I’m a Writer ?


The following are words, that when I wrote them, seemed like a good idea at the time. My grammar ain’t that good, either is my punctuation(I use a lot of commas), and the chapters need to be moved around. Eventually, if I keep writing I’ll try to make some sense out of all this. As of now, this is not a book, novella, pamphlet, or anything that has meaning to anyone but me and possibly a few others. There are some truths woven within the obvious fiction. It’s something for me to do ‘in my spare time’.

I just had a thought. What if I write a lot more disconnected chapters and lease/sell them on the internet as a “Writing Game”. Allow Players to rearrange, add or subtract (within rules), and compete with others to write the best book. After an allotted amount of time, I would have a panel of distinguished literary experts decide who has edited my chapters into the most interesting reading and award the winner the highly coveted “Michael Trophy”, plus a selfie of the two of us.

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Does this mean that I’m for ‘logue’? Is there an anti-logue? It’s questions like this that keeps me up at night.

A while back, I sent my Daughter, ‘The Writer’, a humorous book title, to which she responded “Dad, you have to much time on your hands”, which happens to be true(I’m almost 77 years young). What I do have on my hands are ten fingers, unlike Anne Boleyn who supposedly had twelve. So, while I was listening to an audiobook, plus watching a muted sports event on the 22” tv next to my pc, I started typing. I have no idea where the words came from, and had no intention to continue writing more than a paragraph or three just to prove a point to ‘You Know Who’. The”point” appears to have festered.

Mark Twain said: “Writing is easy, all you have to do is cross out the wrong words”

Ch.1 — Ashley

It was loud, very loud, but none of the 200+ thirty- somethings (I’m guessing), didn’t seem to care as they danced(?) to what they thought was music. No one cared except me. I HATE loud unless it’s coming from my wife BJ during our lovemaking.

The 14,000 square foot home where the party was taking place has beautiful live plants that I swear were wilting before my eyes due to the music the D.J. played. That wouldn’t happen if he spun Chopin’s Nocturne in ‘E’. Now to be fair, the same result would occur if Wagner’s(the fascist) “Ride of the Valkyries” was played. If there’s such a person as a “Plant Whisperer”, he or she would prove me right. I’m usually right except at home where I’m not supposed to be right, ever. I’m a loving husband !

The 25–40+ year old Ashley (depending on which part of her you were looking at) was late as usual, and this was ‘Her Home’. Ashley has always been late since the day she was born. Her mother was pregnant almost ten months. Knowing Ash (that’s what I alone am allowed to call her), probably stayed inside an extra month on purpose.

I wasn’t there the day it happened, but I’m sure her first word was F****, the most used word in her home. I’ve been to the Grant home more times than I can remember, and the language used by her parents would have made Tony Soprano blush. They didn’t care who was there, and that was with or without alcohol. I do remember vividly what my parents said to me the first time I said THAT word, (I was five).

All of a sudden the music ceased, the guests stopped doing whatever the hell they were doing, and all eyes looked up as Ashley started her slow spiraling descend, bouncing off each side of the staircase without spilling a drop of the drink in her gloved hand. The glass was large enough to hold a miniature version of the Titanic and it definitely wasn’t her first. Half way down the staircase she stopped, and holding the glass as high as she could without falling, shouted to the crowd below “This drink is called the Ashley Grant Martini, Two Parts Gin & One Part Bitch”. She and all her guests laughed, the music started up, and the party continued.

Ch.2 — BJ

No first name, just initials(her father had a pornographic sense of humor). She doesn’t have long tanned shapely legs, beautiful natural wavy hair, haunting blue eyes, or small, but ‘perky breasts’. She can, and does hold her own in the looks dept. for a woman ** years old. What BJ does have is a Smile and a Heart that “Makes My Day”, every day. She’s my best friend, therapist, and overall fantastic person (I’m always looking for extra credit). The first thing I say to her every morning is “I’m Sorry”, in case I screw up doing the day. It’s smart to be proactive. BJ wasn’t my first wife and I wasn’t her first husband, but we both agree that this is going to be our last. Our previous relationships were learning opportunities, mine more than hers.

I call BJ ‘Honey’ most of the the time and she calls me different names in different languages(she speaks four), depending on her level of ‘Discontent’. I like discontent more than “Thoroughly Pissed Off”. I really don’t understand women if that’s possible, as to why men being men upsets them so much. She forgets that ‘I’m From Mars’. I could remind her of that but I don’t think that would be a great idea. Maybe I’ll leave a copy of the book with a rose on it (without thorns) when I leave the house before her one day. If you believe that would help, I’ve got a great deal on a bridge……

‘Honey’ has a grown son who’s either Saving the Whales, Building Homes with Jimmy Carter, or growing his business, which at the moment is a chain of Marijuana Dispensaries. I like him a lot ! The two of us get together about once a month, but the next day I can’t remember what we talked about, plus I gained two pounds. I’m sure our discussions are profound and that together we solved at least one of the world’s current problems. Next time we’re going to solve global warming, but I’ll need to lose two pounds first.

Ch.3 — Ralph

Oops, sorry, I don’t know any Ralph. Maybe I’ll meet one before I’m finished and expand this chapter. I would have erased this but I can’t find my bottle of whiteout. Even if I did I’m sure it’s all dried out.

Ch.4— Michael

That would be me. I don’t want to give you my last name, ’cause if I do, I’m sure someone will Google me and try to sell me Aluminum Siding. I’m six years older than BJ (you do the math). She would tell you if asked, that I’m better looking than Cary Grant, have a sense of humor as good as Billy Crystal’s, dance like Fred Astaire, and can answer every question on Jeopardy. It’s all true(almost).

