford Plant in Claycomo for 50+ years. “Never saw him without a smile, he had fun in life.” That’s pretty damn cool.
The old baseball coach at the local college. He’s gotta be upper 70’s by now. Comes into the joint where I go - has a soda pop - smiles, talks.. Always asks how others are. I’ve tried to put myself “under his cowboy hat” and see how he views life. To be upper 70’s - knowing “one day soon” life is gonna change… Gonna live it loud now. I don’t mean loud as the noise loud - but loud as in eyes wide open, carry/give that smile… recognize how fleeting life is… Suck up every last drop. He is, and he does. That’s pretty damn cool.
So, when me, fitty-something, gets down.. I try to thinka the odds.. I could well be here for 20, 30 more. So why be down? Look at these chaps- they recognize it - they don’t bemoan ‘ends’, they embrace it.. I’m still a kid at heart and am influenced by my elders. To me, that’s pretty damn cool, and they are pretty damn cool.
Life is so wonderful to watch. People of all ages. Watching them find the things that are important to them. Differs so with age. For some, it’s hustle-bustle, gotta do this.. Then that.. Come on, we’ll be late. Rarely stopping to take time to stop and smell the coffee. Nah, not for me.
Watching people people watch… Huh? The hell’d he say? Yeah, that. Ever seen a granny dote, smile, follow with her eyes - her grandkid? Onea the most marvelous things on earth to see.. Oh sure, the cuteness of the snotnose is nice - but I getta bigger kick outta watching granny’s proud, wondrous smile as she observes. Perty damn cool.
I reckon (Victor, you gonna preach again?).. Mebbe. I reckon, there’s “good moments” out there if you peek around long enough. People choosing to have fun. Fending off strife and the yuck that happens in life. Selecting “I’m enjoying ‘the now’”…
Read an article about how happy people live longer. And, so said this study, folks that ain’t happy - but pretend to be - live longer too. Rectum I’m somewhere in the middle. I DO have fun. Daily. Almost minute by minute. The yuck (van has no reverse, roof of house leaks, behind a month on the mortgage) is still there in the backa the brain - but thankfully whatever they call them lobes in the fronta the brain allow me to smile, laugh, see, joke.
Life’s like cold weather, or can be. We gotta “layer up”, then demonstrate warmth. Every one on the planet has some issues - and I fret for the ones that wear ‘em on their sleeves..(Victor, the name of your blog is checkenginelight, isn’t that a bit of a contradiction?).. Not at all Mr. Times New Roman 12, not at all. That defines it. Again, we all walk with yuck (just ask Tiger.).. It’s how we present ourselves, how we feel moment to moment that we’ve a choice on. Actually, I’m doing pretty AOK in that department. I think. I enjoy life, minute by minute, person by person, conversation by conversation - even if I ain’t even in the conversation.
I am very thankful to all my role models. Slick. Coach. The grannies. The “choosers”. Well, I guess everyone chooses - some just do it better than others - keeping that yuck in the rear, allowing themselves to see, do good.
I’m rambling. Seems I do that more with age. God I love aging, I shit you not. The more I age, the more good I see. Again, thanks Slick. Coach. Granny. “Choosers.”
Life is a highway. I did it my way - all night long. Going to referee 1st and 2nd grade basketball now. You would not believe how much “people watching fun” that one is. And sometimes the grannies even have nice butts. The end. Love, Victurd.
The old baseball coach at the local college. He’s gotta be upper 70’s by now. Comes into the joint where I go - has a soda pop - smiles, talks.. Always asks how others are. I’ve tried to put myself “under his cowboy hat” and see how he views life. To be upper 70’s - knowing “one day soon” life is gonna change… Gonna live it loud now. I don’t mean loud as the noise loud - but loud as in eyes wide open, carry/give that smile… recognize how fleeting life is… Suck up every last drop. He is, and he does. That’s pretty damn cool.
So, when me, fitty-something, gets down.. I try to thinka the odds.. I could well be here for 20, 30 more. So why be down? Look at these chaps- they recognize it - they don’t bemoan ‘ends’, they embrace it.. I’m still a kid at heart and am influenced by my elders. To me, that’s pretty damn cool, and they are pretty damn cool.
Life is so wonderful to watch. People of all ages. Watching them find the things that are important to them. Differs so with age. For some, it’s hustle-bustle, gotta do this.. Then that.. Come on, we’ll be late. Rarely stopping to take time to stop and smell the coffee. Nah, not for me.
Watching people people watch… Huh? The hell’d he say? Yeah, that. Ever seen a granny dote, smile, follow with her eyes - her grandkid? Onea the most marvelous things on earth to see.. Oh sure, the cuteness of the snotnose is nice - but I getta bigger kick outta watching granny’s proud, wondrous smile as she observes. Perty damn cool.
I reckon (Victor, you gonna preach again?).. Mebbe. I reckon, there’s “good moments” out there if you peek around long enough. People choosing to have fun. Fending off strife and the yuck that happens in life. Selecting “I’m enjoying ‘the now’”…
Read an article about how happy people live longer. And, so said this study, folks that ain’t happy - but pretend to be - live longer too. Rectum I’m somewhere in the middle. I DO have fun. Daily. Almost minute by minute. The yuck (van has no reverse, roof of house leaks, behind a month on the mortgage) is still there in the backa the brain - but thankfully whatever they call them lobes in the fronta the brain allow me to smile, laugh, see, joke.
Life’s like cold weather, or can be. We gotta “layer up”, then demonstrate warmth. Every one on the planet has some issues - and I fret for the ones that wear ‘em on their sleeves..(Victor, the name of your blog is checkenginelight, isn’t that a bit of a contradiction?).. Not at all Mr. Times New Roman 12, not at all. That defines it. Again, we all walk with yuck (just ask Tiger.).. It’s how we present ourselves, how we feel moment to moment that we’ve a choice on. Actually, I’m doing pretty AOK in that department. I think. I enjoy life, minute by minute, person by person, conversation by conversation - even if I ain’t even in the conversation.
I am very thankful to all my role models. Slick. Coach. The grannies. The “choosers”. Well, I guess everyone chooses - some just do it better than others - keeping that yuck in the rear, allowing themselves to see, do good.
I’m rambling. Seems I do that more with age. God I love aging, I shit you not. The more I age, the more good I see. Again, thanks Slick. Coach. Granny. “Choosers.”
