Rambling Man

Hunter S. Thompson lives on in all of us.
The keys on this computer are unresponsive at times.
It causes me to type, and retype.
Edit forward and back, backward and forth.
A line I lifted from an old WCW speech.
Like Woody Guthrie says, "I really love that line."

Ataxia.
I think I have ataxia.
It causes memory loss a dazed perspective, and a drunken kind of stagger.
Dizziness.
Sort of two steps forward and one step back.
Not all the time, but on occation.
And knee jerk.
Not the reactions, but more of a tremor.
I wake up, drive to work, and don't even remember.

Zombies ARE real.
We walk the Earth in a stupor of unknown.
Eating, sleeping, doing things.
Watch tv all day and not remember the plot of anything I've seen.

If you exploit an idea you got from a movie, buy a man that says he got the idea from a book, does it mean you should read more, or watch more movies.

I've got to stop.
The editing is killing me, and I'm too out of it (totally sober) to handle myself.

I just needed to tell somebody I'm having difficulty keeping myself together at times.
When everything blends together, I feel like I've done somethingI should regret, but can't tell what year it happened.
Maybe when I was a child.

25 to Life

"Thaddius Gie in the charge of murder in the first degree, how do you plead?"

"Guilty."
"Do you have anything to say to the court regarding this offence?"
"I did exactly what I wanted to do. I meant to do it, I do not regret it, and I would do it again and again if I ever got the chance."
"Mr. Gie, due to your admission of guilt, I was going to take some pity on you, but in light of this statement and lack of remorse for human life, it appears I have some thinking to do. Take the defendant in to custody. I'm going to retire to my chamber to decide the sentencing."

When I arrived in prison, I got exactly what I expected. Good thing I didn't expect much. The phrase, "Three hots and a cot." wasn't an understatement, but it wasn't entirely truthful either. The 'hots' are usually swill, things I wouldn't feed a caged animal, and the 'cot' is a little better than that. A thin piece of foam on a slab of steel. That slab is cold in the summer to help keep body heat down, and colder in the winter... probably to help keep body heat down. The two sheets have a thread count of 50 a piece, and the blanket is thin wool. The kind that's both itchy and scratchy anywhere it touches you. It's especially useful in the winter when you try to stay warm and inhale the wool fibers, drying up your nasal cavity and making your nose bleed in the middle of the night. The first good,cold night when you wake up in the dark, with just the low haze from the red light, and blow your nose on a rag, thinking it's just the flu running down your face, and see the dark colored splotch on your rag... It's almost enough to cause a stroke. Nearly knocking yourself back to unconscious oblivion on the upper rack trying to get up in an effort to investigate your melting face, hitting the light, and stumbling back in terror at what must have been the last drop of blood in your body, running down your chin and dripping into the sink with a deafening 'drip.'
The barely audible echo of your new best friend shouting at you, "Hey. HEY! *snap-snap* IT'S JUST A NOSE BLEED! IT HAPPENS TO EVERYONE AT FIRST! UNTIL YOU GET USED TO THE WOOL!"
"What!?" The ringing as your mind blurs and your ears clear the path for new sound.
He speaks again, "I said it's the wool. The joke is, the prison only uses sheep cursed by the Gods. It's what gives the wool it's incense itch."
"You mean incessant?"
"Yeah, that's what I said."
Figures. Not only are you in prison with bedding like this, but you're cell-mate is a dumb truck.

Every day is new excitement. Cell searches, fights, rumors about what you did, and everyone asking you, "Hey you! What did you do?"
Like it's really their business. Some people point and whisper. Some of the smaller guys make a wide path for you. As they pass you hear them start to whisper, "... a family at dinner."
"I heard it was a bus full of nuns."
"No! I'm telling you it was a school for the blind!"
Finally you get sick of the rumors. Just another thing to blur together. Like the long monotonous days, all passing by as a whiz of sunrises and sunsets, till finally, all you can recall is a long period of time that resembles high-noon.
"So..." The dumb truck finally asks, "What're you in for, buddy?"
"I killed a family of blind nuns on their way to dinner school."
"I heard you were in for murder but that's the COOLEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD!!"
"It's not true."
"Oh. OH! AWW! *groan* I didn't do anything cool either. All I did was"
"I didn't ask. And for the record, I don't care."
"Yeah but"
"Don't care."
"But I"
"I... DON'T... CARE."

