What's Your Opinion

A few post ago I talked about what to do when you couldn’t talk to anyone. I got some good advice and I even believe some of you were sincere. I don’t like to talk about my problems and concerns because I was raise to believe that you worked on or solved your own problems because nobody really gives a shit about your stuff. They are trying to deal with their own problems. But this time I am going to talk to you peeps, because I want to know if it is just me with these feelings or do y’all experience them, too. Am I really nuts or just sharing the same feeling as some of you.

For around two years I have had these feelings and I couldn’t put a finger on what was bother me. Sometimes I would feel so sad and other times I would get into a dark mood with self doubt and self pity. I could never figure out why they would come along. Something inside be was kicking them off, but what?

Being the private ass-hole that I am, I couldn’t talk about it. Judy would notice and ask what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t know. She wouldn’t know what to say or do because she sees the world through rose colored glasses and does not understand depression at all.

Over the past couple of months two guys I went to high school with passed away. Their dying didn’t bother me. They were not my friends in school, we were just on the same football team and had a few classes together. I didn’t even practically like the fuckers. So their death didn’t bother me, but the fact that they are my age did. But I didn’t know why.

Then I met this lady. We have know about each other through mutual friends for awhile, but had not talked to each other. Then one day we were talking and it was wonderful. We laughed and played around and talked and talked. She made me happy and feel worthy again. No! Nothing physical. I’ve never even held her hand or touched her. I can’t imagine she would ever want to because she is so beautiful and sexy, and I am old enough to be her father. But she did make me feel that I still might have a little something left that could please a woman. But things were so nice I guess that would have been the next progression. However, we just talked, and it was wonderful.

She confided some things to me, some of her darkest secrets. I would talk to her about the stuff, laugh with her, get mad at her and yell at her and worry about her feelings. And I though, this just might be someone I could tell what I am thinking and feeling. I did, and POW, things changed. She cooled off toward me. I felt that she lost some of the respect for me. She knows that will go to my grave without telling anyone the things she confided to me, but I think I lost a little stature in her eyes.

But she did do one thing that helped me. She was able to give me a name to what was bothering me. In a word, it is LOSS.

I have lost a lot of things over the years and did not consciously know how much they affected me. I have lost passion. I have no passion for anything anymore. No work, no hobbies, no nothing. Well, I do have a passion about my grandkids, and for my Country and fighting Socialism and Obama-Lama, but that is a whole different topic. But nothing else exciting that makes me want to sleep in a hurry so I can get up and do it again.

I have lost the desire to compete. I have always wanted to be the best. To be in the game. To be a competitor. I was such a competitor that I would come in first, third and fifth in a jack-off contest. But I don’t do anything that I have to try to outdo anyone anymore.

I have lost excellent health, hair, eye sight, teeth and hearing, not to mention stamina.

I have lost friends.

I have lost a bit of confidence. I know I have stuff to offer people. I can be a good friend or a horrible enemy. But I’m not that sure anyone wants my friendship. I wouldn’t if I were someone else.

There are other things, but you get the idea. It’s the loss of things in my life that will probably never return. I am fighting the sensation now of feeling like I am whining and being a bore, but I am not looking for sympathy. I am looking for answers.

Are my feelings of loss normal? I’ve never been old before, so this is all new to me. And most of you have never been old before either, but do any of you have any of the feelings of loss? Am I really nuts or am I just going through another phase like a later version of mid-life crises?

I am a true Libra, too. I see both sides of stuff. With all the dark feelings, I also love to look at the sky, and the mountains. I love the rain and storms and anything to do with nature. I have Judy and the family. I know I have a lot in my life to be thankful for, and I am. But these losses are really bothering me.

I am sorry to say all this shit, and I promise you I will never bore you with anything like this again. I will go back to the jokes and hating socialism and Obama soon, but now I would really like to know your opinions. I mean an honest opinion.

This Can't End Good

 

The Blond Antelope

Nuf said!

What Do You Do?

Okay guys! The pity fest is over. I'm back to my asshole self, but I do thank you guys for your support. Occasionally I have these little episodes. Next time just ignore me like you were a Baptist in a Liquor Store.

 

What do you do? I’m in a kind of funk and I don’t know what to do.

I read many blogs each day, some on my blog roll and some I scan from those blog rolls. I read about your problems, your health, your internal battles with your demons, your arguments with family and friends and your frustrations with schools and work and church and IT help from India. I commiserate with you. I sometimes comment. But I have no such outlet.

I don’t have any close friends or BFF’s. My choice. Best friends will stab you in the back. They will use you and drain you of every bit of energy your sole possesses. They cannot keep a secret. They have best friends, too, that may or may not know you that they can confide in over your secret. Then that BFF will tell their BFF, who, by the way, does know you, and the secret is out. I had rather face an enemy than confide in a friend. At least you know the enemy is out to hurt you and you can respond in the appropriate manner.

