Erasers..........

Do you remember, way back when..  WHEN Victor?  When we were kids... usually one or two selected to take the chalkboard erasers outside to clap 'em together, get ridda all the chalk dust.. 'clean them'?  Me neither... I think it was the beginning of my life as a longtime misogynist, as I only recall chicks being selected. I'M KIDDING, I'm kidding.

Kinda sorta.

We used pencils until they were so darn small you could hardly hold 'em in your hand... and... erasers on pencils that were so used up - you'd try to get one last erase and the metal tore the easily torn Big Chief paper.  Did, does fit my lifetime dogeared persona. You? 

Noticed too, time erases much. Ya hear a buddy tell a story, swears you were there... no recall whatsoever.  Goes both ways too.....

Funny (not ha ha funny, but funny) how stuff over the years that doesn't get erased from the medulla oblongata- is either really good or really bad things, times, statements in our lives.   

You?   I'm too BIGHEADED to forever forget the really nice things people have said... and.. for the most part, I adhere to Biblical guidance on not holding grudges agin the really bad things said, but, admit to at least one I'll prolly never leggo of. It's the ginger/German in me. You? 

I heard a funny.. VICTOR, you tell it, we'll decide if it's funny. Fair enough.  "Take my advice, nobody else does."

Advice, us being the human variety, we of course opt to pick and or not choose advice given.  Seems good, solid advice over the years - we never erase, let go of, and I'm thankful for that... and. .. to the mouths the advice came from.

From the mouths of babes - that stuff, thankfully, we rarely erase.  We may forget exactly whiich one (kid, grandkid... friend of kid, grandkid) said it - the we store those things in the temple, and that's a pretty darn good place to store them.

On my way to hit 'publish' in a sec... but, just a song before I go.......no, that ain't it.  Just a thought.. I'm deathly afeared of getting all the crap in my phone erased. I know backup, Cloud.. still, skeers me.

On personal note (Victor, this whole blog has been personal).. yeah, yeah, whatever.  A couple years ago, my son and I shared a FB account.  Somehow, when one was erased, they both went kapooey. Somehow, 800+ friends wiped out.  Not worth sending friend requests again only to not hear back, or, hear '"you've been hacked"...  So, I've got 800 folks that think I blocked them... nuttin' further than that truth.  You can't erase other's thoughts about you... but.. you're good if you can look in the mirror and know the fer sure side.  That's all.

This blog has been poopy, sorry, should prolly erase it.... but, days can be like that. It's me it's me it's Ernest T.

Love, Victurd 

Limited vocabulary........

As a twerp (Twerp defined as, between the age of first verbal word, and, the approximate age when one gets the peanut butter outta their ears... definitely varies by the person.).. as a twerp the want to learn, expand, saturate the brain by as bigga vocabulary as was possible - resembled Pac-Man, mouth open, on the move, North South East West, all at right angles, to fill up, 'learn', consume, 'store' as many of those damn 'dots' (words) as he could.

 Sure, there are exceptions to the rule and in fairness to them, twerp is kinda demeaning You know, like the 7 year old you see on Good Morning America, that graduated HS at age 5, went to State U and now has his/her BS and will finish his/her Masters in year Ocho.

Then, on the udder end, I will lovingly call them 'geezer twerps', won't name names (Weagley, Moffitt) but, their quest is to write and purposely include a word there ain't a one of us dolts on FB, instagram, X, whadever - have in the arsenal of our brain. I hate, love them, but I've found about all I wanna expand at this age is my waistline.

Purposely limited vocabulary.

I've found, as we age, wipe the wetness off behind our ears, our give-a-damn wanes.  For many, many a year, beginning perhaps with the microwave like hormones of our acne years, thru, long about the time the first SS check is deposited, sex...  well, it ain't job one, but, me thinks for most, it was thought one.

Now, not so much.   Sex?  Yeah, I remember that.  No thanks, I gave at the office.  Jane, you ignorant slut, can't you see you're standing in MY bedroom?  Sure, I jest some, but, it no longer dominates the headlines, is breaking news, blinders on, that kinda stuff.

Vocabulary now.

Hungry.  Oft times today, followed by he/she pointing to the Frigidaire. "You know where it is..... cook your own... if what you want ain't in there.. YOU go the the Piggly Wiggly this time."

