Go ahead, make my day…..

I started to write “dunno why I’m sharing”, but, I do. A friggin’ feel good. Seems sometimes, there tain’t enough of ‘em.

At the Piggly Wiggly this past week….. walking out to car…. say, ya ever see a face that ya’ ain’t seen since forever, and you’re 99% certain that person is from your yesteryear, and you’re mebbe a tad hesitant to say anything?

Happened to me the other day… . YEARS ago I worked for the local Park Department. Summers in HS and College, and even a few summers thereafter. Talking like late 60’s, early 70’s…..

Traversing across town from Park to Park, ya ran into kids. Some wanted nothing to do with us cheesy Maintenance employees… others couldn’t run fast enough wide-eyed up to our truck to find out what task we were there for that day.

I’ve always loved being around snotnoses.. Arnold Hammond was onea those termites from back in the day. Of our all-time favorite “park department snotnoses”, he, and fellow playmate Wayman Bright were at the very top of our list.. Gorgeous smiles on eacha those kid’s faces every time we crossed paths.. Inquisitive, upbeat, fun… Each child quite bright.. It, quite frankly, was a fun time in each of our lives….. Arnold and Wayman were of the ilk they’d “come’a runnin” to greet us each and every time…

Hesitancy aside (at the Piggly Wiggly the other day)… I kinda-sorta whispered “Arnold?”.. he stopped, turned.. then he gave me one of those who-in-the-heck-are-you (thru squinted eye) looks.. I approached, arm extended.. “It’s Vic, from long ago at the Park Department”..

BOOM.. THERE THAT HUGE SMILE (& WIDE EYED LOOK) WAS AGAIN! Bout broke my damn hand shakin it, but it’s cool.. was very nice to rediscover this friend. Made my day that HE TOO remembered the very good times from back in the day.

Little looms large. Happy day, love Victurd.

Oldzheimers...

Seena buddy and his wife yesterday... for years, AND YEARS, we played softball together (and before that, little league for oodles and oodles of years).. . Of course smiles on all three faces – hands shook.. a quick check on “how was your Thanksgiving?”... theirs/mine, very good. Then.... oh shit, her name momentarily escaped me. Wanted to ask about their son too, but – same problem – oldzheimers.

Last Wednesday.. “Tom, what's the quickest way to Metro North?”.... Victor, be for real. You've lived here, what? FITTY NINE YEARS? I know, but I'm getting oldzheimers.

This Wednesday.. Party at Weasels.. been there thirty – forty times. “Hey, refresh my brain, how do you get there” Geez Louise..

I reckon that happens at this age. I think, contributing too, I've had too many damn jobs, too many damn wives (I know, only two.. but that's boo koo siblings, aunts, uncles, kids.. yada).. I'll see someone, harken back.. “yeah.. I remember we worked together... but crap... was it United Airlines or Eastern Airlines?”

Been bolted down at present job now ten years. Still, someone will bring up a name of a past coworker.. “huh uh.. I'm sorry, I don't remember her.” I'm mid-Oldzheimers.

I think too, representative of how fleeting life actually is. Wiz.. bang... twirl... whaula – we're allofasudden in our later years. Crap.

I was gonna try to find a song that fit... you know... about how fast time does fly... and about how we need to STOP.. realize TODAY IS THE DAY.. make it memorable...... take pictures with the eyeballs... FREEZE FRAME.. yeah, that song'll work.. Nope, it didn't.

Time has come today lyrics? I've been loved and put aside (Time)
I've been crushed by the tumbling tide (Time)
And my soul has been psychedelicized (Time) .... Well, uh huh, those things happened, but not my point today... The point is.... people leave. People get older. Things change. TAKE PICTURES with your brain. Stop. Enjoy.

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feeling groovy.........

That kinda-sorta works... Again, the point is... we move too fast.. Things change so fast.. We think EVERYTHING will be this way – forever.. And it ain't. I mean hell, I can hardly remember what my most recent ex's boobs look like. Victor... did you just type that? I think you did. Don't you remember your dear Aunt, Uncle come here.. Your cousin.. Your neice... I'd be ashamed... Looking for fun and feeling groovy - Ba da da da da da da, feeling groovy.........

