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.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Lil bitty birdies….
Several hunnerd of ‘em. Bout 7am this morning, having a cig at work… In the distance, hear this meshed humming noise getting closer and closer… Soon, the blueish sky was interrupted by the Southward path of this group. A bit too high up to distinguish exactly what kinda lil bitty bird they were, which too is fancy for “hell I wouldn’t know anyways.”
Amazing was my first thought. Then protection my second – as I envisioned being spray with poop – as surely several of them would as they hovered over. Wouldn’t it be soooo awesome to fly and simply poop on whomever you wanted, wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted?
To my delight, they suddenly turned Eastward – and one by one all plopped on an electrical wire across the street. Why doesn’t this fry the lil bastards? Never understood that…
Oh they were chirping.. It was like “Is this akin to our Flying J?”.. Rest Area? Interstate McDonalds?.. One single lil birdie soon flew the length of the wire – as if he/she were a schoolmaster making sure all in their place. Or hell, mebbe coulda been like a bar, and he was checking out the chicks.. dunno.
Several flew off… most stayed.. Were they the GPS crew? Rebels? The young’ns?..
I wondered if we, humans, to them looked like they do to us. All look alike?. Wonder how they choose who they “fire” on? Wondered if “size matters” cause all them sumbitches was teeny weeny. Do the male lil birdies piggies also exclaim “did u see the breast on her?”.. Do they hug with their wings? Do they “do themselves”. VICTOR! Sorry, just wondered.
Wonder if they have lifelong mates? Wondered what happens to the aging ones that don’t have the gumption to make this annual Southward trek.. Bird nursing home in Minnesota?
Wondered if all the chirping was being done by primarily the females? (jk… kinda).. Wondered what it’s like to fly… Soar..
Is this wonderful freedom and lacka responsibility a fair trade off for such a short life expectancy? Would you give up rent, cars, charge cards, utility bills, have to’s for seven years of flying allover the US with ne’er a worry? (and only 7, then u die)
The wire was by now bouncing up and down.. the combined weight of ‘em did that. Perty cool to see. Where’d they come from? The hell they going? How long does it take ‘em?
Nature is a pretty damn cool thing. Sure, harsh – but oh so cool. A conglomeration of us all, animals, mammals, fishies….. humans… Coexisting, mostly peacefully.
Are there ‘bird laws’? If so, would they call the ones going behind bars “jail-humans”?
How old do ya have to be to make this annual Southward trek? Do some ever stay behind and make it thru the winter? Do some rebel in – say, Padre Island and tell the others “to hell with you, you go on ahead back up North.. I likes it here, growing roots.”
One lil bitty species, buncha lil bitty birds. Perty damn cool.
Fly robin fly… up up to the sky. The short respite of observing the lil birdies helped make my day fly by. They were real livewires. They were all the same – birds of a feather flock together. Unique, yet similar.
Thank you Creator for this day, this moment… for allowing my brain to look skyward and ask so many questions, have so many thoughts – even gain a chuckle or two outta it.
Life is, basically great. Flies by. Love, Victurd
Amazing was my first thought. Then protection my second – as I envisioned being spray with poop – as surely several of them would as they hovered over. Wouldn’t it be soooo awesome to fly and simply poop on whomever you wanted, wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted?
To my delight, they suddenly turned Eastward – and one by one all plopped on an electrical wire across the street. Why doesn’t this fry the lil bastards? Never understood that…
Oh they were chirping.. It was like “Is this akin to our Flying J?”.. Rest Area? Interstate McDonalds?.. One single lil birdie soon flew the length of the wire – as if he/she were a schoolmaster making sure all in their place. Or hell, mebbe coulda been like a bar, and he was checking out the chicks.. dunno.
Several flew off… most stayed.. Were they the GPS crew? Rebels? The young’ns?..
I wondered if we, humans, to them looked like they do to us. All look alike?. Wonder how they choose who they “fire” on? Wondered if “size matters” cause all them sumbitches was teeny weeny. Do the male lil birdies piggies also exclaim “did u see the breast on her?”.. Do they hug with their wings? Do they “do themselves”. VICTOR! Sorry, just wondered.
Wonder if they have lifelong mates? Wondered what happens to the aging ones that don’t have the gumption to make this annual Southward trek.. Bird nursing home in Minnesota?
Wondered if all the chirping was being done by primarily the females? (jk… kinda).. Wondered what it’s like to fly… Soar..
Is this wonderful freedom and lacka responsibility a fair trade off for such a short life expectancy? Would you give up rent, cars, charge cards, utility bills, have to’s for seven years of flying allover the US with ne’er a worry? (and only 7, then u die)
The wire was by now bouncing up and down.. the combined weight of ‘em did that. Perty cool to see. Where’d they come from? The hell they going? How long does it take ‘em?
Nature is a pretty damn cool thing. Sure, harsh – but oh so cool. A conglomeration of us all, animals, mammals, fishies….. humans… Coexisting, mostly peacefully.
Are there ‘bird laws’? If so, would they call the ones going behind bars “jail-humans”?
How old do ya have to be to make this annual Southward trek? Do some ever stay behind and make it thru the winter? Do some rebel in – say, Padre Island and tell the others “to hell with you, you go on ahead back up North.. I likes it here, growing roots.”
One lil bitty species, buncha lil bitty birds. Perty damn cool.
Fly robin fly… up up to the sky. The short respite of observing the lil birdies helped make my day fly by. They were real livewires. They were all the same – birds of a feather flock together. Unique, yet similar.
Thank you Creator for this day, this moment… for allowing my brain to look skyward and ask so many questions, have so many thoughts – even gain a chuckle or two outta it.
Life is, basically great. Flies by. Love, Victurd
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Bang Bang Maxwell….
Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical
Science in the home…
Late nights all alone with her test tube
Oh, oh oh oh…
“Hey, when’d we get that painting?”… ahm, two years ago.. I never was
very observant. Heard this song going into work today. So light, so fun, then
I actually listened to the lyrics….
Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine
Calls her on the phone..
“Can I take you out to the pictures Joan?”
But as she’s getting ready to go
A knock comes on the door..
Ok, so far so good. Guy/gal, mebbe future, mebbe smooching. Well before the
days of “I’m broke, let’s go to Redbox instead, cuddle on the couch.”
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead.
WHAT? “So light, so fun” the hell is that?
So, I went to ‘my teacher’… Wiki… Wiki relates… Paul relates “"Maxwell's Silver Hammer" is my analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as it so often does, as I was beginning to find out at that time in my life. I wanted something symbolic of that, so to me it was some fictitious character called Maxwell with a silver hammer. We still use that expression now when something unexpected happens.”
Back in school again Maxwell plays the fool again
Teacher gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant scene
She tells Max to say when class has gone away
Se he waits behind
Writing fifty time, “I must not be so”
But when she turns her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind…
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down up her head
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead.
And I thought it was rap that introduced us to violent crap like that. Ok, parody perhaps. Kinda vaudevillian-like. I hate guns though. True. Do. Sure, I go to the Piggly Wiggly and eyeball the ground beef prices – but I could never hunt – and could care less if I ever fished again. Just don’t like violence, confrontation. Maxwell, you ornery slut.
PC Thirty One said, “We caught a dirty one”
Maxwell stands alone
Painting testimonial picture
Oh, oh oh oh..
Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery
Says he must go free
The judge does not agree, and he tells them so
But as the words are leaving his lips
A noise come from behind
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that he was dead.
I don’t get if Victor. Why this song? Eh, it just kinda goes to showya… An approach maybe.. Bad shit happens in life… You can’t make light of it – but, you can choose light, upbeat, fun……. sunny side up. Are you Pollyanna’n the lemon/lemonade shit?
Mebbe. Fun. Maxwell sounds fun. His actions ain’t. Can’t control other’s actions – but
can your own. Mine. All mine.
Harrison once said “"one of those instant whistle-along tunes which some people hate, and other people really like. It's a fun song, but it's kind of a drag because Maxwell keeps on destroying everyone like his girlfriend then the school teacher, and then, finally, the judge." …..In 1977, Harrison would be less charitable, stating "I mean, my God, 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' was so fruity."
Took ‘em three days to record, with Paul’s insistence things be perfect.
Ringo, never heard ole Ringo cuss.. but he said….”It was the worst track we ever had to record. It went on for fucking weeks. I thought it was mad."
Light, fun. Upbeat. A whistling tune. Smile amongst the shit. Don’t worry, be happy.
See the funny little clown. Lemon/lemonade.
Silver hammer man….. Have a vaudevillian-like day. Up, not down. Light, fun, happy.
Love, Victurd.
Science in the home…
Late nights all alone with her test tube
Oh, oh oh oh…
“Hey, when’d we get that painting?”… ahm, two years ago.. I never was
very observant. Heard this song going into work today. So light, so fun, then
I actually listened to the lyrics….
Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine
Calls her on the phone..
“Can I take you out to the pictures Joan?”
But as she’s getting ready to go
A knock comes on the door..
Ok, so far so good. Guy/gal, mebbe future, mebbe smooching. Well before the
days of “I’m broke, let’s go to Redbox instead, cuddle on the couch.”
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead.
WHAT? “So light, so fun” the hell is that?
So, I went to ‘my teacher’… Wiki… Wiki relates… Paul relates “"Maxwell's Silver Hammer" is my analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as it so often does, as I was beginning to find out at that time in my life. I wanted something symbolic of that, so to me it was some fictitious character called Maxwell with a silver hammer. We still use that expression now when something unexpected happens.”
Back in school again Maxwell plays the fool again
Teacher gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant scene
She tells Max to say when class has gone away
Se he waits behind
Writing fifty time, “I must not be so”
But when she turns her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind…
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down up her head
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead.
And I thought it was rap that introduced us to violent crap like that. Ok, parody perhaps. Kinda vaudevillian-like. I hate guns though. True. Do. Sure, I go to the Piggly Wiggly and eyeball the ground beef prices – but I could never hunt – and could care less if I ever fished again. Just don’t like violence, confrontation. Maxwell, you ornery slut.
PC Thirty One said, “We caught a dirty one”
Maxwell stands alone
Painting testimonial picture
Oh, oh oh oh..
Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery
Says he must go free
The judge does not agree, and he tells them so
But as the words are leaving his lips
A noise come from behind
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Clang! Clang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that he was dead.
I don’t get if Victor. Why this song? Eh, it just kinda goes to showya… An approach maybe.. Bad shit happens in life… You can’t make light of it – but, you can choose light, upbeat, fun……. sunny side up. Are you Pollyanna’n the lemon/lemonade shit?
Mebbe. Fun. Maxwell sounds fun. His actions ain’t. Can’t control other’s actions – but
can your own. Mine. All mine.
Harrison once said “"one of those instant whistle-along tunes which some people hate, and other people really like. It's a fun song, but it's kind of a drag because Maxwell keeps on destroying everyone like his girlfriend then the school teacher, and then, finally, the judge." …..In 1977, Harrison would be less charitable, stating "I mean, my God, 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' was so fruity."
Took ‘em three days to record, with Paul’s insistence things be perfect.
Ringo, never heard ole Ringo cuss.. but he said….”It was the worst track we ever had to record. It went on for fucking weeks. I thought it was mad."
Light, fun. Upbeat. A whistling tune. Smile amongst the shit. Don’t worry, be happy.
See the funny little clown. Lemon/lemonade.
Silver hammer man….. Have a vaudevillian-like day. Up, not down. Light, fun, happy.
Love, Victurd.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Bothered…..