Life is a highway. I did it my way - all night long. Going to referee 1st and 2nd grade basketball now. You would not believe how much “people watching fun” that one is. And sometimes the grannies even have nice butts. The end. Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Cold…
Spent the commute thinking about cold. Couldn’t conjure up much good associated with it. Cold cuts mebbe. Nice cold drink in the summer. Coming into the (cold) air conditioned house. Bout it.
It’s friggin cold. One thing I’ve noticed over all the years – this shit happens every year! We tire of it. We know spring is around the corner – and when The Maker teases us with a pleasant day – we think “YES, THIS IS IT… HAS ANYONE SEEN A ROBIN?” -… then, four inches of snow fall.. wind chills plunge below zero… and the 24 hours in every day in February seem to last 48.
Some people are, in general, cold. Frankly, I try to avoid ‘em. Lady here, I’ve heard she has bad hearing.. I ain’t sure. Ne’er eye contact, ne’er a smile, ne’er a “Hello.” Cold. I swerve to avoid.
Some folks are moody – have temporary ‘cold’. Tis cool, no one understands what’s going on in the gourd, the life, the relationship, the family, temporary cold is cool – no pun intended.
Reception. Be it a concert, a meeting, a statement, a thought, and idea – can be met with cold reception. Notta good feeling. Cold hurts. Cold bites.
Everyone loves naked. Cold makes that impossible. More. More. More clothes. Layer them suckers. “I know I look like I weigh 260 lbs, but with all these damn layers of crap on – I’m actually 195 under here.” That wasn’t me. I’m presently at 210, and I refuse to step on the scales again until workouts resume. Victor, when are the workouts resuming? “Man, you feel that draft in here? It’s cold.”
Cold beer. Ok, I forgot one. Never understood those folks who go “jump in the lake” for some cause during the wintertime. Nomme. No way. Nada. But.. it does happen to do strange things to women’s bodies, so mebbe I’d go as spectator. Victor, you’re a pig. Nip that in the bud eh? Mebbe. Oink.
I don’t think anyone is enjoying this blog Victor. Yeah, what I figured, cold reception. Cold glare. Cold stare. Cold shoulder. Ice. Snow. Wind. Freezing rain. Snain. Cold sucks. Cold blows. Cold continues. Cold makes us moan. Groan. Grump. Shiver. Quiver. “OH BOY! ICE ON MY WINDSHIELD! CAN’T WAIT TO TEND TO THAT!”.. Cold in Florida is sixty. Missouri 32. Alaska 0. Different colds.
But Victor, it makes us snuggle too. I reckon, but as much as I love my feather pillows, the snuggling ain’t been too great of late. No one there to “start the car”, get it warmed up. Cold sheets. Cold shit. Rectum I oughta get me and electric blanket. Lot less consternation than adding anudder wife. Victor, the cold responses (or lack thereof ANY response) to your “Hi, howareya’s” on the online sites make me think you ain’t getting another wife. Tis ok. I’d probably have to crank the thermostat up if I were with anudder. I’ll be Ok, will make it through the cold.
Getting a cold. Yuck. Is there anything worse than body fluids wanting out? It’s like they enjoy the cold. Too warm in here, lemme come out through your nostrils, your mouth, your pores, your (ENOUGH Victor, we get the point.)… Your butt. Sorry. Butt I am. Not too worry, I won’t address runny nose, running temps, running poo… oops, sorry. Slipped. (Actually, kinda gushes.. and yes, I’m fitty-seven, sorry. Sometimes life just be poopy!)….
Brb. Going out in the cold to smoke a cig. I enjoy seeing my breath. I’ll try to see if there are any robins out there. Doubtful – another “wind chills near zero” day. Cold. There just ain’t much good with cold. Do Eskimos really rub noses? How do they have kids? Who nose.
Ok, going to work now. Gotta warm up my computer. Getme some hot coffee. Say “whatsup” to my warm, smiling coworkers. (Cept that one. Hehe).. Forgot one. Cold ‘causes shrinkage. A helluva note when your not very (VICTOR!).. ahm, to begin with. It’s the freezin’ season. Spring will sprung one day. I’m thinking The Maker only put 28 days in February for a reason. Cool. (Not cold.. cool.) A word for another day. Cool. Nose rubs to you all, love, Victurd.
It’s friggin cold. One thing I’ve noticed over all the years – this shit happens every year! We tire of it. We know spring is around the corner – and when The Maker teases us with a pleasant day – we think “YES, THIS IS IT… HAS ANYONE SEEN A ROBIN?” -… then, four inches of snow fall.. wind chills plunge below zero… and the 24 hours in every day in February seem to last 48.
Some people are, in general, cold. Frankly, I try to avoid ‘em. Lady here, I’ve heard she has bad hearing.. I ain’t sure. Ne’er eye contact, ne’er a smile, ne’er a “Hello.” Cold. I swerve to avoid.
Some folks are moody – have temporary ‘cold’. Tis cool, no one understands what’s going on in the gourd, the life, the relationship, the family, temporary cold is cool – no pun intended.
Reception. Be it a concert, a meeting, a statement, a thought, and idea – can be met with cold reception. Notta good feeling. Cold hurts. Cold bites.
Everyone loves naked. Cold makes that impossible. More. More. More clothes. Layer them suckers. “I know I look like I weigh 260 lbs, but with all these damn layers of crap on – I’m actually 195 under here.” That wasn’t me. I’m presently at 210, and I refuse to step on the scales again until workouts resume. Victor, when are the workouts resuming? “Man, you feel that draft in here? It’s cold.”
Cold beer. Ok, I forgot one. Never understood those folks who go “jump in the lake” for some cause during the wintertime. Nomme. No way. Nada. But.. it does happen to do strange things to women’s bodies, so mebbe I’d go as spectator. Victor, you’re a pig. Nip that in the bud eh? Mebbe. Oink.
I don’t think anyone is enjoying this blog Victor. Yeah, what I figured, cold reception. Cold glare. Cold stare. Cold shoulder. Ice. Snow. Wind. Freezing rain. Snain. Cold sucks. Cold blows. Cold continues. Cold makes us moan. Groan. Grump. Shiver. Quiver. “OH BOY! ICE ON MY WINDSHIELD! CAN’T WAIT TO TEND TO THAT!”.. Cold in Florida is sixty. Missouri 32. Alaska 0. Different colds.
But Victor, it makes us snuggle too. I reckon, but as much as I love my feather pillows, the snuggling ain’t been too great of late. No one there to “start the car”, get it warmed up. Cold sheets. Cold shit. Rectum I oughta get me and electric blanket. Lot less consternation than adding anudder wife. Victor, the cold responses (or lack thereof ANY response) to your “Hi, howareya’s” on the online sites make me think you ain’t getting another wife. Tis ok. I’d probably have to crank the thermostat up if I were with anudder. I’ll be Ok, will make it through the cold.