No pun intended (ok, mebbe intended)... it's about “the point”..

Hustle, bustle, this job, that friend, their kids.. their mates.. this person that works at the joint you go to...this coworker, that coworker.. Monday... Thursday... January... July... . 1985... 1999... 2006... TIME FLIES..

I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down

We better stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down
Stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down
Stop, now, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down
Stop, children, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down

Oldzheimers happens. We forget things. People. Names. Addresses. Directions. Moments.

(As always, I write to me, for me, hitchhikers welcome).. Stop. Make it a point to take a picture with your eyeballs. Smile as you do. Life is fleeting. Keepin that in backa the brain just might help one smile, observe, remember and enjoy as we go.

Gotta go now. Taking my beautiful granddaughter (and her folks) for pizza. Now whereinthehell are my keys?

Looking for keys and feeling groovy - Ba da da da da da da, feeling groovy.........

Oldzheimers happens. Love, Victurd.

Rescue me

Oh take me in your arms
Rescue me
I want your tender charms
'Coz I'm lonely and I'm blue
I need you and your love too

Sand... pea gravel.. pebbles... rocks... boulders.. mountains...

I wish I had a girlfriend/boyfriend.. I wish I had a new (car, house, job, outfit, pair of sneakers).. Sand. Written it before (sorry).. reporter asked longtime (VERY successful) NWMSU coach Mel Tjeerdsma “Can you give me three things to help me be successful in life?”... #2 was “don't worry about what you don't have, focus on what you do have.” Thanks coach, liked that, needed to hear that. Most problems are sand.

Come on and rescue me
Come on baby and rescue me
Come on baby and rescue me
'Coz I need you, by my side
Can't you see that I'm lonely
Rescue me

Pea gravel. Mebbe nowhere to go for Thanksgiving. Distance. Finance. Time. In the way. Again, minute probs...


Come on and take my heart
Take your love and conquer every part
'Coz I'm lonely and I'm blue
I need you and your love too

Pebbles... Illness. Confined.. Injury. No money. Transportation, lack therof. No phone. Pebbles make baby ripples in the water.

Come on and rescue me
Come on baby and rescue me
Come on baby and rescue me
'Coz I need you by my side
Can't you see that I'm lonely

Rocks. Aging, limitations. Empty chairs at the dinner table that used to be occupied by loved ones. Mothers, fathers, grandparents, siblings.. perhaps even a spouse or child...

Rescue me
Oh take me in your arms
Rescue me
I want your tender charms
'Coz I'm lonely and I'm blue
I need you and your love too

Boulders. Chris Herren is a good man. Born in 1975. Chris Herren is an addict. Ever getta chance to see the documentary on his life on ESPN, by all means run to it. Gripping. Extemely sad, but happy ending... so far. Grew up in Massachusetts a high school basketball legend. Landed a scholarship at his beloved Boston College. Alcohol got in way. Then drugs. Scholarship revoked. Fresno State, under “Tark.”.. Three years of good play/results camouflaged his addiction. NBA draft, 2nd round, Denver. The 'amateur' drugs now replaced by more hard core ones. Marriage. Traded to Celtics, the dream of all dreams of MA schoolboys.

Addiction worsening. Released after one season. Basketball overseas. More addiction, more children. Whenever funds ran out.. it was wife's jewelry, or son's Play Station to the pawn shop to gain bucks to support his habit. Modesto, CA, 2008. Wife, three kids fly into airport to meet him. He's embarrassed, lost. Told himself "I should probably never see them again."

Been thru two heroin induced car accidents, awakened from incoherence by Police. He chooses not to go to airport. To liquor store, found sleeping in an alley some hours later. Rehab. A slip. More rehab. Now sober since June 4, 2008. In June of 2009, he launched “Hoop Dreams with Chris Herren” a basketball player development company to mentor players on and off the court.

For an addict, everything is 24 hours at a time. Blessya Chris, and bless your wife for seeing the good. The rescue. Boulders.

