Over Thinker

      Life can really be a kick in the groin sometimes. What causes me the most grief is that I tend to “over think!” When I was a young man I was seldom wrong. I would even debate my own doctor and dentist. Then, as the years piled up like old pizza boxes, I eventually had to admit, on occasion, that some of my decisions and pontifications may not have been totally correct as a result of outside tampering or malicious advice. Or so I thought.

    Well…..once into my thirties and with the addition of life experiences and herbal alterations, I did learn to slowly analyze and rethink many of my decisions in the event they might be flawed due to poor input. I still tended to be argumentative and was too often ready for rebuttal.

    In my forties, I switched from Democrat to Republican and then back again. I also bought an expensive Betamax.  This decade was not a good one for Aquarius.

    My fifties gave me both a bad prostate and a bad sense of judgment. I believed my accumulated years of life experience and worldly knowledge had placed me in a position of a respected social shaman. I was often defiant to those that questioned my logic or even the grounds on which many of my prophecies and yammerings were based on. More and more I was having to defend myself…….mostly to Wifey.

    My true epiphany was not until my sixties when I realized that knowing everything about the cosmos was not all that important. I stopped raising my hand to give unsolicited advice to those that really needed it. Now, when I hear my grown offspring’s making stupid remarks or decisions based on assumption or nonsense, I just tune out and sit back and think of a Rolling Stone’s song. Later, when their mental handiwork has dissolved into goat shit, they will come running to me like a Prius to a recall and then I can strangulate them with my pent up wisdom until they finally regurgitate my point of view. But, that’s family.

    Don’t misunderstand me, I still contemplate as an elder, but on a much lower level of importance. 16oz package of Oreos at $3.29 or 12oz package of Mega chip cookies for $2.79.  Will I change underwear today. Leave the lid up or down for Wifey. Everyday confrontations with life that require a thought process.

    My judgment today is not flawed, but still tends to be over reactive. Even in some of my past blogs I may have produced goat shit in lieu of good judgment, but what can I say?…..I’m getting old?…..I bumped my head?….no, I’m just human. My greatest asset now a days is Wifey, who is truly the wise one. I run most of my decisions pass her now and if they later produce goat shit…..well then, I’m off the hook. That’s called wisdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   LIFE IS A WALK,

         TAKEN BUT ONCE

   Well….that’s a hell of a question with numerous answers, but only one seems to stand out when you die.….“you’re done!”  That answer hurts too many feelings, which classifies it as spiritually and politically incorrect. The more liberal answer would be that you have become ‘life challenged’. The government will classify you as tax depleted and several relatives will simply consider you unavailable (ie….your season ticket for the ball park).

   We all exist in a common, but unique cycle called life. Every creature that roams this planet is part of it. You do your time and then you just simply shut down and rot to dust and blow away….sorry, I don’t do eulogies very well. Anyway, it is estimated that 101 billion people have died on this dirt ball since 8,000 B.C. Currently, there are 7 billion imminent deaths walking around right now awaiting their turn.

   The life expectancy in our country for males is 77 years and for females 80 years, (females require more time to get ready to go I guess). Living longer is a blessing to many and a curse to others. Well loved matriarchs and patriarchs will relish every moment of their allotted time surrounded by litters of loved ones, while, too many others live sad and lonely lives on the fringe of our society. These infirmed and terminal souls have simply given up and are waiting for their final breath.

   Back to the question; “why do people die?” Well, the answer is also found in “why do people live?”  I believe, that with the allotted time we have, that our days are measured in such a way that it is sufficient time for us to experience the full spectrum of life. There is just enough time to learn and experience the incredible wonders of our world and to come to the realization of how insignificant we truly are in it’s magnitude. Each of us quickly learn that we showed up for this life prepared to love, rejoice, grieve, learn, suffer, appreciate and give of ourselves.

   It’s a fact that none of us knows when this fantastic trip will end and that it can be taken away at any moment by a misdirected heartbeat. With that sobering thought, we must make the most out of every single day. Find something beautiful and unique everyday and dwell on it. It can be the soft fragrance of blooming jasmine or the robust smell of baking bread. The sound of a spring breeze through the trees, the light crunch of fresh snow, a sad violin and the joyous laughter of children. Taking a sleepy peek at a sunrise or a long and reverent look at a sunset. These are but a few of the treasures of this life that we can enjoy and cherish. As the years quickly pass us by, it will not be the things we did that we often regret, but the things we did not do. We are also given just enough time to propagate and replace ourselves with, we hope, a better generation. Nurtured with affection, strong values, principles and love. 