Getting a cold. Yuck. Is there anything worse than body fluids wanting out? It’s like they enjoy the cold. Too warm in here, lemme come out through your nostrils, your mouth, your pores, your (ENOUGH Victor, we get the point.)… Your butt. Sorry. Butt I am. Not too worry, I won’t address runny nose, running temps, running poo… oops, sorry. Slipped. (Actually, kinda gushes.. and yes, I’m fitty-seven, sorry. Sometimes life just be poopy!)….
Brb. Going out in the cold to smoke a cig. I enjoy seeing my breath. I’ll try to see if there are any robins out there. Doubtful – another “wind chills near zero” day. Cold. There just ain’t much good with cold. Do Eskimos really rub noses? How do they have kids? Who nose.
Ok, going to work now. Gotta warm up my computer. Getme some hot coffee. Say “whatsup” to my warm, smiling coworkers. (Cept that one. Hehe).. Forgot one. Cold ‘causes shrinkage. A helluva note when your not very (VICTOR!).. ahm, to begin with. It’s the freezin’ season. Spring will sprung one day. I’m thinking The Maker only put 28 days in February for a reason. Cool. (Not cold.. cool.) A word for another day. Cool. Nose rubs to you all, love, Victurd.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Change….
One thing I’ve noticed. Change happens.
Undies. Tires. Residences. Mates. Pets. Jobs. Schools. Change back.
Today is Valentine’s Day. Also, whatshername’s birthday. Changed. Usedta be, I better dare not forget a gift denoting EACH occasion. Now, today - it’s simply breakfast at Mickey D’s, read the paper… a quick trip thru the Piggly Wiggly… and observing many a man toting out a dozen or two overpriced roses. (Hope it works for them… even if overpriced, ain’t much in comparison to hooker I rectum. ) And, just anudder day.
Tomorrow is President’s Day. Changed. Usedta be a day for Honest Abe, and a day I called George Birthington’s Wash Day. Usedta get ‘em both off. Now they’ve compacted the bastards - and I gotta work. Change.
Weather. Changes. Especially here in the (said with love) God awful Midwest. Never understood that expression: God awful. Talk about a big difference. A HUGE change in meaning. Global Warming. Change.
Outlook. We change that. Titillation to down-in-the-dumps. Lotta controlling factors. They change.
Words. Change our everything. You’re hired. You’re fired. I’ll never trust you because you said _____. I’ll always love you because you said ______. Til death do us part. Change. Our house. Her house. His house.
Looks. We roll out. As baby. Cute. We all are, or so they say. Dote. People dote. Terrible two’s. Change. Puberty. Change. Middle age - change. Still mebbe weigh the same, it’s just all a little more South. Old age. Hate that grey - wash it away. Windows just underlined grey, meaning misspelled. When’d they change that shit? In school, how I was taught to spell it.
Brown spots, wondering ear/nose/eyebrow hairs. Change. A bit harder to get up. Tie shoes. Change.
Buddy can you spare a dime? Change. Forecast. Change. Little electric heater that has so comforted me as I loiter behind this keyboard just “zapped” and stopped working. Change. Brrr. Gimme Florida, I want change.
We thrive, fail, achieve, believe, stress over, elate over - change. Change is a constant. Close your ears. I do laundry, dependent upon (changing) mood - weekly, or bi-weekly. When done weekly, I change undies daily. You know the rest on bi-weekly. Please don’t ‘flip’ out.
New page. Change. Can’t see the other page. Kinda like life. Sometimes yesterday is hard to see. Sometimes it’s as if we’ve revisited. As we’ve gathered in planning this upcoming 40th High School Class Reunion - obvious change. Sometimes shocking. Sometimes not. Seeing the list - trying to put a face with a name. Change.
They say, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I poo poo that notion. Scroll to grey, President’s Day, Valentine’s Day. Flat tires.
Analog sucks. Hey, United States, let’s go digital. Okay. Bought $12 antenna. Didn’t work. Better change and upgrade. So, some $40 antenna later, I still get the same channels - pic maybe a hair better - but now, when it storms, the bastard goes satellite on me. Can’t see. Pardon me, a stupid change.
Windows. They upgrade that shit all the time. What usedta be cinchy, now takes twelve more clicks. CHANGE. Gotta have it. Gotta do it. Keepin’ up with the Jone’s, the Mac’s. Why?
Well enough. We fuck that up too. Sorry to cuss. Older I get, bothers me less though. Change. I don’t say that word to imply what some would call ‘disgusting’ (others see it differently.. A change from the goody two shoes.).. I use it for emphasis.
Better go now. Gotta change printer cartridge. Fucking heater. (Again, sorry, kinda.. For emphasis purpose only.) Gotta change into warmer clothes. Temps changed in here. I can now see my cat’s breath. Brrrr. Gimme San Diego. Need change. Seasons change, just not fast enough.
Ain’t done laundry this week. Please don’t flip out over that. Got plenty of change to do so. Just changed my mind, don’t think I will. People of WalMart emails. Wow. Change from the norm. What is norm? Is there sucha thing Cliffy?
Buddy can you spare $6K for a new roof? I’d like to change the looks of this joint. Can’t without new roof. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Change is everywhere. Change lanes. Change directions. Change hobbies. Change lobbies. In England, change Bobbies.
Seen them dollar bills where u can go online, see how many times that shit has changed hands, the where the when. Speaking of shit, it changes too. VICTOR!.. Sorry, does. All depends (hehe) on appetite, menu, wellness, lack thereof. Change is a mo-fo, but without it, life (and poo poo) would be too regular. Save your change. Spoil yourself one day. Change adds up. Love, Victurd.
Undies. Tires. Residences. Mates. Pets. Jobs. Schools. Change back.
Today is Valentine’s Day. Also, whatshername’s birthday. Changed. Usedta be, I better dare not forget a gift denoting EACH occasion. Now, today - it’s simply breakfast at Mickey D’s, read the paper… a quick trip thru the Piggly Wiggly… and observing many a man toting out a dozen or two overpriced roses. (Hope it works for them… even if overpriced, ain’t much in comparison to hooker I rectum. ) And, just anudder day.
Tomorrow is President’s Day. Changed. Usedta be a day for Honest Abe, and a day I called George Birthington’s Wash Day. Usedta get ‘em both off. Now they’ve compacted the bastards - and I gotta work. Change.