Eventually, it all gets to you. The rumors circulate. The pressure builds. Till one day you, yourself, begin to wonder what you did to land this cherry gig. Then it eats at you. It gnaws at your brain, and claws the walls of your mind until the blood from your nose has less and less to do with the cursed sheep and more and more to do with what you've distorted from the life you left behind. You spend your time sitting, alone in your cell, racking your brain, watching the sun rise and set at high-noon, forgetting to eat, disregarding sleep, till one day you crack.

"So," I ask him. "What did you do to get in here."
"Robbed a little old lady."
"Kill her?"
"Nope. Got thirty-eight dollars. I get out in a few months."
"... *grunt* ..."
"What about you? Finally 'member what you did? Rob somebody too?"
"Murder."
"I thought you said it wasn't true?"
"No. I said that story wasn't true. But I did murder someone."
"Yeah!? Who? Someone important? Someone rich I bet!"
"Neither."
"Nobody rich OR important?"
"Nope."
"Everybody's important to somebody."
"Not this guy."
"Well who was it then?"
"... Me."
"Shit, man. You're never getting out."
"..."
"You'll be here for-ever."

Here's Johnny!

Thanks for returning.

I meant to post a story that I had written, but I got side-tracked by Neat-O-Rama.
I found almost everything on there to be at least marginally interesting.
Rev got about a dozen e-mails from me saying, "Look how cool!!"

The day after my aforementioned forgetfulness, I worked with Officer Shadower.
A nice enough guy, younger than myself, who did what he was sent here from the future to do...
Make me feel OLD!

I telephoned (yeah, we still use those things) Rev and started my rant.
He (semi)quietly listened and nodded before replying, "Think of how I feel!!"

This year I celebrated (read: hid under the bed from) my 27th birthday.
Which, by my 'Rule of 'Almost'' means I'm a really old guy.

Shit...
I suppose I should elaborate on that.

Vincent J. Vinnetti's 'Rule of 'Almost'' as read by Samuel L. Jackson
Any amount, rounded up to it's nearest multiple of 5 (in order to get to a multiple of 10)(IE: 3 up to 5 up to 10)
Then rounded up to another multiple of 10 (10 to 20 to 30)
Then multiple multiples of 10 (30 to 50 to 100)
In order to achieve a false nearness to a person, place, or thing.
Ex. I'm 27, which is almost 30, which is almost 40, which is almost 50, which is almost DEAD!!
Thus I, at 27... am almost dead.

Not to be confused with the elders 'Rule of 'Might As Well Be''
(ex. She's only 19! Might as well be 10!)

Point, point, point...
Ah yes!
The point!

 I Like Cheese has a well written piece on "Skinny Jeans" and the fad culture of youth.
I read it.
I agreed with it.
And it reminded me of the rant at Rev, and what I was going to write about.

My little brother told me about his girlfriend's favorite action/phrase when departing; Closing her hand into a fist and holding her pointer and middle fingers up in a V shape and saying, "Deuces!"
Said little brother explained to me that this was a shortened version of "Chuckin' up some deuces."
ex. "Johnny chucked up some deuces and we left that rag-tag Benefit for the Nocturnal Harp Seal."

Admittedly, I'm an old soul.
I like music from the 50's till the mid-90's more than I do most of what's out now.
I also enjoy old movies, old T.V. shows, old cars, and older (than myself) women.
Because of this, I feel confident that most of you will, if you haven't already, gone through the above mentioned hand motion mentally or physically and realized...

IT'S THE PEACE SIGN!

I was mid rant when Officer Shadower informed me that "Chuckin' up deuces was like, 5 years ago."
...
*deep breath*
"I'll get to you in a second."
*finish ranting to/at Rev*

What in the blue f*ck has happened to us that our youth have turned this once meaningful gesture into an abominated catch-phrase?

So, I Like Cheese, if you feel old remember this;
1. I remember the peace sign (and use it) as the meaningful gesture it was intended to be.
2. I am young enough that I should know (and use) it's abomination instead.
3. I'm so out of touch with reality (spending nights at home watching M*A*S*H and listening to The Animals) that this eluded me for 5 years.

If you REALLY want to feel old...
When saving a file, the 'save' icon is a 3 1/2 inch floppy disk.
Officer Shadower informed me that he knows people that don't know what that is.
They've never seen one.