 Now the answer;

     We may or may not leave our mark at the final gong, but I have come to the realization, at the age of 65, why all people have to die….if not, life would have no value.

              “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

　

 

 

 

　

Nature’s Curse

    When old elephants know it’s time, they seek out some secret valley to go die in. Whales beach themselves, old grizzly bears find ancient caves to demise in and liberals self implode.  They all know when their time is up and as did the generations before them, they accept their fate and succumb to it. Humans, on the other hand, don’t know when to give up. We medicate, transplant, enhance, liposuc and dress ourselves to remain socially young and viable. But, often all the efforts in the world means nothing if the Greek god veneer can’t compensate for a “leaner wiener.”  After years of recreational, as well as physical abuse, spontaneous blood infusions, aggressive bike riding and belly flops off the diving board….the appendage, known as Mr. Wally, has now packed his bag and is also looking for the genitalia graveyard. So…..what’s to do?

    Sex is still essential, if only mental. Sure, life without sex might be saner, but it would be most esuriently dull. It is the sex instinct which makes women alluringly beautiful, and men appear to be courageous and noble. If we were to lose those allures, we would be reduced to the level of wandering goats.

    In your senior years, think of a fancy cocktail party as life and the hors d’oeuvre tray as sex. You now take only a few select samplings, so pick the best ones and skip the Velveeta spreads.  Sex, in your later years, should be caviar and Romanian goat cheese…..not peanut butter on a Ritz! Just pick the right morsel and at the right moment. 

    Now the dilemma. The man is either Erectus Maximas, or he is Erectus Limpnus. Here we introduce the magic potion known as Viagra. The stiffacator used by millions of phallic challenged males all over the world.  Old “blue” has resurrected many a love life as well as the self-esteem of numerous geezers. Now, the old fellow can get to talking dirty in the bedroom again instead of just hearing it on the phone at $4 dollars a minute. Wives are now content again, but with only one drawback; There’s a lot of men folk that wake up aroused in the morning. It’s like a curse, we can’t help it. We just wake up in a breeding mode. Now, I know women are thinking, “Why the hell does he want me the way I look in the morning?” Well, the fact is, it’s because the male libido has transferred all available blood supplies to the southern hemisphere of the male body and away from the optic nerve.

    It’s interesting how, as many believe, God gifted us all with a wondrous body, but the Devil stuck on the goodies.

Charlie

 

 

 

 

One of the many reminders today that once again we can take a holiday to celebrate

 our sacred freedom…….because of the sacrifice of others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They fell to earth with mortal wounds,

Souls no longer anguished, spirits torn free.

Now to home, comrades bear this empty vessel,

With pomp and salute, what remains is lowered,

Laid quietly now, in eternal darkness,

Here to rest, a life incomplete.

This place of peace, removed and protected,

But the pain still lingers and finds no end,

To those that mourn and reason why.

They carry the torment of unreasoned death,

The sacrifice made, of a life incomplete.

 

             Charlie 2011

 

 

 

 

  Don’t Give A Squat!

   

    When Wifey has to visit a public restroom, she usually finds a line of women, so she just smiles politely and takes her place. Once it’s her turn, she checks for feet under the stalls like a pervert, and most times every stall is occupied.  Finally, a door will open and she’ll dash in, nearly knocking down the poor woman leaving the stall. She gets in to claim the porcelain and finds the friggin door won’t latch. It doesn’t matter, the wait has been so long that her body’s sprinkler system is about to purge! To better set the mood, the dispenser for the modern “sterile seat covers” (invented by someone’s Mom, no doubt) is empty. GOD!  She would normally hang her purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn’t, so she quickly drapes it around her neck, (You don’t put $50 purses on restroom floors!), she then yanks down her pants, and assumes the “STANCE!” 

    In this position, her aging, toneless (God she should have gone to the gym!!!) thigh muscles begin to shake.  She’d love to sit down, but she certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so she holds “The Stance”.  To take her mind off her trembling thighs, she reaches for what she discovers to be an empty toilet paper dispenser. In her mind, she can hear her mother’s voice saying, “Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have known there was no toilet paper!”  Her thighs shake in spasms now.  She remembers the tiny tissue that she blew her nose on yesterday….(the one that’s still in her purse.) Oh yeah, the purse hanging around her neck, that she now has to dig deep into while trying not to strangle herself at the sometime. She finally finds the tissue and then crumples it into the puffiest shape possible. It’s still smaller than her thumbnail. 