Nap.. need sleep, please keep the dog and the cat out, which, is normally followed by the reply, "Close the damn door so I/we don't have to hear you snore, or smell your farts."  Fair enough. (The give and take of longterm.)

I don't wanna go....... to church, book club, out to eat, with you, with or without you, to your folks, to the park, lake, farmer's market, movie, bar, shop, anywhere.  

Well I've been everywhere.... which, is the exact same message as I don't wnna go above, but it's just got the Johnny Cash twist, without naming the Reno, Chicago, Fargo...... Tocapillio, Branquilla and Perdilla places.. They're inferred "been everywhere, don't wanna go" (anywhere).  

Me neither, not to be confused with "OK, then gimme a backrub" or, "OK, lets go for a walk"..."Come sit by me and we'll find something on TV we both like." (Nevermind, neither of us is a fan of dust.)

Don't tell.  When you stop and think of "Don't tell" if makes you think "Hmmm.. I'm gonna learn a secret, and I ain't sposedta tell no one."  Well, that's not it at all.  Don't tell is the exact opposite of Do tell.   I don't care if it happened at band camp, at the office, on the phone, what you read on Facebook, in that damn book you won't put down, whatever, Don't tell. Don't tell, is the today translation to Phil Collins "Well you can tell everyone I'm a down disgrace, drag my name allover the place, I don't care anymore." (and, back when we were young enough to remember the ENTIRE lyrics to a song, it followed:

You can tell everybody about the state I'm in, you won't catch me crying cause I just can't win, I don't care anymore, I don't care anymore, d'you hear? See? "Don't tell" much less frustrating to hear, say.  

SEE ME....  FEEL ME...  (DON'T) TOUCH ME......

That's fancy for...... do you get me?  Alla the above might appear like I no like you. That ain't it.  I've grown accustomed to your face.  We learnt all of the above from folks like:

Ralph and Alice Kramden

Fred and Ethel Mertz

Al and Peg Bundy

George and Gracie Burns.

DIG? (Which, is the shortened vocabulary/version of the beloved Professor Keith David, which shortened "Do you understand.... get it...were you listening....")

SEE ME....  FEEL ME...  (DON'T) TOUCH ME......

A short story, by Henry Gibson

Love, Victurd  

  

Out of the ordinary.........

I can just see you sitting there in your Buford T. Justus PJ's, spouting, "Victor, you sumbi*ch, you are out of the ordinary EVERY day!"

Yeah?  Bite me there Huey Lewis and the News.. bite your dog too...  that's news ain't it?

I never ever dreamed.... (THAT'S a lie.. I dream, minimum, three times a day... regular sleep, nap #1 and nap #2.  Yeah, bite me again if I take a third.. It's my life and I'll do what I want.  You hear an echo Eric?

If you woulda sat me down as a kid....... and told me I'd need a code to get into the fort we neighbor kids bullt, I'd get it... but...   need a code to order from Mickeys?  Burger King? (I think I done told you about the day the Mickey Custodian fella had to get out the yellow Piso Mojado sign the day I pulled in, ran (as fast as Joe Cocker can run) to pee, I reach for the door and it's got a damn punch code thing "PLEASE ENTER THE CODE WRITTEN ON THE BOTTOM OF THE RECEIPT TO ACCESS CODE TO DOOR". and... whoop, there it is, Piso Mojado allover the floor.  Sorry, kinda.

That my life would be centered around a 2 inch by 4 inch screen. Glued to as a matter'da fact. That my Aunt Hazel from Osawatomie could 'mail me' a letter on it at 10pm and it didn't need no stamp............ That, that 2"by 4" screen would mean mom would never again have to drop me off at the library, where I'd sneak in, and hopefully the mean ole lady that always looks over her specs wouldn't see me (I was deathly afraid of jail as i owed 24 cents 'cause I was a week late getting the Babe Ruth Biography back to her) where were we? VICTOR?  Need a cognitive test? NO. Oh, mom dropped me at library, and, thanks to my new 2by4 screen, she ain't gotta any longer. I don't have to dewey decimal nuttin'...  I can Google (not Giggle) it. Or, AI it (not to be confused with Allen Iverson or A1 sauce for my steak.