Quoting Wiki….”Confidence can be a self-fulfilling prophecy as those without it may fail or not try because they lack it and those with it may succeed because they have it rather than because of an innate ability.”
Back to the mole game. You know. Chucky Cheese. The game with 30 holes, and you got this mallet, and the moles surface from who-knows-which hole, and you bash the hell outta ‘em.
Sometimes I feel like a nut.. . ahm,no, that ain’t it. Sometimes I feel like a mole (yeah, yeah, yeah), sometimes I don’t.
Like dating.. or, like”‘not dating” because I’ve been thru periods where I have simply taken too many blows from that mallet, why even bother?
Then……… sunsabitches… gotta remember ‘counterclockwise’, so get your sorry mole ass out there.
Arrogance. I’ve never understood why the opposite sex (both female and male) seem to not be perturbed by arrogance. Wiki be sayin’ “arrogance is having unmerited confidence--believing something or someone is capable or correct when they are not.” I go to this goofy single’s chat site – and see arrogance daily. I wanna upchuck, others simply giggle. Patooey. Seems the arrogant ones, feel the need to diss others, perhaps to uplift, “justify” their own self/arrogance.
Victor…. the hell you going with this? Ain’t sure. I spose I’m confused, confounded at my present state of confidence… Do you feel your two past marriages helped bring you to this point? Bear/woods.
Have you demonstrated a history of perhaps getting your feelings hurt a little too easily. NO! WHOINTHEHELL TOLD YOU THAT?!!.. ahm, ok, mebbe. Bite me.
Frame. I love to frame shit. You know, like observe a co-worker, their heart, their strengths, their love for life – and somehow wrap it all up (frame it) with a statement that hopefully places them on Cloud 9. And, fortunately, I’ve been on the receiving end from others similarly – and it’s SUCH a good feel. Boosts confidence.
Deja vu. Déjà vu kills confidence like Raid kills ants. Echo. Resounding. Mebbe, wearing heart on sleeve, I let past shit said to me resonate for’er and for’er. Statements winged during little “Agree to disagree” spats. Embedded. They become embedded. Fast forward each – to today. Been here before. Déjà vu. “”Confidence can be a self-fulfilling prophecy as those without it may fail or not try.”
I likes my brain. I know it ain’t $$ smart, but I do ok. I likes my looks ok. I know I ain’t George Clooney, but I ain’t Lyle Lovette neither. I’ve demonstrated some athletic ability in the past (Victor, who cares?).. I whistle. I smile. I’d like to think I make the day better, funner, for those around me.
Sometimes I feel like a nut… yeah yeah yeah…… Sometimes I feel like a mole…. yeah yeah yeah… sometimes I don’t.
By Henry Gibson. Love, Victurd. (I know, didn’t make sense to me either….. kinda)
Quoting Wiki….”Confidence can be a self-fulfilling prophecy as those without it may fail or not try because they lack it and those with it may succeed because they have it rather than because of an innate ability.”
Back to the mole game. You know. Chucky Cheese. The game with 30 holes, and you got this mallet, and the moles surface from who-knows-which hole, and you bash the hell outta ‘em.
Sometimes I feel like a nut.. . ahm,no, that ain’t it. Sometimes I feel like a mole (yeah, yeah, yeah), sometimes I don’t.
Like dating.. or, like”‘not dating” because I’ve been thru periods where I have simply taken too many blows from that mallet, why even bother?
Then……… sunsabitches… gotta remember ‘counterclockwise’, so get your sorry mole ass out there.
Arrogance. I’ve never understood why the opposite sex (both female and male) seem to not be perturbed by arrogance. Wiki be sayin’ “arrogance is having unmerited confidence--believing something or someone is capable or correct when they are not.” I go to this goofy single’s chat site – and see arrogance daily. I wanna upchuck, others simply giggle. Patooey. Seems the arrogant ones, feel the need to diss others, perhaps to uplift, “justify” their own self/arrogance.
Victor…. the hell you going with this? Ain’t sure. I spose I’m confused, confounded at my present state of confidence… Do you feel your two past marriages helped bring you to this point? Bear/woods.
Have you demonstrated a history of perhaps getting your feelings hurt a little too easily. NO! WHOINTHEHELL TOLD YOU THAT?!!.. ahm, ok, mebbe. Bite me.
Frame. I love to frame shit. You know, like observe a co-worker, their heart, their strengths, their love for life – and somehow wrap it all up (frame it) with a statement that hopefully places them on Cloud 9. And, fortunately, I’ve been on the receiving end from others similarly – and it’s SUCH a good feel. Boosts confidence.
Deja vu. Déjà vu kills confidence like Raid kills ants. Echo. Resounding. Mebbe, wearing heart on sleeve, I let past shit said to me resonate for’er and for’er. Statements winged during little “Agree to disagree” spats. Embedded. They become embedded. Fast forward each – to today. Been here before. Déjà vu. “”Confidence can be a self-fulfilling prophecy as those without it may fail or not try.”
I likes my brain. I know it ain’t $$ smart, but I do ok. I likes my looks ok. I know I ain’t George Clooney, but I ain’t Lyle Lovette neither. I’ve demonstrated some athletic ability in the past (Victor, who cares?).. I whistle. I smile. I’d like to think I make the day better, funner, for those around me.
Sometimes I feel like a nut… yeah yeah yeah…… Sometimes I feel like a mole…. yeah yeah yeah… sometimes I don’t.
By Henry Gibson. Love, Victurd. (I know, didn’t make sense to me either….. kinda)
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Counterclockwise……..
Victor, is this gonna be another stupid blog about how much you love “leftfield, and coming from?”……
Mebbe. Hehe. No. Different, very different.
Ok, so is it going to be another GD (gosh darn) sermon where you (up there) all high and mighty tell US how to live?
Mebbe. Hehe. No. Different, very different.
WTF then? What the fooey? Yeah, however u like to decode that, WHAT?
Strolled again yesterday down the steps of the community center… Whisked right by the workout area.. (lady, extremely gorgeous… in spandex.. Dynamite figure… close your ears: Stacked.. And while stacked has never thrilled me, on a tiny figured lady there’s just something about it. Married lady. VICTOR! Come on damnit, I didn't do nuttin' other than look.. Hell, her hubby should be proud us codgers look. )…… into the locker room… quick change into swim trunks….. And to the sauna….
Sauna was 190 degrees. Damn, but nice. Soon, the sweat was rolling outta my leathery arms… hey, your arms will look leathery too damnit when you’re fitty-seven! Once I was dripping, headed for the Jacuzzi… Hard to people watch on this day.. The lifeguard, his snotnose girlfriend in chair beside him… one dude swimming lane laps… a preschooler in the wading pool, with mom one eye on the paper, one on he……… and me……
Since I got hurt last gamea the year in softball, this has been my community center routine. Before, it included 30 minutes on the elliptical, weights, and then the sauna/Jacuzzi. (GD Windows keeps capitalizing Jacuzzi, must be named after some dude.)
Muscles soothed from jets, back to Jacuzzi with a capital. After ten more minutes of 190 degree heat, I needed a break from it. So, lone chair - there - katacorner from lifeguard, pimple faced gf, the preschooler, and the lap swimmer.
Then I noticed it. The clock. Digital. Ceptin’ it wasn’t ‘adding time’, twas subtracting it. 42:37, 42:36, 42:35, etc…. For the benefit of the lap-swimmer dude I’m sure - but too, it hit me. Mebbe all of our “life clocks” oughta run that way.. Backwards. Counting down. Counterclockwise.
Would serve as a reminder “yain’t getting this minute back, use it wisely.” I KNEW YOU WERE GONNA PREACH. Hold up just one second there cigarette-breath. How many times must I say “I write TO me, hitchhikers welcome.” So, said again.
You figure your age, you take the life expectancy of your gender, and you set your clock - living, but with the reminder of how precious time is. You can’t worry about what happened long ago (53:42, 53:41).. You must take on life in the present, 42:34, 42:33, 42:32, for it’s winding down. You mustn’t mire yourself in why “that one” ended, nor revisit (53:40, 53:39).. You’ve got to eyeball the counterclockwise clock,42:31, 42:30, 42:29, and realize, baby, this is all I got. Make the most of each minute.
And then it happened. Ain’t thata song? Lap dudes clock struck 00:00, and he, long gone.
Funny thing next… Clock went to 00:01, 00:02, 00:03... And my brain said “hmmmm, maybe that’s the reward for someone who lives PAST their life expectancy… maybe that’s the one that beat the doctor’s “You have 8 months to live”.. Maybe these minutes are for the one who divorced and thought “it’s over… I just know it’s over.”
Some don’t make it to 00:00. High School class reunion planning party today. Nine page spreadsheet, and throughout the (GD size 8 typed) list, interspersed periodically, “deceased.”
So sad, so very sad. We never know. Victor, pay attention to 42:28, 42:27, 42:26, it’s all you got. And, it may not even last that long.
So, please choose smile insteada shit. Please search for the good, not the evil. Be a boxer, you know you’re gonna get knocked down again, promise yourself to spring to your feet so not to miss a wonderful second.
We had an old style hand clock in the gym when I was in 8th grade… used it for our basketball games.. It was lit in white, and when the final minute arrived, suddenly went RED. As in “panic”… It too was counterclockwise. A reminder, one day this shit (said lovingly) will all end. Make the most of it. Choose smile over frown, up over down.
Anxiously await, and hopefully make happen: hugs, smooches, backrubs, friends, good times, work with a smile or a whistle, up. Not down, up.
I’m rambling, I better get outta here. Anyone got the time? Love, Victurd.
Mebbe. Hehe. No. Different, very different.
Ok, so is it going to be another GD (gosh darn) sermon where you (up there) all high and mighty tell US how to live?
Mebbe. Hehe. No. Different, very different.
WTF then? What the fooey? Yeah, however u like to decode that, WHAT?
Strolled again yesterday down the steps of the community center… Whisked right by the workout area.. (lady, extremely gorgeous… in spandex.. Dynamite figure… close your ears: Stacked.. And while stacked has never thrilled me, on a tiny figured lady there’s just something about it. Married lady. VICTOR! Come on damnit, I didn't do nuttin' other than look.. Hell, her hubby should be proud us codgers look. )…… into the locker room… quick change into swim trunks….. And to the sauna….
Sauna was 190 degrees. Damn, but nice. Soon, the sweat was rolling outta my leathery arms… hey, your arms will look leathery too damnit when you’re fitty-seven! Once I was dripping, headed for the Jacuzzi… Hard to people watch on this day.. The lifeguard, his snotnose girlfriend in chair beside him… one dude swimming lane laps… a preschooler in the wading pool, with mom one eye on the paper, one on he……… and me……
Since I got hurt last gamea the year in softball, this has been my community center routine. Before, it included 30 minutes on the elliptical, weights, and then the sauna/Jacuzzi. (GD Windows keeps capitalizing Jacuzzi, must be named after some dude.)
Muscles soothed from jets, back to Jacuzzi with a capital. After ten more minutes of 190 degree heat, I needed a break from it. So, lone chair - there - katacorner from lifeguard, pimple faced gf, the preschooler, and the lap swimmer.
Then I noticed it. The clock. Digital. Ceptin’ it wasn’t ‘adding time’, twas subtracting it. 42:37, 42:36, 42:35, etc…. For the benefit of the lap-swimmer dude I’m sure - but too, it hit me. Mebbe all of our “life clocks” oughta run that way.. Backwards. Counting down. Counterclockwise.
Would serve as a reminder “yain’t getting this minute back, use it wisely.” I KNEW YOU WERE GONNA PREACH. Hold up just one second there cigarette-breath. How many times must I say “I write TO me, hitchhikers welcome.” So, said again.