    Someone pushes her door open because the latch doesn’t work. The door broadsides her purse, which is hanging around her neck in front of her chest, and she and her purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. “Occupied!” Wifey screams, as she blocks the door, dropping her precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a mysterious puddle on the floor. She then loses her footing altogether, and slides down to squat on the dreaded toilet seat. It is wet of course.  She then bolts up, knowing all too well that it’s too late. Her bare bottom has now made contact with every imaginable germ and life form breeding on the uncovered toilet seat that SHE never covered with toilet paper -not that there was any, even if she had taken time to try.  During all the commotion, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused, that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a rogue fire hose against the inside of the bowl spraying a fine mist of water that covers her butt and runs down her legs and into her new $70 CROC‘s.

    The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that she grabs onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in. At this point, she gives up. She’s soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. She’s e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d. She finally tries to wipe with a gum wrapper she found in her pocket and then slinks out of the stall from hell while the next tenant goes by her like a Green Bay line-backer.  Wifey, inconspicuously, heads to the sinks.  She can’t figure out how to operate the damn faucets with the techno-sensors, …..so she cleans her hands with spit and a dry paper towel and then walks past the line of women still waiting. She’s not smiling. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from the heel of her squishing CROCs. (Where was that when she NEEDED it??)  She yanks the paper from her shoe, plunks it in the woman’s hand and tells her warmly, “Here, you just might need this”.

    As she exits this rest haven, she spots me, as I have long since entered, used, and left the men’s restroom.
Annoyed, I ask, “What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck and why are you wet?”  I will not print what was said, in respect to Xanga’s guidelines.

    This dab of a blog is dedicated to women everywhere who must deal with public restrooms (which has nothing to do with rest!).  It finally explains to us men what really does take women so long. It also answers our other most commonly asked question, why do women go to the restroom in pairs? It’s so the other gal can guard the door, hang onto her purse, and hand her Kleenex under the door!  Different kind of bonding than just standing next to a guy taking a whiz.…….

 

 

 

GOT A LIGHT??

 

 

                 

     A few thousand years from now, Chinese archeologists will finally have dug pass all the social debris and bullshit of our last generations and will come across these ads. They will undoubtedly be convinced that this was some form of comedic entertainment. Sad to say….the joke was on us.

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

                 MEANNESS!

    Last night, as I sat in my empty hot tub, I had a thought. You know, one of those 4 beer thoughts. Why is it that really mean people don’t self combust? I mean, all that nastiness and venom stored up must be toxic and a fire hazard. I don’t mean anybody harm, as that’s not the Christian way…..but, old Christian law burned witches for hundreds of years and if that practice were still in place today, well then, my exdaughter-in-law would be charcoal today.

    Even mean people must have loved ones, cats, jobs and hobbies. Maybe their lifestyle is “loving” to hate and their hobby is “misery”.  Nope….don’t think so. All people are fundamentally good, except in rush hour traffic and in gay biker bars. I know today that if I fell down on the sidewalk, I know, in time, someone would help me up….most likely the ambulance driver, but still, I’m sure many passerby’s would have wanted to, if only they were sure I didn’t have an explosive belt on or I had AIDS.

    My greatest short coming, now a days, is that I keep making reference to how people were in my younger days. Mean people got their ass’s whooped regular back then and if you fell down, someone quickly picked you up and even took you home for dinner with their family. All that’s changed now. 

    In my Dad’s day, during WW II, the Japanese and the Germans were the enemy and they were openly called Japs and krauts. Not out of meanness, just anger for what they had done. Today, however, we all know who the enemy is, but we have to whisper what we say behind closed doors, else we could get sued, lose our jobs or have our Volvo blow up with us in it. Strange times.  If I’m in a shopping mall and a guy comes running out of the GAP with explosives around his waist and screams, “ALLAH AKBAR!”….and the next moment he vaporizes the food court, well, I’ll be in a predicament. The predicament is that when the paramedics are wheeling me out through Penney’s and a cop asks me who did it……am I out of line to use the “M” word, or do I give a standard politically correct lie and say it was a mean, disgruntled customer.  Caught between a rock and a liberal hard place.

    Got off subject…….MEAN people must not like themselves even more than they detest good folk. Anger, rage, jealousy, bad hair and guilt all contribute to unstable hate. Maybe it would be a good thing to know, that if you stored up too much meanness and hate that you would combust. With that in mind…..maybe less people would cut me off in traffic………..That’s all I have to say on the matter.

 

 

　

               

Charles 1972

 

 

                                                                                                               

“TIME MARCHES ON!”

The march of time. It amazes me how time continues to make the transitions necessary to accommodate the times. So many things and events occur each decade and then they seem to be swallowed up in the abyss of our memories. 　