Imagine how the ZIP drive must feel.



Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

I'll Give it a Shot

I had a different image in mind, but upon using a different search engine, I found this one and couldn't pass it up.
While this shot glass is available from Neat-O-Rama, upon further inspection,  Neat-O-Rama has quite a few interesting things to look at, click on, and/or purchase.


My friend T.J. Reed (AKA: Flyin Monkey) writes stories on his blog. In a recession he's GIVING his work away!
Since I don't have a whole helluva lot to say anymore, nothing I want everyone to know anyway, I figured I'd try it too.

So come back for some bullshit from me, and some stories.
Maybe some tea...

Occasionally, Rev will stop by and we'll be playing fiddles together, or fiddling with each other, or framing one another...
I decided to stop there.
Three is enough.

So, since I'd like to see you all again...


Let ME 'getcha.
V.V.

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.

Fragile and Insignificant?

At some point or another we all feel fragile.
Something or someone touches our heart as they pass by in this life and it strikes us just so.
And we've all felt insignificant a time or two.
Especially in my line of work where they make you think all you have to be is breathing.
Well, between that and the inmates never change, they're always the same and every time we lose one, we get a bus full to replace them.

We are all fragile beings.
And in our professional setting, we may feel insignificant, but personally, we're not.

Example: A man starts dating a girl, who, because she has problems showing emotion, starts doing something illegal. From there she gets arrested and put on probation. He breaks up with her, for whatever reason, and she goes back to the bad stuff to cope. She gets arrested again and goes to prison. Her kids grow up with their wife-beating father, not knowing their mother, and turn out to get both the wife-beating, and the illegal activity, because that's what they know from their parents. Eventually, they will both, ultimately end up in prison, and I will have to supervise them.

Now it stands to reason that these kids would have never gone to prison had the man never dated this woman.

Lets take it a step farther, since the kids grew up in an abusive home, one of them flips out and beats the hell out of me on the yard.
NOW it stands to reason I wouldn't have gotten a (probably well deserved for some of the things I've done) beat down, had the man and woman never met.

The consequences of ones actions can be monumental, and stretch far beyond the here and now.


On July 4th, a friend that I went to high school with died in an auto accident.
Someone had taken the keys and he, somehow, got them back.
I didn't even know.
On one hand, I haven't gone to a puking rally in a REALLY long time, so of course, I wasn't invited to this one.
I guess that's part of growing up and maturing faster than other people, you don't get invited out much.
So not being invited, I didn't make him go, I didn't put the cup to his lips and make him drink, I didn't give his keys back to him, and I didn't watch as he drove away inebriated that night.
But when I heard about it (the day of the funeral)(that's how much I'm out of the loop with the high school guys) and went to the funeral, as I stood there with my dark sunglasses on, looking more like a meat head among a crowd full of them, I heard them laugh and tell stories, but I wept.

I didn't get him drunk, didn't make him drive, but maybe I did.
Maybe, if I would have been more neanderthal in my younger years, I would have been invited, could have been much more sober, and drove him home if he wanted to go that bad.

In a roundabout way, I could have saved him.

Then again, he could have saved himself.
He could have skipped the party, or passed out there, or someone else could have stopped him.


No matter what, it's amazing how fragile life is, but how insignificant it's not, and how one thing different might change it all.

So be careful of your choices.
The life you save, could be your own.


We're gonna have Brandon S. and Ozzy Osbourne play us out of here.
Give both of these a listen.

Especially Brandon S., I'm really diggin this song right now.

V.V.

It's Been A While

It's been a while, so I figured, with all my new free time [read: single] I'd write a bit.
Thursday started off well enough.
Left early to pick up TB, as implied by our coworker GS, and drove to work.
Arrive early, new for me, and chat.
Learn the Head Poobas already know I'm hiding brains.
Beaver Dam!
Assume duties for the day.
Day shift burns out.
Cool.

Then the tide comes in and, apparently, a sewer main has busted, because this water is not fit to swim in.
First thing out of the gate, the main radio goes down.

Most of the camp can hear us, but we can't hear them, and they can't hear each other.
This happens at a great time!
Transfers on site and IPs to be done.

