January 16, 2015
January 15, 2015
My mother, like most mothers, had rules, expressions, little day to day sayings that we as children were to follow. One of the rules of the home (as she called them) was to “eat everything on your plate. If you do not, you go to bed.”
My father would occasionally back her up with “Eat all of them beans, there are kids in China that do not have any rice.” And I would think to myself “What the hell does he know about China? He is from Watonga (Wuh-tong-guh) Oklahoma.”
My basic problem was I did not like baked potato’s, nor was I a big fan of liver and onions for sure. (more…)
January 12, 2015
This is for all those unfortunate souls who are not grandparents at this time. You could possibly consider it a warning of sorts. Grand-parenting is unique and sometimes difficult.
When you do reach that juncture of life, you will find a rude awakening headed your way. When that grand-baby arrives, be it a boy or a girl, doesn’t matter, you (the grandpa) will immediately sink to the bottom of the food chain.
We have six grandchildren, most of ‘em boys, and the youngest is about three now. He is a real hoot, I get a kick out of him. He has the wife wrapped around his little finger. His act doesn’t work with me, I am usually a “No” vote. When this happens, he is not disturbed in the least, he goes to the living-room and looks for Grandma.
She is HIS lawyer in all disputes, and he usually wins when she represents him. (more…)
January 11, 2015
Cold here this morning, fog rolled in and we are encased in a gray wet blanket, frozen drizzle is what the weather guessers call it and no sunshine in sight. Wintertime is a hard time for me, this is the time of the year, when you try and figure out how to get 5’6” of kid to shovel off 4” of snow on the driveway.
When you sit, locked down in your quiet abode, and try your very best to not lose your mind, or rather, what is left of it. That desperate time of the year and you check the mirror and say to yourself, “Did I have all this before Christmas?”
When you look at all of the clothes hanging on the exercise machine and seriously contemplate removing them and “working out.”
Nah … Aint gonna happen.
January almost half-over and suddenly the anxiety attack hits me with the rush of a full grown pit-bull. I have to get her something for Valentine’s Day, that illegal estrogen enriched holiday celebrated in America, sponsored by the chocolate moguls and those wonderful people who inhabit the cubicles of HallMark Cards.
Unfortunately despite my best efforts, I haven’t an inkling of what to do about it. It is not easy being a complicated and often confusing member of the tribe of man, I am far too complex for a quick fix from a trendy Michael Jordan no-tag t-shirt or newly acquired Facebook social status, and a number three size washtub full of newfound friends.
I am a guy … Well, that should be enough right there to explain it. Face it, I am a guy, and guys, well we do not have a clue.
We cannot look at you and say something like: “I hope this special day is infused with beauty and light and that all your hopes and dreams crystalize into a loving reality emanating from an equally loving universe. Keep thinking positive thoughts honey, I know there is a Brand-spankin-New-Prevo in your future …. Oprah was just saying the other day” …. and then I just kind of lose her.
I suppose in MY world it would or should have been different.
Something like … I remember the first day we met and I laid it out for her. “I’m a worn-out, emotional wreck who’s incapable of anything resembling warmth, love and intimacy, but I have a lot of money and you’ll never want for anything. I am a lover, and a fighter, a dirty old boxcar rider …. Hey? I even have a bus, and I look pretty good in a yellow T-shirt.”
Perhaps this cold, gray, nasty day would be a good time to work on my word skills, the fourteenth will be here before I know it. And as usual, “I will be lost as a Goose on the whole thing.”
It’s often not easy being a guy … But someone has to do it.
January 10, 2015
“You Suck. You are the worst writer I ever read!”
To be honest about all this. I get a little uncomfortable with the label “writer.” A writer knows all about verbs, nouns, sentence structure, paragraphs, all that other organization/compilation of the English language stuff.
A writer knows (or is supposed to know) how to do this in the correct fashion. As for myself? I would be considered what some call a hack. I just hammer it out, and that is about it. I am a “writers” absolute worst nightmare. Bottom line (as if anyone really cared) I am a story teller … Never have really considered myself a writer.
So I guess that should be:
“You are the worst STORY TELLER I have ever read.”
That might be closer to the truth.
Life despite it all,
is still being good to me,
I can still maintain a healthy outlook on things in general.
I have suddenly discovered I suck
Exactly why no one knows.
And I am somewhat miserable
Just flat outta luck I suppose.
I cannot complain,
I am doing alright.
My lawnmower still starts on the first crank
Bills are paid
Have money in the bank
Today my favorite numb-chuck sent me a link
Rest is available to me when I need it.
My health is improving.
Still have my cake,
but because of Diabetes,
I can no longer eat it.
That is how it often goes.
First your money and then your clothes.
“You Suck. You are the worst writer I ever read!”
Another fan has been located; stick a bright red pin in the map. This bozo probably wouldn’t recognize good writing if someone handed it to him on a business card.