1972: Long hair……..2012: Longing for hair

1972: KEG……..2012: EKG

1972: Acid rock……..2012: Acid reflux

1972: Moving to California because it’s cool……..2012: Moving to Arizona because it’s warm

1972: Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor……..2012: Trying NOT to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor

1972: Seeds and stems……..2012: Roughage

1972: Hoping for a BMW……..2012: Hoping for a BM

1972: Going to a new, hip joint……..2012: Receiving a new hip joint

1972: Rolling Stones……..2012: Kidney Stones

1972: Screw the system……..2012: Upgrade the system

1972: Disco……..2012: Costco

1972: Parents begging you to get your hair cut……..2012: Grand kids begging you to shave their heads

1972: Whatever……..2012: Depends

    The generation that’s starting college across the nation this fall, was born in 1994!! They are too young to remember the space shuttle blowing up. Their lifetime has always included AIDS. Bottle caps have always been screw off and plastic. They have never owned a vinyl record. They have always had an answering machine. They have always had cable. They cannot fathom not having a remote control. Jay Leno has always been on the Tonight Show. They never took a swim and thought about Jaws. They can’t imagine what hard contact lenses are. They never heard: “Where’s the Beef?”, “I’d walk a mile for a Camel”, or “de plane, Boss, de plane..” There was only one phone in the household and it was wired into the livingroom wall. Protection on a date was deodorant. The only people who lived together were relatives. The morning after pill was a multi-vitamin.

 　This is a rehash, modification, improvement and bastardization, by me, of different quotes, confessions, statistics and bullshit that I have mentally regurgitated or yanked off the internet.

1972:Well read……..2012: Plagiarized

 

                                         Charlie 2012

 

    Fat is a good thing….

   I got out of the shower, a few weeks ago, and noticed that it took me longer to dry off than usual. I powder spanked myself and dabbed some English Leather pit salve on and emerged from the bathroom like a bottled genie in a cloud of steam vapor. Wifey was busy sabotaging my sock drawer when she looked my way. I have to be careful when I suddenly expose myself like this to Wifey as her hormones may implode and cause an uncontrollable desires on her part. She denies it, but I do hear a type of groan coming from her whenever I present myself in all my glory.

  “Why did you buy smaller bath towels,” I asked. “took me twice as long to dry off.”

  My good Wifey continued her sock project and simply said, “I didn’t. They’re the same towels we’ve had for the last two years.”

  “No, they‘re not,” I say, “these are smaller!”

  “No, they’re the same old towels, you just got bigger.”

  There was a silence during that moment that only occurs a few times during a marriage. After the first fart of the marriage….the first time she sees you picking your nose….and when she asks how much is in the savings account. Mind bending silences. This was one of them. After standing there exposed and quickly becoming insecure, I asked, in one of my quiet voices, “What ya mean?”

  “Honey, you’re gaining weight again,” she answered in one of her own quiet voices. “Don’t buy anymore dark blue socks,” she continued, “they’re a pain in the butt to match!”

  “Gaining weight?” I asked in another one of my quiet voices, the type you use just before you cry or have an orgasm.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve been gaining weight ever since M.A.S.H. went off the air,” she answered as a matter-a-fact. “Towels don’t shrink and neither do you.” She can be ruthless at times.

  I’ve always been a big guy….my entire life. I weighed almost 200 pounds when I was in high school and 230 pounds when I wrestled in college. In my thirties, I was almost 6’ 1” and very active and stayed around 220. Towards the end of my forties, I believe I must of been one of the few men to ever go through menopause and then once again in my fifties. At 55, I was 300 pounds. Wifey called me her Teddy Bear, but I’m sure, behind my back, she referred to me as her Pillsbury Dough Stud.

  I tried a few diets, I think about 80 or 90 of them. Most were only for two or three days at a time and when I didn’t see results, I would always console myself at the Wel Hong Dragon, Chinese smorgasbord. I’ve also had more advice from skinny people than I want to remember. They always make comments like, “You need to cut down on your portions,” or “stay away from breads and sweets.” I’ve had diet advice like eating pineapple skins and corn husk followed by Alka Seltzer enemas! Seems no one understands that I have a gland problem….my salivary glands.

  Now, in my sixties, I do pay more attention to what I eat. I concentrate on only four food groups; bacon, deep fried, Häagen-Dazs and gravy. I allow myself lite snacks like buttered items, fried cucumbers, fried bananas and fruity cream cheese. I feel more active now and go to the golf course twice a week….they have a great buffet in the clubhouse.

                                                                                                                    The Pillsbury Dough Stud