The beginning of the day is a very busy time.
Staff in, staff out, paperwork, work crews, transfers. (If it's transfer day the paperwork doubles, if not triples.)
And when the feces rains down (metaphorically speaking) we get flooded with Captains and/or Lieutenants.
Sometimes a Warden, Investigator.
Could be anyone.

A few weeks ago we had Bob Hope!

If it's not enough to have whatever the problem is, that adds the King Butt Chewers looking over your shoulder.

Sometimes, however, it's not a problem.
Capt. Stretch is a harmless sort, but on a good day, Capt. Spit might tell you to, "Shut the f*ck up!"
Just for fun.

Why anyone lets the stress of this job get to them is beyond me.
The stress, or action, as I like to call it, is my MO at this job.
That's why I went to the Hive, why I went to Shipping and Receiving, and why I'll probably live out my life at one or the other, or the yard.
High traffic, high action, (high attention) big fun.
And when the action dies down, and all is calm and, dare I say, ("Dare, dare!") quiet, you can sit back and relax a well deserved rest.

Because the sweet is never as sweet without the sour.
And believe me, I know sour.

Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

In the event that you haven't seen this movie, go out and rent it.
Buy it.
Buy two and give one to a friend.
It's a really good movie on it's own, but what really makes it is the fact that it highlights how we should all live.

Benjamin is born old.
Cataracts, arthritis, most of the things that the elderly face everyday.
But as time goes by, Benjamin grows younger.

Wouldn't it be nice if we all lived like that?
What most people fear now is growing old.

We're born young and spend all our best years working towards retirement that, once achieved, most of us are to worn down by the grind to enjoy.

This man, however, starts out old and almost crippled, and works all his older years growing younger.
By the time he can retire, he's only 2o-3o years old.
Everything I wanted at 2o, got it.
Nice house, nice car, wife, children, junk and stuff, everything.

In the end though, it's still the same.
Born unable to take care of ourselves, in diapers, confused, and always in need...
And that's how we usually die.
It's just the middle that changes.
4o in your 4o's no matter what.
But think, your mid life crisis you'd be able to enjoy that sports car you end up buying.


The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Give it a look.

Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

If You're in a Happy Relationship, Thank an Ex

I was just thinking about all the things I do that get on my (future) wife's nerves.
How I've grown up from my first girlfriend and how little by little, I am becoming the man I want to be.

But it didn't happen overnight.

Actually, this began with me reading over all my previous posts and seeing how I've grown just here.

Then, as often happens, one thought led to another and I thought of people who have influenced my life.
An ex that, when we were together, told me something is wrong with boots and shorts.
One that taught me what it meant to be responsible.
One that taught me what "through better or worse" really meant.

And I thought about Bella.

We've both had rough pasts and talked about meeting each other before.
What would be different?
Would it be better or worse?

In the end I think if it hadn't been for everyone we met before, we wouldn't have the person we have now.

It's been said, and everyone has heard, there;s someone for everyone.

Some people believe in "The One."
That fabled one perfect person made just for them.
And some may think, "From the billions of people, how will I ever find that one?"
There's some truth to the old saying, though it isn't exactly like it seems.

Through all the mistakes of our previous relationships, we find what we like, and don't like, about the opposite sex.
At the same time learning to better ourselves, and be better, for the next.


Sometime, throughout the day, or week, or anytime really, take a minute and think about an ex, and what you learned from them.
Something that helped you get from them to now.

For me, maybe it was one that taught me what it meant to give without expecting anything in return, maybe it was the one that taught me laughing will ease stress from the tightest places, but if I had to pick only one, it would be the one that taught me to love like a child.

Mind always open, heart always new and fresh, like it's never been broken, and like it's never seen pain.
Ready for the new, mindful of the old, and strong.
Love like you've never loved before.

Everyday.


V.V.

Talking in Code or This Isn't Going to Work Anymore

I just want to touch on something briefly.

Well, a few things.



I got back with my running partner Chuck a few days ago, and I wanted to know if he'd found out any information about something I didn't want to talk about right then.

BUT, if I didn't say something about it, since it wasn't really important, I'd forget all about it.

So I pose the question, in a room full of people...

"Have you heard anything about the thing with the deal?" (Note: There is no deal, thing and deal substitute a person place or thing.)

And he replies, "No. He I haven't talked to him since then."



To the average person, this isn't enough information to know anything at all about anything, but when you're close to the people you work with, you pick up on things.



I've heard that women, when living together for a while, eventually begin their monthly cycle together.

