Take two aspirin and call me in the morning..........

But Doc.. it's Saturday.......

Of mice and men........... as in, howta git ridda mice........

Find entry point, charge a cover charge.  No, wait, that's to git ridda men, nvrmnd..

Find entry point.  Use them snap traps there if that don't geek you out.  Glue ones if you're a cruel basta..  or, catch em in live traps so you can drop em off later in the yard of the HOA president.

Clear out the garage.  No, wait, again, that one is for men.

Today, boys and girls, we're gonna talk quick fix. Victor, when's the last time you were called a boy?  Good question, I guess it should be, 'Today, men and women"... actually though, we're old.  Google can be mean, for old chicks (sorry, not) they suggest  biddy, or old biddy.. old bag or old bat..  spinster or old maid.  MISOGYNIST!  Hang on...........

Men. Old men. Geezer. Fossil. Dinosaur. Old coot. Old codger...or, as Ethel called Walter, you old poop.

Blog draggin, hop to it.  Thx.   IT guys suggest "Did you try restarting it?"

Harry Nilsson asked Doc,  "Doctor? Ain't there nothing I can take to relieve this bellyache?"..   You put de lime in de coconut, you drink 'em bot up."

Ralphie wanted An Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action 200-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.  Little Orphan Annie's decoded quick fix for Ralphie was "Be sure to drink your Ovaltine."  Damnit darnit. OMG, no soup for you Ralphie, SOAP, only.

Thanks to that TV show where the panel of rich dudes, dudettes. welcome in wanna be entrepreneurs, listen to them beg for a$$i$tance... then yay/nay, give it or don't. Anyways, thanks to that show, Shark Tank mebbe, we're getting all kindsa quick fixes.  

A facial ice roller that you stick in the fridge for whenever you wanna take it out to give your face a chill ride, reducing puffiness, under eye circles, relieve tension from  a headache. 

Mighty Match Pimple Spot Treatment, a hydrocolloid sticker that you can apply straight onto a zit to flatten it, reduce redness, and even suck the gunk out of individual trouble spots overnight. Eww.

Old wives' tales....  MISOGYNIST! WHY, must you emphasize old? OK, how's this, "over time, wives' tales'... not much better, but go on.

Honey/sore throat.  Chicken Soup/Colds. Warm milk/sleep.  Carrots/eyesight. Walnut on scratched wood. Newspaper to clean winders.. Ice for Carpet dents. Peanut butter for gum on shoes. Lemon slices for garbage disposal.

Crap I found on Facebook:  It’s bad luck to sweep the floor after dinner. If your nose itches you are going to kiss a fool. If a black cat crosses your path it is bad luck. If your palm itches you are going to receive money. If you drop a knife on the floor the next person who comes through your front door will be male. (I have Italian and Irish ancestors…very superstitious) 

Victor them ain't quick fixes. Sorry, I was getting bored.  Us too.  Swallow a watermelon seed and a watermelon will grow in your stomach. If you cross your eyes, they will stay that way.  Braniff, believe it. 

Reader's Digest actually had me barfing up my scramble (very scrambled) eggs this morning...  they listed some old wives's tales from way back, and while they were all believed WAY BACK, they are ALL now labeled don't do this:

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  Black Death ravaging London in the 1600's, Doctors suggested Fart Sniffing.  Uh huh, not a typo. Folks huffed farts from jars.

Paste of dead mice to treat coughs, toothaches, other ailments. Don't do this. Drop 'em off in the HOA President's yard like we talked about.

I can't do any more. I'll vomit, promise. If you're a sicko, you can Google 15 Bizarre Ancient Remedies You Won't Believe Existed.

So, I'll hopefully start  your day off on a positive, and that positive is me getting the help outta here.

Happy day.  I won't tell anyone you already tried the fart one.  I have sicko SigaManu buddies that usedta torch 'em. Hard to get the burn marks outta Levi's, or so they tell me.

May the 4th be with you. 

Good day, Victurd 

 

 

Dots.........

Dots the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it.

Memories. Twerps of today. Victor, that ain't very kind.  Too bad, so sad, not meant to be mean.  I love little turds, toddlers, snotnoses... twerps.  The candy of choice today, from my view, foot on gas pedal, twerps in car seats, boosters, or, a big enough twerp just to simply sit on the seat itself - are/is (that always confuses me, tense.. I get tense about tense)... any kinda sour candy that makes you make a face, but, somehow, it's enjoyable enough you reach sweaty palm into bag for anuther.