Come on and rescue me
Come on baby, take me baby, hold me baby, love me baby
Can't you see that I need you baby
Can't you see that I'm lonely
Rescue me

Come on and take my hand
Come on baby and be my man
Cuz I love you cuz I want you
Can't you see that I'm lonely?
take me baby
love me baby
need me baby
Can't you see that I'm lonely?

Driving to work the other day. “Military Mondays” on the station I listen to. The DJ, a car dealer, a Veteran affairs guy. Each week, they pick a vet in need, and furnish them with a donated, used (but certainly drivable) car.

This specific week, a Navy vet. Seven years in the 1970's. Recently learned terminal cancer. “Six months to a year.” He here (KC), son in Branson, no wheels. “I just want to be able to see, visit my son with what time I have left.”
Mountains. Car donated.. a happy end, kinda.

rescue me, rescue me.......

As always, I write to me, hitchhikers welcome. When down, and life's Rescue Me's lyrics ring in my/your/our head – look around. In all likelihood, a bigger problem, rock, boulder, mountain.. out there. Happy Thanksgiving, love, Victurd.

I like going downhill just fine.

“On the downhill side.” Pardon me, but.. doesn't one go/move faster when going down the hill? Ain't it more exhilarating? Aging is wrinkly, sure – but there's a lot to look forward too on the ride. As one goes, anywhere, much more time to observe... see... it ain't so much a race any more to GET THERE. Relax, kick back, learn s'more if ya want, don't if ya don't wanna...

I love watching moms/dads in the aisles of stores as they attempt to sequester their young'ns.. Upon occasion, I can almost hear them thinking “yes, that passionate lovemaking was awesome, but THIS is what we get for it?”.. After a bit of (repeated) consternation tween mom/3 year old the other day I even heard “God.. I sound just like my mother.” Hehe. Haha, I'm going downhill, I ain't gotta keep 'em in the herd. I ain't gotta fling/wing them frequent “No”s! I'm aging... see my wrinkles? Watch me go down hill.......... WEEEEEEEE!

Laughter. Comes easy at an older age. We possess the ability to laugh at ourselves. Aging has taught us 'pride is hard to swallow, but it will go down.' “Chores” nowadays are: tying our shoes.. getting in and outta the damn car... using a fourth'a tanka gas to find a spot no further than 3 spaces away from the Piggly Wiggly door – and laughing about it all as we do.

The excitement of observing youth is a both a sedative and an upper. I could observe my ten month old granddaughter all day – and dote in her quest to learn this, feel this, taste this, go here, back there, up there, down there... learn.. she wants to learn. Have some fun baby... going uphill is a blast too.

Racing downhill as we age, I've found oft times we need to visit 'the facilities' with more frequency, and with occasional panic. We've memorized exactly where the squatters are at WallyWorld, on 291 Highway... and the dreaded “redlight row” of 152... and exactly how much time it takes to get from Flintlock to the closest restroom door. How many paces it is from notions, to the W-World restroom.. Our bellies speak to us, remind us, impel us.

Speakin' o bellies.... I've found it's harder'n harder to pass up goodies, treats as I go downhill.. Yum. Look at me in the mirror wouldya? A bit of a belly budge.... Some creases in the face, forehead.. what the hell is one more donut gonna hurt? Halloween candy on the cabinets at work. Yum. Hurry up and get the hell outta the way Jane, that Snickers bar is MINE! Eh, I'll walk it off later.

Smiles... seeing.. giving... they are no longer for “in passing”... they're for treasuring. Blinders are off going downhill... No grocery lists to fret over... no worries about “is the soccer uni clean?.. paper in the printer for their homework?...what time is it? What's next.? Am I forgetting something?.. we getta stroll at our leisure, stop when we wanna... stay however damn long we wanna (or don't)... yes, I'm enjoying this downhill ride.

Trick or treat. Yes, we do that as old farts. Young punk at work pranked my voicemail the other day. HA! Game on woman! Do you have any idea how many 'wav' files show up on Google? I too love the chance to offer the “must be an ID ten T error..” at work when asked a fairly stupid question. Huh? (They ask... “ID ten T error?”)... sure.. write it down.. or here, lemme write it for you: ID10T error.

