EVERY GOOD DATE STARTS AT WALGREENS

 

     I know that when a lot of folks read my meandering thoughts, they’re usually under the assumption that it was simply my turn at the computer located in the rec room of the institute I‘m locked in. Au contraire mi amigos! I am a lucid writer who endeavors to expose the quivers and sputters of life to the masses in a blog-narious format and in doing so, enlighten a few friends with my experiences both successful and in some cases, adjudicated.

     What I want to script about today is the hominid ritual of dating as it applies to sapiens. Dating is a coming and closing of age for our species. It begins with the pituitary gland launching untested hormonal messages to our pre-pubertal bodies. Our brains take a few years to catch up. It’s at this point we now look at each other in bewilderment trying to figure out if we want to hit, lick or eat each other! We become genitalia zombies. Boys become terrified of girls and girls become terrified of acne. Then…..we date.

     Adolescent dating is nothing more that socializing with adult groupies in tow. Then you get old enough to drive and soon it’s the movies, McDonalds’ and then tongue fencing at Gitsum Tail park. As you’re running to first base, your eyes would cross, you would start to drool and your groin area felt like a NASCAR pileup.The car windows would steam up, you would steam up and then she would cool down and say, “I‘m not that kind of girl!”  You would begin to beg, but in time you would realize the folly of it all and the lessons learned.

     Manly teens of 17, 18 or 19 soon learn the elimination process. You pick up your current ‘first date’ and immediately pull into the parking lot of a Walgreens and announce, as you are getting out of the car, “I’ll be right back, just need some gum, chapstick and some condoms.”  If she’s still there when you get back then she receives one gold star on her way to becoming your steady. If she’s not there when you get back, then you saved a ton of money that night….like $15 or even $20. As insurance, you always did your preliminary screening, in case she had any older ass whooping brothers.

     Anyway….you move into your mid and late twenties where you no longer have to do the Walgreens test, as most of those willing to date you are more worried about your premature finales too early in the evening. It’s when, at the end of the date, she asks you to pull into Walgreens so she can get a ‘pregnancy test kit’ that, if you’re still there when she comes back out….well, you’re done for Daddy.

     After divorce #1 and in most cases #2, you find yourself in the wastelands of your 40’s and creeping up on the abyss of 50. You still stop at Walgreens before your date, but now it’s for meds, Ben Gay and a Snickers bar. The ‘condom test’ is now a distant thing of the past, as your more mature date now brings her own preference of multi colored ribbed protection and also a variety of battery operated prostheses and wonderments.

     Walgreens has always played it’s part in our cultural and biological mating habits. Through their doors now pass the new generation currently seeking aid in their own ritual dating and hook-ups. Now it’s more like buying warming gels and memory disc to record the event. You can also get 62 oz Tide for $8.98.

 

 

                                

 

 

 

 

              

  

YOU!

 

Look at you!!

With your frizz hair wisping in the wind.

Listen to you!!

As you laugh at life and make jokes when I worry.

What’s with you?

Who stares at me with those hungry menacing eyes.

Shame on you!!

For never having rules of propriety nor reasons for such.

Why did you?

Make me a victim of your adventurous love and sensual enslavement.

How could you?

Make me love you like a child loves a puppy.

Only you!

Could make life, full moon nights and rainbow days.

 

              Charlie

 

 

 

 

 

  TROPICAL STORM DEBBY

   

    Ms. Debby plowed up the Gulf of Mexico this week bestowing almost four straight days of high winds and rain here on the west coast of Florida and if that wasn’t enough, raked the area with seven tornadoes. Wild feral hogs were scurrying out of the Palmettos, anacondas out of the Glades and the Snow Birds were in a panic. It was like some kind of wild Democratic convention around here.

    My yard was covered in about six inches of water, but I was far luckier than many of my other neighbors that had homes on lower elevations. We were thankful for the much needed rain, (the first two days), but by the forth day of rain, the frogs were starting to strangle.  Hard to believe we still have five more months of tropical storms and hurricanes before the season ends. Need to buy more beer…..Charlie signing out.

                                        Now kick back and enjoy some of Mr. Johnny Lee Hooker’s music.

 

 

 

             THE GUYS

 

    I think, after we spend a lifetime tolerating the human race, God tries to make our 60’s as comfortable and pleasant as He can. We retire, our children go on their own, we rekindle the romance of our long marriages and then we sit back and reflect. We ponder the good events and achievements of our life as well as a few regrettable moments. The difficult times as well as the pleasant.

    Sadly, there is something that now happens, that is not pleasant….but, sadly, inevitable. We must watch those around us start to die. Now in my 60’s, I recently became an orphan with the loss of my mother and now my heart breaks at the current loss of several close and wonderful friends. This is a time of eulogies and condolences.

