Life is good, until it's not. Love is great, until it's lost. Faith is earned, until it's spent, then all you have, is one months rent. Things you own, become a burden, while things you need, become unknown.

It's called getting old and stupid, and your next steps will be critical to your survival, if that's what you choose.

As New Years day approaches I got to thinking about the woman in my life that I spent a decade and a half together with, mostly in Idaho. We initially hooked up together on New Years day, a long time ago in Kent Washington. I was the transit supervisor and she was the receptionist.

We fell apart after the move to Tennessee, mostly my part, and then we lost touch. So I sent her a text message tonight.

She got back to me about her recent heart attack and surgery, which after talking to my son tonight, I already knew about, but had forgotten.

God it's hard being old with a damaged brain and a shaking body. Anyway, I sent her my old love.

I just had a great chat with my son and his oldest of two young daughters back in Washington State. She calls me Popa Jim. Here's a picture of the two of them tonight.

We've got a major cold front heading our way down here to Florida, from the North. They're predicting that it might drop below 32°, OMFG!

I think I'm better prepared than most around here though, as I still have my big heavy insulated coat from Idaho. I drove a transit bus at the base of the Grand Tetons for over a decade, and I've put in many days of transporting folks in wheelchairs, and kids to school, in -40° weather.

This coat is so massive and insulated that I'll probably sweat my ass off just walking around wearing it, as this scary major cold front approaches...

It's a very nice late December afternoon here in Pensacola, warm and sunny after a couple days of rain.

I love DoorDash, if I was younger with a vehicle, I'd be a Dasher. A lanky black guy with a great smile just Dashed me on the porch. We chatted and had a fun interaction, while his partner sat idling out on the street.

I went walking this morning, around 0800, knowing that if I don't keep using my legs, I will lose them shortly. I went West for a change, along the big busy five lane street, then came back through new neighborhoods.

I read something somewhere recently, that taking a walk through a new place can inspire a sense of awe at the simple things around you, and give you some peace, if you embrace it.

I think it worked, and now I'm just sitting in the Cave while I still can, watching football, wondering what's next down the road.

Shelby and I had a rockin Summer this year. Relocation, events, parties, bars, beaches and even the fucking Blue Angels performing over their home base here in Pensacola, FL.

We even drove across Florida to Daytona Beach and down to Orlando to be with Riley's family.

On more than one occasion I had beautiful breasts thrust into my drunken face, from professional married women, with their professional husbands standing by smiling, and probably nursing a hardon until they get their women back to bed.

And then Shelby met Dan, and my truck, the final love of my old life, died. Parts were stripped off her and she has probably ended up as a crushed square block of metal, glass and rubber by now.

Much like my relationships lately...

If you are a follower of this blog, you're probably wondering what the old fool is going to do next?

Right now I'm watching I-10 onramp merging traffic, which is something I have always aspired to do!

The homeless merge with the successful around here, and behind me is a mostly black neighborhood. One that I walked shirtless and very tan last Summer, and where I became a friendly fixture.

Now my moving out plans ain't doing well, so unless it changes in a few days, I'm going to be staying here one more month. I'll put a good chunk of my SS towards the rent, and move one step closer to Spring.

I've created a new word, shubered! It stands for Should Have Ubered, which is the past tense and past participle of Uber.

I missed my brain MRI scan appointment this morning. I was all showered and dressed up, ready to get the inside of my head looked at and recorded. Then eventually talk to the neurologist and get a real assessment of what's going on with my fucking brain.

My ride couldn't make it this morning (god I miss my truck), so I called the place to cancel and talked to Miss Cathy. She said there were no new openings until next year, and if I bailed on today, I would be charged $25.

But, if I made the appointment somehow on time, there would be no charge, and my insurance would cover the cost of the MRI completely. Otherwise I could be charged more for the fucking thing as my insurance rolls into next year, in less than a week.

The appointment was at 1000, and I found out I needed to work out a Uber ride, at 0930. I've never taken an Uber ride in my life, but I had an account buried somewhere on my phone, and on my laptop.

By the time I actually could press a button and book my first Uber ride, from here to Airport fucking Road, it was almost 1000. So I called back Cathy and canceled. She was a real nice woman and it was great to have pleasant human contact.

As to the MRI, maybe life is telling me I don't need to know, and to realize that the actions I take now, with my brain in the state that it's in, are going to become my new reality.

I've signed up with another Room Rental service, still looking at Biloxi, MS options, and I've had a couple hits. I honestly believe the best thing I can do now is to rent a U-Haul, get all of my stuff out of here, and free the place up for Shelby to cancel the lease, and move on.