Treat. Old farts treat. Pay it forward I reckon. I must look pity-full... in the last year I've been given: a leather sofa, chair, Ottoman.. washer/dryer.. oodles of very, very nice hand me down clothing..Royals tickets.. in an hour I leave for MU, 2 sixty dollar tickets and a parking pass, yippee.. Next Sunday night, 2 tickets for the Chiefs game. Damn - people are nice in this downhill thing. Little looms large in aging.

Mr. Buck O'Neil, as he went downhill... for obvious different reasons, phrased oh so perfectly “I was right on time.” Would I like to be 20? 16? 35? 40?... tyvm, but I'm very happy, comfy with this downhill. I LOVED those ages – and thanks to them, I is who I is now – and I gladly trade the wrinks above my mouth in memory of those fun moments then.. and now, alla the ones ahead... Downhill, pun mebbe intended, is a gas. Grab your skateboard Ethel... this downhill stuff is the bomb. Love, Victurd.

Occupy this.......

I gotta friend... daughter was gonna go to High School Homecoming with a fine lad... but... this lad gotta B- on his report card, and that didn't cut it for his folks.. thus.. “You ain't going”....... Nose to the grindstone, occupy your books.

Holy crap Batman... had that been me, in high school... I never woulda went anywhere/anytime, and I woulda learned, by memory, every Johnny Carson monologue there ever was. I've always been, what I lovingly refer to as C... C+ smart. Ok, bite me, maybe C- upon occasion.

I haven't followed this Occupy crap... don't wanna follow this Occupy crap... I'm occupied with other things. Go ahead, color me C-, C, C+ smart, and.......I don't really give a rats that I don't keep up. Occupy your occupy all you want, nomme.

Occupied, to me.. is pulling in, hustling outta the car to the Phillips 66... damnit.. red “Occupied” sign is on the restroom door... Clerks are entertained for a few minutes whilst some fitty-nine year old geezer in backa the store does the pee pee dance... and wuah-lah, FINALLY “vacant.” Whew.

At the Twin Drive In in high school... u look over at the next car... don't see any heads, yet the windows are all steamed up = occupied.

Victor... don't wear us down with your marriage squabbles... sorry.. u made it this far, ur stuck. “I did everything” (she said)... Ok. But I taught PE, coached... came home exhausted, and there at the door at 6pm-ish with ball bat (or basketball, or football) in hand.. the little ones.. So, whilst dinner was cooked, whilst maybe yeah, the floor was vacuumed – I OCCUPIED the little (said lovingly) snotnoses.

Daily, nightly, in my spare time. I did this at every house we ever occupied. I was the in home PE teacher, coach, catch partner, checkers, Atari, Old Maid, tiddly winks, sledding, swimming, playmate.. buddy... 'supervisor'.. recreation coordinator, homework supervisor.. I occupied 'em...

Did this, yes, whilst occupying the job of teacher, coach... little league coach... referee/umpire for extra money... so we could have extra money to continue to occupy our house.

From the first jump shot, swing off the tee... fielded grounder.. two-hand chest pass, our goal (with me at snotnose recreation age group helm) was to occupy possession of first place in whatever league/age/sport it was. We rarely did (probably due to coaching/lack thereof) but we tried. Occupied our thoughts anyways.

I was thinking about Occupy on the way home.. and, I thought about how much it kinda bugged me how some are occupied, pre-occupied by the same darn thing(s) day, after day, after day. Blinders.

Repub/Dem.. Religion.. Money.. Reading..Music.. themselves.. power.. position..stature.. blinders... all with blinders on... then it dawned on me, I guess I am too. The same ole same ole things occupy my days, every day: refusing not to make (or try to make) whatever I'm doing: fun. Sports. Emailing. Sudoku. Writing. And, I've been known to occupy a barstool in my day, especially since that fateful departure (“I did everything” whilst I occupied the snotnoses) a few years back. So, I reprimanded myself for not seeing that I too, occupy, am preoccupied by the same things day in, day out: thus, I too wear blinders..

