Sorry, kinda, I'm back. I realize these have become relentless - but, ever eat a pine tree, many parts are edible... No, that ain't it. I mean, I mean.. why do people start sentences with "I mean?" Makes you wonder, if the next time they start a sentence and they don't say "I mean" to start it.. do they really not mean it then?
What I was going to say before all that was - it's (reading this stupid thing) is much like life - everything (happiness, sadness, orneriness, horniness) is a choice. OK, I lied, I am not sure if horniness is a choice. I assume it would depend on your church of choice, restroom of choice, just kidding. WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY is no likey blog, no ready blog. I am aware I obnoxiously write to the tune of many clicking the 'unfollow' button on FB, and hey, I'm ok with that. I'll just go eat a pine tree and you'll never know what you're missing.
Can't help about the shape I'm in I can't sing I ain't pretty and my legs are thin. That is onea my alltime favorite song lines. It's from the Fleetwood Mac song "Oh Well" which is a wonderful descriptor of being this age. Oh well.
It's often asked to old people like us "would you do it allover again?"... Well, when seeing the traffic on Interstate, it prompts, hell no. I LOVE LOVE LOVE me some grandkids, but they do eventually go home. The cherry on top to "No I wouldn't do it again" is the tsunami they've left in my living room, bedroom, kitchen, yada. I know I know I should be more firm, but they're my grandkids!
Many of us have said. "till death do us part"...I've already said "til death do us part" TWICE, so, I just know.. I just know, if I said it a third time, some dude in the third pew would holler "YEAH, RIGHT!" - so, that's a no.
I enjoy my age. I can read 67 comments on a political argument, then, go take a nap to recover. No setting alarms for work, breakfast, taking the kids to school, trash day, outta clean undies - laundromat before work... etc.... There's a LOT of etcetera as to why "nope, wouldn't" do it allover again. Word just drew a red line under etcetera, but ha ha, I no longer have to go to school, you can KMA and no, I ain't looking it up so I can get it right. I spelled it, did it my way (right Frank?)
I don't want children. Practice maybe, children, no. Sorry, not really. I ain't an amoeba. Forgive me, I went back to school for a sec.. looked up amoeba.. to make sure I knew whatintheheck I was talking about.. I learned, "Sex is quite common among amoebas, even though some are asexual." Sounds like that one online dating site I was on. Sorry, not really. 'Sorry, not really' is a staple for this age I find. It works. And when I say "It works" I'm aware there's a get rich scheme for selling body wraps, weight loss products, yada, called "It works" and NO, I don't wanna do that either. Say, have you seen my Avon (Mary Kay, The Pampered Chef, Amway, HealthyJointsSkin, Tupperware ->surely you've got some bottoms that need lids ain't ya?.. yada).. Patooey, no thank you.
Aging, I find.. involves the road less traveled, more scenic.. knowing where every restroom in Target, WalMart, Sams, Costco, Piggly Wiggly, QT, 7-11, etc, are. Exercise? Oh, occasionally I guess, the only time I really resemble anything close to running nowadays is when I really gotta pee, which actually is pretty frequently. I dated, ok, lived with, a lady who shall remain nameless, but it usedta be soooo fun to watch her pull in the driveway, she would SPRINT, and I mean sprint, from the car door to the bathroom. No "Hi howareya", stop to get the mail, pet the hound dog, SHE RAN. It's an old thing. I wonder if it's ok to run in nursing homes? Hope so. Depends I guess. Sorry, not sorry.
Aging, and fellow good friends again, ah, wonderful. We must NEVER forget the stories that will embarrass the heck out of them, and we don't. Sadly, that works both ways, so we must use caution in razzing them. I always say, "just remember, I can dish it out but I can't take it." Doesn't work, but I say it.
Aging makes one want to attach a 9 volt battery to every nose ring that extends from both nostrils. It makes you wanna go to the thrift store, buy a supply of belts, and pass them out to every sagger you come upon. We are thought to be cantankerous, might as well bear fruit eh?
Aging. We downsize. We get ridda end tables, coffee tables, replace them with recumbent bikes, ellipticals... they are all gonna grow dust, why not make it look good?
We can cuss when stairs don't have banisters.. football stadiums that have 73,000 seats and one elevator. "This sucks.. and so does your old man" (I added that because I've always thought it's what you say when you're old.. kind of a 'get even' statement... "And so is your old man.")
We old people, well, me at least, I love to write "Return to sender" on every Gosh Darn piece of mail I get for hearing aids, life insurance, Medicare sales pamphlets that are weakly disguised as from Uncle Sam. Sorry, kinda, to stick it to the postman, but hey, they're 30 and out, they can retire at fitty (WITH Health Inurance).. . They can take it!
We old people. If you've ever been in line at the Piggly Wiggly. The 7-11, Quick Trip yada - you will then realize we old people can go on and on and on talking about not much of anything - which is kinda like this blog (Sorry... and you know the drill). .. Sadly though, I guess that would mean the joke is on you! Sorry, kinda.
I'll get outta here.
VICTOR! WAIT!
Yeah? The hell does all of this have to do with "The paperclip"?
I am so thankful you asked. My father. My hero. When my mother had her stroke, dad stayed home to care for her, and also got Dealer tags, fixed up old clunkers in the driveway. He had this one pair of pants that were his favorite. They were complete with.. multiple tears (no bits exposed).. . body putty.. several shades of MoPar touch up paint...oil.. power steering fluid... let's just say he lived in them.
So, like you and me did.. .when we worked, and it came time we needed to go to the grocery store... post office.. WallyWorld.. etc.. we wore whatever we were wearing to work.
Same with dad. Then one day.
The little flipper thing that you have to raise and lower your zipper. Well, that thing broke off (of his favorite body putty, paint, oil, yada pants.) Soooooooo....
He got a BIG OLE paperclip. (No, not a small one, a BIG ONE), affixed it to the zipper of his favorite drawers, and on he went to the Piggly Wiggly. It tore up my mom horribly. "NO!!!!! (She'd beg, plead).. "Please put on a decent pair of pants, DON'T wear that paperclip to the Piggly Wiggly."
Life, being old, is all about doing whatinthehell you wanna. He was my hero.
Here's to backroads.. GPS to restrooms.. horniness (pills for ED) VICTOR! Sorry, kinda, not really. Choices in life. Pine trees.. 9 volt batteries, belts, bannisters.. and....
Paperclips..
By Henry (he's 103 yrs old today) Gibson.. Forward by Euell Gibbons (he would be 111 yrs old if still with us)..
Love, Victurd
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