You figure your age, you take the life expectancy of your gender, and you set your clock - living, but with the reminder of how precious time is. You can’t worry about what happened long ago (53:42, 53:41).. You must take on life in the present, 42:34, 42:33, 42:32, for it’s winding down. You mustn’t mire yourself in why “that one” ended, nor revisit (53:40, 53:39).. You’ve got to eyeball the counterclockwise clock,42:31, 42:30, 42:29, and realize, baby, this is all I got. Make the most of each minute.
And then it happened. Ain’t thata song? Lap dudes clock struck 00:00, and he, long gone.
Funny thing next… Clock went to 00:01, 00:02, 00:03... And my brain said “hmmmm, maybe that’s the reward for someone who lives PAST their life expectancy… maybe that’s the one that beat the doctor’s “You have 8 months to live”.. Maybe these minutes are for the one who divorced and thought “it’s over… I just know it’s over.”
Some don’t make it to 00:00. High School class reunion planning party today. Nine page spreadsheet, and throughout the (GD size 8 typed) list, interspersed periodically, “deceased.”
So sad, so very sad. We never know. Victor, pay attention to 42:28, 42:27, 42:26, it’s all you got. And, it may not even last that long.
So, please choose smile insteada shit. Please search for the good, not the evil. Be a boxer, you know you’re gonna get knocked down again, promise yourself to spring to your feet so not to miss a wonderful second.
We had an old style hand clock in the gym when I was in 8th grade… used it for our basketball games.. It was lit in white, and when the final minute arrived, suddenly went RED. As in “panic”… It too was counterclockwise. A reminder, one day this shit (said lovingly) will all end. Make the most of it. Choose smile over frown, up over down.
Anxiously await, and hopefully make happen: hugs, smooches, backrubs, friends, good times, work with a smile or a whistle, up. Not down, up.
I’m rambling, I better get outta here. Anyone got the time? Love, Victurd.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Crazy
I'm Crazy for feeling so lonely
Victor, is this yet another pity party? Using my favorite line from my stepson “not no’s, but hells no’s.” I just love the song. Did u know Willie wrote it? Well I’ll be go to hell, I didn’t know that…
I'm crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue…
Oh, but today’s blue is the sky.. as in golf…. again… gettin’ the hell outta here at noon to play golf. HA HA Old Man Winter, almost 60 degrees today…… YIPPPEEEEEE!
I knew
You'd love me as long as you wanted And then someday
You'd leave me for somebody new
But… I really didn’t know that. I wish I’d known that, and I never woulda entered the covenant. For many a year (after) I thought “Victor, you’re bad (stupid, not a good mate, jealous, controlling, don’t do anything to help, it’s all your fault)” – and then I realized: I like me. I’m ok. Not perfect, but I like me.
Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wond'rin'
What in the world did I do
Yeah, why did I? If someone enters a covenant, utters the words “til death do us part” and one day walks without ever considering reconciliation (almost as if it was the intent one day) – then why did I worry? Why would I want THAT? Again, I ain’t perfect, but, my word is my word. I’m crazy.
Oh! Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for tryin'
I'm Crazy for cryin'
And I'm crazy
For lovin' you
Nice song Willie. Great voice Patsy. I’m crazy ‘cause “the after” drove me so crazy. Goofy me. This old music penetrates my old bones with ‘feel’. Hell yeah. Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, jambalaya… Hello darlin’, it’s been a long time………. Victor, you’re old. I know, but please don’t tell my brain, k?
Funny. Having our 3rd class reunion planning party this weekend. My brain still kinda-sorta thinks as a kid. No, I know that ain’t always a good thing – but, I can tell you, it’s a fun thing. I love life, I love friends, I love family, I love my job, I love golf, beer, BBQ ribs, blue skies, snow (from inside the house), mountains, rivers, beaches, creeks, fall foliage…….. nice derrieres (uh huh, I’m an ass man. Wow. Punctuation. There’s a difference between “I’m an ass man” and “I’m an ass, man.” Hehe. I’m crazy.
I’m really not – but I was. Goodbye Joe, me gotta go. FORE! It’s a never ending saga for us men. Wow. Justa game. Always about trying to get it in the hole. Crazy. I’m crazy. Love, Victurd.
Victor, is this yet another pity party? Using my favorite line from my stepson “not no’s, but hells no’s.” I just love the song. Did u know Willie wrote it? Well I’ll be go to hell, I didn’t know that…
I'm crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue…
Oh, but today’s blue is the sky.. as in golf…. again… gettin’ the hell outta here at noon to play golf. HA HA Old Man Winter, almost 60 degrees today…… YIPPPEEEEEE!
I knew
You'd love me as long as you wanted And then someday
You'd leave me for somebody new
But… I really didn’t know that. I wish I’d known that, and I never woulda entered the covenant. For many a year (after) I thought “Victor, you’re bad (stupid, not a good mate, jealous, controlling, don’t do anything to help, it’s all your fault)” – and then I realized: I like me. I’m ok. Not perfect, but I like me.
Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wond'rin'
What in the world did I do
Yeah, why did I? If someone enters a covenant, utters the words “til death do us part” and one day walks without ever considering reconciliation (almost as if it was the intent one day) – then why did I worry? Why would I want THAT? Again, I ain’t perfect, but, my word is my word. I’m crazy.
Oh! Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for tryin'
I'm Crazy for cryin'
And I'm crazy
For lovin' you
Nice song Willie. Great voice Patsy. I’m crazy ‘cause “the after” drove me so crazy. Goofy me. This old music penetrates my old bones with ‘feel’. Hell yeah. Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, jambalaya… Hello darlin’, it’s been a long time………. Victor, you’re old. I know, but please don’t tell my brain, k?
Funny. Having our 3rd class reunion planning party this weekend. My brain still kinda-sorta thinks as a kid. No, I know that ain’t always a good thing – but, I can tell you, it’s a fun thing. I love life, I love friends, I love family, I love my job, I love golf, beer, BBQ ribs, blue skies, snow (from inside the house), mountains, rivers, beaches, creeks, fall foliage…….. nice derrieres (uh huh, I’m an ass man. Wow. Punctuation. There’s a difference between “I’m an ass man” and “I’m an ass, man.” Hehe. I’m crazy.
I’m really not – but I was. Goodbye Joe, me gotta go. FORE! It’s a never ending saga for us men. Wow. Justa game. Always about trying to get it in the hole. Crazy. I’m crazy. Love, Victurd.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Just a back rub…..
That’s all I want. Ok, a lie, but damn it’d be nice.
Why did God put your back in the back when it hurts so much and you can’t do anything about it by yourself? Of course, if your back were in your front, then that wouldn’t be quite as exciting when with the opposite sex.
Can you go to a massage parlor and JUST get a massage? I’m there. I can envision myself saying to the (female) masseuse (couldn’t do the male thing) “I think I love you” no matter how she looks.
To give is devine. I LOVE giving back rubs. These hands simply await, anxiously, the opportunity to give “feel good” again one day. Funny, these stupid dating sites. Ya wing an email out into never-never land – and ne’er a response. You check your inbox, nice, several, sometimes even many. Nah, not for me. These hands are made for walkin’, that’s just what they’ll do – onea these days these hands are gonna walk allover you…. Are ya ready hands? Start walkin! (The hell happened to Nancy Sinatra anyways?)….
As of late, I’ve been ‘dating’ Ms. Jacuzzi Jets. She’s got marvelous ‘feel good’ to her, but, she can’t cook, doesn’t converse, and not much visualization to her. Then again, she allows me to go play golf, attend happy hour with cohorts, and stays outta my checking account. Still, I’d trade for real hands. Not just any hands – and I think that’s the problem.
With age comes pickiness, and I’m too damn picky. The ones I see I like, seemingly have no desire to give/receive a GD (gosh darn) backrub. The ones that see me and like, I have no desire, no matta the current pain level of the muscles around the scapula – to have them delve their hands allover me.
Close your eyes. Imagine receiving a backrub. Heaven. Now, imagine giving a backrub. Heavenly. So easy, yet so hard. It’s certainly been a longtime, but me thinks I even remember ‘wonderful’ happening after mutual backrubs. You know, like pinochle, or scrabble, or maybe even a “Do you want to be a Millionaire” rerun…
When observing the opposite sex, seems we don’t focus in too much on their back. Nomme. I envision that wonderful sleekness and my ole hands helping to ease away the pain of everyday life… God shoulda made the back more attractive. Our eyeballs zoom in on other areas, and oh sure, they’re wonderful – but the back is an underrated erotic zone – and, like other parts, only shared intimately.
Can’t wait to get back, to the back.. and to her back. I just want a backrub… oh, and all the other junk (said lovingly) that comes with it.
These hands were made for walking… that’s just what they’ll do… onea these days these hands are gonna walk allover you… I gotta weak back. “When’d ya get it?” Bouta week back. Actually, long, long ago. Oh what I’d give to get/give a backrub. Back later. Back in awhile. Be right back. (Meaning, be ‘the right’ back, not brb).. Love, Victurd.
Why did God put your back in the back when it hurts so much and you can’t do anything about it by yourself? Of course, if your back were in your front, then that wouldn’t be quite as exciting when with the opposite sex.
Can you go to a massage parlor and JUST get a massage? I’m there. I can envision myself saying to the (female) masseuse (couldn’t do the male thing) “I think I love you” no matter how she looks.
To give is devine. I LOVE giving back rubs. These hands simply await, anxiously, the opportunity to give “feel good” again one day. Funny, these stupid dating sites. Ya wing an email out into never-never land – and ne’er a response. You check your inbox, nice, several, sometimes even many. Nah, not for me. These hands are made for walkin’, that’s just what they’ll do – onea these days these hands are gonna walk allover you…. Are ya ready hands? Start walkin! (The hell happened to Nancy Sinatra anyways?)….
As of late, I’ve been ‘dating’ Ms. Jacuzzi Jets. She’s got marvelous ‘feel good’ to her, but, she can’t cook, doesn’t converse, and not much visualization to her. Then again, she allows me to go play golf, attend happy hour with cohorts, and stays outta my checking account. Still, I’d trade for real hands. Not just any hands – and I think that’s the problem.
With age comes pickiness, and I’m too damn picky. The ones I see I like, seemingly have no desire to give/receive a GD (gosh darn) backrub. The ones that see me and like, I have no desire, no matta the current pain level of the muscles around the scapula – to have them delve their hands allover me.
Close your eyes. Imagine receiving a backrub. Heaven. Now, imagine giving a backrub. Heavenly. So easy, yet so hard. It’s certainly been a longtime, but me thinks I even remember ‘wonderful’ happening after mutual backrubs. You know, like pinochle, or scrabble, or maybe even a “Do you want to be a Millionaire” rerun…
When observing the opposite sex, seems we don’t focus in too much on their back. Nomme. I envision that wonderful sleekness and my ole hands helping to ease away the pain of everyday life… God shoulda made the back more attractive. Our eyeballs zoom in on other areas, and oh sure, they’re wonderful – but the back is an underrated erotic zone – and, like other parts, only shared intimately.
Can’t wait to get back, to the back.. and to her back. I just want a backrub… oh, and all the other junk (said lovingly) that comes with it.
These hands were made for walking… that’s just what they’ll do… onea these days these hands are gonna walk allover you… I gotta weak back. “When’d ya get it?” Bouta week back. Actually, long, long ago. Oh what I’d give to get/give a backrub. Back later. Back in awhile. Be right back. (Meaning, be ‘the right’ back, not brb).. Love, Victurd.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Content with content….