We would be just a few hours away, and if we felt the urge to connect, we could. Life moves on...

I fed the phrase Should Have Ubered into Microsofts new AI called CoPilot, and got this.

As I was coming out into the Cave this evening, I tripped on something, and fell forward. Fortunately, the memory foam bed from my old dead truck bed, that I've been sleeping on for a while out here, was right in front of me and I landed on it.

I scraped my knee but otherwise I was fine, and then I just laid there and laughed. It's tough being a deplorable, ungrateful, disrespectful, toxic and drunken old man. But thankfully I had a bed that I had custom made for my truck, to land on.

My phone has an app on it that notifies my selected emergency contact if I fall, but it doesn't work if I'm in my pajamas and the phone is on the table. Besides, I need to change that contact, but not sure who to.

My son Riley called tonight and he had a good Christmas. His grandmother, my long time friend in her nineties was coming over for dinner tonight, and he was cooking. She has enough money to now live in an assisted living place that maintains her independence, and I'm happy for her. His daughter Ariella's eye condition is improving and she's seeing a specialist shortly.

I have survived my seventy eight Christmas, I still have the teddy bear given to me when I was born, and life is still all right, until it ain't.

I enjoy spending the afternoons out on the comphy chair facing the freeway, as the sun fades into the West. I've got my drink on the small table on the right, next to the almost dead plant that Shelby bought at the market a couple of months ago, and I've got a good stone on.

My laptop, which normally sits in the darkness of the cave, is on my lap with a large text showing in the text editor.

Today's been a good day so far, after waking up with horrible pain and tremors in my legs. I'm grateful to be alive and still have legs though, as Christmas Eve approaches.

Btw, this is not a pity post, which I'm known to do on occasion. I know I could be up at Dan and Shelby's place, but I really don't mind Christmas alone, did it several times up in Tennessee.

I walked up to McDonalds and had a fish sandwich and fries at 1100 this morning. Crossing that busy main Pensacola street is a real challenge, but I did it twice today, and survived.

Then I bought some basic supplies at Publix and walked them back home. There wasn't much to eat in the house, and I can now get by thru this holiday.

People are in a decent Christmas mood, but I don't know what's going on with the fat black girls behind the fast food counters around here. They all seem to be in a pissed off, I don't want to be here, mode, and I guess I can't blame them.

I actually have an appointment the day after tomorrow for a CAT scan. Even though Shelby and I are not in a good place, she's still taking me to these appointments.

My neighbor Dan walked by yesterday with a cute little rescue dog as I was sitting on the steps. He said that we would be watching him as they traveled to Colorado. I thought his use of the word we was interesting, he obviously didn't know that Shelby has been moved out for quite a while now.

So to you reading this blog Post, I hope this holiday is going good for you, and wtf, Merry Christmas!

No idea what I'm doing tomorrow, but it's ok, it's what I have chose, and at least I ain't getting raped in the ass. Pure honesty flows from my fingers here on this blog, but I made that one up, btw.

I had a very profound revelation tonight. I've been living my life as the strong together man I used to be, but I am so far from that place, and until now I haven't accepted it.

I've been thinking I am right, and that everyone else is wrong about me. The truth is, I have been wrong about everything.

I saw an old man at the doctors office today, and he was walking like I do, only worse. I asked him how old he was and he said eighty nine.

There he was standing at the counter taking care of his own medical business with nobody supporting him, and I was humbled in his presence.

I need to figure out a way to stop feeling sorry for myself, and to embrace my life and the people that still care.

I got an EEG (electroencephalogram) today from a big ol bearded tech named Josh. He stuck sensors all over my head, next to my left eye and on my chest. Then he put a strobe light in front of my face and told me to lay back, close my eyes and relax.

For fourteen minutes he scanned my brain in silence, then he flashed intense colored lights at my closed eyes for a couple minutes, and the test was done.

He then ran a warm wet towel over my head to remove the sticky stuff and I felt like I was getting a facial at a massage parlor. I asked him how my brain looked and he said he wasn't allowed to comment, but I looked him in the eye, and he showed no emotion, so I guess I still have one.

Josh asked me about my Parkinsons and laughed when I told him I need to slip into a giant rubber and service horny female elephants at the zoo.

When I got back to Shelby's car out front, I told her about my first EEG and she said I had one up in Tennessee, that I absolutely don't remember.

Next up is a CAT scan and I assume I will get a diagnosis afterwards from the head doctor.