    Recently on Facebook, I learned from a childhood friend about some of the guys I grew up with in the old neighborhood that have now finished their lives and left us. Boys I shared my life with from the time I was 7 years old, until graduation at 18. Memories of summer days, when the eight of us played all day down at the creek looking for crawfish and salamanders. Running through the woods playing Roy Rogers and desperados. The first snow of the year when we’d all be out building a giant snowman and having snowball battles. All the great ball games we played down at the pasture. The rite of passage, years later, when the first of us scored with Jane Whats-her-name and shared the event with the rest of the guys the next day. So many smile-memories. But….of those eight, only two of us are left to grieve.

    I found out two years ago, from one of my high school reunions, that all the teachers I had from those years had passed away, including all the coaches I admired. All that wisdom and compassion gone . I’ve also spent most of my life reflecting on those buddies who completed their lives in Vietnam and never had the chance to gather hopes and dreams. So many.

    Yes, I know….and it’s true. It’s all part of life and the unstoppable cycle of generations. When your time comes….it comes. But still, I can close my eyes now and see all my young pals patiently waiting for me on the other side of the creek and they’re all waving at me and laughing their asses off. They need me to hurry and come play first base again. It’s this warm thought that makes me smile now, and in a way, helps me to understand life a little clearer. Seems life may only be a short chapter….and just the prologue of things to be.

 

 

 

　

 

 

Simplistic in their actions….marvelous in their reality

 

 

      

   

 

   

 

   

 

   

 

    

 

        

 

    

 

    

 

                

 

        

 

  

 

       

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.

                                                  Francis of Assisi

 

 

 

 

 

@seedsower’s self portrait challenge

 

@seedsower put out an interesting challenge this week about doing a self portrait (mug shot) without a smile. Here’s my effort, but understand the lighting and hangover was bad that day…Charlie

                                    

 

 

     The Slimy Facts Of Life….

 

 

    I love fishing. Just relaxing and enjoying the beauty and serenity of Lake Martin. I take my padded lawn chair, cooler packed with beer and ice and a couple of fried Spam sandwiches. For an old fart like me, life just can‘t get any better than this, but, on occasion, it can get a little weird.

    I was sitting on the shore early one day right after a nice warm summer rain. As I fished, I was lullabied by all the lake’s squawking, chirping and croaking. That’s when I hear this little raspy voice on the ground next to my lawn chair.

   “Pick me Up,” said this mysterious little voice. I looked down and gave a concentrated squint. “Pick me up!” the voice said again.

   “Holy crap,” I said. “You’re a damn frog!” He was just sitting there under the broad leaf of a kudzu vine, staring up at me with his little beady frog eyes with his head cocked to one side. I thought the morning sun was poaching my brain, or else I was way ahead of schedule for being slouched for the day. Then I heard him croak again in his little deep froggy voice.

   “Pick me up, pick me up….damn it!”

   “Are you talking to me?” I replied. Considering I was conversing with an amphibian, I wanted to avoid any misunderstanding or assumptions on my part.

   “Yes, I’m talking to you old fart,” the frog said. “Okay, here’s the friggin deal….pick me up, kiss my ass, and I’ll turn into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. I’ll become your booty slave and every night we will make incredible, passionate love like wild beast in a breeding frenzy!”

   Well, I analyzed it’s proposition and considered the various pros and cons of it. I studied the frog for a spell, and then reached down and gently picked it up. Carefully, I placed it in my shirt pocket. The frog started to croak up a fit and said, “What, are you nuts? Didn’t you hear what I said? I said kiss me and I will be your sex slave.”

   I opened my shirt pocket, looked down at the frog and said,“Nah, at my age, I’d rather have a talking frog.”

 

With age comes wisdom…..ribbit!

　

　

 

 

 

　

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  Love starts to fall apart….once you try to understand it.

   

    First off, I’m not an expert on love or the mental mush that regurgitates from it, but non the less, I am a victim. The only love experts, that I’m aware of, conduct their seminars in cheap hotel rooms at $50 a pop. However….I do have some expertise at expressing it.  In my early life, I had over a thousand girlfriends. Granted….most were only for a weekend and all their names were ‘Sugar”, but the point is, I was able to craft the fine art of ‘whoopie’ and  ‘sweet nothings’.  Before you snort and lean back from your monitor shaking your head, hear me out.

    I have always adored women and all the complexities of their species. Often bewildering, but none the less fascinating. They have strengths and endurances comparable to the great wall of China. They also have their weaknesses, similar to week old pudding. One weakness….is that they need to be shown love, both expressed and felt. Some men take advantage of this condition and swoop in like a horny orangutan swinging from one vulnerable tree to another. Little do these testosterone gorged primates realize, that certain women, once abused and used, often render these men in highlighted chalk outlines and mentioned on the eleven o’clock news.