Fitty, sixty years ago, that was us.. getting the lid of the Dot box open, using our index finger like a crane to swipe one or two dots up, from the box, to our mouth.  Yum, gummy, stucky, perfect. Movie theater.  They could be, and were, projectiles.  Sure, stung, but, didn't cause blindness.  If you somehow sat on one however, it usually took a couple years to be able to get it unstuck from your jeans, and by that time, the jeans fit your little brother, not you.

You're in the Army now. Well, Army Air Corps. Me padre', he was a Code something or other. WWII..  Dots and dashes, or, dits and dahs.  He'd have conversations with himself using same, we thought he was nuts, he thought he was something, and he was, in fun.

Wiki say dots been around 40,000 years.  I've basically given up on asking, when I see crap like that, "how do they know?"  Polka dot patterns surfaced in the 1850's.  Dot your i's and cross your t's means, meticulous.  I ain't never been that. You?  My notebook paper ALWAYS had frayed edges, my old Buick holds sacks from Mickey D's from when Big Macs were under two dolla, meh, who cares.  OCD people, that's who.  Mebbe one day I'll take a Dot com course on how to be more OCD. meh.

On the dot. (On time.) I am that.  You?

Sign on the dotted line.  Ever been burnt by fine print?  Uh huh, me too.

Potholes?  Call the DOT.

Rhymes.  Aught, blot, bought, brought, caught, clot, cot, fought, fraught.

Synonyms. Fleck. Blotch. Speck. Patch.

FLECK?

Pac-Man eats dots.

Montserrat, Missouri.  While it looks like you'll find a bigass French rat there, actually, it's just a dot on the map in Central Missouri.

The Azores. A dot in the Atlantic Ocean, but, quite the dot. Roughly 900 miles to the nearest major land mass (Portugal), a quarter million folks choose to live in the 9 island volcanic chain.  Rumor has it, gorgeous, and weather, mild.  Dunno howinthehell sailors find it.                                                                                            

Have an Aunt Dot?  Connect the dots as a kid?  The weirdness, diversity of folks today (and every day).. hard to connect the dots with some ain't it?

Dots are at the end of sentences...........

And blogs........................

THANK GOODNESS VICTOR.

... indicates 'to be continued'.  

Bite me, Pac-Man. 

Love, Victurd 

I see your red door................................................ and................ Paint by numbers

Pardon me boys, is that the cat who chewed your new shoes?

Wait, that ain't it.

Pardon me boys, is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo?

Mebbe.....

Rod says, every picture tells a story.  And Rod, I'll one-up ya even better, every person tells a story..... and that, I reckon, is the point today of this flimsy old blog.

I gotta buddy who wrote, and I don't think he'll sue me for copy/pasting:  

"Every morning, while I am drinking my coffee, I go through my gratitude, what I’m grateful for that day. Today I did my usuals, my house, my utilities, my refrigerator, full of food, my pantry, my running water and even toilet paper. But today I was extremely grateful that all those loud booms last night was just thunder. Praying for all the people that are in dangerous war situations."

You see, he don't. Once did, but, over the years his eyesight declined to the point he can't any longer, but, by golly that sucker can paint, and ain't that a pretty picture he wrote?  Ya damn right it is.

Kinda sorta along that note.......  I heard or read of an English teacher, in trying to teach writing.. ... trying to get whatever age folks she was teaching to 'xplain Lucy' as they wrote - had 'em blindfold a classmate, walk 'em around and describe everything. Brilliant, to me anyways.

Some say, "I can't write."  I call BS.  in your own way, you can and do.  Had a buddy, swore he didn't know how to, could never, retell a joke he'd heard, so, whenever someone started to tell one.. he'd pipe up... "WAIT".. go grab pen, paper, and write it down so he could retell.

To me, THAT is a story in and of itself! 

We. be. different.   And, that's the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it.. some would say, we're stuck with it.  Some (ok, many) geezers, retell and retell and retell, the same story.  A gal that I smooched for a few years... they were all SO thankful when I came along (NO, not because they liked me, be for real!) because I was the new listener to all her dad's stories. (Again, and again)

I loved it then, and I love it now - as sadly, he ain't around no more.  And, while sure, not fun he's gone, ALL THOSE STORIES still are in my brain, I so love that they are - and it brings heap big smile to my face every time I think of him, or, one of his stories.