I think the truth is, there is no cure for Parkinsons. I will eventually get the external shakes, and then just live with it until I don't.

A funny thing did happen at the skin doctor place today. I was escorted into the exam room by a cute young guy whose job was to finish out the medical data grab.

As I sat in their big layed back chair, he sat across from me, feeding info into his tablet. He asked me if I was allergic to anything, and I said Mistletoe.

Suddenly he looked up at me, we locked eyes and he broke into a smile. He got it, laughed, and said he would have to use that one.

What a crazy time as we humans allow ourselves to be stupid, based on our childhood experiences. Well, not me, I'm an old motherfucker, and the last time I really bought this bullshit was when my brother was being abducted by aliens up in the mountains, and possibly me to.

I've been thinking about that a lot lately, as bright swirling plasma orbs enter our space. I always thought it was just my brother that was taken that night, maybe I was too, and injected with one of those alien blood types you see on the net.

It sure would explain the insane life I have led. Maybe I gained my intelligence from them. I've been a really smart guy now for decades.

When I entered the Navy back in the Vietnam era, I sat in a big room full of a couple hundred other young guys taking what I think was called the General Qualification Test.

They wanted to find out who their smart ones were. Guess who had the highest score in the room...

I totally fucked that thing up when I sneaked out of boot camp one night with a buddy, to hang out in San Diego. When I faced the brass in a court marshal later, they told me how I scored and wished me the best, and I was honorably discharged.

I went on to live a very crazy life and became a computer genius for decades. Now I sit here alone and depressed in a Florida garage that I want to call home, but I can't.

Being intelligent, I came up with this idea to move into the garage/cave and free up the two bedrooms for renters to move in to, and salvage Shelby's lease on this place.

That idea has been unfortunately shot down, because who would want to rent a room in a beautiful home with a crazy old man living in the garage.

I understand completely, because after all, I am smart.

I'm not a fan of Christmas. I don't own a stocking to hang anywhere, I'm allergic to mistletoe, reindeers on roofs freak me out, and I was drugged at an Oakland, CA Xmas party back in the seventies, and fucked by a guy with a big white beard. He claimed he was Santa delivering presents, but I think he was a biker.

I found a package at the front door this morning and thought it was for Shelby, but it was for me!

It was from my dear long time friend Beryl, living in Hawaii. There was a great tee shirt, which I'm going to wear to my skin cancer removal thing this afternoon, how fitting.

There was also a beautiful small lap blanket and a Hawaiian mug, which is now my new favorite cup. Topped off with a Christmas card that said she has read my blog, I think completely.

Merry Christmas my friend, you have been one of the most important people in my life, and you still care. I love you!

No matter how much good comes a mans way, there is a limit to how much beratement he can endure, before it breaks him. Consider me now broken.

I've recently been accused of doing it again. I'm not sure what it is, but I suspect it was my demise in Tennessee where I stopped eating and drank myself to a stroke, and near death.

What I am beginning to understand, is that beratement doesn't solve the problem. Sometimes all one needs is an arm around them and being told it's all right, that they can make it through it.

As opposed to being told what a worthless piece of shit you are, and how many people love you and want you to be all right, and how you're letting them all down.

The yelling and the drama do nothing more then establish the fact that you really are a worthless piece of drunken shit.

Sometimes all one needs is faith, encouragement, and a belief that you can succeed and get better. To berate someone, assuming that's what they need to get better, only drives them to dispair.

I loved my older brother. As white orbs are replacing drones in the rhetoric, I remember vividly the white orb that hovered over our campground in the mountains as he was abducted back in the mid-fifties.

When he was living with his wife and son in Sacramento, before he ended up in a mental nursing home, he would lay on his bed and leave his body for days. The last time I saw him he looked me wildly in the eyes, and spoke about the amazing things and places he had seen.

I watched something on TicTok today, talking about death. After it happens, your family and friends, if you have any left, will mourn for a bit and then accept that your gone, and move on.

It spoke about living your life to it's fullest in the end, for yourself, not for those you left behind. I need to live one more time fully, not fall on my knees and beg the people around me for forgiveness and survival, and then die.

I started my first Blog when Steph and I landed at that beautiful log home with a hottub at the base of the Grand Tetons in Idaho, around 2010. The Mormon Salt Lake City hosting company didn't like me using the word fuck, so I said fuck them.

I ended up with IONOS, who have been hosting my blogs for a long time now. The Idaho blog was built around a WordPress platform that allowed Comments and used their default template which couldn't adapt to new cell phone technology. So I switched to one that could, ended it, and moved to Tennessee.