Top Posts (the past week)
January 9, 2015
My Predictions Will Blow You Away!
This is NOT those vague, generic readings that you’re used to seeing in magazines and newspapers… amazingly detailed predictions that will change your life!
Don’t believe me?
Today, for the very first time, I shall share with you, all of my secrets. Just send me $2,300.00, the name of your first born male child, a valid credit card number and three wrappers from a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.
Find out for yourself, it takes less than 60 seconds.
Much like a old dawg with his head out the window, big ears flopping in the breeze, I find myself rushing into the New Year. Might add on a negative note, have received some disturbing emails here lately. Same old stuff:
This is a Family Site you ____ !
I hate you!
Your parents were not married.
On the other hand, a more positive note. Several times in the past few weeks, I have ventured out to the old mailbox, and found a letter for my wife. She is raking in the dough, Clearing House Finalists make the cash, I am here to tell you. Yesterday she got one that said she was going to receive $5,000 a week for the rest of her life!
So perhaps I should say something. Most everything I write is factual and often true. I do embellish from time to time, in order to clarify. Family Site, now that is a real hoot, I mean jeeze, who would mate with someone like you?
BY THE WAY … IT’S MY SITE.
Maybe it is something in the drinking water? It could be that some would want to have me committed for observation, here lately I feel that has been the case. Mere words barely scratch the surface when it comes to describing the insanity of BoxCarOkie.com. A single look is all one really needs to determine that he’s out of this world (post another picture Van!). But there are things even crazier to the man than imaginable once he sits down to the keyboard.
At any given moment he can spout metaphysical nonsense, quantum theory, spiritual musings, or… anecdotes about how he used to rail lines of coke off of the back of his dog.
Is BCO a misunderstood savant? Could be, but I kinda doubt it.
The victim of a tragic loss of inhibition thanks to head injuries sustained from his infamous 1991 train crash? Or is he simply yet another cautionary tale of the dangers of substance abuse? With the kind of ##@*!!*!@<>@# BCO talks, it’s probably all three and then some.
Leave a comment … Jump right in … the water over here in the backwaters of time, space and fantasy (a genre of imaginative fiction involving magic and adventure, esp. in a setting other than the real world.) are just fine.
Hope this clears it up some.
Have a nice weekend
January 7, 2015
Men are so stooooooopid.
You catch that?
Men are so stupid. There I said it again. A friend of mine is down with the flu and someone suggested to him that he might have to go see a doctor, as it has been awhile. His answer just about blew me outta the proverbial boat, he said: “Since they all stopped speaking English, I stopped going to see them.”
Which I found amusing to say the least.
In Oklahoma there is actually a program in place to hire foreign doctors in the Panhandle because of the scarcity of hospitals and good medical treatment in the small towns of the plains. Kind of like that show that was on a few years ago, “Northern Exposure.”
Most likely my friends’ medical provider would be the VA (Veteran’s Administration) as they sort of run the gauntlet of foreign doctors. You can find Pakistani, Indian, Asian, you name it, they have it. My doctor at the VA was named Dr. Lau (pronounced Low) and he at times drove me nuts.
Dr. Lau was a little guy, about 4’6” maybe 110 lbs soaking wet, and spoke “broken English.” He had a special way of staring right thru you and sort of looked nervous at times. Reminded me of that crazy cab driver in the Philippines in sixty-five that tried his best to kill us before we even got to the end of the pier.
He would walk into the room, in his white frock, looking like a midget sized mad scientist, look at me and say … “Whut sugar blood?” and I would say …. “Huh?”
He would then repeat it .. “Whut sugar blood?” … at that time I would lean in, real close, and say to him …. “Repeat it ONE MORE time, this time very slowly Doc.”
He then would say, “You know speak Engrish?”
We finally figured out he was asking … He was trying to say “What is your blood sugar.”
First time he gave me a prostate exam, he had me bend over and he lubed up and then proceeded to stick about three feet of broom handle (well, it FELT like a broom handle) up my wahzoo. I looked over my left shoulder, caught his attention, and said, “Hey? Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner first or something like that?”
He jumped back and said, “That not funny.”
Maybe so. But he always wanted to do it, each visit, out came the rubber gloves and the petroleum jelly.
I have found in my life, “Asian’s as a rule, do not have much of a sense of humor.” (my wife, who is Asian says I am not funny all the time. But then again, this is a woman who speaks five languages, and says, “English easy … You just make it up as you go!)
Which reminds me …
An Australian went to Hong Kong on vacation and after about four days he “noticed a little discomfort down under” and we are not talking about Sidney or Brisbane here. So he makes a trip to a caucasian doctor and the doctor inspects his member and says, “Oh no, you have the rare Black Rose. It is a strain of VD, a very lethal STD, and you need an operation right now. We might not be able to save it.”
The Australian said, “How much is this going to cost me?”