Smiles accompany storytellers of each, every variety. And, if you ain't aware how big smiles are to me... then, take a year off work (or play) and reread the 12,000+ flimsy blogs I wrote before this'n.

In every day life... having recurring times with ones we hang with, work with, go to church, the bar, book club, Bunko, golf, whatever.... we have our favorites we love listening to - at least I do, dunno about you, but, I'd guess so.

I look forward to whadever in the heck I'm going to listen to today..  Sure, some ain't real fun to listen to.. .VICTOR!  Well, it's true, it's reawwy reawwy twue.. some speak of themselves (always).. but, we know that ahead, so mebbe it don't bug us quite so much. (You mean like certain bloggers Victor?  BITE ME).

Some, speak about others, and sometimes, it ain't really pretty what they say. But again... we know that in advance, and holy guacamole, it makes ya sit back and think "Hey, what if I ain't here?  Would they talk about me?"  The likely answer is yes.... but too, it lends a little more of an understanding of their "I see your red door and I want it painted black" picture, because,  maybe, they don't like what they see in their own mirror... and, that, is really sad - and, maybe makes you love 'em, or at least feel for 'em a little more.

Victor, where you going with this?  Every nook and cranny in the World, how's that? If might be fun to go sit for awhile in a foreign country, not know whatinthehell any one is saying, but.. mebbe take a guess as  to who's the best story teller... which is the geezer repeating a story over and over (Could be the Cliffs note version to Babble in learning, say, Espanol' eh?). Who always speaks about themself. Who, always speaks (sometimes badly) about Pepe' or Maria.  Which awakens every day and counts their blessings?

Life, I find anyways, is a damn fun, interesting, convoluting, wunnerful, colorful, blessed place.

Life, in black and white, wouldn't be quite as fun. And, before you run off suggesting racism, that ain't what I'm talkin'. We need hues, blues, and even pink hairdos.

If life were only paper, scissors, rock, how boring that would be, and besides, Patrick would NEVER be able to play that with SpongeBob.

I like leftfield, 'what did he just say', Ripley's Believe it Or Not, Paul Harvey, Yogi Berra, Jimmy Kimmel (just shoot me) and, I'd never forget you Guillermo.

VICTOR, you misogynist, there ain't a single lady on your list.  Geez (Louise, BaBa WaWa, Rosanne Rosanna Danna, Betty White, Samantha Stephens, Wilma and Betty, right Pebbles?

I've told this one before............. NO? NOT YOU VICTOR!  Bite me.  One time, band camp.  That lady up there I smooched with for three years or so (remember, the one whose Pa told and retold the same (fun) stories (as he smiled?)  Anyways, I follered her into the Piggly Wiggly one day........ we's outta coffee. (TBC)

They had this nifty end of aisle display, musta been thirty coffee bean varieties.. you grab your bag, fill up with the one of choice.  Not her.  She took her bag, grabbed a little of this, a little of that, actually, some of each, all.

That.  That's the way uh huh uh huh I like life, and coffee come to think of it.

Love, Victurd 

I love a parade...........

I don't recall... (which, at this age, can be skeery).. I don't recall EVER, hearing a snotnose (that's the age where one is able to standup on one's own, thru Brownie/Cub Scout age.).. tweens (that's the age, torn between still playing with plastic army guys, or, peeking at the Macy's undie ads when there ain't no one lookin.)....... (TBC)

I don't recall EVER, hearing parents (that's the age between, "Oh hell, now what?".. soccer mom/dads, "Earl, we gotta STOP, or, get a 3 row vehicle", to, the age where they finally iggy ""Watch this!" and "Are we there yet", tears, "Jimmy's hitting me".. they're vested, vested by practice, discipline, don't mess with me any more." (TBC)

I don't recall, EVER, hearing a geezer, (them's the ones that cried way back when for three days 'cause they sliced the kid trying to put on a cloth diaper.. now, they don't commute, set alarms, run, jump... and, in a few decades, have changed their reply on "Can we get ice cream" from NO, to... SURE!"

