Catch up two

So let’s ignore the turmoil around us. The storms that have soaked the area around us, and look at some of the good stuff over the last few months.

Suave said she had a good time at the HS reunion(in November) and found people to talk to. This was good, as she was hoping I would be there. She had the same fear I would have going by myself…what if there was no one to talk to? For people who do not know each other, we both find the other interesting, based on our emails back and forth. Oh well, maybe in five years we will meet?
Of course, my biggest fear was that a former friend would have been there and I would have to figure out how to reach to him. Bad as it may sound, he is one person that I wish was dead. Yes, someday I’ll try to write down what happened.

YS and ES were out here for lunch last week. I spent an hour working on YS’s car door. I got the window to stay up and fixed a few other things on her car. You really don’t want to spend too much on a sixteen year old Honda. Both sisters said that they seriously need to make sure that they live near me so that I can fix things for them. Of course, ES would have to move back from LA.
Well, I know that OB will be moving back here in five years. That will give us another fix-it-man around the area. I am sure that between my brothers, we can keep things running.

Well, we are off to Prickly’s for new year. Perhaps a little less turmoil in the coming year?

Catch up one

So much to do,
So little time.
So many words,
So few that rhyme.
DAC

At least Christmas is over with! I just could not get into the spirit of things this year. Not as bad as last year.
But there were fun things. We went down to LA to see our son. It was his and wonder Girls’ birthday. That was fun. We took the Tommy-dog with us and he kind-of had fun playing with our son’s dog, Enzo. Aka Enzo-matic, aka the devil dog. But 11 month old Jack Russell Terriers are not known to have manners and a puppy is always busy.
We managed to have breakfast with The Catcher. That was nice. WG made our son’s favorite meal for his birthday, Lasagna; dessert was carrot cake. WG is a great cook and there was plenty of food leftover for our son.

Christmas eve and day were quite busy. Dinner at my dad and step mom’s for the night before. Christmas dinner at my Younger Brother’s house. His wife did a great job making sure the dinner went well. She had even invited several folks from her work, who had no Christmas to go to. While YB and his wife kept things going, I helped monitor the tri-tip and chicken; cooking on the barbecue. Younger Sister and Even Sister (you figure it out :-) did most of the prep work and bought the food. When dinner was done, I took over the sink and washed up the dishes. WG, YS, ES, did a lot to help put the food away and clean up. We all work pretty well together and this left the guests time to talk and socialize.

Breakfast, lunch,
And always dinner.
Why is it,
I don’t get thinner?
DAC

A failure to communicate?

Four email addresses,
four IM’s,
three phone numbers;
not counting work.

Oh, could Prada Girl say she would be in town?

Yeah guys, Communication received. Loud and clear.

Part of the story

I started this story back in June and got stuck with the kettle girl, not knowing what to do with it/her. It was supposed to be 4-5 pages. On the flight back from Boston, I added the rest of the 12 pages.
GW

A Darkness of Auntie
By GW Hogg
©6-25-05


I had been looking forward to Memorial Day weekend ever since last year. I remember the way Nikki looked, smelled, felt; when I held her in my arms and gave her a kiss. A simple kiss on the lips, that evolved in a most wondrous way. Tongues were suddenly not just for talking anymore. I remember the way she looked, as the sun went down over the ocean. Nestled in a quiet spot on the dunes, the suns orange rays added a special light to her face and her short curly brown hair. We lay behind some bushes, listening to the waves, and the sound of the foghorns.
Now, a year later, I looked forward to renewing the friendship, the special warmth one feels when you hold someone close.

The sedan was packed. We squeezed ourselves, and the last minute stuff, into the car then headed out. It was going to be a fun-filled weekend of camping and listening to music. Mom and dad were glad we all wanted to go. Glad we enjoyed the music, even if it was folk music! But my reasons for going were a little different. Sure I enjoyed hiking and exploring around the area, but girls filled most of my thoughts now.
It was crowded in the little compact. Most of you today would call it a full-sized car. Since we were not going far, we would survive. It wasn’t a long drive; over the bridge, through the city, and over the final bridge. My older sister wanted to play her guitar, but there was no room. The fact that she had a propensity to yodel in some of her songs made it more important not to let her sing. Out in the wide prairies, or in the mountains, a yodel could get nicely swallowed up. In the tight confines of a car, our ears would suffer.

My younger brother had his flashlights, tools, map-making equipment and rope ladder. He was all eager to explore the gun emplacements. Wild imaginings of manning the massive guns and blowing up Japanese warships filled his thoughts. No one would bother using those nowadays, not when you could lob an ICBM over the pole in fifteen minutes. But I know what else he was thinking. The bunkers would make good fallout shelters. Especially since the wind tends to blow towards the city.

We were all restless and eager by the time we turned off 101 and drove to the gate. We were in luck; someone was there to open it. The thin, hippie-looking guy checked our reservations and opened the gate. Then it was a slow drive down the gravel road to the parking lot.

We found a nice campsite, not far from the lot and started setting up. It’s always good to get here early, before the Friday afternoon rush. Saturday? You sleep on the hillsides!
My brother and I helped dad set up the heavy tent while mom and sis set up the food. Once that was done, I set up my small tarp and sleeping bag. I didn’t want to be in the tent, it would restrict my prowling. Plus it never got that cold, even when the fog rolled in.

Silly sister grabbed her guitar and went off in search of music. Lunatic brother went exploring. Mom and dad went for a walk on the beach. I went prowling.

When the sun began to dip towards the fog, and the foghorns began their mournful sounds, it was time to head back to camp. I had looked everywhere but found no sign of Nikki. No, we had no set meeting place, we didn’t know who was driving what car. We had just told each other in our letters, that we would try and find each other. She was pretty sure that her parents would not be driving in till Saturday. But there was always hope they could get away early.