The doctor said about $2,500.00 American dollars. The guy said “I am going to get a second opinion.” He looks up an asian doctor and goes to him, has the visit and tells the doctor about the $2,500.00 cost and all that.
The Asian doctor is somewhat amused. He says, “Oh, not so. Caucasian doctors want money, all about money, do operation now, I make money.”
So the Aussie says, “Well whadya think … should I get the operation?”
And the little Asian doctor looked up and said, “Oh no, bad move. You wait … It fall off all by itself, maybe two weeks.”
January 6, 2015
When I was a small lad, I had to make my bed every morning, this was considered one of my chores as Dad used to call them. I could not go play baseball at the park, rob a beer truck making deliveries at the liquor store, skateboard with my buddies until that bed was made.
It often put a serious crimp in my active social life. In those years, what I call my “formidable years” it was necessary to meet others, greet them, chose sides, and intermingle and socialize. Kind of like FaceBook in reverse.
Years later, I went in the service, things drastically changed for me. But one aspect of life, stayed the same. Each day I had to make my bed, which was now called a rack. This had to be done before loading weapons onto jet aircraft that were destined to fly off the flight deck of my Super Carrier and kill people in strange exotic lands that Congress dispatched me to on my Senior Trip fresh outta highschool.
Came home … first thing you know … I got married (It’s lonely in the service even with don’t ask — don’t tell). Well smack my butt and call me Judy! Very first day of the Honeymoon SHE made me make my bed too. Have to be honest with you, I just don’t get it. Why do you have to make something that you are just going to lie down in at the end of the day?
Here’s another one “Make sure you have on clean under-wear.”
Read that again if you must. I have to be totally candid about this, I never understood that one at all, it just defied logic. Then one day in 1991 I was in a fatal truck/train collision and … well, let’s just say, it gave a totally new meaning to the expression! (And it didn’t make me a whole lotta new friends in the ER either)
Stop by tomorrow and we will discuss why it is that my bride hides my liquor bottles when the Grandkids show up. It is not like I have a serious drinking problem or something like that, ‘cause I don’t.
Why I feel the urge to discuss this is beyond me. Might be it is for some strange reason this morning, that I feel a deep-seated urge to discuss this aspect of my marriage.
What the hell? It aint Valentines’ Day yet.
January 5, 2015
A young preacher was preaching his first funeral for an old Farmer whose wife had died. In the distance, dark ominous storm clouds started to obscure the sunlight on the horizon. He again looked down to his bible and continued on with the service.
The farmers’ wife’s graveside service was just barely finished, when there was a massive clap of thunder, followed by a tremendous bolt of lightning, accompanied by even more thunder rumbling in the distance.
The little old man looked at the young pastor and calmly said, “Well, I think it is safe to say … she’s there.”
Spent most of the weekend here at the house, quietly doing research on my family tree. Surprisingly I did discover, quite by accident, that some of my ancestors did swing from trees. No they were not monkeys’ they were horse thieves in Kentucky.
There is also a rumor floating around on FaceBook that “I am going to hell.” Which is certainly not how I see it. I have not ventured outside at all, in the first three days of the New Year. Today was the first day out for me, that implies that I live a stationary (and often quite boring) lifestyle to me. On top of all this, I have recently been diagnosed with “Anal Glacoma” which is a disease in older folks, where you cannot see your A** going anywhere soon.
Now here is something scary. A new study found that more than 11 million people have quit Facebook in the last three years. And unfortunately, none of them were your parents.
Wife sent me on a grocery run today. I was at the checkout counter and the young girl looked at me and said “Paper or Plastic?” I smiled and said, either one, I am bi-sackual.
She didn’t get it.
Also went to Lowe’s today for some items, noticed most of the workforce there is now different. Much older crowd wearing the vest these days. It appears they are no longer enforcing drug testing and have switched to Prostate Exams instead. Wife sent me over there to get a shower massager thingy they had moved all of the shower stuff and I could not locate it then this little honey said to me, “Sir can I help you locate something?”
So I told her, “Yeah. Shower massagers.”
She took me to them and then said, “Do you know what type you are looking for?” And I said, “Nah. She just said to get one that was soft, medium, and who needs a man?” The assistant’s face turned a little red and she walked away.
I guess she didn’t get it either.
If you are on the highway this Holiday Season, here is how you can tell you have entered into the Sooner State … Oklahoma. The wife gets cranky. The kids start fighting in the backseat. You feel the urge to siphon some gas. Strange, but somehow I just know that you are all sitting there and snickering and saying “he is just making all of this up!”
Here is the nitty gritty boys and girls … I live here.
You have to be a little bit nuts to live here with the weather and all, then there is the political climate too. Right now as you read this, “our elected morons are considering a law to make the wearing of a hoodie while committing an illegal act … Illegal. And the fine is going to be $500.”
I hope you enjoy this day and of course your opinion is always welcomed.
As long as it agrees with mine.