I don't recall ANY O' THEM....... saying, "DO I HAVE'TA GO?" at parade time. AI learns me, and I dunno how they know 'cause they ain't been around long enough to see many parades... but they learn me "People enjoy parades because they foster a sense of community, nostalgia, and shared celebration." Not bad AI, high five... the hell is your arm?

Some snotnoses, after a quick diaper check, getta get up on dad's shoulders for the best view... others, enjoy the freedom of blocked off streets, no leash needed provided they don't stray far...  

Tweens, I ain't real sure what tweens do at a parade..  but thankfully, it's usually NOT looking at their phones, so it must be something like pinching the derriere of a friend, or, ripping off their fruit loop.  (Victor, fruit loops went by the wayside even before lava lamps came in.  Oh. Thanks)

Parents.. Rejoice cause they ain't at work.. Harken back to their own childhood mems... or, drive the tractors, convertibles.. or, run the street sweeper at the end.  Sure, crappy job, but, they getta see the whole thing closeup at the very start whilst they wait.

Geezers.  They enjoy watching snotnoses and tweens frolic here to there, and rejoice in that they don't have to be hall monitors any more.  They're sitting, which, is among the most favorite things we geezers do.  Watching the energy, we say YIPPEE and remember when we once had it... female geezers love looking at the $127 dance costumes of the littles, and, remember back to when they sewed them themselves with material from TG&Y for 7 bucks.

Floats, firetrucks, marching bands, little's schools of dance, entertainers, town dignitaries (usually geezers), clowns throwing hard candy that their dentures say "hell no" to..   beads - "Don't you dare Gladys." Cop cars, Vettes, Model T's. There's something for everyone.

A break. Abby normal, but, normal.

Calgon, take me away, John Philip Sousa (Victor, you left an L out.. bite me, look it up).. SUNSHINE... happiness... 

There ain't one thought about............Breaking news......... war......... homicides...  "taste great" "less filling" vein showing Facebook argue.....  mortgage rates... how much gas will cost to get home..  The price of tea in China.. If I hear the word tariff I'm knocking  you on...............

A shining, personal break from personal things that really hit home... illness.. upcoming treatments.. . affliction.. the needed new left hip.. .  memory loss of loved ones..... and, most of all, loss.  At least until the street cleaner comes.. .which, reminds, there's virtually shit in everything in life............

But......... we can live the life as if we're at a parade.  Pardon'a mai' French, makes all the shit not quite so bad.

Victor, must you cuss?

It's real. It's at intersections, LOUD sometimes, damn kids (that we once were).. memories of Uncle Jim and his "ahhhhhhshit" sneeze.  Of profanity, Chickenman says "IT'S EVERYWHERE IT'S EVERYWHERE"

Except.

At a parade. 

Victor?  Victor? VICTOR?!  WAKE UP, the parade is almost over!

Hey Mister?  Mister?  Yeah?  That snotnose on your shoulders... Liam, ain't that his name? Anyways, me thinks mebbe his diaper has leaked through.  DAMNIT!  Sir, there's no cussing at a parade.

Yeah, you're right. Sorry. 

It's all good.. the street cleaners just came thru. Back to real life, dangit darnit.

(Then again, with the right outlook, even real life can be a parade) 

Love, Victurd 

All things being equal................

Well....... they ain't.  Never have been, never will be.

I'm fat. She's skinny.  He's rich. DAYUM she's tall.  That guy could do standup, I swear... I come close to losing my breath from laughing. dayum near pass out when he gets on a roll.

I don't really find him funny, but, whatever, and I'm not offended if you do.

D.  D lost his job at the plant because the owners, having difficulty getting employees to fill openings due to the extremely rural nature of the plant and the city it was in, were pretty much forced to shutdown and relocate to a more urban location. D's wife worked nights at Casey's, slept during the day whilst the kids were in D's hands, or, at school.. he'd fetch em with him when he went to Dollar General to grab some groceries... and he was always embarrassed when he had to get out his EBT card to pay.

