Pick and choose.....

Ain't that kinda life?

Piggly Wiggly.  Ears of corn in a bin.  Sixty cents an ear.  I want my kernal's worth. Big'ns. So, I pick and choose. Later, aisle in fronta me, a tiny space too small to get thru on the left, a cart in the middle'a the aisle sits, a lady on the right side, sampling grapes. One, after anudder.  Mebbe she was picking and choosing lunch, I dunno.  Anyways, she did that and finally picked up a bag that musta tasted just right. I dunno if Goldilocks felt guilty or not.

February.  4th grade.  That box'a Valentines from TG&Y.  The Big'N.  Remember?  Each box had the Big'N.  We were kinda saying, before the Beatles ever said it, "PS I love you... a you you you." That special one. Deathly afraid to give it out, be out out out on that limb.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, even at age 9. Somewhere, Somewhere America, I bet it worked, they lived happily ever after.

Older we get, seems there are less ears of corn to our liking.  Mebbe higher standards, I dunno. Same with grapes that are way too rubbery, discolored.   Eww. Yes, we have no (yellow) bananas.

In the now SitNSpin life we have - we get up. We can't pick and choose first thing cause first thing is pee.  At least for me.  Then, on to the day. Folgers, picked and choosed 'cause it was cheaper than Maxwell.  Peek at Facebook. Friend list, a lifetime of pick and choose. Wordle. I'm hella boring, same Bat Channel (first word) every day.  I have two nieces (love, love, love them each). One sleeps until 9-ish, the other, like me, picks and chooses to getup at Ugly-thirty - thus, we Wordle battle daily. Sometimes I pick right, mosta the time, she picks right, I tuck my tail and go on.

The newspaper, online. (Victor, are you going to tell us about your whole durned day?  Mebbe.  See that little X up there in the right hand corner?  That's your pick and choose button, but, said lovingly.)

I'm highly educated.  By that, I mean, the headlines are at the top, I read every last onea them high up there headlines.  Older I get, the more I pass by.  Life turns to spoiling one's self I'm finding as I age. You?

1960-something.  My dog got loose.  I've told this one before, sorry, it's what we old people do, pick and chose to repeat ourselves.  Pick and choose to repeat ourselves, sorry, kinda. Well, it was pre leash law, he wandered away, how's that?  Up, over the hill to WJC, where I lived across the street. I saw him briefly headed to the Football field. Twas summer. He bolted to the Blocking sled where he had 5 Kansas City Chiefs butt's staring at him, to pick and choose from. Like that grape lady, Brownie (my hound) picked EJ Holub's butt. Lockjaw happened.  EJ was a hittin' the blocking sled with his left shoulder/arm, whilst, his right one swatted back and forth in attempt to get Brownie's jaw open, save his flesh for another day. Tootie fruity, call Rudy (as in Wayne Rudy, Chief's trainer for flesh repair.)

Long about then, I picked the Kansas City Chiefs. A lifetime of fun, aggrevation, giving up, starting again, 'can I have your autograph', 'Mr. Stenerud can we throw your kicks back toya?' No way Jose I coulda picked and chosen a better place to grow old to pick and choose s'more.

Even articles about wide receivers who drop balls?  EVEN ARTICLES ABOUT WIDE RECEIVERS WHO DROP BALLS. (Some, sometimes, we'd like to give them a term(inal) policy.) EB, our old offensive coordinator.  Stern.  His way. Vely successful. He picked and choosed after some years to head to DC to apply his skills there.  Some guy name Nagy, picked and chosen to take his place. 140,000 eyeballs (that's two times the number'a people at the game) fitty reporters, the resta the coaching staff, the defense sitting on the bench asking "what in the heck is up with that?" (Dropped balls). Them eyes, all, pointed at Nagy. After bypassing six or so of them up high headlines, I went to an article where Senor' Nagy said "It starts with me. It's on me." Long paragraph Victor, hit the enter bar. OK

Mr. Nagy pick his words “Every player is different on how they handle being coached. And so there’s a little bit of that, too, with how you handle certain guys,” Nagy said. “Some can handle tough criticism; others can’t. So there’s a feel to it. But in the end, we’ve got to make sure that the product out there is scoring touchdowns and winning football games.” That hit home a tad.  I've always worn what heart I have on my sleeve, tend to get my feelings hurt too easily.  Kinda like ole EJ I guess, butt hurt.