Here's the first BusDriverJim Post, from June 19, 2011, Vegas Trouble. The new template lost a lot of images, but at least it looks ok on a phone now.

As I started OldManJim I discovered the Joomla platform, which this blog is built around, and it's been amazing. I don't know if you've noticed, but this is a pretty bad ass blog, and I'm very proud of it.

I've been able to write custom code that integrates into it, with a bunch of cool apps I built around it. The platform provides the structure and management of everything else.

Joomla is an open-source project and has become one of the most popular content management systems in the world. A lot of people are still contributing to it, while I just enjoy using it, in my own way.

Image created with AI, by me...

I just talked to Riley and got the full medical scoop on Ariella. She's been suffering from high fevers lately, so the doctors recommended having her tonsils removed. Excuse me, but wtf?

So they did that, and then she started suffering from a cross-eyed condition. Her beautiful eyes are one of her best traits, it may have been a neurological issue, so they took her to the ER last night.

There was some concern that she may have been suffering from a rare condition as a result of the tonsil surgery, and they did the CT scan. Turns out she is not, thank god.

The next recommendation was to see an eye doctor, but the soonest they could get in was July. Excuse me, but wtf?

The doctor from last night put in a priority request, so hopefully she can get in much sooner.

I got a text at 0115 last night from my phone sitting on the small table next to the bed. I assumed it was someone from the place finder site I had signed up for yesterday, so I let it sit.

After a few minutes I was awake and checked it out. It was from my son Riley back in the Seattle area. He was at the hospital with his three year old, Ariella, my second favorite grandchild, who was suffering complications from a recent surgery and was undergoing a CT scan.

He and I both didn't sleep well last night, but the scan came back OK. Something is going on with her and I don't have all the details, but please send her some love.

She is absolutely the prettiest and smartest child I probably have ever known. She has to be OK!

I'm thinking about moving on from here, again, as everything has changed.

Shelby dropped by this afternoon and we chatted in the Cave for a while. We talked about the future, and finding a way for her to get out of six more months of lease on this place, or sublet it.

We talked about life, and she and Dan are doing great, living up the road near the Naval base. She knows how I'm doing because all I do is blog about it.

Usually it's just she and Riley that see my most crazy posts before I take them down. But she told me today that people love to read my shit, so I just put the most latest trashed ones back up. Keep on reading if you're interested.

I really should stop writing about my life and then trashing the words. Fuck that! I have to admit though, I have written some Posts about my sexuality that I really should have swept from the Internet sooner. Anyway, fuck that too.

Honesty came up today in my chat with Shelby. You know what my friends, I'm the most honest person I know!

I value the truth to my core. I speak honestly to everyone I know and meet, and in this blog. I have no agenda going on, I'm just an old man who want's to be honest about who I really am, before I can't, and my life slips away, only to be forgotten.

Image created with AI, by me...

I saw a Neurologist recently and told him my biggest concern was the nonstop Parkinsons vibrations emanating up into my upper body from my legs. I'm already on three meds and I was very pleased when he said it was a vitamin deficiency.

So I ordered high quality, high dosage bottles of the two he recommended, online from Walgreens. They had a buy one get one free deal going on for both of them, and I started taking them. I incorporated them into my morning and evening routine more than a week ago, and looked forward to some relief.

Here's the results: the vibrations have not eased up, and are getting stronger every day.

I've transported many folks with Parkinsons, and their constant physical shaking has always saddened me. I'm afraid that these vibrations will finally bring me to that state, and it looks like there may be no cure.

Image created with AI, by me...

I just saw a commercial on the big flat screen here in the dark Cave. It said What gets you going in the morning? What brightens your day?

I have no idea what they were selling, but I had to laugh, then mumble softly, Nothing, and nothing...

The first thing I do in the morning is put my warms on and walk carefully down a bunch of carpeted stairs. Then I grab the Protein drink I made the night before from the fridge, my pills off the counter, and enter the Cave.

When the weather is warm, the Cave is warm, but lately it hasn't been, so I turn on my little space heater. I'm usually dehydrated and nutrition starved so the protein, meds and vitamins get my body going, once again.

Then I wake my laptop up and plug my phone and watch in, and I sit there asking myself what the fuck I'm going to do that day, and I usually have no answer.

If Shelby has notified me of an upcoming medical appointment, I get myself ready and go do it.

Other than that I just waste my life away, eating whatever junk I've brought into this empty house, watch TV, then drink and blog.