Huh? The hell’s he talking about……
Content, emphasis on the first syllable. It’s what we’re made up of. It’s the ‘insideda us’. You know, we’ve heard of some that are “fulla shit.”… whilst others.. “filled with a good heart.”..
“Liar there.” “Controller.” “Cheater.” “BS’er.” “Gossiper.” that a word? It’s our makeup, what we bring to the table.. Seeing what’s in there as if we’re transparent.
Had a buddy in college.. Normal, average size Joe. Maybe 6’1”, 215 lbs. Played defensive end. Did things that a person of his stature shouldn’ta oughta been able to do. He’d somehow make his way around 275 lb tackles and sack the quarterback 2 to 3 times a game.
Coach asked him one day “what makes you tick?”… His content, of course. Heart, desire, want…
Somea us, our content is all about our surroundings….. “He’s all work.” “She’s all play.” “Absorbed in motherhood (fatherhood.).. “Alchy.” “Thrives playing ‘aint-it-awful?’.”…
Content – it’s our do, our what, our brain, our path, our everything.
Content – emphasis on the second syllable – now that’s a different puppy. Content is associated with happiness, proud of job done. Enjoying life and the goings-on around. “Doesn’t take much, I’m happy.” “I’ve got my mansion in Mission Hills, my Benz’, my groundskeeper, my maid – life is good.”
“This marriage rocks, I’m content.” “It ain’t the best job in the world, won’t ever be rich, but I love what I do and who I do it with… yeah, I’m content.”
Of course we all know the alter ego – Mal. Malcontent. That’s a story for another day. Seems some, no matter what – simply won’t allow themselves to be content. Wickedly, weirdly, choosing to ‘enjoy’ the struggle of life, mire in it.
Victor, howinthehell, whyinthehell this topic?
I’m on this goofy dating site. (Victor, you’ve been there for like forever – the hell is the holdup?). Bite me, story for another day. Anyways, this lady, an ENGLISH teacher wrote me and said “I checked out your blog. You write better than most--and that is a compliment.”.. AN ENGLISH TEACHER! I was content, happy.
So, me of butchered tongue – wrote back “Hey, an ENGLISH teacher complimenting my horribly grammatical work? THANKS!......”
To which she replied “I didn't comment on the mechanics--just the content. (Grin.)”
So I did………. grin. Thanks teacher lady, content with my content. Made my day. Now, if I could just twist, spin, turn, adjust, realign, shakeup, settle-down, get back-in-the-flow, see the glass as half full and not “the bastard leaks”… I think I’d be really content.
Nonetheless, content she liked my content. Later. Hope you’re contented. Love, Victurd.
Content, emphasis on the first syllable. It’s what we’re made up of. It’s the ‘insideda us’. You know, we’ve heard of some that are “fulla shit.”… whilst others.. “filled with a good heart.”..
“Liar there.” “Controller.” “Cheater.” “BS’er.” “Gossiper.” that a word? It’s our makeup, what we bring to the table.. Seeing what’s in there as if we’re transparent.
Had a buddy in college.. Normal, average size Joe. Maybe 6’1”, 215 lbs. Played defensive end. Did things that a person of his stature shouldn’ta oughta been able to do. He’d somehow make his way around 275 lb tackles and sack the quarterback 2 to 3 times a game.
Coach asked him one day “what makes you tick?”… His content, of course. Heart, desire, want…
Somea us, our content is all about our surroundings….. “He’s all work.” “She’s all play.” “Absorbed in motherhood (fatherhood.).. “Alchy.” “Thrives playing ‘aint-it-awful?’.”…
Content – it’s our do, our what, our brain, our path, our everything.
Content – emphasis on the second syllable – now that’s a different puppy. Content is associated with happiness, proud of job done. Enjoying life and the goings-on around. “Doesn’t take much, I’m happy.” “I’ve got my mansion in Mission Hills, my Benz’, my groundskeeper, my maid – life is good.”
“This marriage rocks, I’m content.” “It ain’t the best job in the world, won’t ever be rich, but I love what I do and who I do it with… yeah, I’m content.”
Of course we all know the alter ego – Mal. Malcontent. That’s a story for another day. Seems some, no matter what – simply won’t allow themselves to be content. Wickedly, weirdly, choosing to ‘enjoy’ the struggle of life, mire in it.
Victor, howinthehell, whyinthehell this topic?
I’m on this goofy dating site. (Victor, you’ve been there for like forever – the hell is the holdup?). Bite me, story for another day. Anyways, this lady, an ENGLISH teacher wrote me and said “I checked out your blog. You write better than most--and that is a compliment.”.. AN ENGLISH TEACHER! I was content, happy.
So, me of butchered tongue – wrote back “Hey, an ENGLISH teacher complimenting my horribly grammatical work? THANKS!......”
To which she replied “I didn't comment on the mechanics--just the content. (Grin.)”
So I did………. grin. Thanks teacher lady, content with my content. Made my day. Now, if I could just twist, spin, turn, adjust, realign, shakeup, settle-down, get back-in-the-flow, see the glass as half full and not “the bastard leaks”… I think I’d be really content.
Nonetheless, content she liked my content. Later. Hope you’re contented. Love, Victurd.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Casper, and life….
I could see Casper. Never really understood that. Thought ‘ghost’ meant disappearing. Also thought ghost meant eerie, spooky, should makeya skeered. Casper was nonea that.
Dating. Casper. Happens. What is often this fullcourt press, go baby go, we can’t get there fast enough, gimme mo’ gimme mo’ – turns ghostly. Gone. Disappeared. In a heartbeat, a flash. From boiling to cold.
Been on both ends. Unlike ghosts, hard to see through, understand. Reckon that chase to find out ‘why’ simply ain’t worth it. Could cast a thousand reasons, perhaps none correctly.
Too loud, too soft, too forward, cold, wanted younger, wanted older, insecure, too secure, ended last time – why jump in again….. too big, too small, too rich, too poor, arrogant, wimpy, just not sure… I saw cracks.. it’s not you, it’s me.. it’s not me, it’s you… Outta here…. Exit, stage left.
Mebbe why…. as a child, I was enthralled (ok, enter the word ‘crush’ here) with Elizabeth Montgomery and Barbara Eden… A twinkle of the nose, or arms crossed, folded, your wish is my command, I’m a ghost. Can disappear. Can move things and you won’t see. Can change life in a millisecond.
High School reunion planning party last Sunday. Huge list, printed out in what musta been size 8 type (go figure).. Damn.. I remember him/her… where the hell did they disappear to?.. Fell off the facea the earth when we graduated. Ghostly. Like Casper, friendly ghosts.
We, in life, jump in and out ghostlike. There are some days, I feel like being holed up in my bed, ashtray by my side, remote in right hand, cig in left – and please leave me alone, I’m Casper today, ghostly, don’t wanna come out.. get the help outta here, I’m disappearing.
Then, there’s them days where ya wanna revisit, see, every GD (gosh darn) friend, past lover, coworker, acquaintance you ever met……. yet…….. now THEY’VE disappeared.
Depression makes one ghostly. Sad endings lean one thataway. Fear of tomorrow make us hide inside the sleeping bag.. On second thought, in dating, brings on the Casper inside us..
My singledom, unofficially began sometime around the turn of the century.. Being the online idiot that I am, I've yapped with many along the way via Yahoo Instant Message. Gotta huge list of friends there. As age, time, destroyed brain cells happen – I now look at somea the names and wonder – whothehell is that? I don’t even remember either one of us disappearing…
U can run thru the list a names.. (Ok, I can then).. Can’t remember why ‘ghost’ happened. Did. Can’t change. Sometimes don’t wanna. Sometimes wish the meeting had never happened.
We is what we was. Huh? Yeah, you/me. Our past defines us, even when one is being ghostly, or being ‘ghosted’. Each name, face, figure – they’re our past, no matter how whimsically short the one-on-one mighta been. For a time, there was feel. Feel is great, no matta how fleeting.
I thank goodness for my computer – for it’s (kinda) kept me young. You ever see how fast a fitty-seven year old run inside after a 45 minute commute to see if-by-chance “she” has emailed? Almost ghostly.
Darn, that disappearing thing again. Everything ends. Everything. I spose, if we had that figured out, ‘ghost’ wouldn’t bug us so much. I just read a lady’s profile (Victor, tell my you’re not still doing that… sorry, am) and she said “So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.” That’s perty cool. Friggin ghosts everywhere. Screw ‘em. Love ‘em. We ARE ghosts, all of us. Disappearing happens, one day – with finality.
Don’t let it spookya. Don’t try to reason. Victor, whothehell are you to advise? Remember buckethead, I have said time and time again – sometimes I simply talk to ME here. Remind myself. Prop the head up. Keep the passion flowin. Live baby, live.
Ghosts. Disappearing. Fun in the meantime. Hey. Boo. Have a spooktacular resta the week. Love, Victurd
Dating. Casper. Happens. What is often this fullcourt press, go baby go, we can’t get there fast enough, gimme mo’ gimme mo’ – turns ghostly. Gone. Disappeared. In a heartbeat, a flash. From boiling to cold.
Been on both ends. Unlike ghosts, hard to see through, understand. Reckon that chase to find out ‘why’ simply ain’t worth it. Could cast a thousand reasons, perhaps none correctly.
Too loud, too soft, too forward, cold, wanted younger, wanted older, insecure, too secure, ended last time – why jump in again….. too big, too small, too rich, too poor, arrogant, wimpy, just not sure… I saw cracks.. it’s not you, it’s me.. it’s not me, it’s you… Outta here…. Exit, stage left.
Mebbe why…. as a child, I was enthralled (ok, enter the word ‘crush’ here) with Elizabeth Montgomery and Barbara Eden… A twinkle of the nose, or arms crossed, folded, your wish is my command, I’m a ghost. Can disappear. Can move things and you won’t see. Can change life in a millisecond.
High School reunion planning party last Sunday. Huge list, printed out in what musta been size 8 type (go figure).. Damn.. I remember him/her… where the hell did they disappear to?.. Fell off the facea the earth when we graduated. Ghostly. Like Casper, friendly ghosts.
We, in life, jump in and out ghostlike. There are some days, I feel like being holed up in my bed, ashtray by my side, remote in right hand, cig in left – and please leave me alone, I’m Casper today, ghostly, don’t wanna come out.. get the help outta here, I’m disappearing.
Then, there’s them days where ya wanna revisit, see, every GD (gosh darn) friend, past lover, coworker, acquaintance you ever met……. yet…….. now THEY’VE disappeared.
Depression makes one ghostly. Sad endings lean one thataway. Fear of tomorrow make us hide inside the sleeping bag.. On second thought, in dating, brings on the Casper inside us..
My singledom, unofficially began sometime around the turn of the century.. Being the online idiot that I am, I've yapped with many along the way via Yahoo Instant Message. Gotta huge list of friends there. As age, time, destroyed brain cells happen – I now look at somea the names and wonder – whothehell is that? I don’t even remember either one of us disappearing…
U can run thru the list a names.. (Ok, I can then).. Can’t remember why ‘ghost’ happened. Did. Can’t change. Sometimes don’t wanna. Sometimes wish the meeting had never happened.
We is what we was. Huh? Yeah, you/me. Our past defines us, even when one is being ghostly, or being ‘ghosted’. Each name, face, figure – they’re our past, no matter how whimsically short the one-on-one mighta been. For a time, there was feel. Feel is great, no matta how fleeting.
I thank goodness for my computer – for it’s (kinda) kept me young. You ever see how fast a fitty-seven year old run inside after a 45 minute commute to see if-by-chance “she” has emailed? Almost ghostly.