That, that.. the drone ain't the backup Baptist Preacher when the regular dude is on vacation... it's something that flies, no pilot onboard, can take pictures and videos of anyone, anywhere at any time...not to mention deliver you an Amazon package.  (Why would anyone need a package from the jungle?) Stick around kid.

That, in spite of what my little league coach says, you don't need "two hands on a pop up", one and the mouse can catch and put it away easily.  Huh?  Mouse?

I've never quite figured out why....... when color TV's first came out they cost damn near as much as a new Chevy Biscayne.  Now, you can get a TV almost the size of Wilt Chamberlin for the price of a headlight for a new Cadillac Celestiq, $300 or so.  Problem is, I hear folks talking about paying $300 a month just to watch certain channels.  WHAT?I I think I'd rather stick with the local channels, even if it meant staring at the Indian Head test pattern, fuzzy noise at midnight. 

I'm so old I remember when 'Self Checkout' was a mirror.....  Dine and dash or door dash was something your friends whose folks didn't have much money did.  You were lucky to listen to eight records, songs in a row 'cause most eventually got 'skips' in 'em from overplaying.  Now, you can drive to Salt Lake and never have to stop to change a record. 

Pro athletes had second jobs... and heck, we kids, went to school, played sports, had a job, AND still found time to "hey Diane, lets run off down to the low road."  Kids now, some, start a job Monday, call in sick Wednesday, quit Friday, and do it all again after taking the next week off and, with apologies to Dean, "everybody loves (needs) somebody sometime" to simply keep the doors open.  I no comprende'. 

OK, I'm OK. I'm not frustrated.  It's just life can be funny. Or different.  Weird. Then, wonderful again.

We're just glad you didn't bring up that ESPN just recently aired the World Championship of corn hole.

Yeah, me too. 

TMI

Life, is good.

No, not perfect.

We ALL, fall short.

We are our best sparring partner.

That said, ain't it wunnerful to be in life's ring?

Money, an empty Andy's Frozen Custard cup, the gas gauge......

THERE'S NEVER E'NUFF.

Damn, I hit it in the woods... I'm ALWAYS sore, hurt kinda, need a nap after golf.

Victurd, you ignorant slut, tee up the fact you are STILL out there.  Many ain't, who cares about score?  Golf or women. VICTOR? DID YOU JUST SAY THAT?

Forgive me Father, golf pencils ain't gots no 'rasers..... 

Better quit writing now........ L&L Motors may make fun.

Eh, let him, he's a good dude too.

Have a  wonderful day and tell those ya love, you love 'em.

I love you Victurd.

Victor, ain't that a little egotistical?

NO.  It's called howintheheck can one walk this Earth with no self like?  I am aware some do - and please please please - talk to someone. You are loved.  If you didn't hear it the first time, you are loved.

OK?

Ok....

Zalright?

Zalright.

I asked AI who, what comedian usetda say that.  They said nope, never did.  I call BS, which, is perfectly acceptable in self love and in blogs about TMI..............

So, AI, KMA.

Pretty harsh ain't it Victor?

Eh mebbe.  I still like me.

AND, Andy's Frozen Custard.

First try (AFC) yesterday. Of course Mikey likes it.  So does his entire Zip Code.

Yum.

Like life.

Sidestep, those who say "You can't do that"... grumpy people...  ONLY dogs that snarl and look like they ain't had their Kibbles and Bits recently. Raccoons too, not a fan, long story. Nope.

Love, Victurd 

Kibbles and bits.......

Xplain Lucy.......

RICKY RICARDO STOP!  I DON'T HAVE TO 'XPLAIN LUCY' EVERYTHING I DO, SAY, THINK, AND IN SPITE OF OUR INTENSE LOVE FOR ONE ANOTHER, YOUR HANDSOMENESS...................YOU AIN'T THE BOSS'A ME.

Oh, hi.  Sorry.  I was 'listening out loud' whadever that means.  

That's all well and good Victurd, but whadabout Kibbles and Bits..........

In a bit, cheesy pun perhaps intended.

I read the news today, oh boy.......... and I watched the news last night.