Actually, I’m about six feet tall (I was 6’2”), and still would be if it wasn’t for Newton and his Apple Falling From a Tree S***, not bad looking, above average in most categories, and a good friend to those that choose to be my friend. I’m not quite perfect, yet. Actually, I don’t want to be perfect. Look what happened to the guy who was around 2000+ years ago.

As of this writing, I’m a quasi-mature senior who has experienced life at it’s best and ‘not-so-best’, doing as well as one could expect (yeah, for my age). My wife, and daughter from wife #1 have once again renewed their yearly contract for having me in their lives, so all is well. But as Scarlett said: “Tomorrow is another day”.

Ch5 — Ralph

Had a great workout this morning, then drove to the market to purchase bread(100% whole wheat), and a half-pound of ‘Boar’s Head’ Black Forest Ham. The Deli guy’s name tag said (you guessed it), RALPH. Is that enough for a whole chapter? I’m new to writing and don’t know the rules. It wouldn’t matter if I did since I never was good at following rules. I walk to the’ Beat of my own Drum’. The Deans at all my schools knew me and my parents extremely well. I’m surprised they never invited us to dinner.

Q: Why did God direct ‘His Chosen People’ to the ONLY place where there was no oil, and to add insult to injury, surround them with millions of people who want them dead. Great Joker that God. I’ll have to ask ‘Her’ about that when we meet. I’m sure everyone that ascends want’s an audience, so I had better take my worn copy of War and Peace. Is there a library there? Never mind.

CH.6— Florida

Fourteen years I dwelled in the land of heat, humidity, and 1000’s of Cadillacs driven 20 mph by people with no heads. This group is the opposite of vampires, disappearing when the sun goes down, only to rise again and convene at ‘The Rascal House’ for breakfast. The women, some over 5’1(HGH), carry handbags that wouldn’t fit in the overhead of a 747. It’s a requirement for the rolls and lox piled high on their plates from three trips to the buffet. You could always tell if they were left or right-handed when they left by the weight . God bless them! My mother was a member of the tribe.

I’ve seen ads for classes in “Extreme Couponing’. People, mostly women, pay money to learn how to use scissors. Maybe I should go to Florida and advertise classes in ‘Extreme Handbagging’. I could teach attendees how best to line their handbags with my ‘patented’ odorless imported plastic liners with separate compartments for rolls, lox, pickles, and last but not least, rugelach. Can you say “Franchise”. Maybe I should apply to ‘Shark Tank’ for financing. Let’s see, $200,000 for 10% of my company. I would go as high as 15%. The downside is that it’s Florida. Every time I hear someone say that they’re moving to Florida, I respond, “Why, did you lose a bet ?”.

Florida has an insect called a ’palmetto bug’, that when flying, can block the sun, If grilled can feed four. Chocolate covered ants are much more tempting. As soon as I graduated college I burned my Florida Passport and moved West. I said ‘goodbye’ to the Atlantic and ‘hello’ to the Pacific and never looked back. No one noticed.

Ch.7 — Alan

Alan, Ashley and Robert’s father and I met during a small study group in a class long forgotten. I was studying Engineering, and Alan was studying as little as possible. He had a small trust fund that was doled out predicated on his attending college. We hit it off right away. I didn’t care that he had money, and he didn’t care that I didn’t. I didn’t see him much back then except on weekends. Al spent more time at the beach than class, and ‘poor me’ had to study and work.

Alan dropped out after two years with an advanced degree in tanning, went home, and started as a Vice President in the family business. Surprisingly, he found his calling and earned the title. Eventually, he convinced the family to go public and Al soon became a very rich man. Unfortunately, he lost his tan. But not to worry, he married his highschool sweetheart, had two kids and moved back to Miami to open a new division catering to South America. He even learned Spanish, and spoke it like a native. ‘Stella got her Groove back” and Alan got his tan back. Life is good. I graduated and moved to California to make My Fortune. I did make a fortune as long as you downgraded the definition.

Ch.8 — Michael (again)

It’s hard for me to believe, BUT some of my close friends and family feel that I have a few areas of imperfectness they would like moi to address. They all agree that I have habits/traits that drive them crazy. In some cases, it’s a very short drive. Sadly, I agree with them. None accept “It’s my evil twin, not the wonderful me!” I see it, why can’t they?

They are:

  1. I always digress when talking or explaining something. They fail to appreciate that digressing is an art form and they’re not good at it. When I digress it’s because there’s a sub-point(s) that needs to be addressed. Is it really my fault if they can’t follow my explanation? Maybe I should only converse with Mensa members.

2) I don’t pay attention when others are speaking. Maybe I would if they say something more than “ Look at the latest 100 pictures of my grandchildren”

3) This IS the worst, and as truth be told, one I can’t stand either, ‘I interrupt when others are speaking. It’s a rude habit that runs in the family which is not an excuse. In my behalf, I attended three sessions of “Interrupters Anonymous” but was asked to leave the group after interrupting the facilitator three times while he was ‘working’ with others. I was just trying to help. “Se La Vie”.

Q: What would happen if I interrupted God while he/she was talking? Maybe I should pay attention to this habit. I can change! (another bridge for sale ?).

For most of my life I’ve been a world class Procrastinator. If it still holds true I’m going to live a long time. BJ says that my favorite word is “later”. So, when she want’s me to do something like clean the grout, I have to agree to a “Will be done by date”, and it gets done. I’m Wonderful !

True Story: Back in the ‘60’s I bought a book on procrastination at a garage sale for $.25 and true to form never opened it. I did pack and move it 8–10 times before I donated it among 100 other books to my Library’s used book store. Before I packed this very ‘informative’ book I wrote an inscription on the inside cover that read:

“Do Not Read, Keep The Tradition Alive”

More(?), Maybe later when I’m not Procrastinating !


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