    Now….how do you express love? A bouquet of roses, a fine dinner with wine?  Or maybe a soft whisper of your intentions to copulate later like wildebeest on your apartment’s futon.  Maybe you’re the type that buys those over priced ‘Happy Cards’, and hands them out with adolescent scripts and crude drawings of body parts.

    Then again, maybe you’re boring and old fashion like me. Yep, a simple look….a quiet pause….and then, “I love you.”  It ain’t Shakespeare, but the ‘Bard’ wrote over a million words trying to analyze those three simplistic words and was never satisfied. Seems my wife can do it with a gentle smile and a caressing look. 

　

“This bud of love by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet….”

Romeo & Juliet – Act 2, Scene 1

 

 

 

 

 

  The Less You Talk….The More You’re Listened To

 

 

    During this juganaut of a long life that I have steered for over 65 years, I have learned many things. I have been shown, that there are very few variables and that life is primarily structured on absolutes. My hard earned lessons are listed below for your head nodding endorsement.

 

*Women will always have the last word in every argument. Anything a man says after that, is the beginning of a new argument.

*Every man’s vote counts….just not the man.

*Nothing….but nothing, is for free.

*Hard work solves more problems than waiting for relatives to die.

*I am smarter than my wife….it’s her turn tomorrow.

*The less your grown children call you….the more successful they are.

*Good bowel movements….orgasms….and naps are more appreciated as you age.

*A nice perfume….a nice bouquet of flowers….a nice dinner out, never replaces just being nice….I know, nice try.

*Never use the words ‘large’ or ‘size’ when commenting on a woman’s butt. Just avoid that area altogether.

*Fools that give advice are harmless….not so, are the ones that take it.

*As you age….carefully analyze all advice like you would a fart after too much Mexican food.

 

 

 

　

 

 

 

 

 

     THE FIRST STEP IS NOT TO BE AFRAID! 

 

    First, let me quickly state that I am not an expert on the complexities of the female anatomy, erogenous zones, or the Oktoberfest of hormones that ravage their bodies. However, I have had extensive experience with the emotional spectrum of the female psyche called P.M.S., and I don’t recommend that Amazonian journey for any adventurous explorer.

    Back to the female body. Most females don’t completely understand the mysteries of their own chassis until well into their twenties, which means the males have already spent years being bewildered over something that even the female’s are still trying to understand.  Once the male finally begins to master the smorgasbord of the feminine domain….she gets pregnant and then it’s a whole new menu with strange and confusing appetizers.

 

Here are a few absolutes;

Women like to be held with the illusion of being protected by you. This does not replace running away if attacked by hoodie cloaked assailants. I think it’s more symbolic and most likely a throwback to the days of Vikings and ravishing.

Women want and need to be kissed. If you are ever in doubt as to whether to kiss a woman, always give her the benefit of the doubt and kiss her. Whether you’re right or wrong in this maneuver….it will still be appreciated at some level.

Women need to be touched and caressed. A woman’s whole life is her history of affections. It often works as a triggering mechanism, (see hormones). Explore what you adore. Remember; the loveliest distance between two points are the curves and guys, don’t neglect the triangles….as if you would.

    Now for a few incidentals. There’s the light touch of the tongue, running from a woman’s toes to her ears, lingering in the softest way possible in various places in between. If done right, it will be the equivalent of the Halleluiah chorus announcing world peace. If poorly done….it’s still worth a song and who needs world peace anyway?   

    Next, a man’s face is the true chronicle of his life story….whereas, a woman’s face may well be her own work of fiction. Attention to a woman’s face must be done with caution and reverent scrutiny. Reference to large pores, pox marks, blemishes and wrinkles may very well end that special moment, (see episodes of C.S.I.). Women do not like to age, and if life were truly flexible, women would definitely have more than twelve years between the ages of twenty-eight and forty. The adage, ‘It’s not what’s on the outside, but what‘s on the inside that counts,’  is horse-shit until you reach your mid seventies.

    Now, while you’re exploring her body canvas, never make Neanderthal references to her weight or stretch marks. This will shroud an evening of lust like volcanic ash from mount Vesuvius and I don’t care if the guys got a chocolate penis that shoots out money, he‘s had it! Most women are weight challenged, and you need to remember that the most satisfying moments in a woman’s life is spotting women who are fatter than her.

    These special moments are done both in solitude and silence. Words are never necessary. To the man’s credit, most women like silent men because they often think they’re listening. And trust me when I say, that a woman can say more in a single sigh than a man can say in an hour long alibi.

    One final note before I post this and then delete all evidence of this blog from my computer….Women are works of art and a beauteous marvel of nature. No matter the age or body fat index, they are gorgeous to behold. Whether teaching at the front of a classroom or gyrating on a dance pole, they are all special. To all the women on Xanga, thanks for being women….(that didn’t make any sense).

                                                                                                                          Charlie