I Just Stopped In for a Cup Of Coffee Friend

I haven't done this in a while.
I may be rusty.
Hell, I may be Cousin Eddie, but who knows...
I'm currently out of a car which leaves me carless, most days. Usually getting to work isn't so bad, but getting home is a chore and a half.
And I'm not talking half a load of laundry.
I mean an asylum of laundry, plus cooking, plus dishes.
Tuesday night is my most difficult.
My little brother usually picks me up, but Wednesday he has an early class so he stays closer to town.
Which leaves me VERY close to town.
Like, stuck in it.
So I arrange for a couch, air mattress, or bed for the night.
Tonight is Rev's night.
Just look at him, siting there all eblogulated.
It was he that turned me on to a song by Johnny Cash.
A song in which John stops by friends house after a night of, what sounds like drinking, and stays for a week or so...
Under the pretence that he only stopped by for one cup of coffee.
I swear Rev, I'll be gone after this pot of coffee is done.
Or maybe next one...

Don't let em' getcha.
V.V.

Oh, Frankie!

A lot has happened since the last time we spoke.
Same job, same Shipping and Receiving place.
Same singleness.

I while ago Miss Odd and Sgt. Puddle spoke with me about my drinking.
Yeah I go out on Monday nights for karaoke, and Friday nights, for karaoke.
Yes, I have a few beers and an occasional shot on Monday.
Yes, there's usually an "after party" where a few more beers are consumed.
Yes, I have a few on Friday as well.
But apparently, having a glass of whiskey at home, alone, isn't so great.

To be honest, if I were home, I'd have a bit more than a glass.
About a half-gallon of vodka every week or two.

So Miss Odd challenges me to two weeks of sobriety.

It was an easy first week.
The second week had me up late, weird dreams, and a pretty healthy appetite.

I made it, without a slip.
Wasn't even really a challenge.

It was an eye opener though.
I remembered what it was like to wake up and feel ok.
Frank Sinatra once said, "I feel sorry for people who don't drink, when they wake up in the morning, that's the best they'll feel all day."
I used that line a lot.

I still may.

While I can't say I won't drink (I already did, and felt like HELL!!) I will probably tone it down a few notches.

...

Oh, yeah, back to the point.
I almost forgot I had one.

During my sobriety, I realized, and remembered quite a few things.

And even though I did a Triple Lindy off the wagon, (2 weeks and 1 day) I have half a fifth of Southern Comfort staring me in the face (and has been since the night before I paused drinking) that could easily be laid to rest tonight, I'm still remembering.

I watch Scrubs a lot, Scrubs and M*A*S*H.
There's an episode of Scrubs where the main character (J.D.) has to write an introduction for the Chief of Medicine (Bob Kelso) but can't find anything nice about him.
In the episode, as soon as Dr. Kelso's feet touch the ground outside the hospital, he hasn't a care in the world.

I used to be like that at prison.
There were the people I spoke with and hung out with inside, but when I waked out the door, I left it all behind.
Someone else's problem.
Whistling as I walked away.
Even after a 16 hour shift, coming out to see the people I relieved come in, once I got outside, it was a common thing to hear Fly Me to the Moon being whistled from my smiling, cheerful, direction.

I don't do that much anymore.
I actually can't remember the last time.

Maybe it's taken 3 years for me to realize there's nothing to whistle about.
Maybe the damn place has taken it's toll on me and I realize no matter if it's not my problem anymore, it will be again in 16 hours.

While I can say I'm a better person without the drink, I'm beginning to see how it got so out of control in the first place.

Maybe just a sip wouldn't hurt...

Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

R.I.P. Angus Goldfish

For those of you who don't read Rev's blog...
1.) Shame on you!
B.)You didn't hear the tragic news...

My best friend in the whole wide world, Angus, recently passed away.
Angus Goldfish, died on September 7, 2009 at 7: 23PM.
He was born to a one finned goldfish named Lucky and grew up in Russian pet shop till he was sold to a midget stripper in Bolivia who wanted fish in her stilettos.
The midget Bolivian stripper was drawn to the United Stated in hopes to make it big.
However, fish in a shoe isn't really what strip joint folk want (who knew) and Angus (then known as "the fish in my left shoe") was quickly discarded.
One rarely misses a chance to see a midget stripper, and luckily, I was there.

Angus, so named for Angus Young from AC/DC (and because I REALLY wanted a cow), came to me with athletes foot and the gout, but after 26 trips to the vet, 3 years of physical therapy, and a visit by John Madden, Angus made a full recovery.

Sadly, after 9 years, 5 months, 27 days, 16 hours, 32 seconds, and 55 milliseconds, Angus died of Swim Bladder Disorder.

I was called at work by my crying mother (he was like a son to her) and tried to escape a little early to have a service all our (Angus and my) friends could attend, but that prick, Lt. Rogaine, wouldn't let me go, even though we had 3 full housing units.

So, because I got home SO late... I held the bowl side service, for a Goldfish among fish, that no one could attend.

Angus was survived by his two sons Bon and Brian, and his BFF (Best Friend Forever) Vinnie.
He was a proud member of The Fishtian Church of Bob, and a volunteer for the Boy Scouts of America's "First Look at Fish" Program.

He will be dearly missed.


Don't let 'em catch ya.

V.V.

I Need Some Space!

Really here, folks.
I could fill a small apartment with my big stuff, and a big apartment with my small stuff. (which I'm not suppose to sweat on)(not sure I get that...)
Of course, if I tried to get everything in my head into a building, I ah, need to rent some space.