I've noticed........ The news is neva' gonna show a dude and his son in the backyard throwing a tennis ball for their "please.. just one more time" loyal hound.....  They ain't gonna have a dude with a microphone, a feller with a huge, heavy camera, standing behind your everyday common couple at the Applebees, perusing the menu jointly, he, the hubby, hand on her back, fingers ever so gently, slowly, moving up and down an inch or two, basically 'talking' holy shit we've seen some ugly stuff if life, but, ya know, we've made it, I CHERISH this quiet moment with you."

They tain't. They tain't gonna show granny sitting on the hill at the City Park, watching Junior's Junior five year old helping some little guy that had fallen on the play equipment back up to his feet. Victor, why did you underline all that crap?  Beats the hell outta me.

The news is gonna show some guy in court up for the murder of however many (I ALWAYS turn my head the other way, NOT to lend him/her credence),  a plane crash, two politicians with their hands (verbally) around their opponents throat.  Mikey apparently likes all that. NOMME, I Snagglepuss it, left.  And I don't mean "Left" of the........... oh, nevermind.  I was trapped.  Trapped, like Mikey, sucked in, a trance, he, me, of easy chair, remote by side, 4,032 options of channels - but, same ole same ole.  PATOOEY.

Victor?  Is this gonna get better?  Prolly not, sorry.  I guess I'm in a mood, and I ain't talking the Glen Miller variety.

Yesterday, driving home from work, 2pm. Time for the third sport's talk dude of the day's program.... 15 seconds in, whining.  CLICK.  Crosstown sport's program, same (whining), just a differn't voice.  CLICK.  Oldies (Classic) rock and roll.  That'll do.  Until, that is, they play Green Day.. and it's "HEY, that ain't CLASSIC.. that AIN'T OLD.. my stepson listened to them and he was born in 1976." Somehow I made it home.

TIME OUT.  STYMIE HALT.  Victor, will this be a full time out or a 30 second time out?  I ain't decided yet.

If I sound unhappy, please know, I really ain't. I've expressed my love for dogs before.  I try to look, see things from their shoes (pads, paws, whadeva ya call 'em). Dogs are a happy sort.  Mostly.  You've seen 'em though..  Laying, or is it lying, on their bellies.. paws extended out front, resting, but, still eyeballing the universe and everything that moves.  IF by chance it sees a murderer in court, a whiny-butt sports guy, anything resembling stranger danger coming, (and I love this part).. THE SNARL.  One side'a the jaw unfurls. In dog language that means "Don't come near me you idiot. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE MY KIBBLES AND BITS, but if you present ugly, harm, no good stuff... I might just take a chunk outta your too large underbelly to send a message." Dogs think like that, trust me. I usedta work in a pet store.

Earlier this morning, after way too much sleep (if there is sucha thing).. I Googled "How to stay sane in a World of crazy."

A Psychology Today article popped up. GOOD. A shrink can help.  VICTOR?  Were you aware shinks lead some of the most messed up lives there are?  Yes, but I had my headphones on so I didn't listen to you, sorry, kinda, not really.  

It spoke about a lady that was one day gonna be a shrink, going to see her shrink in 2001... she was stressing about an upcoming event, so much so, she made the appointment for help on how to deal with it.  From Psychology Today:

"He told me about another student, a mother of two who had just lost her husband in the 9/11 attacks.

“She said she couldn’t stop thinking about how awful the holidays would be,” he said. “I told her, ‘So let them be awful. You don’t have to rehearse for that now.’”  His words were clarifying and oddly liberating. Bad times are unavoidable, but you don’t need to extend the misery by pre-gaming them.

THAT.  What Lucy?  THAT. That's what I meant by Kibbles and Bits.

Victor, you're weird.

A normal blogger might, lay on his belly, extend his arms forward... SNARL... prepare for an snack of fat belly.

But. You've been here before.  If I'm weird and you've been here........ how many times?... What's that say about...................... oh, never mind.    I got extra Kibbles and Bits. Want some?

 Love., Victurd  

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Where do I start?

Well Victurd, most, move to the ULHC.

Huh?

Yeah, the Upper Left Hand Corner.

Oh. Yeah. Thanks.  That ain't really what I meant, but, thanks, and I get that.  I mean, (don't neva' believe someone who starts a sentence with 'I mean."  I mean, what if they don't?  Particularly if their name is Simon.  Huh? Yeah, you know, like, "I mean", Simon says.