Weather. Changes. Especially here in the (said with love) God awful Midwest. Never understood that expression: God awful. Talk about a big difference. A HUGE change in meaning. Global Warming. Change.
Outlook. We change that. Titillation to down-in-the-dumps. Lotta controlling factors. They change.
Words. Change our everything. You’re hired. You’re fired. I’ll never trust you because you said _____. I’ll always love you because you said ______. Til death do us part. Change. Our house. Her house. His house.
Looks. We roll out. As baby. Cute. We all are, or so they say. Dote. People dote. Terrible two’s. Change. Puberty. Change. Middle age - change. Still mebbe weigh the same, it’s just all a little more South. Old age. Hate that grey - wash it away. Windows just underlined grey, meaning misspelled. When’d they change that shit? In school, how I was taught to spell it.
Brown spots, wondering ear/nose/eyebrow hairs. Change. A bit harder to get up. Tie shoes. Change.
Buddy can you spare a dime? Change. Forecast. Change. Little electric heater that has so comforted me as I loiter behind this keyboard just “zapped” and stopped working. Change. Brrr. Gimme Florida, I want change.
We thrive, fail, achieve, believe, stress over, elate over - change. Change is a constant. Close your ears. I do laundry, dependent upon (changing) mood - weekly, or bi-weekly. When done weekly, I change undies daily. You know the rest on bi-weekly. Please don’t ‘flip’ out.
New page. Change. Can’t see the other page. Kinda like life. Sometimes yesterday is hard to see. Sometimes it’s as if we’ve revisited. As we’ve gathered in planning this upcoming 40th High School Class Reunion - obvious change. Sometimes shocking. Sometimes not. Seeing the list - trying to put a face with a name. Change.
They say, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I poo poo that notion. Scroll to grey, President’s Day, Valentine’s Day. Flat tires.
Analog sucks. Hey, United States, let’s go digital. Okay. Bought $12 antenna. Didn’t work. Better change and upgrade. So, some $40 antenna later, I still get the same channels - pic maybe a hair better - but now, when it storms, the bastard goes satellite on me. Can’t see. Pardon me, a stupid change.
Windows. They upgrade that shit all the time. What usedta be cinchy, now takes twelve more clicks. CHANGE. Gotta have it. Gotta do it. Keepin’ up with the Jone’s, the Mac’s. Why?
Well enough. We fuck that up too. Sorry to cuss. Older I get, bothers me less though. Change. I don’t say that word to imply what some would call ‘disgusting’ (others see it differently.. A change from the goody two shoes.).. I use it for emphasis.
Better go now. Gotta change printer cartridge. Fucking heater. (Again, sorry, kinda.. For emphasis purpose only.) Gotta change into warmer clothes. Temps changed in here. I can now see my cat’s breath. Brrrr. Gimme San Diego. Need change. Seasons change, just not fast enough.
Ain’t done laundry this week. Please don’t flip out over that. Got plenty of change to do so. Just changed my mind, don’t think I will. People of WalMart emails. Wow. Change from the norm. What is norm? Is there sucha thing Cliffy?
Buddy can you spare $6K for a new roof? I’d like to change the looks of this joint. Can’t without new roof. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Change is everywhere. Change lanes. Change directions. Change hobbies. Change lobbies. In England, change Bobbies.
Seen them dollar bills where u can go online, see how many times that shit has changed hands, the where the when. Speaking of shit, it changes too. VICTOR!.. Sorry, does. All depends (hehe) on appetite, menu, wellness, lack thereof. Change is a mo-fo, but without it, life (and poo poo) would be too regular. Save your change. Spoil yourself one day. Change adds up. Love, Victurd.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
My definition of guttural……..
I’ve always kinda thought this word meant something along the lines of “when your body is so emotionally outta control, crying happens… it’s strange… from the heart… from the gut…. There’s no stopping it.. It’s a “hurt/feel good” kinda thing.
Apparently, I’m wrong. According to Merriam-Webster, it moreso means “articulated in the throat”…
Well…. That’s kinda close I guess.. The #3 listing as a definition “being or marked by utterance that is strange, unpleasant, or disagreeable.”
Still not what I was looking for, but, close… I’ll take it.
Such was the case today: guttural.
Attended the visitation of the mother of one of the gals I went to school with for many years. To be frank, I’m not so sure I’ve talked to this gal on the phone more than five times in our lives - yet still, an attachment to her.
She, like I, is from a nuclear family of four. Her brother, and her folks. She, like I, lost a sibling at wayinthehell too early an age. I loved her brother. We played baseball together long ago. He, 18 months my junior, looked, three years my senior. And he was good. And he was a nifty, nice person. A smile “to die for.” Cancer in his 20’s. Didn’t take long. Not fair.
Her dad. You could tell why the son was sucha nice guy - ‘cause he emulated his dad. ALWAYS A SMILE. Looms large. Dad passed awhile back too.
So… just my friend and her mom… now she’s gone. I am very sorry she’s joined “my club”, the last remaining one in the nuclear family. I’m comforted somewhat in that she’s got a whole lotta kids, and even more grandkids.. A loving, nurturing spouse.. So, much support.
Still, them innards get one guttural. She may soon have a houseful of twenty, yet still feel “that emptiness.” I sooooooooo wanted to say to her, if you ever wanna talk, lean on my shoulder, discuss, cuss, cry, ask WHY - please do so. Instead, I simply said “I’m so very sorry.”
She might notta even realized I too was in this unwanted club. The way I see it, just being there, as the child of a parent you are to bury that day - is an ‘accomplishment’ of sorts.
Fleeting. I wasn’t there long - but, I peered over the nice display of pics from yesteryears.. Many a smile in doing so.. To see her brother again… her handsome, friendly pa… her mom.. Her kids.. (who several I had in Elementary PE class.)… Memories.
Tis what we’re left with memories. (For a short, please scroll to “just a minute” and why that’s so important.)
So I left the church, headed to work. And, then I went guttural. Emotion took over. I saw her bother there. I saw my sister there. I saw our folks sitting in the bleachers at the little league game. For a short moment, I revisited 1963. And I cried. And cried. No control. A great feel. A terrible feel.
A good cry. Good/bad. If yesterday wasn’t so good, there’d be no cause for hurt today. So, emotionally - messed up. Thankful, yet sorry full.
May sound weird, but I oh so love those guttural moments - even though it’s all about hurt, it’s all about love too. I am appreciative Oh Maker for allowing me to feel as I do about my yesterdays. My family. My mom. My sister. My dad. Giles. John. Beulah.