I guess it's kinda like that.

After working in close proximity to a person for a while, you pick up on what they're doing.

At certain periods of the day, in The Hive, I can say, "I'm gonna go do the thing with the stuff."

Everyone knows what I'm gonna do,

Pass or kick trays, pass diet bags, smoke, potty break, wing walk, check the self-harm guys.

It could be almost anything, but they know what it is.



It extends past the Hive though.

We (and maybe everyone) can say something to that affect and be understood by others.

To an extent I don't understand.





I've been back since Wednesday.

I've spent 2 days at my assigned post.

If I count tomorrow, I'll be back 6 days, and in someone elses spot 4.

1/3 of my time spent away from my new job, at my old job.



I wouldn't mind this, but the higher-ups, in their infinite wisdom have told me to learn this new job before next week, because I'm gonna be the lead man really soon.

Wait...

Learn your job quick, in the day I leave you there, because even though it can't be learned in 6 months, we need you to have it down to an art and able to train others by next week.



But we're not gonna let you work there, you'll just have to learn it my osmosis.

You're on the camp, you should know it by now.



I've spent as much time on my new post as I did in the year and a half I spent on utility, roving the camp everyday.



Something is definitely wrong here.



But all I can do is sit around and complain.

What could I do more than bend over and take it up the tailpipe?



I could get formal, and throw some paper around, and I may...

But all it's really going to do is...


I have to be honest.
I started writing this, then the Internet went down on me (grin) and I don't know what I'm talking about anymore.

I wrote it all, but it didn't autosave it all.

So, whatever.

I'm basically alone on the desk tomorrow.
It's gonna be something.


Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

The First Day Back or No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The day started out great.
Went to the doctor.
Got released back to full duty.
Spent some time with Bella.
Took a nice long shower alone.
That wasn't so great, but it's the first time I haven't needed help washing my armpits.
Went to work.
A little late but, I was there.
Anyway, when I get there, they tell me I'm going to the hospital.
Inmate #23752378 (random number) had a diabetic problem and needed help out.

So myself, the ass clown I wrote about in "Assistance is Futile," and another officer are watching over this guy while a nurse takes some blood and he says "I've gotta pee."
No big deal until...
The nurse gives him a plastic pee pot and he won't go.
It takes this nurse about less than 5 minutes to get tired of this and threaten (and use!) a catheter.
I thought there would be a slight downtime to get supplies ready.
Little did I know that they come pre-packaged now.
Pull this tab empty contents, clean and insert.
I'm already close because he's been less than helpful thus far.
Now I'm calling over the fellas to grab a hand (because I know he's not gonna want this) and maybe a shoulder.
Upon insertion, his hands move, he tries to sit up, and tries to pull his legs up to get away from "the tube."
Awesome.

Really the only eventful thing that happened with Inmate # 52987325.


Only a little while later, however, there's a little commotion outside the room.
A nurse calls for security.
I poke my head out the door.
She points down the hall.
I look, and wait.
No security.
She calls on the radio.
I look, and wait.
No security.

I can't wait anymore.
I gave security a chance.
I shouldn't go, I'm not covered by anyone if something happens.
But something is already happening.
Someone may be getting hurt.
You never know in a hospital.
My brain has already heard 10-5 (staff needs immediate assistance) twice.
Back on the ranch, if you're in a spot that needs someone, you have to stay.
But we're not on my ranch, and there's two other guys to watch Inmate VanWinkle (read: sleeping)

I grab the nearest phone booth, change into my blue tights, I can't find my cape though.
What to do, what to do...

The suit really doesn't pop without the cape but gosh, I think I left it back at the BatCave.
Oh, wait.
It's tangled up in the back of the pants.

OK.
On my way.
Officer 2 sees me moving and sends Officer 3 (the fake dog turd guy) to assist.
(I'd like to take this time to point out that O2 doesn't trust O3 enough to sit with a sleeping inmate, so he HAS to be sent with me.)
When I arrive on the scene, it's just a drunk pill popper, and he doesn't want help from the nurses trying to save his overdosing self.
So instead of cracking a skull (Which I really wanted to do.) all I got to do was talk this guy down, calm him, and explain the joys of life to him.
At some point in time a burly (read: useless) security guard shows up to watch me handle things.

Finally I gave Secure E. Guard the reins to the drunk and went back to my own little world.