(I hadta stop and Google “then it dawned on me” cause I wasn't sure if it was 'dawned' or 'donned'.. and proper grammar kinda occupies me when writing.. and then the rebel comes out, and the GD (gosh darn) puter underlines words like puter, shoulda, woulda, kinda, howinthehell, sumpin.. and I rebel. Not THAT occupied, preoccupied with grammar. But, occupied on somea the gimmes. Underlining bastards. Quit.

Have. Use. Busy. Capture. Seize. Occupy. I did kinda stumble over something about this occupy movement having something to do with 99% and 1%. Quite certain, 99% of you who 'clicked' this goofy blog are gone by now. My thanks to the 1% that stayed on, occupied a few minutes here.

Speakin'a one out of mebbe a hunnerd.. one in one hunnerd voices REALLY get on my nerves. Dr. Laura was in that 1%. Did like her “go on, take on the day” (not the tone though).. Thus.. go on, occupy the day. Love, Victurd.

Hurt good…..

I’ve written about Deke before, but agin’, I’m old, so I’ll repeat. I’m old, so I’ll repeat.

Deke was a mechanic for an airline I worked for.. He worked on our ground equipment, and he was mebbe the most cantankerous human being I’ve ever known. I don’t believe he ever experienced compassion.

We would drive our ground equipment on three of the four wheels if we hadta, so as not to have to present the mechanic need to Deke, and be met with a stare, a glare, a snarl – all topped off by a deluge of profanities.

At day’s end.. Deke would walk to the 2’ by 3’ calendar on the wall… take out his magic marker and swipe a HUGE “X” over the day…. as if to say “Thank goodness that bastard is over.”

As a youth (or more youthful back then) my main thought/feel for this man was “I don’t like the guy.” As I’ve aged, thoughts have turned more toward “Darn I feel sorry for this man.. he’s never ‘hurt-good’, he’s only ‘hurt’..”

I am a very big believer in tears, crying, eyes-watering, welling up, passion, compassion, feel: hurt-good. My father, born in the era “men don’t show their emotions”, basically followed that mandate long into life.. then.. Parkinson’s set in.. and if there ever was any good about this evil bastard (The Parkinsons) it’s that it allowed my dad to cry, feel, exhibit hurt-good.

Call me a wimp, I don’t really care. Many, many things, events, acts, remembrances, rush me to that feel of not knowing how to exactly hide one’s own emotions. This morning, we at work emailed a buddy who’d served in Vietnam. I’ve had many discussions with this nice man on how horrible it must have been - yes, simply war itself – but even moreso to come home only to find a thankless nation.

We wrote very simply “we’re here to say thank you – it’s men/women
like you who have protected our country and ensured our continued freedom and we’re very appreciative of your service….”…

He wrote a one-liner back.. very modest, humble, nice man: “Thanks folks…time sure goes by but the memories of war are like yesterday.” Emotion caught up with me, my eyes started watering – and I had to go outside… we’re a changed society in regard to understanding that now it’s ok to show emotion.. but human nature tells one “hide it please”.. so I went outside and had a good ole cry. Hurt-good.

To have felt enough about something.. a loved one.. a friend.. witnessing the compassion of others.. sadness of a situation.. anything – that transcends into hurt-good, I’m appreciative. If one has not learned to feel, such as Deke per chance, how horrible would that be? Call me a wuss.. call me a baby.. you can even call me a girl, I don’t care. I cry. My lips quiver. My innards talk to me. Control turns to no control. I feel.

Sure hurt-good sometimes really does hurt, but I’m so, so glad to have felt strong enough about things, people, the past, the present to experience hurt-good. I hurt-good upon occasion – and even moreso the older I get. Hope you do too. Love, Victurd.

No streaming please..........

In absence of marriage, partner, mate.. I've found music to be a very compatible, invigorating, inspirational pardner.. Pardner spelled like that on Dizzy Dean purpose.