For instance.  The grandkids kidnapped me the other day.  Forced me in the car.  (Oft times when i'm driving with them, i'll say, "I'm gonna take a quick nap", cruise control on fitty... "I mean, I need one."  I usedta get a rise out of 'em with that, not so much anymore.  Same with, quietly driving down Interstate, then, scream/point HAY!!!!!!! they'd look and there'd be a big old round bale of hay. Smirk. Don't work no mo' either.

So, they flung me in the driver's seat of my 2002 Buick Century.  Pointed East.  Grandpa  be good grandpa, he knows that means,  "Dari-B", Excelsior Springs, MO.  THE home of soft serve ice cream.  Years ago, in fact, folks across the land thought the soft serve had healing properties, so Horace hollered out, "Go West Young man, to Excelsior.  Scoop you up some soft serve.  I mean, Simon Says."

They did.

We did too.  Now to the point of this damn blog.  Please, no cussing Victurd.  It's the internet, I'll do any darn thing I want.

The point is I WANTED A SHAKE. I was Pavlov'ing for a SHAKE.  It's all I had in/on my brain.  The three snotnoses, er, loving grands, ordered, got.  My turn. I'D LIKE A MEDIUM CHOCOLATE SHAKE, PLEASE.  The order taker stared at one'a my grands, and as if to pretend to be Bart Simpson, said, "You look like a rich kid, use your grandpa's charge card."  So, we did. "That'll be (way too much but I gotta buy everyone something)" so I charged, we waited.

"Here's yours... and yours.. and yours... and, Grandpa, here's your shake and your straw."  Like a kid in a candy store, I envisioned plopping back in the driver's seat......... taking the damn (sorry, darn) paper off the straw, and sucking all that loose chocolate yum up into my big fat mouth. YUM.

Except.  Now to the point of this damn blog. The shake was SO THICK, No matta' how hard I tried, sucked, it wasn't moving.

IT'S LIKE WHEN I SIT DOWN AT THIS DAMN COMPUTER, there, I said it Simon, and I MEANT IT...  I mean, I've got ALL THIS GOBBLEDY GOOP IN MY BRAIN I WANNA SHARE (the really nice, nifty, stryo medium cup fulla heavenly chocolate shake), but I sit down at my computer (that's ME, in the 2002 Buick Century, the keyboard is my straw) and NO MATTA' how hard I think, suck, wish, hope (wishin' and hopin') it ain't happenin.

I wanna write about WalMart. I tweren't in a hurry, so, after driving up and down the aisles, on the 27th passing, I finally got a handicap spot. There was a song on I really liked, so, I didn't get out. As I sat, I saw chain-smokers, boozers, yuppies, bikers, hitchhikers, girls next door, cowboys, truckers, broken hearted fools and suckers, hustlers, fighters, early-birds and all nighters.  I love this bar, er, I mean WalMart.

A trip to WalMart beats all.  Sears supposedly has everything, but hell (sorry, kinda) are there any left?  Baskin-Robbins brags about 31 different kinds, in two minutes, twenty-eight seconds in the WalMart parking lot, you can see 32 kinds of people.  Some, we piggies think "Oh baby, take a little off wouldya?" and others, "Good gosh Gertie, put a little more on wouldya?" Men are perfect though and we don't judge.

You can see people argue... parent...   not-parent...  skimp.. punch numbers into their calculator... stand in the way..  stand in the way, with their cart taking up halfa the aisle, and their butt the other half.. oblivious to us all, even the way too many GD (gosh darn) Wally order pickers... we read on Facebook, listen to people bitch, moan, "I don't work for WalMart, gimme a checker".. and in reality, 93% of all do the self check.  Shrinks love the place.

In fact.  I can just see.. . Two.  A couple.  A couple of retired shrinks, sitting at home.  "Whatta you wanna do?"  "I dunno...whatta you wanna do.?"  And, then, it clicks. WAL-MART! So, they go watch.  For awhile in their close to the front spot, then, if they get hungry, they go in, grab a cart.. .mebbe a grape or four, some rasberries.. .a banana or two...look, listen, and record all the hilarity into their brain.  Beats the hell outta an evening at the B&B Theaters,$67 for two tickets, a large popcorn and a shared Sprite.

