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.