Sometimes I walk, or ride my single speed bike, to get supplies. Sometimes I just walk around the blocks because I can, and need to. Some days I never leave the house.

I no longer drive the country to enjoy sex, drugs and rock and roll. Those days are long over, now I just survive.

If you're tired of this pathetic blathering and want to bail from this blog, please go ahead and do it now!

Most of my family is dead, and the rest want nothing to do with me. Somehow my grand-daughter Shelby and my son Riley have held in there, and quite frankly are the only reason I'm still alive.

I'm not looking for any fucking sympathy here, because I don't deserve it, and I'm a fortunate old fool that I still have some left. Otherwise I would have exploded into the Other Side a while ago.

I want to stay alive now, so I can watch Trump and his heroes repair this Country, which I love and respect. I need to stay around at least 4-8 years to watch that happen, and hopefully more.

I want to come face to face with the Aliens that destroyed my older brothers life when we were kids, and ask them why.

I want to watch Shelby succeed with her dream, and build a dynasty. I want to watch Riley's daughters grow up to be amazing women, in a Country that has it together powerfully, honestly and transparently. I want to watch them all build their own dynasties.

My longest friend Sherry who I've known since 1971, when we worked together in San Leandro, CA, and lived together several times over many decades, follows this blog. She will occasionally send me long emails with suggestions on how to fix my life.

Her most recent one suggested, once again, that I attend AA, maybe meet a potential roommate, and help each other stay sober. Great advice Skoge, but I need to figure out another way.

Image created with AI, by me...

I've lived my long life, unafraid. As a result I've taken many chances that put it at risk, and fortunately I'm still here almost eighty years later.

I'm proud of that fact, and I feel empathy for those who are afraid to go for it. You only have one shot at this experience and if you let fear get in the way, you will lose.

So I sit here now, still unafraid, but running out of options and reasons to proceed.

We need to live our final days for ourselves, not because our demise will cause our loved one's grief.

We all die and hopefully we reconnect on the other side, but who knows, it's called life. We can't force ourselves to keep going because our death will cause pain to others.

We have to finish it on our own terms, unafraid, or end up like this.

Or this.

Images created with AI, by me...

I'm sitting in the Cave today, thinking of my first trip to Roatan Honduras. I was living alone in Tennessee at the time, had some money and decided to take my first Cruise.

I picked up a good deal on a 7-Day Caribbean run, drove to the Nashville airport, parked my truck there and flew to Florida.

It was a great cruise, fun adventures, and it bottomed out down in Roatan before returning home.

As I got off the boat I was approached by a flurry of cab drivers, so I picked one out and jumped in. He smiled, spoke English, and asked what I wanted to do.

I told him first I wanted to get high, then drive around to meet people. We stopped at his house where he got me stoned, then we drove to his brothers house, where I went inside and bought some more. Then we cruised around and hung out until I had to get back to the ship.

Here's a few shots from that day.

The cab driver and I sat at the end of this pier and got stoned one last time, before he drove me back to the ship. I left the rest of the baggie with him...

My son Riley is forty years younger than me. I held him in my arms when he was born at SF General in the City, before his mother did.

He's become a top Auto Body Technician in the Seattle area, landed a good woman, and has two beautiful young girls.

Tomorrow is his birthday, and I just want to send a loving shout out to my boy, Dad.

I've been seeing these things embedded in the sidewalks around this Pensacola neighborhood, and I don't know their purpose.

Actually I don't care about much anymore, just curious.

Image created with AI, by me...

We humans fuckup a lot. We live as fully as we can, knowing that we only have one shot at this, and fuckups happen.

Our current position is based on how serious those fuckups were, and how the world around us deals with them. If we're lucky we don't fuckup so bad that it ruins our lives, or ruins others.

Every great person in our human history has handled their fuckups well and succeeded. Every down and out person we see on the street, or those doing life in prison, have not. The rest of us are living in the middle of fuckup land, hoping it doesn't happen again, but knowing that it will.

I fucked up a thousand times as I approach eighty. Sometimes the people around me ceased to be around me, because of it. Then I just keep moving forward until the next one.

I look at myself honestly in the mirror and know I'm a good person. I've tried to live a decent honest life, without hate, or hurtfulness, but sometimes I fuckup.

As Pensacola, FL unfolds around me daily, I think about the fuckups that landed me here. There were a bunch and somehow, thanks to my limited family, I'm still on my feet.

And I'm not fucking up as bad lately. My last big fuckup was getting dead drunk at the end of my local bar a while back. Poor me, I'd lost my truck, my mobility and my pride, so I fucked up and drank.