Dinner was simple, burgers, chips, and sodas. Burgers grilled outdoors are always better, and dad was pretty good on the fire pit. Then there was chitchat about who did what that day. Silly sis had that look in her eyes and we all knew she was composing a new song. I just hoped I was not around as she stumbled her way through it for the first few times! My brother had found some guys to go exploring with and they were planning a full-scale assault on the bunkers in the morning. After that, there were the lookout posts up on the ridges.
After dinner clean up was quick and dad made sure we all had our flashlights before we went off to listen to the music.

I stopped by the center of the campground and marveled at the two stainless steel kettles and the huge propane tank next to them. It looked as if you could almost take a bath in them!
“What are you cooking?” I asked the pretty girl busy stirring the pots and gave her a smile.
“Stone soup.” She said and smiled back.
“You can really make that?” She looked really nice in just blue jeans, boots and a half laced-up tunic. The view was enticing.
“Yes. Lots of people bring stuff just to be put in the pots.”
“I would think rocks taste the same everywhere. Why would you import them?” Long brown hair and green eyes; a sort of hippie cowgirl.
“Silly we don’t really use rocks.” And then she saw my grin. “I can’t do my work, with you pulling my leg!”
“What’s the diff?” I pointed to the two pots.
“One’s vegetarian. One has meat.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s coming along. We’re shy a few things.”
“Well, I brought my wrist-rocket. Perhaps I can get you a squirrel.”
“Oh! You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Naw. Not enough meat.”
“You’re terrible!”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know.”
“I only have to do this for another half hour. Wanna go for a walk later?”
“Well…look, you’re awful pretty, but there is a friend I met here last year and she arrives tomorrow. I really shouldn’t.”
“She’s your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Well, then she has no claim on you.”
“But…”
“No buts. Be back here in half an hour and we’ll go for a walk. It’s not like I’m asking you to the Prom!”
“No, it’s not. Okay, I’ll see you in a bit. By the way, my name is Greg.” And I reached over the kettle.
She wiped her hand on her apron and shook mine. “Cindy. Nice to meet you Greg. See you in a half. And bring some salt!”
“Okay Cindy.” I waved and ambled over to the next clearing and set of picnic tables. Four guys with guitars and a gal with a banjo where busy playing, singing and laughing. There were kids around the fire pit, roasting marshmallows and singing along. Kids have it so easy at times. Sweets and a song and they are happy. My thoughts were just starting down into one of my sister’s songs. ‘Oh come on now!’ I thought to myself. ‘It’s not like you are cheating on your wife! Cindy knows there is someone else. All she did was ask you to go for a walk. What’s the harm in that?’
I walked on until I found another group singing around another fire pit. They sounded much more interesting.
“Roll me o-ver, in the clo-ver.
Roll me over, lay me down and do it again.
Now this is number three,
fancy friggin, fast and free.
Roll me over,
Lay me down
And do it again!”

Okay, this is my kind of music! I sat down and a lady handed me a cup. She first grabbed a bottle of wine, then looked at me a second time and grabbed a jug of lemon-aid.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you know the songs?”
“Sure do! My dad has a bunch of these records.”
“Good, we need to be able to drown out the yodelers on the other side of those bushes!” And she winked at me.
“Be glad to help.”

The song came to an end and they launched into ‘A Gob is a slob’. The group soon noticed that I had changed genders on the song and they let me finish the last half, just to see if I could fix the end. I did, and there was a good round of applause.
“Nicely done young man.” The lady next to me said.

We all launched into ‘Bell Bottom trousers’ and finished that with a lot of laughter. It was time to go. I thanked them all and they told me to come back anytime.

It was a short walk back to Cindy. It was getting dark, but I could still see without the flashlight.

She was just taking off her apron when I got there.

(The story continues, but I felt that 17 pages was too much to post. At least this gives you a taste. I can send you the rest if you want. Just email me. GW)

Fishsticks

I think I was perhaps seven, maybe eight. (Mom and Dad might remember.) It was dinner time, but we were told we had to put our laundry away first. “And don’t use the back stairs, the door sticks.” Said mom.

So I grabbed my stack, and as the rest of the kids went to use the front stairs, I headed to the back of the house. I knew a secret way to open the door.

Into the back sun porch, up the steep narrow stairs and I was in the upstairs sun porch. The sun porch filled the whole back side of the house and the three walls were covered with windows. The floor was a sealed blue Linoleum and there were little drain holes at the corners. I suppose in case you left the windows open. Mom said that originally, there were no windows.

There was a double-hung window in the fourth wall and it led to my bedroom. Between the window and the door to the stairs, was the sticking door. A regular door with glass panes. I knew that if I ran at the door, my arm out front, and hit the wood side of the door with my palm; I could pop the door open. I had done it before and I felt clever. So I put my laundry down, backed up and ran at the door, hitting it with my palm.

And my palm went right through the glass!

I don’t remember screaming, but mom and dad we there in seconds. Nor do I recall the blood pouring from my sliced up arm. But I suppose I must have bled like a stuck pig. Mom disappeared and then reappeared, wrapping my arm in a white towel. Then my dad carried me down the front stairs and outside to the van for the drive to the doctor’s office. It was an English Thames, with a metal cover on the engine, between the driver and passenger seats. I remember mom placing the backing sheet with fishsticks on the engine cover.

So as we drove to the doctors, at least the four other kids could eat dinner. I don’t think I ate, I was probably being held safely on my mom’s lap, as dad drove.

I do recall my older brother telling me that I would get a lollipop for each stitch the doctor had to do.