On a more less serious note, my closet is full and the floor is getting close.
I have a walkway, from the door to the bed, and the chair...

I'm like a teenage girl with shoes.
More than 5 pair.
Black, brown, boots, tennis shoes, sandals, Chuck Taylors, work boots... few more.

Four or so "junk drawers."
It's all stuff I need, eventually.

I could get a storage building, but then I wouldn't have all the stuff I need, eventually.

More organization really isn't an option either.
Ya know, OCD and all.

Maybe I should just buy a couple of houses...

S'all I got.


V.V.

The Anomalies of Man

Confidence is a strange thing, isn't it Ms. Freud?
One may not have the confidence to make assumptions, in a conversation on the phone, or through text message, or Instant Message.
However, face to face is a different thing.
Text and IM are viable means of communication, though, much is left to interpretation.
Neither can be hear, so voice inflictions and body language are lost.
The phone is a bit better, one can hear laughter or patterns of speech.

However, one can not beat the absolute wonders of face to face conversation.
It compiles all means of communication into one, very interpretable form.
The words are all there, like text and IM.
The sound of a laugh, a smile, or even uneasiness is ever at the ready.
The pure visual effect of body language, which can be understood when there is but silence, on point.

So while a woman may be radiating pure joy and happiness through written word, it is the unspoken language, that brings it all together.

So, Ms. Freud, while slightly unsure through computer and phone chat, a man is much more himself when he can hear, see, and feel, that he is truly wooing his lady.
To not only see her face smile, but her body open up in a smile all its own.
To look deeply into her eyes and know that she's hiding her true feelings.
To see not only her tears, but to feel her pain when her body closes.

So while I may have my doubts through the week, I know, when I see your face and body smile, I am exactly what you want.


At the beginning of each new meeting, we start out somewhat nervous and tense, it takes only a short time for us both to know what was said without sound, is felt when seen.

Of course I'm confident when I'm with you... That alone is a sign I'm doing something right.


And while "The Notebook" plays in the background, and my thoughts drift to you, it takes but one look into your eyes to know... what we both know, but won't say.

Tonight, again, The Beatles.



Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

Yard Sale Day

I didn't do much yesterday, but today I got out and drove around a bit.
Yesterday was get the scooter fixed day.
The ex drove it with a flat tire for about a week and ruined the tire.
So yesterday it got fixed, and today was ride the scooter day.
Until I got out and rode the scooter...
Then I realized it wasn't ride the scooter day.
I saw at least 2o yard sale and garage sale signs.
I thought about counting, but decided against it.
I don't like driving barefoot, and I only have 10 fingers... well, 9 & 7/8 thanks to my door incident.

Did spring cleaning come late or something?
It's almost fall and we're just now having yard sales?
I was completely unaware today was the day.
I could have gotten a basket, and $50 cash and bought everybody else's junk.
Then again, I'd have to have a yard sale of my own to make room for all my new stuff.

So, I decided, after 20+ yard sales it was time to get the heck out of town.

Out this road I've never been down, down this road I've never seen, repeat, repeat.
Since I got this bugger I've been trying to get lost, but I haven't done it yet.
Today was no exception.
I didn't know where I was, or where I was going, but eventually I figured out where I was and got home.

Good thing too, after 60 miles on a moped, my butt started to hurt.
It's gotten used to my cushy car seat.

Tomorrow will be ride to work day.
Monday maybe, try new songs at choir practice before the real choir practice, and Tuesday is new fast Internet day.
I'm getting tired of all the old Internet problems.

I wonder if I can play YoVille on the Wii?

Maybe I'll recycle Midtown Miscreants Fast Eddie Friday, since he gave up blogging.

Stay tuned for Conan O'Brien with special musical guest "One Night Stand!"

Don't et 'em getcha.

V.V.

The People I Work With

Patrol car people are an odd sort.
Kind of like Circus People, or Carnival Folk.
It takes a special breed to do what they do.
It's not for everyone. (That's for sure.)
There used to be a guy, slow southern drawl, [think Johnny Cash on qualudes or Val Kilmer playing Doc Holiday in Tombstone (last 10-15 minutes)] who would report, "Zone 5 is two little kitty cats a-playin in the fence."
While humorous, it's not really appropriate, or professional.
Even kinda looked down upon.
But it's occasionally acceptable by newbies, to an extent.
Luckily.
Last night, however, we had the joy of birds from a girl who's been here a minute...
"Zone 5 is clear but the birds."
Hmm, that's interesting.
I say, "10-9?" ("Come again?")
"Zone 5 is clear, except, I mean, there's nothing there, but there's some birds."...
"10-4."
Phones ring off the hook.
I answer one, (Usual patrol car guy asking if HE can talk about the birds.)
Sarge answers another, jokes galore.
"Should I bring my gun?"
"Can you play something by The Byrds?"
"Zone 4 is birds and squirrels wearing ninja suits in a fight to the death!"
The list goes on and on.
She'll probably get a talking to.
Maybe a stern one.
She probably WON'T get pulled from the car.
And she probably WILL be in it again sometime this week.
Maybe this time we can hear about the monkey running wild in Zone 10, or the mongoose at Zone 2.

Maybe she'll recite parts from "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest".
Or the part in "Dumb and Dumber" where they talk about Petey.
...
Maybe not.

"More on this story as it develops."

Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.