Darn, that disappearing thing again. Everything ends. Everything. I spose, if we had that figured out, ‘ghost’ wouldn’t bug us so much. I just read a lady’s profile (Victor, tell my you’re not still doing that… sorry, am) and she said “So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.” That’s perty cool. Friggin ghosts everywhere. Screw ‘em. Love ‘em. We ARE ghosts, all of us. Disappearing happens, one day – with finality.
Don’t let it spookya. Don’t try to reason. Victor, whothehell are you to advise? Remember buckethead, I have said time and time again – sometimes I simply talk to ME here. Remind myself. Prop the head up. Keep the passion flowin. Live baby, live.
Ghosts. Disappearing. Fun in the meantime. Hey. Boo. Have a spooktacular resta the week. Love, Victurd
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
S’more short……
Thirty minutes til work bell… I gotta type this, transfer it over to blog & Myspace.. go smoke a cig…… Yikes!
As in “who cares”, but Saturday, I had onea them ‘guttural’ moments… back at my great nephew’s football stadium… great kid… our family has just kinda become unwoven ‘thanks’ to too many deaths… too many weird circumstances…
In a millisecond, my heart went back to…… my mind envisioned…. the feel went thru my body… of when everything was “right.”
The world’s biggest wimp, me, simply cried as I stood alone over in the smoking area… I’d hear the kid’s name announced for a tackle – and the mems were there… he and his grandma – bright eyed, she so proud… I cried.. a good cry.. Feeling… guttural…
I just feel (thank goodness) that if one doesn’t feel, if one doesn’t have a moment where they ‘breakdown’, reflect, thank, re-envision… shake… eye moisture… smile… then the hell is the use in being here.
Shit does happen. Shit can’t shake the memories of good though… Good is etched for’er. You can take away my eyesight, but you’ll never dislodge the visions/good of yesteryear..
Crying… shaking… everything around emitting emotion.. . thanks oh Lord.. for I have felt.. and to have felt, I’ve lived.. and to have lived, I’ve loved. And for that I am thankful too.. .
At times life is akin to a reel to reel tape….. snaps… just when it was going good…
Back soon…….. got some splicin’ to do……. Happy Tuesday, love, Victurd
As in “who cares”, but Saturday, I had onea them ‘guttural’ moments… back at my great nephew’s football stadium… great kid… our family has just kinda become unwoven ‘thanks’ to too many deaths… too many weird circumstances…
In a millisecond, my heart went back to…… my mind envisioned…. the feel went thru my body… of when everything was “right.”
The world’s biggest wimp, me, simply cried as I stood alone over in the smoking area… I’d hear the kid’s name announced for a tackle – and the mems were there… he and his grandma – bright eyed, she so proud… I cried.. a good cry.. Feeling… guttural…
I just feel (thank goodness) that if one doesn’t feel, if one doesn’t have a moment where they ‘breakdown’, reflect, thank, re-envision… shake… eye moisture… smile… then the hell is the use in being here.
Shit does happen. Shit can’t shake the memories of good though… Good is etched for’er. You can take away my eyesight, but you’ll never dislodge the visions/good of yesteryear..
Crying… shaking… everything around emitting emotion.. . thanks oh Lord.. for I have felt.. and to have felt, I’ve lived.. and to have lived, I’ve loved. And for that I am thankful too.. .
At times life is akin to a reel to reel tape….. snaps… just when it was going good…
Back soon…….. got some splicin’ to do……. Happy Tuesday, love, Victurd
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Short….
Short is fun. Father was short, absorbed (very good naturedly) many’a joke over the years. Whatshername loved being with him – sure, because he was fun, but more likely because she ‘towered’ over him by a half inch.
Pretty sure I toldya about the midget wrestlers – but what the hey, I’m repetitive. Was working at the airport… just got off, heading for the employee bus at the end of the long horseshoe shaped terminal. Lo and behold a group of five or six midgets, grabbing their suitcases, making their way towards me/my coworkers..
The guy in the middle, certainly their leader, has a baseball cap on… but… the writing is horizontal, not vertical.. and.. it was very small, so you had to strain to see it.. as they came closer and closer.. .we, the four guys getting off work heading to the bus.. now each had our heads tilted far down to the left to try to read the horizontal writing.
One-upped we were. What normally, and unfortunately for them is ‘everyone staring at them’ because they weren’t what some deem ‘normal’ – they now had us the center of attention.. four airline idiots, heads tilted, walking in unison.
So what’d the hat say? It said “what in the fuck are you looking at?”… Midgets one, airline workers nothing.
Short, only gotta short time til work. Let’s meet for a short. Short stacka pancakes. Nice out, gonna put on my shorts. Short break. Short story. Sell short. Short circuit. Short attention span.
Short sayings. As confused as a hungry baby in a topless bar. Lights on, door open, nobody at home. I’ve seen better hands on a clock. As worn out as a cucumber in a convent. All stolen, sorry.
That’s the long and short of today. Twitter is short. Texts are short. Most emails are short. Phone calls even short nowadays too. Short seems in. We’re all too GD busy doing what we think is important, so most everything is deemed unimportant – and we give it a short look-see. (Slow down you move to fast… lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy.)
Gonna go smoke. Short one, not the 100’s… Kinda chilly though, will only stay a short. Then I’ll have a short time to look and see how many women ain’t emailed me before I take on my short of great salary job.
Short rocks. Sometimes. Loveya, Victurd.
Pretty sure I toldya about the midget wrestlers – but what the hey, I’m repetitive. Was working at the airport… just got off, heading for the employee bus at the end of the long horseshoe shaped terminal. Lo and behold a group of five or six midgets, grabbing their suitcases, making their way towards me/my coworkers..
The guy in the middle, certainly their leader, has a baseball cap on… but… the writing is horizontal, not vertical.. and.. it was very small, so you had to strain to see it.. as they came closer and closer.. .we, the four guys getting off work heading to the bus.. now each had our heads tilted far down to the left to try to read the horizontal writing.
One-upped we were. What normally, and unfortunately for them is ‘everyone staring at them’ because they weren’t what some deem ‘normal’ – they now had us the center of attention.. four airline idiots, heads tilted, walking in unison.
So what’d the hat say? It said “what in the fuck are you looking at?”… Midgets one, airline workers nothing.
Short, only gotta short time til work. Let’s meet for a short. Short stacka pancakes. Nice out, gonna put on my shorts. Short break. Short story. Sell short. Short circuit. Short attention span.
Short sayings. As confused as a hungry baby in a topless bar. Lights on, door open, nobody at home. I’ve seen better hands on a clock. As worn out as a cucumber in a convent. All stolen, sorry.
That’s the long and short of today. Twitter is short. Texts are short. Most emails are short. Phone calls even short nowadays too. Short seems in. We’re all too GD busy doing what we think is important, so most everything is deemed unimportant – and we give it a short look-see. (Slow down you move to fast… lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy.)
Gonna go smoke. Short one, not the 100’s… Kinda chilly though, will only stay a short. Then I’ll have a short time to look and see how many women ain’t emailed me before I take on my short of great salary job.
Short rocks. Sometimes. Loveya, Victurd.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Living today for visions of tomorrow…..
Reap what you sow…. We are what we eat….
Mickey D’s, 5:02am today. Quickly went over the KC Chief’s 34-14 drubbing. Learned that KC’s coach, pretty much a hothead, has had reality sink in and he’s indicated he understands he needs to control/watch his emotions.
Super Zack. Attended the Royal’s game yesterday. Images of yesteryear when the entire crowd got on their feet when Zack had a batter with two strikes… Talented the young man is.
Then (after reading about Super Zack’s performance) read the remaining pages of the newspaper, yes, including the obits.
If you have chance, and you’re reading this 9/28/09, it’s worth it for you to sink 75 cents into onea those blue machines and buy today’s paper. The “Tribute” is fun. The Tribute is a relaxed form of an obituary, that tells a little bit more about the person.
It’s a look back. It’s “what we’re left with” once we’re gone. It’s today’s vision, of yesterday’s living.
Person today, Dorothy Fox, 79. “She wasn’t a boring woman.” Intrigued I was at that header… Among the more fascinating things of this woman’s life:
Her mom died when she was 5. Her military father was absent from her life. Raised by widowed grandmother. “She cared nothing of rules.”
Joined Air Force. Married, had child. Returned to KC, hubby scooted. Dated a guy for 4 years.. dinner at the Savoy.. she asked the waiter “do you think this guy should marry me”.. Waiter replied “he’d be a fool not to.” Days later, they drove to Miami, OK, tied knot.
Embraced the beatnik lifestyle spending time in coffeehouses reciting poetry to a bongo beat. Wrote a limerick for each girl at birth. Told her kiddos the ice cream truck that rolled thru the neighborhood sold fish sticks. Kids couldn’t understand why other kids lined up to get a fish stick.
Took her daughter’s belly dancing – and too participated in the classes. Believed prostitution and marijuana should be legalized. Liked to tell dirty jokes. Strong opinions didn’t make her judgmental, her door was always open.
“Now that she’s gone, the world is quieter” said daughter.
Oh yes - but, I LOVE this lady and I never got the privilege to meet her. Her vision of today was built by her living yesterdays.. and my does it sound like she lived them.
I don’t propose anyone follow in the footsteps of anyone – but what I so enjoyed about this article- is that she lived life the way she wanted to…. didn’t swim in the mainstream.. and seemingly cared little if others perhaps didn’t agree with ‘her way.’
Leftfield. I love leftfield, and coming from. At the Royals game yesterday – I got to sit by my cousin – she’s the same age as my deceased sister. The game was actually FUN. It was “Bark at the Park” day. Dogs could come, but you hadta buy them a ticket (which went to various animal ‘causes).. Some had Royal’s shirts, hats, sunglasses on.. Some barked, some wagged, yes, some peed/pooped. Fun. Leftfield.
After Greinke’d worked his way out of a bases loaded no-out jam.. we’d been on our feet for three batters, ceremoniously clapping in anticipation of him getting out of it.. exhaustion set in as the last out was made, the batter pounded his bat into the ground in disgust… we sunk into our chairs… and I told ‘cous ‘if my dad were here, he’d say “Ok, buy I’m NOT staying for the fireworks” (it was a day game.).. My father’s vision of his living yesterday.
We tailgated before and after the game. My cousin’s g-kids included a little 3 yr curly headed blonde, and a darker haired little 3 yr old gal.. Spttin’ images of my cousin and my sister 50+ years ago. They’d sneak off as far as they could sneak… “GET BACK HERE”… they’d then grab a handful of BBQ chips, walk over to the side of the car, spit ‘em out to see who could make the biggest “glob.” Visions of today, yet, perhaps vicariously coming thru the living of my sister, my cousin in yesteryear. (Sister once got a brand new fancified doll house for Christmas.. dolls weren’t really her thing. Huge. Made of tin. Cousin and sister soon fetched it to the backyard where they, age 4 or 5, smashed it to smithereens. Living yesterday, visions for today.)
I have led a far, far from perfect life. However, I consider myself so very lucky. At times, I’ve dared to come from leftfield. I never wanna hurt anyone, but some things I do/say, and I don’t givea chit what others think. I have fun. Life is fun. My only hope is, someday, once I’m gone – people might ‘see’ my ‘tribute’ and simply smile. That’d be the greatest honor ever bestowed upon me. A simple smile. For I’ve smiled hella along the way to get there.