I didn't get stupid, I saw a video of me leaving the bar and all I could do was hold my old head down and stumble out the door, with a friends help.

A lot was lost with that fuckup, and now I just have to deal with it.

Image created with AI...

It's Pearl Harbor day, again. My dad was stationed on a ship there when the Japs struck. He and I never got to spend much time together, but I remember him telling me about scraping burned bodies off the deck that day, eighty three years ago, five years before I was born.

I don't remember if he ever met my Japanese wife Marci, or even how he felt about them. Now it doesn't matter. Maybe I'll see his spirit again, and I can ask.

This house is empty, again. Poor old Molly's unfixable incontinence became a real issue, and they're now moving to a place with a fenced back yard and a German Shepard to hang out with, until she dies.

I have no idea what's going to happen next, once again.

Image created with AI, by me...

I decided to clean up my crowded desktop and move a bunch of new folders full of photos over to my small hard drive. I've done this before across several desktops, and I have thousands of photos on that little drive.

Here's just a few that I ran across before adding more:

Me playing in the Grand Teton snow.

Me hunkered down in winter alone at the Idaho cabin.

Me as a pot grower down in Carmel Valley in the Seventies.

My dad and mom, right after World War II.

My moms mother and father.

My younger sister, older brother, and me.

My daughter, sister, brothers son, my Japanese wife, and me.

Me and Riley.

Me and Riley.

Amy getting her newspaper tit sucked. (reporters for the Teton Valley News).

Watching my grandfather paint a sign.

It's been a good day. Ordered the new vitamins online at Walgreens I need for tremors, had a great breakfast at the Cup, walked up to Walgreens, cleaned up my desktop, and then posted this.

My new roommate is moving on. His wonderful dog Molly, who I have become very fond of, can't control her bowels. He's found a place with a fenced backyard for her, which is what she needs.

I tried to step up and volunteer to walk her, but the general consensus is that I can't handle her if she gets aggressive with another dog. She's staying home with me tomorrow so I will enjoy her while I can, and then they will be gone.

But walking her around the neighborhood is out of the equation, so I will just give her some love, which she enjoys, let her shit where she wants, and wait for the next possible roommate to enter the scene.

Hey, I'm grateful for a roof over my head, other than that I control nothing.

There was a 7.0 earthquake off the Northern California coast today. That's a big one and they're on Tsunami watch now. I know that area, worked and traveled a lot up there.

I lived in the Bay Area for many years, and I experienced a bunch of big quakes. I spent three years working on two computer systems for Interocean Steamship, on the tenth floor of the California building in downtown San Francisco, and we had some good ones.

Those old brick buildings would rock back and forth real hard, fortunately they never came down. One time I was in the computer room and saved a big piece of expensive IBM hardware from crashing into the wall.

The irony is that there is more tech in a cell phone now, than a thousand of those boxes then. We had a one megabyte hard drive the size of a refrigerator that costs fifty grand...

I'm heading to the Coffee Cup for breakfast tomorrow at 0600. I haven't been eating well these days, other than the Benedicts downtown yesterday, and I'm hungry.

Eggs over easy, homemade corned beef hash, hash browns and a big fat pancake, all cooked in front of me by the old black guy on a flat iron stove. Amazing food...

Anyone care to join me? If not I'll sit at the counter and watch my breakfast cooked in front of me. The waitresses wear short shorts, all with great legs, some covered in tats.

I watched a para-transit style bus drive by today, and it brought back great memories. More than two decades in that business will do that to you, and I wondered if I could drive again. With my background I'm sure I could get hired in a heartbeat.

The problem is, I'm old, I walk funny, and I don't even think I could push a wheelchair, much less strap one down. I used to be a road supervisor, and I wouldn't even hire me.

I know all of my loyal viewers of this blog are wondering where my grand-daughter roommate savior Shelby is. I'm sorry, but I can't say much here because I respect her privacy.

What I will say though, is that she met a great guy, Navy vet, owns a gun store and has a young teen daughter that he shares with his ex.

They fell in love and she moved in with them. Now she's trying to start her own business and is meeting with the lenders today. Please send positive vibes her way!

Shelby used to have millionaires courting her, and was in a relationship with a Navy Commander, but she ends up falling deep for this guy.

I have a great feeling about them, I see a dynasty forming.

I have no control of my laptop desktop anymore. I've filled it up to to the max, I have no room left, and I've totally lost track of what I have there.

I've got folders full of shit, that I don't remember putting there. Photos and text mostly, a lot of which has made the blog, but the rest I don't know.