K.  K was in line behind D... noticed he'd included a bag of chips.. and a 2 liter of Pepsi.  With EBT card in one hand, D pulled them out of the cart with the other, and K exhaled that exhale of disgust as if Uncle Sam himself had opened her purse, grabbed a five dollar bill out to pay for them.  R stood behind K who was behind D.  D was putting his cart up, making sure his kids held hands as they walked to the car...  R, who was behind K, who was behind D, had paid, then walked over to D...  without knowing specifics.. said, "You're a good man friend...I can tell the kids love you... I'll bet they enjoy those Fritos, I sure did when I was a kid.. and, hey, I loved Snickers too.. so here's a couple of 'em for you.. I won five bucks on a scratcher ticket, paying it forward to your kiddos!"  THANK YOU SIR!  D felt better.

V, were you being judgmental about K? Maybe, forgive me Father.  She's certainly entitled to her opine, I just don't 'get' that she has no idea of his situation... and, I don't really think chips and pop is/are an overreach, as in 'foul'. And, on toppa that, I thought the exhale was in pretty bad taste, even if a belief. But again, I understand MANY share her belief.

H.  H is a young man, Junior in HS, happens to be black.  The only black in his school.. the only other black child in the district is his 6th grade sister, P. H and C sit by each other in two classes, have become really good friends, take breaks together.. and recently, C agreed wholeheartedly and thankfullly to go to prom with H. C's parents basically flipped out.  Bugged them so much, they got an appointment with a psychologist to see if he had suggestions on how to get C to stop liking H. (TBC)

Much to their surprise, the Counselor suggested C wasn't the one in need of counseling, they were.  

All things being equal, they ain't.  

V was trying his hand as a girl's basketball coach. An admitted neophyte, he spent hours reading books, going to coaching clinics, yada.  DD was his point guard, not bad, and, the team was actually fairly successful in the first year. DD's folks, and DD, teased and joked with V, and it was a two-way enjoyment kinda thing.  The next year............

DE moved into the district.  She was a freshman, and pardon the French, one helluva basketball player.  In fact, she supplanted DD as the starting point guard on the team.  It was an easy decision, everyone could see it, well, almost everyone. By season's end she was voted All Conference, First Team.

All things being equal, they ain't.

V allowed DD and her folks, to make life, the team, the culture, a living hell.  The end game was, they made it somehow. V was 25 at the start of the season, turned 43 (or so he felt) by the end of the season.  Shoulda woulda and coulda booted DD off the team for conduct. Didn't. 

Life, nor blogging, comes with GPS.  I'm a lover of diversity, yet, I know many, ain't.  Never, would I attend a meeting of a certain political party, yet, i have many, MANY a friend now, and over the years, that would, and do.

Much, doesn't interest me, but, I'm perked by your interests.  We all take paths to those interests, and, along the path toward that interest, we can meet, visit, talk, even love others, who ain't enroute to the same interest meeting.  We can, and do. 

I love that.  I love the 'take a moment in life' of life.  I love turning the corner in Piggly Wiggly, only to come upon someone from the dinosaur days of High School.. we didn't hang then, really don't now.. but, much, much in common simply due to the era.  Generally, that's accompanied by, met with, smile.

Smiles are good, even if all things ain't equal. Clothes, money, position, rank, don't make the man or the woman.

Ideally, we could sit in a room, naked and get along.  Not knowing if BMW, crotch rocket scooter, Ole Buick.. Louis Vutton, Nike, or, Wally brand.  No ID on bank balance, Bible of choice, or not, living in sin, or Cincinnati.  

OK, right you are. the naked, it was actually a 'josh', sorry, kinda. ..for MANY reasons, perhaps better we keep our clothes on... Maybe t shirt and shorts eh?  Besides, some rooms are really cold.  You pervert, I was talking COLD, not shrinkage.  Then again.  All things being equal, they ain't.  But some things are left better for the imagination, as, there are perverts out there!

T Shirt, shorts......... room.  Two people. Friends along the way.  Means kindness.  Understanding.  Listening, really listening. Talking, even if that can be a struggle.

War had a song in 1975 that said, 38 times in fact, Why Can't We Be Friends.  The resta the lyrics is made up of differences.

At the risk of sounding like Joel (and you may really like Joel I shouldn't say that, did, sorry, kinda)..  all we need is a drummer........

No, that ain't it.  All we need is a room.  T Shirt. Shorts. A path on our way to get there.  Happenstance.  Sit. Kindness.  Greeting (which, is almost spelled g r e a t.)  A handshake or a hug or a peace sign or a simple smile (which, sadly, ain't so simple sometimes)... 

All things being equal, they ain't.   But,  Why Can't We Be Friends?