Peace out… bounce to the pace of the bongo... do something “Dorothy-like”.. smile, have fun.. fill the half full glass… toast a toast.. and enjoy….. love, Victurd
Mickey D’s, 5:02am today. Quickly went over the KC Chief’s 34-14 drubbing. Learned that KC’s coach, pretty much a hothead, has had reality sink in and he’s indicated he understands he needs to control/watch his emotions.
Super Zack. Attended the Royal’s game yesterday. Images of yesteryear when the entire crowd got on their feet when Zack had a batter with two strikes… Talented the young man is.
Then (after reading about Super Zack’s performance) read the remaining pages of the newspaper, yes, including the obits.
If you have chance, and you’re reading this 9/28/09, it’s worth it for you to sink 75 cents into onea those blue machines and buy today’s paper. The “Tribute” is fun. The Tribute is a relaxed form of an obituary, that tells a little bit more about the person.
It’s a look back. It’s “what we’re left with” once we’re gone. It’s today’s vision, of yesterday’s living.
Person today, Dorothy Fox, 79. “She wasn’t a boring woman.” Intrigued I was at that header… Among the more fascinating things of this woman’s life:
Her mom died when she was 5. Her military father was absent from her life. Raised by widowed grandmother. “She cared nothing of rules.”
Joined Air Force. Married, had child. Returned to KC, hubby scooted. Dated a guy for 4 years.. dinner at the Savoy.. she asked the waiter “do you think this guy should marry me”.. Waiter replied “he’d be a fool not to.” Days later, they drove to Miami, OK, tied knot.
Embraced the beatnik lifestyle spending time in coffeehouses reciting poetry to a bongo beat. Wrote a limerick for each girl at birth. Told her kiddos the ice cream truck that rolled thru the neighborhood sold fish sticks. Kids couldn’t understand why other kids lined up to get a fish stick.
Took her daughter’s belly dancing – and too participated in the classes. Believed prostitution and marijuana should be legalized. Liked to tell dirty jokes. Strong opinions didn’t make her judgmental, her door was always open.
“Now that she’s gone, the world is quieter” said daughter.
Oh yes - but, I LOVE this lady and I never got the privilege to meet her. Her vision of today was built by her living yesterdays.. and my does it sound like she lived them.
I don’t propose anyone follow in the footsteps of anyone – but what I so enjoyed about this article- is that she lived life the way she wanted to…. didn’t swim in the mainstream.. and seemingly cared little if others perhaps didn’t agree with ‘her way.’
Leftfield. I love leftfield, and coming from. At the Royals game yesterday – I got to sit by my cousin – she’s the same age as my deceased sister. The game was actually FUN. It was “Bark at the Park” day. Dogs could come, but you hadta buy them a ticket (which went to various animal ‘causes).. Some had Royal’s shirts, hats, sunglasses on.. Some barked, some wagged, yes, some peed/pooped. Fun. Leftfield.
After Greinke’d worked his way out of a bases loaded no-out jam.. we’d been on our feet for three batters, ceremoniously clapping in anticipation of him getting out of it.. exhaustion set in as the last out was made, the batter pounded his bat into the ground in disgust… we sunk into our chairs… and I told ‘cous ‘if my dad were here, he’d say “Ok, buy I’m NOT staying for the fireworks” (it was a day game.).. My father’s vision of his living yesterday.
We tailgated before and after the game. My cousin’s g-kids included a little 3 yr curly headed blonde, and a darker haired little 3 yr old gal.. Spttin’ images of my cousin and my sister 50+ years ago. They’d sneak off as far as they could sneak… “GET BACK HERE”… they’d then grab a handful of BBQ chips, walk over to the side of the car, spit ‘em out to see who could make the biggest “glob.” Visions of today, yet, perhaps vicariously coming thru the living of my sister, my cousin in yesteryear. (Sister once got a brand new fancified doll house for Christmas.. dolls weren’t really her thing. Huge. Made of tin. Cousin and sister soon fetched it to the backyard where they, age 4 or 5, smashed it to smithereens. Living yesterday, visions for today.)
I have led a far, far from perfect life. However, I consider myself so very lucky. At times, I’ve dared to come from leftfield. I never wanna hurt anyone, but some things I do/say, and I don’t givea chit what others think. I have fun. Life is fun. My only hope is, someday, once I’m gone – people might ‘see’ my ‘tribute’ and simply smile. That’d be the greatest honor ever bestowed upon me. A simple smile. For I’ve smiled hella along the way to get there.
Peace out… bounce to the pace of the bongo... do something “Dorothy-like”.. smile, have fun.. fill the half full glass… toast a toast.. and enjoy….. love, Victurd
Thursday, September 24, 2009
No songs….
Can’t thinka none. Double negative, I know. Oh well. That’s a song. Fleetwood Mac I believe. Even an Oh Well part II. Just looked. Already did that. Chit.
I repeat myself. Already did that too. Dangit there ain’t nuttin new. Ya know, sometimes that’s just the way life is…… El Boro. Mundane. Gray. Or Grey. Seen it spelled both ways, dunno, don’t care – grey…..
Boring days are like a blonde chick who’s roots need recoloring. A lady that has 9 nice fingernails glued on. Dude with a wrinkled shirt. Socks that don’t match. The last pair of clean undies. Kids going thru the motions. Driving to work in a trance. Oblivious, even to the radio.
Boring happens. You ever have a conversation with someone, ya gets a little uneasy, bored… unconsciously send body signals “I WAN’T OUTTA THIS” yet, they don’t pick that up? Man, I have. Lots. I guess that’s what whatshername meant when she said “people don’t always get as excited about your ideas as you do Victor.”
You have things that people have said to you in your life that you’ll never forget? Me too. Most are poopy things said. Those aren’t boring, they’re sad.
Boring is being single, reading profiles, and seeing people that are sepErated… get their your and you’re confused… their they’re and their messed up… Seen one today, lady has a graduate degree… is a school counselor… begins her profile, honest to goodness, first sentence: “I a single lady with my own home.”
I have to find chit like that to keep me amused. Friend, don’t tell, sent me their resume’ for me to forward to our HR Department. At very end…..”Refernces” Provided upon request.
Soon, I’ll go smoke (I’m early at work, boring normal thing for me.) As I smoke, I can justabout predict exactly what time, which car will pull in. How they/we all walk our own little boring way. Goin’ thru the motions. Hump day has past, but it ain’t the weekend yet. Thursday might be justa tad bit less boring than Tuesday, but not by much.
Our computers at work are likea car with 250,000 miles on them. Upon occasion, the better part of one’s day is spent staring at the GD (gosh darn) hourglass. Bored one day, created list of top ten things to do whilst staring at hourglass, sent coworkers. I wasn’t bored any longer. Bored is as bored does I rectum.
Small towns can be boring. Big cities can be boring. Boring just has a way of slipping into our lives. Then something cool happens. Outta left field. Or, someone says “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time.” Music happens.
You’ve got mail happens. Yippee. Ain’t seen/heard from that friend in awhile, how cool. The sun comes out. There’s a nip in the air. The tree tops are turning like that blonde with the root problem. Coworkers argue. One quits. Another gives 2 week notice.
KU football players fighting KU basketball players and vice versa. Can’t really blame ‘em, I hate ‘em both too. The KC Star hits the driveway. Coffee’s done perkin'. Yippee. Boring is over, done, finito.
“GD, I forgot how pretty she was” happens. You get an email from someone u recently slept with and they tell you that they had a really nice time.. VICTOR! Sorry, slipped.
Point is, it’s like anything else in life, there be ups, and there be downs. Halfa the glass is air, the other part water. Introvert, extrovert. IT guy/sales rep. Clerk/Vice President. Blue collar, white collar. FUN. Boring. Ya gotta love it all. If u don’t, you’ll go nuts.
I love it all… especially that one email from that one chick. VICTOR! Going to smoke now, see if my boring predictions pan out. If you ever have a boring moment, conversation, just giggle to yourself, and picture the other person naked. Helps. Boring can even be kinda fun. Go. Do. Have fun. Gossip. Hump. Live. Love. Eat, drink, be merry. Later, love Victurd.
I repeat myself. Already did that too. Dangit there ain’t nuttin new. Ya know, sometimes that’s just the way life is…… El Boro. Mundane. Gray. Or Grey. Seen it spelled both ways, dunno, don’t care – grey…..
Boring days are like a blonde chick who’s roots need recoloring. A lady that has 9 nice fingernails glued on. Dude with a wrinkled shirt. Socks that don’t match. The last pair of clean undies. Kids going thru the motions. Driving to work in a trance. Oblivious, even to the radio.
Boring happens. You ever have a conversation with someone, ya gets a little uneasy, bored… unconsciously send body signals “I WAN’T OUTTA THIS” yet, they don’t pick that up? Man, I have. Lots. I guess that’s what whatshername meant when she said “people don’t always get as excited about your ideas as you do Victor.”
You have things that people have said to you in your life that you’ll never forget? Me too. Most are poopy things said. Those aren’t boring, they’re sad.
Boring is being single, reading profiles, and seeing people that are sepErated… get their your and you’re confused… their they’re and their messed up… Seen one today, lady has a graduate degree… is a school counselor… begins her profile, honest to goodness, first sentence: “I a single lady with my own home.”
I have to find chit like that to keep me amused. Friend, don’t tell, sent me their resume’ for me to forward to our HR Department. At very end…..”Refernces” Provided upon request.
Soon, I’ll go smoke (I’m early at work, boring normal thing for me.) As I smoke, I can justabout predict exactly what time, which car will pull in. How they/we all walk our own little boring way. Goin’ thru the motions. Hump day has past, but it ain’t the weekend yet. Thursday might be justa tad bit less boring than Tuesday, but not by much.
Our computers at work are likea car with 250,000 miles on them. Upon occasion, the better part of one’s day is spent staring at the GD (gosh darn) hourglass. Bored one day, created list of top ten things to do whilst staring at hourglass, sent coworkers. I wasn’t bored any longer. Bored is as bored does I rectum.
Small towns can be boring. Big cities can be boring. Boring just has a way of slipping into our lives. Then something cool happens. Outta left field. Or, someone says “I don’t repeat gossip, so listen close the first time.” Music happens.
You’ve got mail happens. Yippee. Ain’t seen/heard from that friend in awhile, how cool. The sun comes out. There’s a nip in the air. The tree tops are turning like that blonde with the root problem. Coworkers argue. One quits. Another gives 2 week notice.
KU football players fighting KU basketball players and vice versa. Can’t really blame ‘em, I hate ‘em both too. The KC Star hits the driveway. Coffee’s done perkin'. Yippee. Boring is over, done, finito.
“GD, I forgot how pretty she was” happens. You get an email from someone u recently slept with and they tell you that they had a really nice time.. VICTOR! Sorry, slipped.
Point is, it’s like anything else in life, there be ups, and there be downs. Halfa the glass is air, the other part water. Introvert, extrovert. IT guy/sales rep. Clerk/Vice President. Blue collar, white collar. FUN. Boring. Ya gotta love it all. If u don’t, you’ll go nuts.
I love it all… especially that one email from that one chick. VICTOR! Going to smoke now, see if my boring predictions pan out. If you ever have a boring moment, conversation, just giggle to yourself, and picture the other person naked. Helps. Boring can even be kinda fun. Go. Do. Have fun. Gossip. Hump. Live. Love. Eat, drink, be merry. Later, love Victurd.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Life and the Microsoft Word Document.......
To me, writing is kinda like living. You open this window thingy, there it is all blank, pure – and you gotta put your tippy toe down, type on the keyboard (patoeey on Dr. Laura’s sometimes ‘look down on you’ attitude – but I did, oh I did/do love her “now go take on the day.”)