What worries me more - is that I know there are probably those out there who don’t have these feels. To never have experienced family love - I simply can’t fathom that - but I know, understand, it’s common. That way overtakes any pity I may throw upon myself for being “the last.”
To have lived and loved (and be loved.).. I’m lucky, and I know it.
Tis my wish, if u ain’t experienced guttural - you one day will. Love, Victurd.
Apparently, I’m wrong. According to Merriam-Webster, it moreso means “articulated in the throat”…
Well…. That’s kinda close I guess.. The #3 listing as a definition “being or marked by utterance that is strange, unpleasant, or disagreeable.”
Still not what I was looking for, but, close… I’ll take it.
Such was the case today: guttural.
Attended the visitation of the mother of one of the gals I went to school with for many years. To be frank, I’m not so sure I’ve talked to this gal on the phone more than five times in our lives - yet still, an attachment to her.
She, like I, is from a nuclear family of four. Her brother, and her folks. She, like I, lost a sibling at wayinthehell too early an age. I loved her brother. We played baseball together long ago. He, 18 months my junior, looked, three years my senior. And he was good. And he was a nifty, nice person. A smile “to die for.” Cancer in his 20’s. Didn’t take long. Not fair.
Her dad. You could tell why the son was sucha nice guy - ‘cause he emulated his dad. ALWAYS A SMILE. Looms large. Dad passed awhile back too.
So… just my friend and her mom… now she’s gone. I am very sorry she’s joined “my club”, the last remaining one in the nuclear family. I’m comforted somewhat in that she’s got a whole lotta kids, and even more grandkids.. A loving, nurturing spouse.. So, much support.
Still, them innards get one guttural. She may soon have a houseful of twenty, yet still feel “that emptiness.” I sooooooooo wanted to say to her, if you ever wanna talk, lean on my shoulder, discuss, cuss, cry, ask WHY - please do so. Instead, I simply said “I’m so very sorry.”
She might notta even realized I too was in this unwanted club. The way I see it, just being there, as the child of a parent you are to bury that day - is an ‘accomplishment’ of sorts.
Fleeting. I wasn’t there long - but, I peered over the nice display of pics from yesteryears.. Many a smile in doing so.. To see her brother again… her handsome, friendly pa… her mom.. Her kids.. (who several I had in Elementary PE class.)… Memories.
Tis what we’re left with memories. (For a short, please scroll to “just a minute” and why that’s so important.)
So I left the church, headed to work. And, then I went guttural. Emotion took over. I saw her bother there. I saw my sister there. I saw our folks sitting in the bleachers at the little league game. For a short moment, I revisited 1963. And I cried. And cried. No control. A great feel. A terrible feel.
A good cry. Good/bad. If yesterday wasn’t so good, there’d be no cause for hurt today. So, emotionally - messed up. Thankful, yet sorry full.
May sound weird, but I oh so love those guttural moments - even though it’s all about hurt, it’s all about love too. I am appreciative Oh Maker for allowing me to feel as I do about my yesterdays. My family. My mom. My sister. My dad. Giles. John. Beulah.
What worries me more - is that I know there are probably those out there who don’t have these feels. To never have experienced family love - I simply can’t fathom that - but I know, understand, it’s common. That way overtakes any pity I may throw upon myself for being “the last.”
To have lived and loved (and be loved.).. I’m lucky, and I know it.
Tis my wish, if u ain’t experienced guttural - you one day will. Love, Victurd.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Just a minute……….
We’ve all maybe been there… We’re intent on whatever the project, task, TV show, book, thing we’re absorbed wholeheartedly in – and we’re approached by a child, a friend, a coworker, a loved one… and again we’re approached… and again… and in blurted frustration “JUST A MINUTE” sneaks out, rather hurtfully – whether intended or not.
It’s like “What I’m doing is important, you, and what you want – isn’t.” Funny life throws us those occasions to show our ass, and we usually comply.
Victor? You gonna preach again? Mebbe. Remember, Times New Roman 12, I speak, write – to me – hitchhikers welcome.
Yesterday I had a couple “just a minute’s” of the other variety – good ones. Beloved son, who – sometimes can demonstrate “neediness” – texts me “Hi Pops.. love you.. hope you have a good day.” This could be an every day thing for you – but it loomed large in this “ironing out” process of a child’s life. There’s a great heart inside there – and it popped up nicely yesterday in that “just a minute.”
Just a minute #2. Monday morning, I walked into my loving cubicle – and there on my keyboard was a sack of candy bars. Hmmm. Who? Why?..
Friday – they let our company off two hours early as snow was coming down dreadfully fast and furious. By 3pm, nine inches on the ground. My ole’ buddy, the oldest guy here – was walking out to his car. He’s like a father, or grandfather, to many of us here. In a small “just a minute” I removed the snow from his windows. Small gesture by me, apparently larger to him. Thus, the bag of candy bars Monday morning.
Life is made up of minutes. We can demonstrate no patience and make the minutes sucky, frustrating, no fun - - or, we can turn the corners of our mouths up – fill our minutes with handing out hella many fun, loving, “hi howareya”, high fives, knuckle touches, friendly texts, emails – even a wink or two.
Little gal here, new to our company. Not many dealings with her. When I have though, it’s always “thank you dear.” Small perhaps to her, large to me (and I don’t mean anything sexually at all – even in spitea the ‘underarm’ thingy the other day.) It’s just a nice descriptor she adorns people with – and it’s a “just a minute” that stands out.
Oh… Oh I need a lotta work on my life – yet, somehow, I think I’m doing better on the “just a minutes”. In spitea the poopy condition of my house.. My van that doesn’t have reverse or overdrive. (I know, real chick magnet eh?).. The night/day financial differences in how I save money here at work – and can’t stay on the balance beam of my own checking account --- I love life. I love the ‘just a minutes’. They add up. They make a day. An hour. Five minutes. Just a minute.
We only get one shot at those “just a minutes” – I vote, fill them suckers with fun, warmth, smiles. We ain’t perfect – even you Oprah.. but, we can all concentrate on making our “just a minutes” happy – so that one day it’ll be a natural thing that just happens.
Sooooooooooooooooooooo……. let’s wing a fun email. Let’s friendly wink at a coworker. Let’s say ‘dear’. Let’s shake hands. Let’s ask “hey, how are you?”.. Lets’ text “luv u!” Let’s SMILE. Oh do I love smiles.