I wonder if there were emergency rooms back in 1964? Today, that is where you go. But back then, we were driving across town to Dr Payne’s office. I guess dad called ahead, because there was a doctor waiting. Not Dr. Payne, I guess she had the night off.

It’s funny how people talk of how traumatized kids can get by some disaster. But I think that kids can be very resilient and over time, an incident can just become a footnote in a persons life.

So I sat there, as the doctor washed the blood off my arm. It didn’t look too bad, a small slice in my thumb, two parallel cuts over my wrist. An interesting group of gouges close to my elbow, they looked like a thin leaf and a wide leaf, joined together. Unlike leaves, these were bright red. Oh, and one little cut at my elbow.

The needle injects the Novocain around the leaves and the doc begins to stitch things up. I don’t remember seeing the stitching, so I am sure I wasn’t allowed to watch. Then some butterfly bandages and wrap my right arm in gauze and stuff.

We piled back into the van and started the drive home. “There are some fishsticks left, if your hungry.” Mom said. “But your little sister ate all the ends off. That’s the only part she likes.” So I munched on lukewarm fishsticks as we drove home.

Oh course, I had to explain why I did what I did. And yes, a good example of why you should listen to your mother. And yes, perhaps the lesson didn’t sink in that well.

I do remember that my older brother and I thought it was real neat that the blood on the floor was still wet after three hours. Good thing it was linoleum, for it made it easier for my mom to mop up. I don’t remember if she had trouble cleaning up the trail of blood that lead to the front door. Dad carefully removed the broken glass from the door and later replaced it with a board.

Dad said that if I had not pulled my hand out quickly, but done it slowly and carefully, I might not have been cut as badly.

Years later, mom told me that if the two parallel cuts were much deeper, then it would have slice my tendons and would have lost the use of my right hand.

Oh, and there were seven little stitches. And no lollipops! My older brother was telling fibs!

Postscript- My brothers and sisters could not add much detail, neither could my mom and dad. But oldest sisters said that mom forgot the ketchup for the fishsticks!

A Recipe for Disaster

But incomplete.

You sometimes hear that phrase, and yes, at times, you can look at a situation and say, “Wow, that was sure a recipe for disaster!”

But every kitchen has that. Cabinets filled with ingredients, pilot light on the stove is burning, the refrigerator filled with food, recipe books on the shelf. Depending how you mix and cook thing, determines what you have to eat for dinner.

Last night’s ingredients are(in no specific order)
HSGF-High School Girlfriend, that I have known and loved for thirty years.
We get together for dinner, or the Reunion, every five years.
She has driven into town for the weekend, by herself.
She is staying at her dads' house, but he is away for the weekend.
I am driving into town to see her and have dinner with her.
And yes, the pilot light is always lit.

We had a really nice evening. Dinner was simple, at a nice burger place, then it was back to her dad’s house where we talked a bit about our high school days. Then we pulled out pictures of our families and got caught up on the trials and tribulations of raising kids, what our brothers, sisters, moms, dads were doing.
We had a great time.
Then it was time for me to go home. A long hug, a kiss on the cheek and off to home I go.

And that is the end of the story until we meet again in five years.


What you don’t see in the recipe book, is the ingredient where we trust ourselves not to make a move, we trust each other not to make a move. Our spouses trust us. Because you just don’t do things to jeopardize everyone’s trust. And that is the main ingredient.

And if we both were single? That is a different recipe and a different story.

Alone

Sunday

She told the man,
in the Broadway hotel,
‘Nothing was stranger than being yourself.’

Alone, in your room you hide,
as the night goes by,
in the street outside.
-AS

I may be lonely, but I’m never alone.
-AC

So I sit here on a gray Woburn day, listening to the kids splash in the pool. An atrium is nice, I can hear and see people, but the fall rain and cold is beyond the glass.
Oh I suppose I could gaze at the pool, watch the people swim. But they are all kids, and I would look the pervert if I stood there gazing. Even more so if I stood on my balcony and gazed at the teenage girls using the exercise equipment below me.

The network is down here, so I cannot see if friends are online, cannot email or web surf. That leaves me to depend on myself for something to do. I got a little work done, read some reports, but I have to admit, I am a little bored. I have stories to finish, but today, the Muse just isn’t there. I know I have to be awfully clever to work my characters just right. I still don’t know how to handle Cindy and Auntie; I got to a point in the story and just couldn’t figure out how to tie them together, and to hint at what really happened. Oh I know the end, it’s just that I am at the 3/4 mark and can’t get past that point. It started as a small story, maybe five pages. But then it took off and I am up to a dozen pages already! Sometimes that happens. I start with a little idea and the next thing I know, I have a dozen chapters. Then the hard work begins; the careful plotting.
The easy times are when the idea hits, the cute little Muse is perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. The next thing I know, I am done and I have a nice little story. I like the Muse and she likes me. But at times, I guess she has things to do and just isn’t there. I guess I am not the only one she whispers to.

But the amusing thing is, that despite being alone these last two days, I am not lonely. In fact, I am rarely lonely. I’ll go to that Mexican restaurant down the street tonight and ask for a table for one. I hope I don’t see pity in the hostesses eyes, for I need it not. I am not alone. My thoughts churn in my head, I watch the people swirl around me, and I get ideas.
Other times, I think of my sweet wife and how soon I will be back at her side where I belong. But you know, she is never far away. Everywhere I go, she is with me. Even in my dreams, I can feel her presence. Always there, always steady and supportive.
So I am never lonely.

You Can't Fool Me

Saturday
So I go downstairs to have lunch at the bar yesterday. It’s nicer there, TV screens, maybe a chance to chat with the bartender there.