Blank. Nuttin. You gotta color it, decorate it – or not. You can hide in the corner – you can jump in the middle and start hootin’ and hollerin’, however you wanna tackle, life, the Microsoft Word Document.
You can up them fonts, u can change colors, shades or you can be the bland ole, regular ole regular Times New Roman.
Most of us paint ‘em similarly daily. Not much dare in there to push the envelope, peek over the ledge. Nope, keep ‘em right down the middle – perfect margins on each side, laundry actually inside the hamper.
I love goofy. Outside the box. Fun, shock value. Makin’ a point to have fun. Whistling. I love to whistle. Can’t sing, might as well whistle. People hear and say “you’re a happy bird today”, so, hell, I keep whistling. Works.
Page after page of living, ultimately make-up who we are. Sometimes, we try in vain to get that keyboard to word it just right – but some stuff iis just outta our control.
We look back on those reams of paper we’ve used… Onea my favorite diddies – “if I’da sat you down in High School and told you ‘here’s how the next 30-40 years of your life are gonna go’… what would you say?”… Well, close your ears, I’da said “you gotta be shitting me?”…
Hey – we’re at the helm. We control the keyboard. We can wake up and be an ass. We can wake up and be happy. We can wake up, wanna go back to bed because “yesterday sucked”. Waller, mire. Run, jump. Crank the music, turn down the music. Veg out in bed watching whatever.. go, be amongst friends. We paint it. We type it. We live it.
Funny. I just looked in the upper left hand corner of this Bill Gates Microsoft Word Document page thingy, and it’s indicating “Normal.” Basta doesn’t know me well eh? I guess that refers to ‘formatting’. Again, many live on cruise control. Many select grump and groan, as if there’s a hole in their muffler of life.
Others simply smile hella. I love them kinda people. Melts me. Whatta gift, the smile. It can be given to anyone, any age, any time, for whatever reason. Feels good to smile, feels good to be on the receiving end of a smile.
I kinda-sorta take pride in allowing this ole brain to conjure up fun situations, then happen to walk past someone, share a chit-eaten grin, and let ‘em think “whatinthehell has he been up to?”… Fun, I’ve been up to fun.
Taught Elementary PE back in the day. Had a very nice 5th grade teacher there.. happened to be the spouse of the Baptist Preacher in town.. Prim, proper, good heart. I’ll never forget though, her saying “I just can’t imagine anyone laughing, joking all the time, living like that.” Sure, there’s a proper time to be serious, but I ask “the hell’s the matter with fun?” Long as one carries out one’s responsibilities, doesn’t ‘cause harm to another……
We all have our opines. Our own “keyboards to our Microsoft Word Document page”.. Our own speed, style, attitude, speech, gestures, passions, ways……. Paintin’ the page. Typing on the page. This font, that font, centered, way to the the left.. Green, blue, red, or automatic black. Normal. Ital. Bold. Underscored. Spellcheck, hell no I ain’t spellchecking.
The beauty of a blank page. Our choice. Ya don’t have to ‘read my page’, it’s my page, my life. I’ll decorate that basta any way I wanna. Watch me. Regrets? Sure, who ain’t.
Tis ok, it’s my page, my life, my keyboard, my whistling, my smiling, my whateverinthehehell I wanna do – within reason, within the laws.
I love the blank page. I love ‘painting it’. I love watching others paint – even if it’s the same ole chit daily. I love those that jump outta the margin, dare to have fun. I feel sorry for those that don’t wanna type, paint, go – take on the day. Mired there for a time, it sucks.
Better get the hell outta here. I can see you yawning. Don’t blame ya. Hey, go. Take on your page. Your document. Dress that sucker up whatever way you want, or don’t want. I do hope it includes smiling, I do hope you have fun – if that’s a permissible thing for you. I do love watching you paint, type.
Life screams of reams. I love it. Love them. Love the page. Blank. Fill it. Happy Page, love Victurd.
Blank. Nuttin. You gotta color it, decorate it – or not. You can hide in the corner – you can jump in the middle and start hootin’ and hollerin’, however you wanna tackle, life, the Microsoft Word Document.
You can up them fonts, u can change colors, shades or you can be the bland ole, regular ole regular Times New Roman.
Most of us paint ‘em similarly daily. Not much dare in there to push the envelope, peek over the ledge. Nope, keep ‘em right down the middle – perfect margins on each side, laundry actually inside the hamper.
I love goofy. Outside the box. Fun, shock value. Makin’ a point to have fun. Whistling. I love to whistle. Can’t sing, might as well whistle. People hear and say “you’re a happy bird today”, so, hell, I keep whistling. Works.
Page after page of living, ultimately make-up who we are. Sometimes, we try in vain to get that keyboard to word it just right – but some stuff iis just outta our control.
We look back on those reams of paper we’ve used… Onea my favorite diddies – “if I’da sat you down in High School and told you ‘here’s how the next 30-40 years of your life are gonna go’… what would you say?”… Well, close your ears, I’da said “you gotta be shitting me?”…
Hey – we’re at the helm. We control the keyboard. We can wake up and be an ass. We can wake up and be happy. We can wake up, wanna go back to bed because “yesterday sucked”. Waller, mire. Run, jump. Crank the music, turn down the music. Veg out in bed watching whatever.. go, be amongst friends. We paint it. We type it. We live it.
Funny. I just looked in the upper left hand corner of this Bill Gates Microsoft Word Document page thingy, and it’s indicating “Normal.” Basta doesn’t know me well eh? I guess that refers to ‘formatting’. Again, many live on cruise control. Many select grump and groan, as if there’s a hole in their muffler of life.
Others simply smile hella. I love them kinda people. Melts me. Whatta gift, the smile. It can be given to anyone, any age, any time, for whatever reason. Feels good to smile, feels good to be on the receiving end of a smile.
I kinda-sorta take pride in allowing this ole brain to conjure up fun situations, then happen to walk past someone, share a chit-eaten grin, and let ‘em think “whatinthehell has he been up to?”… Fun, I’ve been up to fun.
Taught Elementary PE back in the day. Had a very nice 5th grade teacher there.. happened to be the spouse of the Baptist Preacher in town.. Prim, proper, good heart. I’ll never forget though, her saying “I just can’t imagine anyone laughing, joking all the time, living like that.” Sure, there’s a proper time to be serious, but I ask “the hell’s the matter with fun?” Long as one carries out one’s responsibilities, doesn’t ‘cause harm to another……
We all have our opines. Our own “keyboards to our Microsoft Word Document page”.. Our own speed, style, attitude, speech, gestures, passions, ways……. Paintin’ the page. Typing on the page. This font, that font, centered, way to the the left.. Green, blue, red, or automatic black. Normal. Ital. Bold. Underscored. Spellcheck, hell no I ain’t spellchecking.
The beauty of a blank page. Our choice. Ya don’t have to ‘read my page’, it’s my page, my life. I’ll decorate that basta any way I wanna. Watch me. Regrets? Sure, who ain’t.
Tis ok, it’s my page, my life, my keyboard, my whistling, my smiling, my whateverinthehehell I wanna do – within reason, within the laws.
I love the blank page. I love ‘painting it’. I love watching others paint – even if it’s the same ole chit daily. I love those that jump outta the margin, dare to have fun. I feel sorry for those that don’t wanna type, paint, go – take on the day. Mired there for a time, it sucks.
Better get the hell outta here. I can see you yawning. Don’t blame ya. Hey, go. Take on your page. Your document. Dress that sucker up whatever way you want, or don’t want. I do hope it includes smiling, I do hope you have fun – if that’s a permissible thing for you. I do love watching you paint, type.
Life screams of reams. I love it. Love them. Love the page. Blank. Fill it. Happy Page, love Victurd.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Here we are and it’s Tuesday again….
Tuesday is an incline day. Uphill battle. Life ain’t a battle, but Tuesday sneaks in as one. Working to get to hump day, wade thru it. Going to closet on Monday is somewhat exciting, after wearing junk/casual all weekend, find a little bit nicer ‘business casual’ as they call it here… by Tuesday, who cares.
Taco Tuesday. Tackle it Tuesday. Tuesday Weld. Ruby Tuesday. Wiki says it comes from Middle English Tiwesday, from Old English Tiwes daeg, named after the Nordic god Tyr, who was the approximate equivalent of the Roman war god Mar, and Greek god Ares. Tuesday is war then?
Justanother day. A day in the life. Ever hear anyone say “got plans for Tuesday?”…. Hells no’s…
I think then, it should be permissible to be grumpy as hell on Tuesday. We could have, by United States agreement, grumpy Tuesday.
“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like a Super-sized Extra Value Meal?”… Hey ya little snotnose, are you insinuating I’m fat, and that I over eat? Why don’t you stick that school backpack over your zit-faced head u little creep……. YES, grumpy Tuesday.
We could permissibly stick our tongues out at ANYONE we want. Flipping the bird on Interstate – absolutely no road rage allowed – it’s Tuesday. Grumpy is Ok.
Thinka how it’d help a marriage. “Sure, go ahead and go… you never do shit around here anyways.”…. “Honey, why do you keep these twelve boxes of clothes here? There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be a size __ again.”… “Sex?.. are you CRAZY? It’s Tuesday!”…
“Screw you boss… I’ll get to it when I’m damn good and ready… Should I be scared? Scared of not getting that 2% raise?.. Patooey.” YES. Grumpy Tuesday.
Tuesday is boring as hell. We needta spiff it up. Insteada waving, u could take your fingers to your lips, then your chest, then your booty. KMA. KMA, it’s Tuesday. Some people are grumpy all the time, would be a damn fine time to get back at ‘em. Ya rotten bastard, how areya today? When’s the last time you got laid? Smiled? You LIVE Tuesdays!.....
And the very nicest people of all.. Wouldn’t it be fun JUST once to hear ‘em hang up the phone after visiting with someone and state… “BITCH”… I’d love it. Nice people grumpy – YES. Permissible. Tuesday sucks, let’s spice it up to where we look forward to it…
“Next Tuesday, I’m gonna put that whoopee cushion on Mary’s chair… then I’m gonna write ‘honk, I’m an asshole’ in shoe polish on the backa Ernie’s car.. Then, I’ll change my screensaver to BITE ME for the day…… I’ll call my dearest friend and have fun “whatinthehell have you been up to bitch” conversation…
It’ll probably never work. Nice people will always be nice people. Grumpy people will always be grumpy people. Flipping someone off on 435 could lead to them running you off the road, perhaps pointing a gun at your… tailgating you at 68 mph. We couldn’t handle permissible grumpy.
I don’t admire grumpy people, but I wouldn’t mind if it were permissible on Tuesday. Tuesday sucks. Have a great Tuesday. I’m certain you’ve been waiting for this day with baited breath. Eyeballin’ that calendar, “YES, Tuesday September 22nd is FINALLY here.” Yeah right.
Tune in tomorrow, mebbe, where the topic may be “Why everyone on the planet should (required by law) hump on Hump Day.” ….. Life is interesting. Love, Victurd.
Taco Tuesday. Tackle it Tuesday. Tuesday Weld. Ruby Tuesday. Wiki says it comes from Middle English Tiwesday, from Old English Tiwes daeg, named after the Nordic god Tyr, who was the approximate equivalent of the Roman war god Mar, and Greek god Ares. Tuesday is war then?
Justanother day. A day in the life. Ever hear anyone say “got plans for Tuesday?”…. Hells no’s…
I think then, it should be permissible to be grumpy as hell on Tuesday. We could have, by United States agreement, grumpy Tuesday.