When i was a tad younger... I usedta get pissed when I went into Wally. EVERYONE was young.  So, I'd walk my cart around the store until I found someone I was pretty certain was older than me.  If I wasn't sure, "Excuse me ma'am, what year'd you graduate?"  Well, ya gotta find out.  Now, with the hitch-in-the-getalong to my legs, I use a geezer cart.  Ain't near as fun looking for someone older, besides, one too many times I've been trapped in the backa the store with a full cart of groceries and a dead battery.  I will, however, ask virtually every other geezer riding a cart "Wanna race?"  Especially the ones a tad fatter'n me.

So................. my oldest granddaughter noticed my difficulties trying to get shake from the cup into my mouth.... "Did you get a spoon grandpa?" I literally HATE when children are smarter'n me. I get the feel of "It's over Victor, it's over."

So............. the answer to the blog (thick chocolate shake, no go up the straw) was to just set my butt down and start typing.  The blog sucks, I know, but hey, there ain't no pop-up here asking for your credit card info and the three digit thingy (but if you wanna leave 'em, that's cool).

As to the chocolate shake. "No sweetheart, i didn't grab a spoon, but... I've had this plastic knife and fork up here on the dash, saving it specifically for a moment like this."

The Burma Shave to all this crap........  Pride, and a too thick chocolate shake, is hard to swallow... but it will go down... even with a fork, and a very simple minded blog writer.

Here's a toast to better use of your time.  Try WalMart sometime.  Mikey likes it. Shrinks too.

Love, Victurd 

 

 

  

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

jk.

 Well, OK. I will admit I'm a tad envious of those that sprouted up on this Earth around the same time I did... and I getta seat at my computer to watch their Danube Fitty Year Anniversary Cruises....  or, the whole fam damily in Cancun feasting, celebrating, on enchiladas, tequila and sunshine for #55.

The last relationship I was in, it was decided (vote was 1 to 0) that I needed a purpose.  I musta misheard, thought 'porpoise' was uttered... so, I cleaned out the fridge (ate everything).. the one on the porch too (hey, when hb is $6.99 a pound, even freezer burned beef tastes yum... At some point later, she coated me with Vaseline, pushed, wedged me out the door. Another one bites the dust.

I guess I could....... I could take 4-5 years, watch my eating habits, exercise (dream on), get down to 190, find, at age 78, some chicky to march down the aisle with... sooooooooooooo, by 2081, I/we too could have a Fitty year anny.

Ya know, I kinda understand Meatloaf and his "Praying for the end of time" (he was 30 when that came out)......... That (forever) is/was a hella long time.

Conversely, when the Pubs finally come up with that Healthcare plan for us all, and me and Mildred could easily look forward to, and make fitty years, we'd each only be 129.

I get Meatloaf looking at it like a prison sentence...  but au contraire, me and Mildred know, we know forgetfulness is gonna come soon.  Not making fun, and I know it's nothing to make fun of.... but, the prospect of one day, oh, ten years or so, getting foggy, getting 'a new' mate every five, ten years, without even having to rent a U-Haul truck, what better?

You know, we could sneak and unlock the side door to Golden Acres during the day, and Mellencamp out later, "Hey Mildred let's 'walker-off' behind a shady tree, dribble off those Alfred Dunner Depends and let me do as I please."    A little ditty, about Victurd and Mildred, two American Octogenarians doin' the best they can.

I know that's all a facade.  I could never get down to 190.  In spite of practiced walker walking, not to mention buying THE very best bouncy tennis balls, I could never catch Mildred.

I'm old. 

I'm real old.  A former coworker (I hate her) just retired (I don't think she's even fitty yet, I hate her), well, she challenged me to a game of Wordle because "Now I'm old too" and I think there was a snarky LOL in there somewhere (I hate her). I lose Wordle every day to my youngest niece, I don't need another snotnose slap on my face.

I jest.  I have plenty of love in my life - that I don't jest of.  Life is good. I'm too selfish to have another relationship (which, might be fancy for "I never could solve a Rubik's cube, why try?")

I'm thinkin' about throwing my geezer scooter in the trunk. My 4 man tent too. Takin' me a Silver Alert trip out West.  Ain't never seen The Grand Canyon.  They still sell them bookmaps? 

Mildred?

 Wanna go?