I go on this goofy online dating site (VICTOR? You STILL do that?) Uh huh, do. I go there – and I perty much think you can tell from the pics – who understands, “gets” that life is really all about “just a minute.” I don’t initiate communication based on smarts, job, breast size, the booty, any-o-that.. (Ok, you caught me, I’m a “booty man” – maybe I have flung an email or two after peeking at derriere!).. But, mostly I do so based on the smile. Smiles greatly enhance “just a minute.”
Gotta go to work now, in just a minute. Gonna go smoke a cig first, for just a minute. Mebbe I’ll getta chat with a coworker for justa minute. Maybe I’ll be able to do that wink thing.. I can give smiles – that’s cool. Or, a quick high five. I likes when folks likes me, and I likes to let folks know I like them Whistle while you work.
Loveya – back in just a minute. Victurd.
It’s like “What I’m doing is important, you, and what you want – isn’t.” Funny life throws us those occasions to show our ass, and we usually comply.
Victor? You gonna preach again? Mebbe. Remember, Times New Roman 12, I speak, write – to me – hitchhikers welcome.
Yesterday I had a couple “just a minute’s” of the other variety – good ones. Beloved son, who – sometimes can demonstrate “neediness” – texts me “Hi Pops.. love you.. hope you have a good day.” This could be an every day thing for you – but it loomed large in this “ironing out” process of a child’s life. There’s a great heart inside there – and it popped up nicely yesterday in that “just a minute.”
Just a minute #2. Monday morning, I walked into my loving cubicle – and there on my keyboard was a sack of candy bars. Hmmm. Who? Why?..
Friday – they let our company off two hours early as snow was coming down dreadfully fast and furious. By 3pm, nine inches on the ground. My ole’ buddy, the oldest guy here – was walking out to his car. He’s like a father, or grandfather, to many of us here. In a small “just a minute” I removed the snow from his windows. Small gesture by me, apparently larger to him. Thus, the bag of candy bars Monday morning.
Life is made up of minutes. We can demonstrate no patience and make the minutes sucky, frustrating, no fun - - or, we can turn the corners of our mouths up – fill our minutes with handing out hella many fun, loving, “hi howareya”, high fives, knuckle touches, friendly texts, emails – even a wink or two.
Little gal here, new to our company. Not many dealings with her. When I have though, it’s always “thank you dear.” Small perhaps to her, large to me (and I don’t mean anything sexually at all – even in spitea the ‘underarm’ thingy the other day.) It’s just a nice descriptor she adorns people with – and it’s a “just a minute” that stands out.
Oh… Oh I need a lotta work on my life – yet, somehow, I think I’m doing better on the “just a minutes”. In spitea the poopy condition of my house.. My van that doesn’t have reverse or overdrive. (I know, real chick magnet eh?).. The night/day financial differences in how I save money here at work – and can’t stay on the balance beam of my own checking account --- I love life. I love the ‘just a minutes’. They add up. They make a day. An hour. Five minutes. Just a minute.
We only get one shot at those “just a minutes” – I vote, fill them suckers with fun, warmth, smiles. We ain’t perfect – even you Oprah.. but, we can all concentrate on making our “just a minutes” happy – so that one day it’ll be a natural thing that just happens.
Sooooooooooooooooooooo……. let’s wing a fun email. Let’s friendly wink at a coworker. Let’s say ‘dear’. Let’s shake hands. Let’s ask “hey, how are you?”.. Lets’ text “luv u!” Let’s SMILE. Oh do I love smiles.
I go on this goofy online dating site (VICTOR? You STILL do that?) Uh huh, do. I go there – and I perty much think you can tell from the pics – who understands, “gets” that life is really all about “just a minute.” I don’t initiate communication based on smarts, job, breast size, the booty, any-o-that.. (Ok, you caught me, I’m a “booty man” – maybe I have flung an email or two after peeking at derriere!).. But, mostly I do so based on the smile. Smiles greatly enhance “just a minute.”
Gotta go to work now, in just a minute. Gonna go smoke a cig first, for just a minute. Mebbe I’ll getta chat with a coworker for justa minute. Maybe I’ll be able to do that wink thing.. I can give smiles – that’s cool. Or, a quick high five. I likes when folks likes me, and I likes to let folks know I like them Whistle while you work.
Loveya – back in just a minute. Victurd.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
I’m embarrassed about my underarm……..
It’s true. Long ago (would you believe 40 years ago I was a bonified High School Senior?)… Long ago - high school basketball team. Underarm hair very ‘fair’ colored. Wasn’t much there, but what there was - you couldn’t see it from ten feet away.
So…… In living this life with “EVERYONE HAS THEIR EYEBALLS ON ME” - that bothered me. What bothered you? The “everyone has their eyeballs on me?” thing? Well, yes, that did/does bother me. I live with it though. I know it’s not true, but sometimes hard to convince my innards.
What I was talking about though - was the underarm thing. Due to the fact, I feared if I shot, and demonstrated proper form (HERE FOLKS… TAKE A PEEK… I AIN’T GOTS NO UNDERARM HAIR) that I would be laughed at. Made fun of. Insteada the chant “OVERRATED” I feared “NO UNDERARM HAIR” chanting.
So, I didn’t shoot much. Which, considering I wasn’t that great at it, was probably a good thing.
Underarms are really not one of the more attractive body parts. (How those European men put up with European women’s underarm hair is beyond me. Nowadays, with women shaving EVERYTHING, why would they ‘grow’?)
As a child. We’re underarm. Meaning protected. Taken care of. Raised. Loved.
As a middle school, junior high twerp, we experience our first “underarm” experience - and, when found out or demonstrated in public (at the movie theater, walking the hallway, out and about getting a Coke) news spreads fast.
Underarm signifies “mine.” Hands off. Taken. Mutual. We marry - perhaps one of the more ultimate underarms. I Victor, do hereby give you my underarm, till death due us part. (Wonder if that’s why divorce is the pits? Hehe)..
We procreate, and the underarm thing starts allover again. Tis a wonderful feel - one that we never let go of, but, we know we must back off the protective ways as these children turn the corner into adulthood. I haven’t seen the movie “Blind Side” - but I understand it’s all about protection, “having one’s back.” Underarm.
So, the embarrassments of underarm in my life continue. DON’T SHOOT, THEY’LL SEE YOU HAVE NO HAIR THERE!…… Divorce… ALL EYES ARE ON ME. THE PITS!
And now… I think a psychologist would explain it as “you do this, because it’s safe, you have no chance of failure.” DO WHAT?