I should probably just do a Ctrl A and delete the whole fucking desktop, but I lack the balls.

Speaking of which, I should probably have my blog removed, ground up, and injected into my prostate. The words are totally useless at this point and just getting in the way.

It's tough being an old man. I remember what it was like to be a real man, I could fuck a women to a great orgasim, and be proud to do so.

Now it's been a decade or more since I've been with a women, and I don't care anymore.

Fuck it...

I loved you and it has been a privilege and a true pleasure to have known you. We've had great travels and adventures together for the last fifteen or more years, and I'm so sorry you are dead.

You were recently hauled off to the junkyard and stripped down to parts, after blowing your engine. The final step occurred today as I spent three hours at the Florida DMV getting your registration and plate retired from the system. You now officially no longer exist.

I had to do this before Dec 9th or my drivers license would have been suspended. So I walked into downtown this morning, joined the DMV que and then had Eggs Benedict at the Ruby Slipper. A couple hours later you were declared dead to the State of Florida.

Goodbye Jill.

Those are my grandmothers blankets btw, which are now on my bed.

Neurology deals with the diagnosis and treatment of diseases involving the nervous system, which comprises the brain, the spinal cord and the peripheral nerves.

Shelby drove me to, and sat in on, our first visit with neurologist Henry Porter. It was at a medical building in a busy area of Pensacola and the place was hopping at 1305.

I loved the guy, older, real, funny, and he wasn't pushing a pill agenda. But he did recommend a couple of over the counter vitamins, B12 and Magnesium Glycinate.

He had my medical records, he knows about my fall and strokes and whatever. He had my blood work from the new Primary care doctor that I saw here a while back.

It looks like, thanks to Shelby, that I am now integrated into the medical system around here. Copays are low as are the meds, and I have great insurance.

I've also run out of reasons to piss and moan about the sorry state of my old Parkinsons body and damaged brain.

I went into this meeting with an attitude, I was going to demand an MRI, find out why my body vibrates every second of my life, why are my legs giving out, and why do I always have a dull ache on the top of my head?

I told him what my issues were, then he's looking at my chart, checking my heart and lungs with his scope, and putting me through some physical tests.

Then he tells me I'm in good shape for a 78 year old guy with Parkinsons, and I ain't nearly that bad as I whine to the world that I am.

He recommended medical marijuana from a local place for the vibrations, and a skin doctor to cut the Basal Cell off my head to stop the headache. We made appointments for an MRI and something else.

Shelby mentioned vodka, and he said Yea, cut that stuff out too. Maybe there is still hope for me, quit feeling pathetic and worthless, stop drinking, and get a life again.

Life is interesting here in the Cave. Big old Molly the dog is in the living room laying on the covered couch. I tried hard to coax her outside this morning, to no avail.

Later on I picked up four big stinky turds off the floor inside the front door. Then I convinced this big old beautiful dog to let me slide a dog chain around her neck, walk her out to the grass at the Cave back door, and take a piss. It went fine.

As the sun came around the building she and I were hanging out on the porch. I had the front yard dog cord around her neck, and we were just chillin.

Suddenly two Pensacola cops came into the grassy area below the onramp where John lives, from opposite directions, right in front of us. They approached my neighbor in a friendly manner and had a nice chat.

About a half hour later John is still walking back and forth between the cops, up to his onramp home and back, while they chat from their drivers windows.

Molly and I were watching intently, but nothing happened, the cops drove away, and John climbed up into his miserable room for the night.

Homeless life in America sucks, and a lot of our citizens suffer. There is only one recourse, we help them turn their remaining moments alive into something of value, and they can pass on with some dignity.

I have a new roommate named Rodney. He comes from a law enforcement family and was an officer for a while. The rewards were not stacking up to the effort so he moved on. Now he's got his own power washing business.

We had a very nice get to know each other chat in the living room of our shared place last night. Swapped a few stories and had a couple good laughs, I think we'll get along just fine.

We talked about women, the bane of the male human species, and how our attraction to them provides the continuation of our species. How did we evolve to this amazing physical state of reproduction?

Hitting a strip club together in the future, also came up. I said I'd think about it, as I stumbled towards the stairs leading up to my bedroom, hoping I can make it up there...

I feel fucking miserable, I'm not enjoying life, and I should just be put down. Why doesn't our society treat us old hurting people like we do our animals?

I remember my cat Piper's life before I ended her suffering, and she was fucking miserable. I held her while the vet injected her with death. She let out a loud goodbye meow and went limp in my arms. It was the hardest thing I've done within recent memory.