Victor? Yeah?  You mean, EVEN be friends with a weird blogger?

Uh huh.  They're harmless.

Love, Victurd 

Urn the other cheek.........

My take......... and........ well, damnit, that's what blogs are...... blogger's take... my take in this instance.......

If you've come here with some frequency, first, I ask... "The hell is wrong with you?"  

Then, you'll remember I overdo stuff.......  the 'two beers at the Landing'...    sports, way too much..  love for little kids..... pets.. even cats!  LYRICS.  It's like chewing on a gummy, they get stuck in there somehow.

And, obits.

Obits is, are......... a two, three, four paragraph summation, of howintheheck one spent their life on our planet.

Most........... are prim, proper.  It's kinda like dressing for church... ya put on good stuff..  Shouldn't have that final take with collars and cuffs a mess... scuffmarks on the leather shoes... wrinkled knee pants...   Strawberry syrup stains from Denny's.  Nuh uh, no sir, don't. Stymie halt.  No can do.  Ya got one, ONE shot, to do it right, correct, within reasonably specific guidelines.

I vote, patooey.

In fact, one'a my favorite recent obits I read... stated...  "Life was never a straight line."  (If Fred Flintstone were an undertaker, I'm quite certain he'd agree, rejoice with, "Yabba dabba cadaver!")

No parking by the sewer sign, hot dog, my razor's broke, water drippin' up the spout, but I don't care, let it all hang out.

Like:

He much preferred the company of Cocker Spaniels over people.....

He enjoyed gardening, The Rolling Stones, and.. dumping an entire fifth of Old Crow in the punch bowl at Church.  

He had an addiction to sticky notes... He'd steal a bundle from work... He'd leave sweet nothing notes to his lady... uplifting, 'go get em' quotes for his kids, grands... and, once or twice a year, he'd drive to work, park in the Owner's designated spot, and leave a note "I had to pee.. REAL BAD."

Education was important to him... in fact.. he 'Babbled" his way to fluency in Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese with the express intent of walking into a nail salon... preparing himself so 3/4's of the way thru a pedicure, he would sing (in the corresponding Korean, Chinese or Vietnamese) either "God Bless America", "Bohemian Rhapsody", or sometimes even "You put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up", he'd mix it up.. . all, much to the chagrin of the little gossipers who'd been talking about him, giggling their way thru the entire pedi.  All in fun, he tipped well.

He (and his spouse) enjoyed fine dining, dancing, and an occasional cocktail.  Darn near ever Friday night, they'd go thru the list of upcoming weddings, pick the one that looked the richest, in the biggest church... put on their finery... walk in (not knowing anyone).. and eat, dance, drink. From this.. over the years.. he got two job offers... three new golf partners.. a seven figure 401K thanks to their untapped entertainment fund, and many a hangover.

He was emotionally deprived as a toddler... his mother was wonderful but quick to softly admonish when deserved.. , he'd be sitting in the seat of the cart in the store, would yank any, everything he saw, wanted, into their cart - and of course it was followed with "no.. put it back please."   This possibly played into his later in life aversion to tossing things into the carts of unsuspecting shoppers..  you know, at Kohls once he threw a three-pack of neon thongs into a granny's cart..  a 36DD lacy bra into the cart of a 5'2", 90 pound hotty...   and... he' d drop an unopened CD of Carly Simon's You're So Vain into some dude's cart that looked like maybe he earned it.

Perhaps his prized possession was his cardboard cutout of Bernie.  "They" would sit in the front porch swing and visit...  go on float trips... driving trips to nowhere in particular in his Tesla, with Bernie at the wheel.

Never ever a fan of "You Can't!" he would attend his neighborhood HOA meetings (remaining silent).. but soon after.. "Watch me!".. he'd pay his cousin Eddy fitty bucks to park his RV overnight infronta the HOA Pres's house..  he'd pull her trash bins out on Friday (Monday was trash day).. and he enjoyed spray painting her mailbox in psychedelic colors.. and, once every six months or so, hookup a clothesline between her Mercedes and her next door neighbor's Escalade and fill it with overalls.

He didn't really have a police record, but, over the years, he was tossed from three movie theaters when they spotted his squirt gun... came just shy of being up on assault charges at a teeball game when he threatened the mother of a seven year old after she'd screamed at his son (the umpire) at the top of her lungs.. and then that time he got pulled over for speeding, chose to remain silent, "speaking' to the cop in ASL.