I see dead people. Just kidding. I see women “underarm” and I’m attracted. One specifically. Many otherwise. This underarm thing keeps rearing it’s… it’s… cavity… in my life. “you do this, because it’s safe, you have no chance of failure.”
Not proud of this fact - that I’m attracted to those ‘underarm’, but agin, sometimes my brain has a mind of it’s own - and it takes on the braking ability of a child going down a hill in a red wagon (remember the Radio Flyer?)……
So that’s it, the many takes of underarm. Scary. Titillating. The pits. Proud. Protective. And, as admirer of a few currently underarm, unfortunate, perhaps in several ways.
So……….. If you happen by, it’s good to have your eyeballs underarm for a short.
Just had another thought - sorry, I know you thought I was closing. Relax armpit breath… When one wanders into WallyWorld. At the deodorant aisle - do you buy the most expensive underarm stuff - or - are you like me and it’s the Dollar Store type? Eww. Sorry. Again, much, much good has happened relating to underarm in my life - but a few not-so-good.
Waving goodbye now. Oops. Can’t do that. My fair hair wouldn’t show up. Nodding bye now.
With love, from the armpit of the US, Victurd.
So…… In living this life with “EVERYONE HAS THEIR EYEBALLS ON ME” - that bothered me. What bothered you? The “everyone has their eyeballs on me?” thing? Well, yes, that did/does bother me. I live with it though. I know it’s not true, but sometimes hard to convince my innards.
What I was talking about though - was the underarm thing. Due to the fact, I feared if I shot, and demonstrated proper form (HERE FOLKS… TAKE A PEEK… I AIN’T GOTS NO UNDERARM HAIR) that I would be laughed at. Made fun of. Insteada the chant “OVERRATED” I feared “NO UNDERARM HAIR” chanting.
So, I didn’t shoot much. Which, considering I wasn’t that great at it, was probably a good thing.
Underarms are really not one of the more attractive body parts. (How those European men put up with European women’s underarm hair is beyond me. Nowadays, with women shaving EVERYTHING, why would they ‘grow’?)
As a child. We’re underarm. Meaning protected. Taken care of. Raised. Loved.
As a middle school, junior high twerp, we experience our first “underarm” experience - and, when found out or demonstrated in public (at the movie theater, walking the hallway, out and about getting a Coke) news spreads fast.
Underarm signifies “mine.” Hands off. Taken. Mutual. We marry - perhaps one of the more ultimate underarms. I Victor, do hereby give you my underarm, till death due us part. (Wonder if that’s why divorce is the pits? Hehe)..
We procreate, and the underarm thing starts allover again. Tis a wonderful feel - one that we never let go of, but, we know we must back off the protective ways as these children turn the corner into adulthood. I haven’t seen the movie “Blind Side” - but I understand it’s all about protection, “having one’s back.” Underarm.
So, the embarrassments of underarm in my life continue. DON’T SHOOT, THEY’LL SEE YOU HAVE NO HAIR THERE!…… Divorce… ALL EYES ARE ON ME. THE PITS!
And now… I think a psychologist would explain it as “you do this, because it’s safe, you have no chance of failure.” DO WHAT?
I see dead people. Just kidding. I see women “underarm” and I’m attracted. One specifically. Many otherwise. This underarm thing keeps rearing it’s… it’s… cavity… in my life. “you do this, because it’s safe, you have no chance of failure.”
Not proud of this fact - that I’m attracted to those ‘underarm’, but agin, sometimes my brain has a mind of it’s own - and it takes on the braking ability of a child going down a hill in a red wagon (remember the Radio Flyer?)……
So that’s it, the many takes of underarm. Scary. Titillating. The pits. Proud. Protective. And, as admirer of a few currently underarm, unfortunate, perhaps in several ways.
So……….. If you happen by, it’s good to have your eyeballs underarm for a short.
Just had another thought - sorry, I know you thought I was closing. Relax armpit breath… When one wanders into WallyWorld. At the deodorant aisle - do you buy the most expensive underarm stuff - or - are you like me and it’s the Dollar Store type? Eww. Sorry. Again, much, much good has happened relating to underarm in my life - but a few not-so-good.
Waving goodbye now. Oops. Can’t do that. My fair hair wouldn’t show up. Nodding bye now.
With love, from the armpit of the US, Victurd.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
You write........................... right?
Huh? Who, me?
Wonderfully, I’ve had several people ask… Ok damnit, two. “How come you don’t write in your blog any more?”
The answer is……. I dunno. I don’t wanna (at present.) I’m “calling in sick.” The dog ate my homework. Is it ignorance or apathy? Hey, I don't know and I don't care.
Number one, I don’t hold a candle to my mother. She had magic in her pen, her typewriter. It flowed. I struggle. The wit of - actually all three (mother, father, sister) far, far exceeds anything reasonably humorous I might stumble onto here. They can’t write (gone, but never forgotten.) Why should I?
I’ll clean house tomorrow. I’ll pay bills Tuesday. Wait, scratch that shit, it is Tuesday. Thursday, I’ll pay ‘em Thursday. That leaky faucet in the bathroom? It’s probably only a buck or two extra a month on the water bill. I can afford that.. .and hey, it’s rhythmic, I likes rhythm.
I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got music. I’ve got my girl who could ask for anything more?.. Oh wait, scratch that shit too. Forgot. She left. So why shouldn’t I?
If any of you basta’s (said with love) from work happen by here, I’ll deny I ever said this - and you’re more than welcome to whisper to one another (I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time) in my most recent self evaluation at work - I pretty much gave every category the notch just below perfection. I do do (do you do do?).. .I do do a nice job at work. Safe to say, I THINK, I think people like me. I whistle. I send stupid emails. I shoot rubber bands at the unsuspecting ones, and I try to keep crap LIGHT.
Victor, you wandering slut, you started to talk about your self evaluation, then you took a left turn. Kiss my ass Times New Roman 12. IN MY SELF EVALUATION, I patted myself on the back (I save our company money… I ain’t never run outta sick leave and I ain’t too many can say that.. I’m there. I occupy my chair… I’d like to think I’m creative. )…
I did add (honest, I did).. “Ok, so I take one (or six) too many smoke breaks. But, if you HR types ever come down on me about that - then screw it - I’ll clock out to smoke. I likes my smoke breaks THAT MUCH!…”
Where this going Victor? Calm down butt wipe, we’re reasonably close to flushing.