I grabbed a seat at the bar, there was a lady sitting at a table to my left; otherwise the place is empty. I ordered a Sam Adams and a sandwich.
While I was eating, two ladies come in and sat down across from me!
Now this is a bar in the center of the room, so there are places to sit all the way around. And yet the two ladies sit directly across from me.

Now let me describe them. Both are in their mid thirties. The brown-haired woman is good looking,. Her blonde companion is, well, let’s just say she hurts the eyes a little, just to look at her. Border-line ugly.

Now I know what they are doing. When you look at them, your eyes have to go to the nice looking one. It’s a setup, just to put all the attention on one person. But you can’t fool me! I know it’s a setup. I know that it is designed to lure a guy by himself, to make eye contact, smile, approach. And she will be approachable. We’ll buy each other drinks and the ugly one will quietly disappear. Then, when she thinks I have loosened up enough, she’ll invite me back to her room.
And if I were to go there, I would maybe get three steps into the room, and the ugly one will come out of the bathroom, grab me from behind and hold a chloroform soaked rag over my face, knocking me unconscious.

Within the hour, a van will pull up behind the hotel and two burly guys will collect the body. Within hours, my parts will have been surgically removed and winging their war to rich organ recipients around the country.

They can’t fool me and I did not make eye contact.

Dinner two

Finally got a hold of Prada-Girl. Dinner is set for Monday. With any luck, I can convince DT to join us! Wow, this is going to be a busy week! I have a dinner with HSGF next weekend, in lieu of the reunion!

Yes, as you might have guessed, I have a number of female friends, scattered around the country/world. No, I do not know why I seem to collect more gal friends, than guy friends. Some, like Filet, I am very close to, others are just good friends. If I ever get back to Cebu, I will be sooo busy!

Life is tough, but I survive.

Dinner with Skinner

The logistics of being out of town, while friends are scattered around the Boston area; can be daunting. This especially true since the roads and off ramps change daily.
But I was finally able to get some free time in my busy schedule and touch base with Skinner.
It’s funny, but I can call it all manner of things. Basically, it’s dinner with a friend of mine. If I want to get people to talk, well then, I have a date with Skinner.
Skinner is 5’2", short light brown hair and blue-gray eyes that just sparkle with intelligence, mischief, and intensity. I have known her for…gosh, fifteen years now! Every time I am in Boston, I try to get together with her. Maybe just for a beer, maybe for dinner. She is just fun to be around. (yes, and quite attractive!)
The one time I brought WG to Boston with me, Skinner took the day off and took WG all over town while I had to work. The two of them had never met. You just have to love her.
So I drove into town and met her for dinner at the Red Rock. (Oh, it would have been so amusing, to have run into Prada-Girl!)
I had a great time with her, catching up on our lives. (I so miss working with her.) She spins a good yarn and it just fun listening to her.
I was careful and only had one beer. After all, I had to drive, while Skinner rides the train. I told Skinner there was another reason to only have one beer. If I had too many beers, she might take advantage of me! (here is where we pause for just a moment, allow all of you to step off the curb, into the gutter. Now while you are all thinking dirty thoughts…)
For I knew if I had too much to drink, I would wake up in the back seat of her car, surrounded by brushes, rollers and cans of paint. She and her husband would be laughing maniacally in the front seats; for now they had someone to help paint their summer house and they didn’t even need a ladder!
Skinner laughed when I told her that.
Alas, she could not stay too late, she had a train to catch. But the few hours we could spend together was worth it.

The three of us

It is fun when something happens to me and I can sit back, assess the incident, then put a fun spin on what happened.
I had just finished a business dinner with ML. As he went off to his room, I stopped at the hostess station to get a copy of the bill. There was no one there so I scanned the restaurant to see where she was. Now there were two (good looking)young ladies having dinner in the restaurant. And as my eyes slid past them, I paused my glance for a split second on the one who was facing me.
(now I am adept at letting my glance just touch a woman, and not linger. For I know full well that if the glance lasts for more than a moment, she will feel creepy chills going up her spine and the hair on the back of her head will start to stand. Why should I ruin her dinner?)
And the young lady facing me was looking at me. When my gaze came back around, she was looking at me again.
A good looking young lady.
I waited a minute or two, then scanned the restaurant. Each time, this young lady was looking right at me!
Now if I was OTP, I would have smiled. Maybe gone over and chatted. After all, there was eye contact. But the days of a woman walking over to talk to me, and leaving a snail-trail; well, they are far in the past (if they ever existed.)
And I can split myself into parts and spin this story into two directions.
The hog knows that she was checking me out. And despite the fact that I am a bit older, she was debating what her next move was. After all, we were two people staying at a hotel, far from the city. There could be some interesting interactions if we wanted some brief companionship to ease the loneliness of being far from home.
The gentleman would be concerned that this older guy might have given her the creeps. Young ladies do not care to be ogled by an old guy.
Warty knows that the simple explanation is that, when she looked up at her friend, I was simply in her line of sight.
Nothing more.
Skinner thought the story was amusing.

Okay for you!

Well, in 24 hours, I’ll be in the East. Skinner and I will meet for dinner, have fun catching up with our worlds.
No word from Prada-girl or the Daughter-Twin. I am soooo not talking to them!

Travels

Well, in another week I’ll be on the East Coast to do some training and getting some training myself. It will be nice to see my coworkers again and to meet two new ones. It will be odd this time because I’ll be spending the weekend. In times past, when we were based in the city, I could walk all over the city and do site seeing. But now the office is in the suburbs, so if I want to see the city, I’ll have to drive in. With luck, Skinner and her husband will be available. It will be nice to see them both. Hmmm…I’ll have to see if Prada-girl and/or the Daughter-twin can meet me for dinner, lunch, a beer?