I don’t talk about stuff that bothers me. Mostly I just keep them in until I explode, then the damage is done. You can’t take back words. The closest I could come would be in blogging about it. Mainly because you don’t really give a shit because you have your own problems to deal with, and probably nothing would change. Another reason I don’t blog about my demons is my family reads my blog. If I wanted them to know anything I would tell them. But if I don’t want them to know, then what do I do?

Hell, I don’t think anyone would even understand, anyway.

Don’t worry! I’m not having women problems (dammit) and I didn’t just discover that I am queer as a football bat. I don’t have an incurable medical problem (unless you consider an enlarged prostate, diabetes and heart disease an incurable medical problem.)

It’s just that I am in a funk and there is no one to talk too over a cold beer. I know, it’s my fault for keeping people at arms length - out of self preservation, but there are times that it would be nice to be able to confide in someone and feel safe. NAH! Ain’t gonna happen.

I’ve told you this much, now let’s see if it stays between us. See!!! It’s out already.

Later!

More Massanutten

Here are a few more pictures of our trip to Massanutten.

 

I’m showing this picture for Heidi over at Hick Chic. Honestly, when I climbed on the beast, I though I would need oxygen from being so high up and from hyperventilating from fear of not having on a seatbelt or a safety net under me.

I did find out that it takes a whole new set of muscles to ride a horse, and a strong back. I felt like I had an ice pick sticking in my lower back and at the juncture of my right leg and hip. But the ride was fun. I just wonder how long I would have to hurt just to be able to ride without pain.

 

The next day we toured Washington, DC and Arlington Cemetery. Did you know that perform over 20 military funerals there every day? You could hear weapons going off every few minuets. This is one for, I assume, an old veteran because of the age and number of attendees. But it was still very moving.

Directly across from this funeral is the place we place in honor of the 74 lost when my ship went down. The tree behind me was also planted in their honor and it was just a sprig when it was planted.

The strange thing is…I found out I am becoming a pussy in my old age. Just after the picture was made I looked down and had a flashback to my days at sea. I saw the mess decks above where I use to sleep. I saw her lean heavily to Starboard and I could hear the noise of grinding metal and the cries of confusion and fear coming from my compartment plus the guys on the mess deck swilling the ever present cup of coffee. I imagined quiet a bit and before I knew it I was crying. I don’t know why. I never have before. My grandson came over and hugged me and said, “It’s okay, Paw Paw, it is sad.” God I love that boy.

When I kind of got myself under control, the burial guard was beginning to load their bus to go to the next funeral or to the barracks or where ever. So I walked over to them and shook a couple of the men’s hand and thanked them for what they do for the boys, and the tears started again. They understood and patted me on the back and thanked me for my service and for acknowledging them. As a rule they go unnoticed until the fire the salute.

My grandson walked with his arm around me for over half a mile, till I could get a look at Arlington House, where Robert E. Lee lived. He only spent a total of around 5 years there, as he was stationed all over the country. How he fathered all his daughters, I’ll never know. Well…I do know, but how he had the time is the question. It was being renovated so I couldn’t go inside.

 

I took this for America’s 1st Sergeant, Mike. I was amazed at how big the thing is, but then it would have to be to fit the Marine ego. I just found out a few weeks ago, while googling military stuff, that he doesn’t call himself America’s 1st Sgt. because he thinks of himself as that (then maybe he does). But it is because he is with the 3 Marines, 3 Division which is nicknamed “America’s Division.” Live and learn.

I’ll try to show some more pictures later…I heard that. Stop yawning and moaning. Until then, this is the newly realized pussy turning control back over to you. Sniff, sniff.

 

Save The Memorial

THE AMERICAN CRIMINAL LIBERTIES UNION AT WORK…

TO THINK ONE INDIVIDUAL, JUST ONE, CAN TAKE A CASE LIKE THIS TO THE CALIFORNIA SUPREME COURT AND GET A HEARING.

WHAT IS GOING ON IN THIS COUNTRY? WE, THE PEOPLE ARE LOSING OUR RIGHTS A LITTLE AT A TIME, AND WE ARE LETTING THESE SO CALLED CONGRESSMAN STICK IT TO US. THEY DON'T GIVE A DAMN. THEY ONLY CARE ABOUT THEIR OWN WELFARE AND POWER.

IT'S TIME WE ALL WAKE UP BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE. WE'LL LOOK OUT OUR WINDOW SOME DAY AND SEE A DIFFERENT FLAG WAVING OVER OUR SOIL.

WE SHOULD DO EVERYTHING WE CAN TO PREVENT THIS MEMORIAL FROM BEING TORN DOWN.

Why I Don't Sing In The Chorus Anymore

I was emailing with one of my peeps about the video on my last post and it was suggested that I follow up with this story . I mentioned in my last post that I miss being in a choir and, already having confessed to a couple of incidences in my somewhat sordid past, I figured I would tell you why I’m not in a chorus anymore. So this is the email I sent to my friend:

You didn't say if you like the video or not. I sang in the church and school choir when I was in my teens. I went to All State Chorus, but got kicked out for drinking. I was a 17 year old senior and the selected members met at the University of Georgia to perform before the masses.