We're different.  We pick and choose differently en route to end. Chili cheese Fritos, tangerines,, Brylcreem a little dab'll do, clunkers (Big'N's), liability only, and, (VICTOR DON'T YOU SAY IT!) oh what the hey, I've never ever been with an 'underwire' lady, so I assume that subconsciously must be a pick and choose too. TMI, geez.  Eh, back to that little X up there in the right hand corner.

Me, my highly educated (ie, picking, choosing them high up there headlines) next went to an article on Travis Kelce.  Oh here we go, Taylor this, Taylor that, Swiftly, a little too much. No, the fella sells bands, boys bands. Oops, no, that ain't it.  He does a podcast, with his brother.  The Center for the Philadelphia Eagles. If you've picked and choosed, "I no likey NFL" ya might notta heard.

I like leftfield, as in coming out of.  I fall alseep, easily.  I mean (Victor, you can't start a sentence with I mean).. I mean I get bored. Stats, trends, odds, injury reports, who's predicting who, kinda bores me.  I like different sides. This morning, Kelce's sister in law provided that.  

Kylie Kelce, she wife of "Tush Push" Center Jason Kelce, relates "Wyatt, our 4 year old, is smitten with Travvy., and the feeling is mutual."  The Kelce's have two other daughters, a 2 yr old, Elliotte and an 8 month old named Bennett.

Copying, or ibid, howeverinthehell you're sposeta do it, say it, write it, from the KC Star article:

“I tell everybody, he comes to our house to visit and the poor guy doesn’t sit on the couch because our daughters will be like, ‘No, no, you sit on the floor. We’re gonna do a puzzle. We’re gonna build blocks. We’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do that,’” Kylie Kelce told People about Travis.

“Our oldest, she’s our boss. She’s our ring leader, and she just has demand after demand for him. And I’m like, ‘Trav, you know you can tell Wyatt no?’ He was like, ‘Yeah, I don’t think I can.’ And so he will do it.

“She’ll be like, ‘Jump up and down.’ He’ll do it. ‘Roll on the floor.’ He’ll do it. ‘Be the pony.’ He’ll do it. So he’s all-in when it comes to being an uncle. He is the epitome of an uncle, just through and through.”

I liked that.  A lot. A different side.  To everything, turn, turn, turn. There is a season, or, a life, where pick and choose is yummy as hell.

For un-momento, pick and choose. I picked and choosed to email the sportswriter who did the article to let him know how much I enjoyed turn, turn, turn, ie, the different side.  I dunno if he will pick and choose to email me back.  Now, that Vahe guy that writes for the Star, we, me and my highly educated skip-this-high-up-headline, are on a first name basis.  Uh huh, we are.  He DOES answer, and it's usually calling me by name, "Oh, you again."  I don't mean that.  He's truly gracious and I've winged a comp or seven his way, and he always replies.

Patty Gross. I think that was her name. (Remember?  4th Grade, EL GRANDE' Valentine's Day card?) She got it, saw it, didn't say nuttin' about it (Picked and DIDN'T choose).... So, I blogged whenever I wanted, drove clunkers until the wheels fell off, drank beer, played golf (poorly), ate too much, slept not enough and feel blessed about life in general... and generally, am REALLY thankful for those of you who pick and choose to read these goofy blogs.

I'll gladly pay you Tuesday.

Victor?  Huh?  You forgot to relate your favorite Pick and Choose.  Oh yeah, thanks.

Roy Clark and Buck Owens. "I'm a pickin'" and "I'ma grinnin."  Life, it be wunnerful, even if it occasionally includes losses to Chargers, Broncos, Raiders (patooey), hearing "No", and, small boobies.

Love, Victurd