Strangely, there was even one obit where the funeral was gonna be at night... hence, "We'll leave the light on for you."

Love, Victurd 

Understanding "A hill of beans"........

Awhile back....... oh, forty pounds or so... hella wrinkles ago...  I was a wet behind the ears punk, briefcase totin' dude with fancy resume' in hand.  Thankfully, landed a job at a nice, family owned company, largely in part to having gone to the same college as the President of the company.

Day 1.  All well and good.  Observation. Notes taken. Actually got to do some hands on diddies....

Day 2.  Meet with owner (actually, owner's son, who by now had taken over).. a direct boss.. and a coworker.  Conversation was going along ok, then, somehow I (ears still wet back there) related, "well.. I don't think this (this and this) is gonna work... we needta do this (this and this)."  Echoing in the background, me thinks I heard the song "All of me... why not take all of me."  Then....

Boss... owner dude... not quite as impressed with my take as was I, maybe some disagreement in me rearranging the procedures he'd setup........... looked me in the eye, conversed, and somewhere along the way I heard......."I don't need you."

That.  That's how I learned about 'A hill of beans'... as in, you ain't, it ain't, worth a hill of beans." 

Pride is hard to swallow, but, remember... I was job huntin' prior, which, means "Feed me Seymour, I ain't had a paycheck in a minute"... so.. I swallowed, made note." 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As life, the World, turns... we 'cipher' quickly with our brains... "time is precious at any age.. but now, we measure... .yay/nay, do I need this? Want this?  Does this interest me?" 

The beloved local paper (The KC Star) this morning...  four articles on a hunnerd and sixty eight possibilities of who the Chiefs might draft tomorrow night.  Reading all about the 168? Not no's but hells no's, a hill of beans.. I DON'T NEED YOU.  Perspective.  It's kinda like prematurely picking your lifetime honey... you know, like, in 3rd grade. Although I will admit, I thought it was love at first playgound chase. (TBC)

Come time where, "The Chiefs are on the clock" Thursday night.. .well.. that's more akin to....   Senior Prom, you and eight buddies just pooled hard earned dollars from stackin' hay bales the previous summer so you can rent a limo for the night........ NOW, we're talking.  Closer.  Closer anyways to, "Is this the real life... is this just fantasy?....."   Good, important beans, regardless.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And, I'll end with (OH, you're welcome) one final story where I ended up with bean syrup on my face.

I talk, and love, my grandkids.  I mean, who doesn't?  Most times, I walk the walk.  NOT SUNDAY.  Color me an idiot.  I worked 9a to 3p.  Tired, yet, no excuse. Right after work, my duty was to pickup my grands at ex's house.. fetch them back to Topeka, almost 3 hours round trip.  I'd texted, "Get off at 3, be there shortly thereafter."

3:14pm, I pull into the driveway.  I honk.  Nuthin, not a creature is stirring. 3:18pm, I text.  Nuthin'.  3:22pm, grandson finally comes out.. "It's gonna be a bit.."  I ain't had blood pressure meds in a few years (my excuse for semi-irritated answer) "HOW COME?"  They're eatin'.  Pretend this -> is larger type "GEEZ".....  My selfish brain switched to "They KNEW I was coming shortly after 3, couldn't they have eatin earlier?"  Absolute, on purpose, quiet set in.

3:34pm, all three grandkids in tow. A silent, idiotic grandfather pulls out.

What little wisdom that is left in this 73 year old brain, talked to me.. "Victor.. you don't see them often... today, when you finally DO get to see them.. you demonstrate being an ass by allowing 20 minutes of your day to paint you "You ain't worth a hill of beans." (TBC)

"And I'm talking, you ain't CLOSE to bein' Bush's Best beans.. or Hunt's Beans.. you ain't even Best Choice Beans... you MAY BE "Always Save Beans".. you know, them are the ones everyone buys and takes to homeless shelters.. .and them dudes won't even eat 'em." 

I feel worse than a Royal's 8 game losing streak.  Worse than hearing, many years ago, "I don't need you."

Forgive me Father........... and, grandkids.  I am human, hear me snore.. and I promise, I'll be better, happier, funner............... next time.

Love, Victurd