Good that they have me going to the East before the weather gets cold.

And speaking of cold, there is a rumor afoot that they may need to send someone to Cebu to help provide some training. It’s amusing that when the boss put forth some names, the three supervisors there said that they only wanted me! It’s nice to have friends like that. This wouldn’t happen until maybe January. So while it’s cold here, I would be in a warm climate. I don’t know how long it would be, or if WG can come this time. If she can, I’ll have to schedule some of my friends to help show her around. WG loves the beach, and an island has beaches!
Then there are diners, island hopping, dancing at nightclubs.
Should be fun if I can survive the fun!

We will wait and see. I assume that when I am back east, I will be approached about this.
Fingers crossed. :-)

Are we there yet? II

So, I was talking to Mr. B and he was telling me of a property he had just bought. Several acres and a closed medical clinic. He wants to convert the clinic into a house and resell it. The clinic even has an operating theater!
So I told him of my story idea of the organleggers. He caught on right away. Yes, he agreed, that would be a good place to do the harvesting. A small building, way out of the way.

And I began thinking more on the idea. How hard would it be to convert the clinic to a home, but leave the operating room? Easy.
Of course, living 30 miles from Chico, transportation would be an issue. Chico does have a good supply of young college boys and girls. Healthier, than say a forty year old. But I would guess that someone would miss a young college girl more than a forty year old executive.
As I build this story, there are so many details to figure out.
A young organ source would be more valuable, but an older person less missed?
Well, move the abandoned clinic closer to SF?
All I have to figure out is how to find a doctor and how to slip organs into the organ donation system.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, the idea forms.

Weekend in the country

Spent the weekend visiting friends up near ‘B’. It’s nice to get away to the country. A relaxing time, a little fishing. Watch the animals.
Mr. and Mrs. B. have seven acres and five horses; three dogs and several cats. The fun was watching their two new puppies and Tommy interact. There was the usual sniffing of butts and licking wrong places. The fun thing was the puppies. There are both about a year old. One is your basic Lab, the other smaller, mixed breed. There were a few barks and snarls, then things settled down with Tommy in charge. The one older dog knows Tommy and they already knew how to get along.

The puppies did get a little wild, as puppies do. After a while, Tommy would want to go in. A little rumpus is okay and then it’s time to settle down.

Fishing on the lake wasn’t very good. Just a few nibbles. But the next morning, we took three of the horses to the neighbors' property next door. They walked us down to a good sized pond and through handfuls of dog chow in. And tons of catfish, some quite large, came up to feed. We could have just dipped in a net and gotten lunch and dinner!
Next time we come up, I’ll catch dinner in the pond!


A good weekend. Quiet, nice and quiet.

Happy Now?

Bitch!

Okay, for all we know, it could have been a bastard.

Two weeks ago, we received an anonymous letter addressed to us. No name, return address, signature. Our mailing address was printed on a computer, then taped to the envelope. Pretty chicken shit.

The letter was as follows.
====
I have waited patiently for you to trim the hedge that is encroaching upon the sidewalk that surrounds your home.
Apparently, this not concern you. I am reliant upon a wheelchair due to my disability. You are in direct violation of both City, State and Federal statutes. I have a right to use the sidewalk without it being obstructed in any manner.
I strongly advise you to tend to this matter immediately. I will pursue any and all actions to see that this matter is resolved.
Thank you for your anticipated cooperation.
====

Is that a hateful, nasty letter, or what? Yes, our hedge was overgrown and we were planning to trim it back. But a nice letter, asking us politely to trim it, would have been the first order of business. If that didn’t work, well yes, you can ‘pitch a bitch’.
So we hacked the hedge back a foot and now it looks like a gnarly hedge, all full of branches and sticks that I am sure will scratch people as they go by. Well, it will look good for Halloween!
If the letter had been nice and polite, we would have felt bad for the disabled person. We would have trimmed it back and then felt good about ourselves. Now we just hate this ornery cripple.

People should realize that not everyone is aware of how something as simple as an overgrown hedge can impede someone in a wheelchair. I am fully aware that short people(95% of the population) forget that normal sized people like me(over six foot) have to constantly duck because people don’t cut there low hanging branches, hanging lamps and signs in stores the hit me in the head. Oh, and one of my favorites, ATM machines made for little children! I almost have to kneel to use them!
So I am fully aware the people go through life, thinking they are the norm and everything should be built to fit them.

More Warts

Well, it suddenly dawned on me, with Google adding email and IM, I had better sign up, lest someone else usurp my special chosen name(as if)

Now all I have to do is wait for someone else I know to get on, then I can try the voice communication. It would be fun to talk to some of my friends around the world, instead of IM chat. I type slowly, inaccurately and I am a lousy speller. Actual audio would be fun and cheaper.

Are we there yet?

Amusing how an idea pops into your head. You think about it for a while and you have to wonder…
I was surfing through Craig’s list, looking at the free stuff. I almost snagged a wood burning stove, but I was perhaps, hours late.

So I looked at a few other things. Personals are always amusing to read and not much has changed in forty years. But I guess what has changed is how people can secretly communicate. Emails lead to pictures exchanged, pictures to Im. Maybe phone calls. A meeting is set up. Probably takes hours now, instead of days?

A guy or gal leaves their office at lunch, walks a number of blocks, and spend their lunch…

And back to the office. The day ends, they go home.

Soon, it’s not going to be that way. Because think about it. Someone quietly goes somewhere, doesn’t tell anyone. Outside of some emails or phone call, if you look, no record.
“Oh, Mrs. Smith went out for lunch.”
“Does she do that often?”
“A few times a week.”
“And she didn’t come back?”
“No Officer, she missed her 2pm meeting. It’s just not like her.”

