“Lighten up on yourself. No one is perfect. Gently accept your humanness.” -Deborah Day
Welcome to Drivel Over Coffee. You are reading my blog that has become a reading must. Loyal readers are esteemed members of a group who proudly dribble our French Roast down our shirt while Driveling about our fate in life with a touch of opining. Sometimes our view of life becomes slightly skewed while looking through dog licked glasses.
The meaning of “Taste the Color Nine” is acceptance. Acceptance to be who you are around people who know you well, love you, or who perhaps don’t know who you are. Be fearless, be unique, be yourself. Who says there can’t be a color 9 and that it can’t smell like lilacs? If we want to live in a pain-free, consequence-free world, can’t we just pretend and it will come true? Why can’t we all just get along? That’ll do it. So now I’m left wondering what the key of purple tastes like.
My brother’s friend’s sister’s uncle’s second cousin’s twin sister’s step-son’s half-brother’s best friends’s girlfriend’s hamster died. It was tragic. Services are pending.
Election 2016 update. Our candidate, Jimmy Fishbag aka Jimmy Fishbelly, did not win. Members of the Coffee Klatch have protested outside of Jimmys the last 5 nights. We were and are outraged. The election was stolen right from our grasp it seems. The first night we just walked from side to side in the parking lot chanting and shouting. Jimmy even showed up and walked for a while. He really looked bummed. He told us in private that he blamed the DNR, Public Health, HUD, OSHA, and the ATF for releasing prejudial information the week before the election.
The next night, Spud and Herbie grabbed a fire pit from down the road. We built a nice fire in it. It had gotten a little chilly out there along the river. It was really nice sitting around the fire on 5 gallon buckets, cooking marshmellow and making smores. We shouted our displeasure and hatred for the rigged election. At one pointed, I looked up at the sign “Jimmy’s Grill & Bait Shop, Home of Stink Bait & ¼ lb. Carp Patties”. The letters were glistening in the fire light. I got goosebumps and chills ran down my spine as I became overcome with pride in our candidate and the huge job he undertook. To his devoted followers it made little difference that he garnered less than 1% of the vote here in Linn County. Nationwide, the results were even more disappointing. Facebook just didn’t do much for us. Jimmy eventually sent a conciliatory tweet and offered his support. He vowed to bring his supporters into the fold to support the new leadership. We all signed a card that Mustard had made up using the letter Blue and presented it to a tearful Jimmy. He told us that was his favorite letter.
Later that evening, Spud and Herbie disappeared. It wasn’t long before they came back with an outhouse. We needed a place to relieve ourselves. First, we all pitched in to dig a hole along the edge of the parking lot. Didn’t take long. I was really glad we made it deep. Those can get filled up in a hurry if you don’t. The night was spent spewing hate, eating smores, downing several six packs of Blatz and roasting some hotdogs. The fourth and fifth nights saw the reality of our plight settle in. The vitrolic hate speech gradually mellowed. Conversations were more on the subject of our families, what we were doing on the weekend, and how the fish were biting. Our numbers were dwindling also. On the fifth night the three of us who showed up decided this was it. The REALLY depressing thing was that I don’t think the public had any idea we were protesting. We had no media coverage. We even video taped the first night and sent it to all the local media. I believe the local media tossed it in the circular file. We tried escalating the protest the second night by closing the road in front of Jimmy’s. That didn’t work either. No vehicles came down the road. So ended the election of 2016 and our protest of the winner.
Now that I have declared the election to be over, I am back on the domestic beat. Picking up on the honey do items before the snow flies. My current wife walked in with a huge grin on her face. Her husband (me) asked, “Why are you so happy?” Sue says, “I’m 70 but the doctor just told me that I have the breasts of an eighteen year old.” “Oh yeah?” I quipped, “What did he say about your 70 old ass?” “Your name never came up!”
Did you know you can tell a lot about a woman’s mood just by her hands. For instance, if they are holding a gun, she’s probably angry.
When you’re sad you understand the lyrics. When you’re happy, you enjoy the music. My life is just a series of awkward and humiliating moments separated by snacks. The more I weigh, the harder I am to kidnap. Stay safe. Eat cake. And then sometimes I think, “Screw this. I’ll just be a stripper!” Then I remember I’m fat, male, and can’t dance.
“It’s not that I can and others can’t, it’s I did and others didn’t.” Remember your Vietnam Veterans – All gave some, some gave all!! Not everyone who lost his life in Vietnam died there, not everyone who came home from Vietnam ever left there.
If I can make at least one-person smile, or laugh till they leak, then my day was not wasted. Until we meet again -TA!