I took her back to my little home in Tennessee and buried her below my front window. Then I drove up to the nursery and bought a beautiful small bush and planted it over her.

There was nobody there but me as I said goodbye. A couple weeks later as I was getting out of bed, she called out from the other side with a loud peaceful meow that echoed thru the house. It came from the direction of my old desk where she used to lay, watching the creek and the wildlife below.

It was her way of saying thank you, that she was free from misery, and that she was still out there, and happy.

Shelby say's I need to get out there, do stuff, make new friends! You bet my sweet grand-daughter, I'll stagger right on that. Hey, I got a short bike ride in yesterday and didn't fall over, but that's about all I've got left.

In the meantime I'm seeing a local neurologist tomorrow. I wonder if it's going to be one of those sit there and listen to your issues visits, perscribe some new meds, then send you out the door to Walgreens.

Or can I get a real solution out of it? And it ain't about quiting the shit that gets me drunk and stoned. All that does is soften everything and make it bearable while I wait for the needle, which is obviously not coming.

AI takes your query and performs hundreds of millions of evaluations within milliseconds of every word you write, or ask, against the massive amount of human knowledge that it already knows, which is increasing exponentially every millisecond.

I started my computer journey in 1969 at the old Merritt College on Grove St in Oakland, CA. I took the only computer courses they offered, which involved antiquated sorting equipment, with wires!

For the next couple years I expanded my knowledge base, and just when I was getting ready to graduate with an AA degree in computer science, IBM released the System 3, Mod 10. It was a revolutionary mini-computer aimed at small businesses, and they developed a language called RPG, which stood for, of all things, Report Program Generator. But they had nobody available to write software for their business clients.

Then Merritt College purchased one as I was ready to graduate. I was running the lab at that time, I said the hell with graduation, and stayed on for one more year.

I mastered that machine. I learned RPG as it evolved into an amazing computer language, I developed software that ran the schools accounting, then I graduated with a three year AA degree.

As I hit the SF Bay Area market I landed at a medical billing outfit, where a brilliant woman taught me Level Breaks in Cobol. I transferred that technique into RPG and my career took off as a Sys 3 consultant across the Bay Area.

I had amazing adventures through the seventies that would fill a book. When the early eighties arrived I embraced the new IBM PC and another decade of computer madness ensued.

Now I sit on a porch soaking up the Florida sun, with a slight headache that never goes away, a vibrating body, and legs that are giving out on me. I've got a neurology appointment tomorrow and maybe I can find out what's happening.

Yesterday the new dog in the house was standing tall behind the folding fence when a gang of teenaged punks came running through the neighborhood. They grabbed the electric bike that was sitting next door and tried to take off with it, but when they saw big Molly they dumped it out front and split.

I've got a couple of new roommates. Rodney is a cool guy that's renting out Shelbys bedroom, and he's got an old Great Dane named Molly. She's sixteen, tall, and has cancer.

Rodney said she's hard to walk and may take off on me, but I'm sure I'll find out.

I've blogged about this before, and maybe a rare few of you have heard this story, but it's time to tell it again.

I was living with my family, a mother and father, a younger sister and an older brother, in a very small town called Floriston. It was on the side of a mountain along Hwy 40, just over the border into California from Reno, NV. We did our shopping in Reno, and us kids rode a school bus into Truckee, thirty miles away.

I figure I was about seven or eight, which would put the time frame in the early fifties. One day my older brother Dana and I took off into the mountains with these cool jungle hammocks that were designed to be hung between two trees and had a bug proof netting.

I don't know how we got them, but they were cool and we wanted to try them out. Imagine two young boys and their dog hiking way up into the Sierra Nevada mountains, to spend the night.

We found a nice clearing and hung our hammocks between trees, about fifty feet apart from each other, and went to bed. Our dog slept across from me with my brother.

In the middle of the night I woke up, and our campground was lit up. I looked over at my brother's hammock and it was empty, and our dog was standing next to it and barking loudly. I looked out the right side of my hammock and up into the night sky.

The memory of what I saw is still burned into my brain. There was a very bright round glowing object hovering over our campground. Suddenly I experienced the most amazing thing, a large mountain lion walked under my hammock, and I passed out.

When I woke up it was morning and my brother was back in his hammock. I have no memory of us talking about what happened, but Dana was never the same again. He had been abducted that night and it fucked up his life from that moment on.

I'm lucky it wasn't me, and I'm still able to sit here and write about it. I am so sorry my brother that this happened to you, and maybe one day we can talk about it, on the other side.