And no one hears from her again. The trail goes cold. One more missing person.

And miles away, in the Sunset district, a sedan pulls out of a garage and makes it’s way to a warehouse. The unconscious body is delivered to a small team of surgeons. What can be sold is removed and quickly flown to waiting hospitals. Money changes hands and those who can afford it live on.

An back in the Sunset district, money is divided up and they go to work on the next ad.

“GWF seeks lunch date with Mature same. Please come show me pleasures I never thought possible!”


How close are we to this? Or are we there already?

Local darkness

As I was tightening the last screw, the spa breaker went clunk, clunk.
“Something’s wrong with the spa.” WG said.
“Power outage.” I said as I got off my knees and went to the outdoor light switch. Nothing happened.
Okay, I’ll finish up putting some boards along the base of the deck. We could see evidence of something digging at the edge of the lawn and getting under the deck. From there, the rats are getting under the deck, and under the house. I can’t get under the deck, so this is the next best thing. With luck, the little bastards will starve to death, or better yet, nibble on the generous food on the traps.(Bwahahaha!) Barring that, they at least won’t get under the house.
And lest you think it’s terrible, my poor coworker has some nice tomato plants, but no tomatoes. Something is eating them.

And perhaps we should talk to the dog. He is not patrolling well enough. We can tell because we find that squirrels are starting to bury their nuts. (yes, squirrels can be like rats, but a little cuter.)

And now the power comes back on and perhaps I should get some more tools and fix some other things. Oh, I can make some more coffee now!

Expectations

I watch the news of the hurricane aftermath and wonder about my area. I find it interesting on how quickly chaos can take over. Maybe it starts with ‘I need food and water.’ Soon it’s anger over the situation or simple want, and people begin to take everything.
I am sure some people wanted to stay and I have less sympathy for them. Some could not leave, they have my sympathy. But for the vast majority, there was ample time to get out. Whether people could not evacuate, or the government didn’t evacuate them; I can’t say. But there was time.

At some point, the San Andreas, or the Hayward fault will let loose. And when the shit hits the fan, there will be no warning. No time to evacuate. Just deal with it if you are alive afterward.
And everyone warns you not to expect ANY help for at least three days. Zero, nada, you are on your own!

I fully expect a week. And I have food and water for that week.

I am not sure what went wrong beforehand, down south. Why not enough people evacuated. But perhaps next time, more will leave sooner.
Unfortunately, people have to die, for others to learn lessons.

gas prices

So the other night, I heard that to lessen the effect of high gas prices, you need a jar a Vaseline to lubricate the gas nozzle, as they stick it to you!
But then I realized that Vaseline is petroleum jelly and the price of that is gonna go up also!

Leinigen vs the Ants

Well, not as epic a battle, but the battle goes on.
Tonight, WG poked her head into the garage. Hurry Honey, come quick! There is a rat at the bird feeder!”
I dropped what I was working on, grabbed a broom(I don’t own a shotgun, but kinda wished I did.) I follow her into the backyard and in the gathering twilight, I can see the little rat at the bird feeder, at the other corner of our yard.
The rat sees us and jumps down into the flower bed. As I rush over there, deadly broom in hand, I can hear WG. “Get a shovel.”
“No Time, I want to kill the bastard.”

I started poking around, hoping to scare it out so I can whack it. WG grabs a heavy shovel and moves to the vegetable garden. In the gloom at the base of the fence, I see movement and poke at something.
‘I saw something on this side. “ She yells. I move around the pond and poke among the herbs. I see some movement further down and turn.
Two of the little bastards go running up the fence post, sixteen feet from me! Once on the top of the fence, one runs away from me and one runs towards me! I cock the broom behind me and watch as the little gray shape bears down one me. He is at eye level and I can see his little beady black eyes.
Just as he got abreast of me and swung the broom and was gratified to feel a squishy thump!
As he fell to the ground I yelled out to WG. “I thumped him!” And I struck again and the gray lump on the ground moved and I missed. The little shit then scampered up the orange tree and vanished.

And the Tommy dog arrived to see what was going on. Definitely not a rat dog!

I couldn’t see anything in the orange tree as it was getting darker. WG came up to me, still holding her shovel. “I figure, place three traps. One there, there and there.”
“Yes, that should cover it.”
“Do you think the birds might set them off?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about the squirrels?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t worry about them much either. I don’t want to hurt them, but I hate rats!”
“I wish I had a pellet pistol. But I might not have been able to shoot fast enough.”
“Get the little shovel and keep it out. It’s lighter and you may be able to do more damage next time.”

So we go back inside, the excitement of the moment gone. Tomorrow, buy more traps.

I can only hope that somewhere out there, there is a rat scurrying around with a pronounced limp.

And I am sure that no one but my older brother even know who Leiningen was.

creaping age, creeping me out

I seriously need to make fun of my older brother. He just turned fifty! You know, the need to cover the grey, a looming mid-life crisis?

But alas, I fell asleep on the couch after dinner(again!)

I need to think of something to say, I’ll be there myself, all too soon.

Poor guy, one daughter is grown and out of the house. Daughter two will graduate from college in 3-4 years. Then he has to retire! Poor, poor guy. All alone in his house, no kids, nothing to do but get naked and chase his wife around the house, just because he can!

Naked fun

“Have fun getting naked.” She said in the IM. I laughed. That’s the last thing I want to do when going to the Dermatologist! The more skin you expose, the more things the doc can find to cut, scrape and burn off.
My coworker says that she goes once a year. But she has very fair skin. Like alabaster.
That makes me wonder. I would expect that people with darker skin (assuming similar sun exposure) would have less sun damage? Fewer moles and strange skin growths? I am sure someone has done research on that.