It was only a 5.5/6 hour day, but for my first day back in 2 months, it was rather exciting.

After work, we (Bella and I) went to a friends house, came home, and went to sleep.

That's it.

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

As Dumb as a Brick Stick or As Queer as a Football Bat

I was dreaming a little dream last night.

For some reason my mind has accepted things that don't make sense and just when I'm dreaming something great, my mind says, "This is too good to be true." and I wake up.

This was not the case last night.

I don't know what I dreamt this.

Turning of the season maybe.

Or maybe it was watching Little Shop of Horrors (1986 remake) last night.

Though I don't know what that would have to do with it.

Anyway I dreamt about football.

And football fanatics.

What woke me up from this travesty of a dream, was NOT the thought, "This is too good to be true."

Instead it was the thought of these idiot fanatics that talk about their "ball club" like there's a suit and tie dress code at some club house where they can go and sip caviar and eat martinis with their testicles hanging out for comparison.

"I belong to the local ball club."

What really gets me though is the way these people talk about it with each other, and have done so to the point that the local kids pick up on it and do radio interviews talking about their testicle taverns.

"We got a pretty good ball club. I think we could go all the way. Couple guys with real good hands and I really like the towel boy."

At dirty as this statement seems, it's all been said at some point or another.

What really gets to me though, is that fact that kids can't tie their own shoes yet and they're talking about how they've got a good ball club but just couldn't bring home the win tonight.

Texas is real bad for that.

Watch Varsity Blues, which is fiction, but also Friday Night Lights which is based on true events.

Both reputed to be in the top football movies of all time.

Both are high school level.

Both set in Texas.

Calm down Texas.

It's only a game.

How many kids have you brain washed into thinking football = life, then sent on to be plumbers or butt wipers, or some other non football related horse shit.

"Play football all your childhood, but you'll never be good enough to play professionally, then go clean up puke for a living the rest of your life."

I'm not concerned with the guys that play for fun.

Play just to play.

But these fanatics that only live to play a game that 9 times out of 10 won't get them anywhere.

Calm down.

That's why it's called a football GAME.

Yes, it's something to get excited about.

Yes, it's something to keep kids off drugs. (sometimes)

Yes, it's the only thing to do in a small town on Friday night.

But it's only a game.

Watch, I'll get hate mail for this too.

Jackass.

Don't let 'em getcha.

V.V.

Giving It to the Man

I try to keep the bitching and moaning to a minimum here, but I'm a little fed up with my family.
Some time ago, my mother had a house.
She married and we moved into my step dad's place.
He wanted to sell the house because we didn't need it.
She signed it over to my brother (8 years the senior) to keep it in the family. (Our childhood house.)
He gets back from the army and moves in.
He gets on his feet and starts working.
Even fixes the place up a bit.

Fast forward a few years.
I've been in and out of moms more than 3 times.
They let me come back when I get short on cash and need a place.

But I'll talk about wanting to get out to my brother Paul and his wife Mary and it always turns out the same.
"Why don't you just get an apartment Vince? Or go buy a house? I don't understand how you're having such a hard time."
Well Mary, it's because I have things called bills, and was given a f**king house, MARY!!

The house you live in should be (at least) half mine.
But I wasn't old enough to have anything signed over to me at the time so Paul got it.
And moved in, and changed things, and still lives there.

But there was only one house, not two.

We can't all have a house given to us.
So while everyone might have bills (like I do) and be doing so poorly, at least you have a place!!

The response...
"We've got a house payment Vince."

You jackass!
You have a house payment because your husband mortgaged it to buy a four-wheeler and a brand new truck and pay some bills of his own.
So while you're wondering why I don't own a house because it was so easy for the man you married, eat a flaccid penis, MARY, you'd be in an apartment or trailer or whatever if I had been given the house.

I'm not usually the guy to stir crap in the family, but my parents save their aluminum cans and give them to Paul to recycle when the price of aluminum goes back up, so they can have extra money.

Granted when I live at moms I don't pay bills, however, if I had, oh I don't know, been given a house perhaps...
Maybe I wouldn't been in this spot either.

Give me the house and your extra cans and see if I can make bills then.


I'm just pissed I suppose.

Don't let 'em give ya, away.
V.V.

Ode to Joy

Dear Joy,

Ode.


Love,

Vince