I'm old, as are the Rolling Stones, but.... within the last couple years, I've' discovered' music from the #2 best ever England group really, really moves me. So, I YouTube them, their songs. I crank them on the highway...and selfishly it's a very fun, fun thing.

I ain't sure there's a soul on the planet that doesn't enjoy, doesn't have some type of music in/on their brain every day. Music is therapeutic. It's a familiarity. It's a “my era”, “that era”, “this kind”, “that kind”, “our kind”,”me”, ie, an individualistic kinda thing.

I recently Googled “best saxophone songs” and was reasonably disappointed I didn't know many of them. Sooo... I You tubed “Into the Mystic” and stuck my nose up at the 'judges' of the top 10 'cipherers, and loved the hell out of the sax on this song. (And, remembered back to hearing it live, one year ago ih Seattle)..

Little kids. And music. Nuttin' better. Little kids ain't got no sense, feel, contact with YouTube, grooveshark, Pandora, music.aol.com,. Rhapsody, whatever. Lil' kids 'cipher on their own, bend the knees to the beat, smile, and gyrate with no instructions, and they feel, happily. A very happy, fun for all thing.

I'm embarrassed (not really) that I, at age 59, turn my radio full blast occasionally en route to/or from work.. if the right song comes across.... Examples you ask? Sure... today, lunchtime.. “Chain” Fleetwood Mac... “Another Brick in the Wall” Pink Floyd... “Werewolves of London” Warren.. “Lowrider” War... “War, what is it good for?” Edwin... and many more....

We all have those songs, our fav's, the music that lifts... There are SO many types.. so many 'fits' for just the right person/personality........ acoustic... alternative... ballads.. bluegrass... calipso... celtic... Christian.. Country... Disco.. Folk... Gospel... Hard rock... Jazz... Metal... Motown... and I'm only halfway thru the alphabet...

Bottomline, music is kinda-sorta universal. To each his/her own.

Recently, 4-5 barstools over, a group of 3 snotnoses (Sorry, my loving terminology for anyone who prolly still wears jeans size 32 waist or less...).. were discussing 'groups', as in music. Of course I'd never hearda any of 'em, but I found glee in the fact, music rocks for them as well.

It's such a great era, sans the scratches on 33's/45's... the 8 tracks where the GD (Gosh Darn) tape breaks off in the contraption... the cassette, where you gotta flip it from one side to the other to hear your two fav's.. music is instantaneous now... I want what I want, and I want it now. And we get it.

Moods. Music helps moods. Was thinking the other day, wouldn't it be cool, if we could CTRL/ALT/DELETE life's problems, and we can't. Realism sets in, grabs us by the collar and says “damnit Victor, do you realize how minimal your problems are to many?”... Thanks. I needed that, and I oft times forget.

Music helps.We're black, white, thin, large, fast, slow, smart, not-so-much, smiley, grumpy, nice, quiet, loud, married, single, divorced, separated, gay, old, young, middle-aged, very young, very old, fast-thinking-acting, take-it-all-in-making-'wise' decisions, saggers, gansta's, whatever... .. There's a variety of music for each of us. With music there is no exclusive round peg, square hole.

I'll be the very first to admit... divorcing 9 years ago... some down times. I am sooooooooooooo thankful for music. Music has turned many 'both sides of the mouth droop' to FOOT-TAPPING-SMILING-FEEEEEEEEEELING.. just say, I'm thankful.

Victor... two questions........ #1... are u kinda embarrassed that you write here so frequently? I probably should be, but I ain't. I get these feelings, urges, feels, and I type. Sorry.

What was the second question? You started this off with the heading “No streaming please”... whatsup with that?....

Well... today, for whatever reason, I was in the mood for Country music... not my norm, but my mood today.. so.. I Googled “Top 100 alltime Country Western songs”.. Youtube'd... and gleefully was listening to “I'm so lonesome I could cry”... “Crazy”... “Stand by your man”... “Ring of Fire”... “I will always love you”.. etc, etc...