“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like a Super-sized Extra Value Meal?”… Hey ya little snotnose, are you insinuating I’m fat, and that I over eat? Why don’t you stick that school backpack over your zit-faced head u little creep……. YES, grumpy Tuesday.
We could permissibly stick our tongues out at ANYONE we want. Flipping the bird on Interstate – absolutely no road rage allowed – it’s Tuesday. Grumpy is Ok.
Thinka how it’d help a marriage. “Sure, go ahead and go… you never do shit around here anyways.”…. “Honey, why do you keep these twelve boxes of clothes here? There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be a size __ again.”… “Sex?.. are you CRAZY? It’s Tuesday!”…
“Screw you boss… I’ll get to it when I’m damn good and ready… Should I be scared? Scared of not getting that 2% raise?.. Patooey.” YES. Grumpy Tuesday.
Tuesday is boring as hell. We needta spiff it up. Insteada waving, u could take your fingers to your lips, then your chest, then your booty. KMA. KMA, it’s Tuesday. Some people are grumpy all the time, would be a damn fine time to get back at ‘em. Ya rotten bastard, how areya today? When’s the last time you got laid? Smiled? You LIVE Tuesdays!.....
And the very nicest people of all.. Wouldn’t it be fun JUST once to hear ‘em hang up the phone after visiting with someone and state… “BITCH”… I’d love it. Nice people grumpy – YES. Permissible. Tuesday sucks, let’s spice it up to where we look forward to it…
“Next Tuesday, I’m gonna put that whoopee cushion on Mary’s chair… then I’m gonna write ‘honk, I’m an asshole’ in shoe polish on the backa Ernie’s car.. Then, I’ll change my screensaver to BITE ME for the day…… I’ll call my dearest friend and have fun “whatinthehell have you been up to bitch” conversation…
It’ll probably never work. Nice people will always be nice people. Grumpy people will always be grumpy people. Flipping someone off on 435 could lead to them running you off the road, perhaps pointing a gun at your… tailgating you at 68 mph. We couldn’t handle permissible grumpy.
I don’t admire grumpy people, but I wouldn’t mind if it were permissible on Tuesday. Tuesday sucks. Have a great Tuesday. I’m certain you’ve been waiting for this day with baited breath. Eyeballin’ that calendar, “YES, Tuesday September 22nd is FINALLY here.” Yeah right.
Tune in tomorrow, mebbe, where the topic may be “Why everyone on the planet should (required by law) hump on Hump Day.” ….. Life is interesting. Love, Victurd.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Woahhhhhhh Nelly….
It’s a mixed up, jumbled up, wonderful world.
My “tweet-kend”……. Friday… The excitement of a date for the very first time in a long time. A 12 mile drive to meet and I swear I musta smoked 7 cigs. The idea of just putting one foot infronta the other gave a baby boost to my psyche…
A very attractive lady. A very nice lady. A wonderful smile lady. Whole lotta good- good mom, educated, humanitarian. Couple of drinks – shared meal.. In departing, “well then will you let me buy the next time we go out?”.. Another bump up to my psyche.. Shee-ittt, this is gonna be a great weekend…
Back to town later that night, met buddies…… “How’d it go?”.. “I think real good, thanks.” Had a beer with them – Friday is usually my very late night out ‘playing idiot’ – but, for some reason, just didn’t feel it. Went home – at peace. Walked in door Friday night early and……….
“Figgy?... Figaro, please, NO, you can’t be dead?”….. Was. Seventeen year old cat. Son’s favorite. Dayum. Fig was a wonderful, interesting kitty. Had the coolest ‘cinnamon bun’ swirl on both sides of his body you’d ever seen. Poor little feller was cross-eyed, but it didn’t deter him from going to discover. He’d run into a wall, bounce back, turn, and full steam ahead.
Took son to work Saturday morning, didn’t have the heart to tell him. Did tell him on the way home. ”That’s messed up… I loved that cat.” And I know he did. Fig was a conversation piece between us… his ‘2nd’ nickname was “Sweets”, and also “Petey.” Son would ask “how’s sweets and what he doing?” He was usually either in the tub, on the bed, on a cool spot on the floor – a content feller, seemed to enjoy life.
Figgy was the only cat I’ve ever seen where, if you call him, whistle for him, he’d come. Perhaps he was our answer to no longer having any dogs. Anyways, blessya Fig, you almost died ten years ago (urinary tract infection.. some $400 vet bills later vet said.. “last hope.. gonna give him Gatorade in an IV”.. worked for ten years.
More tweetkend. Saturday, didn’t even feeling like going out – did for about an hour – back home to cruise the internet. I’d sent Ms. Friday night date a note thanking her, and actually an invite to go out Saturday. Where I’d sent the note – you could tell if someone had opened/read, and the entire night passed – no look at the email. I’d only checked 267 times to see if she had read it. Hehe.
Sunday morning, still nuttin’. Got son to work. “So pops, after I get off, you drive me to get new shoes, and I’d like to stop at Best Buy.”…. Sure son. My 40th class reunion planning meeting was at 3pm. Son gets off work downtown KC at 3pm. I’d emailed (said with love) whatshername earlier in the week to ask for assistance with a ride for son, explained the 40th reunion planning party.. no response. Par for the course.
Onea my alltime favorite teachers/professors was a guy named Dr. Schmock. Psychology, William Jewell college. Onea the ‘games people play’ I remember him telling us was the game “ain’t it awful’.. and I find myself today perhaps pitifully participating in a game I’d really rather never play – but hey, woah nelly, here I am.
I know! Good shit, followed by bad shit, more bad shit… I’ll watch the Chiefs! Rollercoaster – please – tell me… it’s time for the uphill ain’t it? Arch rival, Oakland Raiders in town… worst quarterback in the league.. 70+ thousand screaming, red-wearing fans.. home opener.. YES! YES! YES! Just what the doctor ordered! Lost, last two minutes of the game. Shee-it.
Picked up son, missed meeting. Went home, checked on Figgy’s grave to make sure no critters unearthed him. Checked email. Finally. “I still believe in others.” Hmmm. So, reckon that meant we’re not going out on a 2nd date. Oh I feel so foolish for telling buddies “went well, thanks.”
Before you call in the shrink, first know: I love life. I even loved most parts of the weekend. Great music. Reminiscing about Fig, how I’d brought him home as a kitten in the first place. Looking thru old pics of my family.. Even the Chiefs, in defeat, had some good things happen.
And on the dating thing. Don’t feel sorry for me. There’s a fair number of women that make contact with me. I am just too GD picky. My right though (and, the right of Ms. Friday night date too.)
At work now, Monday morning. Will do my share of horsing around today. I ain’t no gardener, but onea my favorite things in the world is to “see how many smiles I can grow” in a day. For real. It makes ME happier when I try to make others happy/laugh. Some efforts are pretty lame, I’ll admit – but then sometimes, I’m rewarded back by a co-worker with a shit-eaten grin.. and I’m reminded “yes… thanks God… this IS a pretty darn good world, life…. even if it doesn’t always workout like a paint by the numbers plan.”
K. Done. Nuff said. No more horsing around here. Woah Nelly. Happy day, love, Victurd.
My “tweet-kend”……. Friday… The excitement of a date for the very first time in a long time. A 12 mile drive to meet and I swear I musta smoked 7 cigs. The idea of just putting one foot infronta the other gave a baby boost to my psyche…
A very attractive lady. A very nice lady. A wonderful smile lady. Whole lotta good- good mom, educated, humanitarian. Couple of drinks – shared meal.. In departing, “well then will you let me buy the next time we go out?”.. Another bump up to my psyche.. Shee-ittt, this is gonna be a great weekend…
Back to town later that night, met buddies…… “How’d it go?”.. “I think real good, thanks.” Had a beer with them – Friday is usually my very late night out ‘playing idiot’ – but, for some reason, just didn’t feel it. Went home – at peace. Walked in door Friday night early and……….
“Figgy?... Figaro, please, NO, you can’t be dead?”….. Was. Seventeen year old cat. Son’s favorite. Dayum. Fig was a wonderful, interesting kitty. Had the coolest ‘cinnamon bun’ swirl on both sides of his body you’d ever seen. Poor little feller was cross-eyed, but it didn’t deter him from going to discover. He’d run into a wall, bounce back, turn, and full steam ahead.
Took son to work Saturday morning, didn’t have the heart to tell him. Did tell him on the way home. ”That’s messed up… I loved that cat.” And I know he did. Fig was a conversation piece between us… his ‘2nd’ nickname was “Sweets”, and also “Petey.” Son would ask “how’s sweets and what he doing?” He was usually either in the tub, on the bed, on a cool spot on the floor – a content feller, seemed to enjoy life.
Figgy was the only cat I’ve ever seen where, if you call him, whistle for him, he’d come. Perhaps he was our answer to no longer having any dogs. Anyways, blessya Fig, you almost died ten years ago (urinary tract infection.. some $400 vet bills later vet said.. “last hope.. gonna give him Gatorade in an IV”.. worked for ten years.
More tweetkend. Saturday, didn’t even feeling like going out – did for about an hour – back home to cruise the internet. I’d sent Ms. Friday night date a note thanking her, and actually an invite to go out Saturday. Where I’d sent the note – you could tell if someone had opened/read, and the entire night passed – no look at the email. I’d only checked 267 times to see if she had read it. Hehe.
Sunday morning, still nuttin’. Got son to work. “So pops, after I get off, you drive me to get new shoes, and I’d like to stop at Best Buy.”…. Sure son. My 40th class reunion planning meeting was at 3pm. Son gets off work downtown KC at 3pm. I’d emailed (said with love) whatshername earlier in the week to ask for assistance with a ride for son, explained the 40th reunion planning party.. no response. Par for the course.
Onea my alltime favorite teachers/professors was a guy named Dr. Schmock. Psychology, William Jewell college. Onea the ‘games people play’ I remember him telling us was the game “ain’t it awful’.. and I find myself today perhaps pitifully participating in a game I’d really rather never play – but hey, woah nelly, here I am.
I know! Good shit, followed by bad shit, more bad shit… I’ll watch the Chiefs! Rollercoaster – please – tell me… it’s time for the uphill ain’t it? Arch rival, Oakland Raiders in town… worst quarterback in the league.. 70+ thousand screaming, red-wearing fans.. home opener.. YES! YES! YES! Just what the doctor ordered! Lost, last two minutes of the game. Shee-it.
Picked up son, missed meeting. Went home, checked on Figgy’s grave to make sure no critters unearthed him. Checked email. Finally. “I still believe in others.” Hmmm. So, reckon that meant we’re not going out on a 2nd date. Oh I feel so foolish for telling buddies “went well, thanks.”
Before you call in the shrink, first know: I love life. I even loved most parts of the weekend. Great music. Reminiscing about Fig, how I’d brought him home as a kitten in the first place. Looking thru old pics of my family.. Even the Chiefs, in defeat, had some good things happen.
And on the dating thing. Don’t feel sorry for me. There’s a fair number of women that make contact with me. I am just too GD picky. My right though (and, the right of Ms. Friday night date too.)
At work now, Monday morning. Will do my share of horsing around today. I ain’t no gardener, but onea my favorite things in the world is to “see how many smiles I can grow” in a day. For real. It makes ME happier when I try to make others happy/laugh. Some efforts are pretty lame, I’ll admit – but then sometimes, I’m rewarded back by a co-worker with a shit-eaten grin.. and I’m reminded “yes… thanks God… this IS a pretty darn good world, life…. even if it doesn’t always workout like a paint by the numbers plan.”
K. Done. Nuff said. No more horsing around here. Woah Nelly. Happy day, love, Victurd.
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