A dude name Mike Holston was a football player there and had graduated form my high school the year before. We played together in my junior year. Anyway, a fellow singer and football player, Leon Walters, and I met up with Mike during one of our afternoon breaks. We never went back. Instead Mike and a few of the freshmen football players took Leon and me out on the town. Athens is a college town with sports bars where the players could drink. No one ask for our id's or anything, and it was my first time drinking all I wanted. We played drinking games and just got shit-faced.

The concert was over around 10:30 but we didn't make it back to the bus until midnight. Mr. Blum, our gay music teacher, was beside himself. After he found out we were not dead in a ditch somewhere off campus, he wanted to kill us. Leon threw up on the bus tires and started crying because Mr. Blum was going to tell his mama. I didn't care. I stayed in trouble with my parents all the time anyway. Thus why I joined the Navy as soon as I graduated high school.

Anyway, the kids on the bus kept asking us what we did and was it fun. Shit like that. But, Mr. Blum didn't tell the principal, so we didn't get kicked out of school. I think, to this day, that it was because Leon had a football scholarship to Duke and he didn't want to mess up Leon’s chances. My school wasn't the most successful in developing leaders of the 21 century. Most were doing good to stay out of prison. So Mr. Blum didn't want to mess up an opportunity for Leon to make good. But we were kicked out of the chorus.

So Leon goes off to Duke, gets kicked off the team and out of school for drinking and fighting. He didn't stand much of a chance as his two older brothers and his dad were in prison for various reasons. So the last time I saw Leon was in 1968. He was working for Larry Flynt, the porn king who started Hustler Magazine. Larry was shot and paralyzed about that time and Leon took off for places unknown and no one has seen or heard from him since. Me...I didn't amount to much either.

Perpetuum Jazzile - AFRICA

I stole this from Brother Dave's site because it is too unique and beautiful not to pass along and see and be heard by as many people as possible. It is just a feel good video and it makes me wish I were in a chorus again. Maybe a chorus for the hearing impaired, but a chorus just the same.

I recomend you plug in your earhopnes, watch it first then play it again and close your eyes. Enjoy!

Too Old - A RePost

 

My hot blogging buddy Hope, of Hope Radio, accused me in the comments of my last post of being a big kid. When it comes to my grandkids, I guess I can be a little eccentric. But her comment did remind me of a post I did when I first started blogging. I believe it was my second post in August of 2006. So I thought I would post it again so you can see, as in the movie theater incident, how I get myself into stuff. We were at the Burger King (by the way, isn’t the burger king the scariest looking thing ever that could send kids into therapy before they are 10?) for breakfast. So here goes:

Marni keeps telling me to start putting things on this post. She says to put stuff on here about my Navy experiences, what life was like in the 60’s and 70’s (probably before most of the people she blogs with were born – I know they now teach part of my experiences in history class) and things the grandkids do and say. First of all I can’t think of anything that would interest any of you. If you have questions, ask. But most of all I cannot imagine anyone even reading this. Other than Marni, Beth and Page (my nieces,) I do not know anyone who even knows how to turn a computer on, much less blog.

I’ll start out by telling you about an experience I had with the J-Man and Bug. Judy, the kids and I went to Burger King this past Sunday for a gourmet breakfast. The kids went into the play room to climb through the huge tunnels and slides that are there for the kids. After we ate, the kids went back into the maze to play some more. They made it sound to fun – J-Man was in one orb on springs and moved as he did, and Bug was in the other orb. It looked like so much fun I decided to join them.

Well, going through the opening with the different levels to crawl up through to get to the top was out. I can’t even turn sideways anymore without stiffness. And to have to do all the serpentine twisting and climbing to get to the top was out of the question - maybe even out of reality. So, instead, I went up through the slide. OMG! It had to take five minuets to get to the top. It’s hard to my 62 year old, 6’3’, 210 pound body to climb up that hole – and on my knees, too.

I finally made it to the top. Thank God there was a place to stretch out. I was breathing hard, my knees and upper shins were scrapped, peeling and bleeding and all I could do was lean back against the top of the slide and stick my legs though the approach tunnel. Bug was laughing and calling J-Man to come look at Paw Paw. I had intended to crawl though the tunnels and visit each of the orbs, but… there isn’t anything in this world that could have gotten me though those tunnels. If the store was on fire and that was the only way out, I would definitely be a crispy critter. I tired, but after several attempts, I had to give up and go back down.

Yea, right! It took another five minutes of twisting and pulling my legs up under my chin before I was able to get turned around and go back down the slide – which isn’t easy either. The turns are leveled so that the kids and adult idiots won’t pickup speed when they exit at the bottom.

I finally got out into the open world, and I walked, stooped over, to Me Maw, who was just looking at me like I’m nuts, shaking her head and laughing. I’m luck she didn’t leave in the car and make me walk home. If it hadn’t been for the kids laughing and jumping around me, she probably would have.

But they were having so much fun. Whey didn’t they have shit like that when I was a kid. All I had was tire-swings and rope swings out over the Chattahoochee River.