Then, coworker, a great gal, rushed over.. “DIDN'T YOU GET THE EMAIL ABOUT 'NO STREAMING'? Hehe. I swear, I'm neither a smart-ass or a rebel.. but I replied (complete with shit-eatin' grin) “we're equals... you/me... so, I ain't gonna quit streaming... someone above me comes, says, 'Victor, cut that crap out' I will”...

FYI too, we just gotta email where our loving IT Department upgraded our internet to “50 times faster” so my take, to hell with them.. rock on... stream on.. = Tracy Chapman, “Give me one more reason” here I come.

Love, musically, Victurd.

I’m afraid of women. I am (said lovingly)……

Please don't tell.

Just out on break… me… four chickies.. I swear to goodness I looked up, listened, observed… all four of them were talking at the same time. I have a rule for never being a smartass, but, couldn’t resist the urge to stop them all……. ask…… “If all four of you are talking, who is listening?”……

Giggles.. them some retorts about “_____ will say something to me in the kitchen while I’m doing the dishes, and then say ‘you’re not listening’…“I AM TOO”….. and also heard the term “multi-tasking”… Women are somehow ‘coordinated’ in this manner. A sure bet though, more comes out the mouth than what goes in the ears. (It’s ok, I was probably never gonna get laid again anyways)….

We have cubicle walls here at work. Supposed sound barriers (fancy for “haha boss, you can’t see me on Facebook.”).. We also have phones here. Each of us. Women don’t use ‘em. M yells a question to D, who sits 3 cubicles over, mebbe fitteen feet away, another M overhears, she’s 16 feet or so to the East, she yells back an answer.. and then someone else from three cubicles over responds (loudly) to all three. I, the one never being a smartass, pick up my phone, call “Hammer” (our beloved building manager) and loudly say “Hammer, please come get these damn phones.. hell.. they don’t use ‘em anyways.”…

Also… why do women always announce “I’m going to the bathroom”? Why can’t one quietly standup, walk and go pee? I, one who tries to never be a smartass, always ask “WHY do you announce that?”.. (Now these same women, who ALWAYS announce “I’m going to the bathroom” – but those times - WHEN THEY CARRY THEIR PURSE TO THE JOHN with them, nary a peep. I don’t get it! Hehe.)

Women have uterine tracking devices, they do. My ex could find anything lost within our house. Always amazed me. MS’s GPS. Women too, are always right (no matter the topic/situation/circumstance), yet we men yield to the temptation to disagree sometimes just for disagreement purpose. Ultimately the dreaded “I told you so” is spoken… Women 1, Men 0. Can’t win. Borrowing from a past Russian Olympic team who fell to the US…”we (men) took 2nd, the US (women) took next to last.”

A mad female. (I did not say mad cow, I said a mad female.. YOU were the one who thought/envisioned it.) I am more afraid of any 5’4”, 105 lb incensed lady than I would be lined up across from the Kansas City Chief’s offensive line. (After the debacle against this past Sunday against Miami, I prolly shoulda used another example, but you get my drift.)

I would never admit this, but I actually kinda like a chick’s passion in anger. The veins popping out, the eyeballs that singe.. the eyebrows that are even more scarier than Brezhnev’s.. Possessing the capability to bring a 6’ man to his knees faster’na Catholic sermon.

Creepy, observant eyeballs. I could literally go to work, have on two different shoes, my zipper be down, and one sidea my collar up – and I probably wouldn’t discover any of it before the bell to go home. Women notice everything. Spooky. “You gotta new pair of shoes.” Yes.. yes I did. “And ____, you got new boots.” Yes… yes she did. Kinda makes one feel naked, like ur being looked over the whole time. Yes, checked, zipper was up. Whew.

Women are unique, and similar – if that makes sense. I love ‘em. I do. It would be an extremely boring (not to mention short-lived) world without them.

Worst part mebbe, they possess that smile. That smile that melts us, wraps us around their little finger. I hate/love that. Sorry to ramble, but I guess it beats the hell outta describing what car part conked out on me this week. (Water pump btw. $37, four knuckle-scraping hours on the “two hour job”.. but it works and I saved a couple hunnerd mebbe.)

Love to all, even u chicks. Victurd.