At the very end of the evaluation (Where they ask how you can improve your performance).. I wrote something like “Quite honestly, work is the best thing I’ve got going in my life right now. I could really use 2010 to simply work on Victor. House upkeep. Financial responsibility. Not going out so very much for Happy Hours. Me. Fine tune me. Mebbe notta 180, but a 134. How’s that? Working on me, my personal life, my “Victor away from here” I think would yield a more productive, happy, even better worker than I feel I am now - and more importantly, a better person.
Over, done. Finito. “Boss, it may not be your normal worker evaluation, but you’re stuck, it’s me.. It’s who I am… I ain’t blogged in awhile, so I blogged to you” (hehe)..
OH, and when it asked for dates of “period of evaluation” I wrote “ahm, 2007 to present. I’m pretty certain 2007 was our last pay raise.” I’m different. Leftfield. Not proud, extra fonda me, just different. Like me or not, I don’t care. That was a total lie, but.. Like my ways or not, I don’t care < that looms LARGE in my life. Rebel takes on negative/evil connotations, so I don’t think I’m a rebel. I like fun. Light.. Different. If you don’t, it’s all good. (Just don’t turn your back, cause I have REALLY BIG, THICK rubber bands.)
So that’s it. I’m working on me. Or, I planta. (Scroll to somewhere in the hell back there on the blog where Gracie deducted “Victor… you exhibit avoidance behavior.” I’ll get to that shit later, honest!
So………. I’m a work in……….. (someday to start) progress.
Another, a blessed another I’ve run into from yesteryear asked “are you still grieving?” Uh huh. Always will be. I wake up every day and see my mom. My dad. My sister. EVERY day. I even occasionally get a boner (VICTOR!).. Hey, it’s a man thing, we can’t help it.. And I miss the victory and the agony of making waves in that waterbed, and giggling as I repair the leaks caused. Ok, sure, I still miss her. Not who she is now, who she usedta be.
So……… I write……………….. Sometime I will……. Tomorrow…… Next month….. In the Spring… when it’s 80 degrees… a promise B4 Christmas.. Fer sure by 2011 when I unveil “the new me.” As soon as I getta new roof.. (Buddy can u spare $6K?)..
So…….. Thanks (you two) for asking. Sorry to borrow Gov’, but “I’ll be back.”
Much love, Punxsutawneyturd.
Wonderfully, I’ve had several people ask… Ok damnit, two. “How come you don’t write in your blog any more?”
The answer is……. I dunno. I don’t wanna (at present.) I’m “calling in sick.” The dog ate my homework. Is it ignorance or apathy? Hey, I don't know and I don't care.
Number one, I don’t hold a candle to my mother. She had magic in her pen, her typewriter. It flowed. I struggle. The wit of - actually all three (mother, father, sister) far, far exceeds anything reasonably humorous I might stumble onto here. They can’t write (gone, but never forgotten.) Why should I?
I’ll clean house tomorrow. I’ll pay bills Tuesday. Wait, scratch that shit, it is Tuesday. Thursday, I’ll pay ‘em Thursday. That leaky faucet in the bathroom? It’s probably only a buck or two extra a month on the water bill. I can afford that.. .and hey, it’s rhythmic, I likes rhythm.
I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got music. I’ve got my girl who could ask for anything more?.. Oh wait, scratch that shit too. Forgot. She left. So why shouldn’t I?
If any of you basta’s (said with love) from work happen by here, I’ll deny I ever said this - and you’re more than welcome to whisper to one another (I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time) in my most recent self evaluation at work - I pretty much gave every category the notch just below perfection. I do do (do you do do?).. .I do do a nice job at work. Safe to say, I THINK, I think people like me. I whistle. I send stupid emails. I shoot rubber bands at the unsuspecting ones, and I try to keep crap LIGHT.
Victor, you wandering slut, you started to talk about your self evaluation, then you took a left turn. Kiss my ass Times New Roman 12. IN MY SELF EVALUATION, I patted myself on the back (I save our company money… I ain’t never run outta sick leave and I ain’t too many can say that.. I’m there. I occupy my chair… I’d like to think I’m creative. )…
I did add (honest, I did).. “Ok, so I take one (or six) too many smoke breaks. But, if you HR types ever come down on me about that - then screw it - I’ll clock out to smoke. I likes my smoke breaks THAT MUCH!…”
Where this going Victor? Calm down butt wipe, we’re reasonably close to flushing.
At the very end of the evaluation (Where they ask how you can improve your performance).. I wrote something like “Quite honestly, work is the best thing I’ve got going in my life right now. I could really use 2010 to simply work on Victor. House upkeep. Financial responsibility. Not going out so very much for Happy Hours. Me. Fine tune me. Mebbe notta 180, but a 134. How’s that? Working on me, my personal life, my “Victor away from here” I think would yield a more productive, happy, even better worker than I feel I am now - and more importantly, a better person.
Over, done. Finito. “Boss, it may not be your normal worker evaluation, but you’re stuck, it’s me.. It’s who I am… I ain’t blogged in awhile, so I blogged to you” (hehe)..
OH, and when it asked for dates of “period of evaluation” I wrote “ahm, 2007 to present. I’m pretty certain 2007 was our last pay raise.” I’m different. Leftfield. Not proud, extra fonda me, just different. Like me or not, I don’t care. That was a total lie, but.. Like my ways or not, I don’t care < that looms LARGE in my life. Rebel takes on negative/evil connotations, so I don’t think I’m a rebel. I like fun. Light.. Different. If you don’t, it’s all good. (Just don’t turn your back, cause I have REALLY BIG, THICK rubber bands.)
So that’s it. I’m working on me. Or, I planta. (Scroll to somewhere in the hell back there on the blog where Gracie deducted “Victor… you exhibit avoidance behavior.” I’ll get to that shit later, honest!
So………. I’m a work in……….. (someday to start) progress.
Another, a blessed another I’ve run into from yesteryear asked “are you still grieving?” Uh huh. Always will be. I wake up every day and see my mom. My dad. My sister. EVERY day. I even occasionally get a boner (VICTOR!).. Hey, it’s a man thing, we can’t help it.. And I miss the victory and the agony of making waves in that waterbed, and giggling as I repair the leaks caused. Ok, sure, I still miss her. Not who she is now, who she usedta be.
So……… I write……………….. Sometime I will……. Tomorrow…… Next month….. In the Spring… when it’s 80 degrees… a promise B4 Christmas.. Fer sure by 2011 when I unveil “the new me.” As soon as I getta new roof.. (Buddy can u spare $6K?)..
So…….. Thanks (you two) for asking. Sorry to borrow Gov’, but “I’ll be back.”
Much love, Punxsutawneyturd.
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