But the doc said most of the things on my face are okay, just the results of age and sun exposure when I was little. We didn’t know that too much sun was bad for you, back in the 60’s and 70’s. But it is good to know that I don’t have any skin cancers and such.

The really nice thing was finding that a young lady that I used to work with, was now a nurse! It was great to see her and chat for a few minutes. She was always nice, even when I came to her with last minute parts to build, fix or test. A bright spot in my day.

The dark spot was mentioning a ‘sort of cyst’ in the middle of my back. The doc said that it wasn’t ‘sort of’ anything. It was a cyst and ought to be taken care of. I had three choices. Cortisone injection, a small incision to drain it, or the old ‘cut and thrust’ and have a nice scar on my back. We decide on the middle course. I can always come back and have a two inch long slit cut in my back.

Of course, it’s in the middle of my back, where I cannot reach. Wonder Girl gets to play doctor and change the bandage. I like playing the other type of doctor!

I will stay away from doctors for a while.

Early birds

GW 2, Rats 0

The early bird catches the worm.
But it’s the second rat that gets the cheese!.

I still do not know how the rats are getting under the house. I suspect that they are getting under the deck, and from there, finding a way in. Yes, I know, they wouldn‘t be attracted to our yard if we did not have a vegetable garden. But we so love our fresh, ripe tomatoes, and other stuff.
So we live with it. The Tommy dog is not fast enough to catch them, I guess, and he keeps the cats away. Well, what can you do?

Set traps under the house, to catch the little bastards! And not just one trap, two at least. Well, I did that last month. And last week, while WG was away, I did the nasty job of checking the traps. Good and bad, there were two of the bastards. Dead in the traps. Okay, smart ass, you now have to clean up the mess! At least my arms are long enough to reach through the trap door and scoop the desiccated carcasses into plastic bags. Tie up the bags and carry them out to the trash. Nice to have disposable gloves! Wash up, spray the area with disinfectant and some pesticide, who knows what the creatures carry!

Now the next time I am at the store, I’ll have to get some more traps.

My coworker thanked me for the tomatoes I gave him last week. He has some nice plants, but something is eating them all! What could it be? So I enlightened him about what rats do. He will have his own fun with traps now.

Ah life in the suburbs. Never ending fun.

Up your nose

Up Your Nose,
With a rubber hose.

‘What a pack of porkers!’ I thought as I sat down in the C-PAP class. And most of them were overweight. But you would expect that with a bunch of people suffering from Sleep apnea. The Resp. Therapist explained the little C-PAP machine, how it worked and what it would be doing to us. Then she proceeded to help us fit the nose piece to our heads and turn the machine on. I immediately felt a wind blowing up my nose.
The idea of the machine, is to keep a constant flow of air going through your nose, into your lungs. This keeps the airway open by pushing your tongue out of the way. With the airway kept open, a person can breathe. This will reduce the Apnic episodes where you stop breathing.

And gosh, we all look as sexy as hell, with this clear plastic thing strapped to our heads and the tube leading away. On look at me tonight and Wonder Girl will be all over me!
Just as soon as she stops laughing.

So I will be on the test machine for a week, as it figures out the correct pressure. Then I will get my own machine, set to just the right flow of air.

I has been three nights with it. I am still getting used to it. I seem to wake up around 4am, with a freaking typhoon blowing up my nose! (I don’t want to hear any jokes about a blow-job gone bad!)
Now I am not one to fully wake up, so early in the morning(anytime before 7am is early) the mind is not there. This explains why I wake up at 7am and the machine is turned off and the headpiece is hanging off the bedpost! Someone took care of it and I don’t remember doing it.

Wonder Girl says that it has helped eliminate the snoring. The next thing is to see if I am more awake during the day. Because I constantly wake up part way, when I don’t breath, I don’t get a full, deep sleep. I guess time will tell.

At least I don’t sound like Darth Vader!

Stocking Women, Stalking Men

Cousin Becca blew into town a little while ago. I would have said she flew into town, but I have no idea how she arrived, much less how she left. I don’t even know if her broomstick is still running. I am sure that some of you may have guessed that she just sprouted leathery wings, but that is just a myth. Vamps don’t do that. But I digress.

Anyway, we met at the little café we like. And when the waitress arrived, it was the same old Cos. “I’d like a large half calf half low fat latte with a shot of vanilla and a twist.”
“And you Sir?”
“Large Latte.”
She paused, then realized that my taste in coffees was simple, unlike my taste in women. Amusing, for despite Cos being sixteen years younger than I, people seem to think we are together. I guess they mistake the playful family banter for something else.

She began telling me about some of her escapades in P-. I won’t pass them on to you because most of them never ‘happened’. At least not officially. I told her about my friends Fantail, Chemical Girl and an amusing little anecdote about Lacquer, that ended with me getting a whack on the arm.
“I can tell Lacquer is crazy about you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“GW, come on, when a gal gives you a whack, it just means she likes you.”
“We’re just co-workers.”
“Sounds like you have stocked another one.”
“I’m not stalking anyone.”
“I didn’t say stalking, S.t.o.c.k.i.n.g.! Damn, do I have to spell out everything?”
I groaned at the bad pun. “I don’t ‘stock’ women.”
“Oh PLEASE! Of course you do, you just don’t realize it. You stock them just like they stock you.”
“What?”
“Look, we are different. You’re married to a wonderful gal, you have a great life and are happy with it. Everyone knows you are devoted to WG, and that makes you safe. Me, on the other hand; well, I am just too busy having fun. I have a few guys marked down for later if I ever want to settle down, but I don’t work at keeping them in a stable for later riding. Most probably don’t think of me very often.”
“Yes, that’s why you move so often, isn’t it? You exhaust the ‘pool’ and have to move to other pastures.”
“Kinda like that. I also get a rep. and people keep their young boys home, away from my claws that catch.”
Our waitress arrived and carefully set our drinks in front of us,
“But you're not above stalking your prey.” I said as the waitress left.
“Of course not! That’s half the fun. You set things up, opportunities, coincidences, and things happen! The poor guys never know what hit them.”
“So, it’s a game.”
“Yes, but it has it’s dangers, unlike yours.”
“I’m not playing a game.”
”Well, maybe, maybe not. Perhaps in some cases you don’t realize that they are playing a similar game.”
“But nobody is stocking me.”
“I have seen the way…I’ll call her ‘The Needy Nurse’.”
“I know who you mean.”
“She has you stocked. If you were ever single, she’d be at your door soooo fast!”
I shuddered a little.
“So be careful.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, you’re in a different world than me. Just like OTP, I am always hunting for the next conquest. The next hottie to light my fire. You already have yours, and what you like is a companion. But one who also can light your fire.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, I know you like to hear my stories, and OTP’s; but your needs are different.”
“I have grown up.”
“Not sure I like what you are implying.”
“Just stating a fact.”
She stuck out her tongue at me.
“Then I am right.”
“Well, just a little” She admitted.
“You have friends out there that simply like you and like being around you.”
“And you have friends that just like being in you.” And I grinned.
The back of her hand caught me hard across my shoulder. “You can be such a pig!”
“But I am right?”
She blushed, just a little. “Yes, but it’s not a bad thing!”
“No. Just different.”
“See? We are so different.”
“Someday, you too will find a companion, probably when and where you aren’t even looking.”
“I suppose, but I’ll never have the half-dozen or so that have put you on their list.”
“And I am not even trying.”
“That’s what I hate about you!”

The waitress came by and as I placed a twenty on the bill, before Cos could.

I thought about her, as I drove home that night and I felt sorry for her. Despite her fun and adventures, she was alone. And even driving home by myself, I am never alone, for my companion is always with me, and I’ll be in her arms soon.

EXILE

It’s Bunko night tonight. WG has eleven women coming over to play. Guys are not welcome. So I have to find a place to stay. Alas, poor over-protective dog must go too. You can’t count dice with a dog barking at you!

Bunko is a dice game played with twelve people. Once a month, the group meets at someone’s house and the games begin. There will be food, prizes, and lots of hen-clucking.
It’s amusing how guys and gals treat things. WG is getting the house decorated with the theme she has chosen, Hawaii. Lot’s of shopping was done to get the décor just right. The prizes and food all reflect the theme. I have helped where I could. The mixtape is all set for her.
Today we spent setting up. While I did the lawns and a quick trip to the store, WG got the house ready. Clean up this and that, put things away. We really don’t want the house to look lived in. Once my stuff was done, WG said I should just go play in the garage, or something. No need for me to be underfoot. And I am available if needed.
It’s the same as when I am doing a project. Leave me alone to make the thing. If I need help, I’ll ask.
We both cut up the chicken and made the skewers.

I’ll start the barbeque in a few minutes and cook the skewer. Keeps me out of her hair.

By six, I will pack up some food, beer and the dog; and head to Al’s. Well spend the evening doing whatever, until it’s time to for me to come home.

Now if I planned a poker night with the guys, it would be simple.
Beer, chips, dip, pizza; play poker. The guys couldn’t care less if there was a theme and if the house was clean.

Amusing. But we all have our priorities.

As long as I don’t burn the skewer, I will be a hero.

The women’s circle.

You know, sometimes I get tired of the same question. It always comes once people learn about me and my lovely wife.

“Your wife sounds like an angel…how did she ever end up with you?’
I sigh and figure that I might as well tell the story.

‘Well, when I lived in Reno.’
‘You lived in Reno Why?’
‘I’ll get to that.’
‘Yes, let him tell the story.’
“As I was saying, I lived in Reno and I met the lady who would later become my wife.’
‘But why would she ever go out with you?’
‘Well, the local group of women elders, known as the Women’s Circle, got together and decided that they needed a sacrifice. Someone who would marry me and thereby save other women from being bothered by me. So Wonder Girl was chosen as the sacrifice.’
‘Oh GW, they’re not called a women’s circle, they’re called a coven.’
‘But you still haven’t explained how you ended back in California!’
‘Oh that’s simple. Once I was married, then the restraining order that prevented me from entering California was null and void. It was assumed that I would no longer bother other women.’
Well, it’s apparent to me that your wife is a saint.’

Mad dogs and Englishmen

It’s 105 on the deck right now, but nicely in the shade. There is a small breeze blowing, augmented by the ceiling fan over my head.

Four pm and the smiley dog is fed. Tommy, aka Gyrth-boy(got to make his name special), is happy. He is always happy when he is fed on time. Okay, he is just happy being fed.


We got the heavy work done early, knowing that it would be hot today. Little stuff, done in the shade, was all we planned for the rest of day. Wonder Girl picked out a brick red paint for the front door. And while I was busy doing a little concrete patching, she was painting.

On hot days, we try to keep to the simple life. Unlike the folks across the street. They are busy putting up a picket fence on their corner lot. Has to picket, because the little twirps that go to school next door like to sit on the fence. Everyone has always had a simple fence there. Posts and 2x6’s. Great for the miscreants to sit on, and when they sit on it, it eventually breaks. They will be in for a rude awakening when school starts and the points dig into their little butts. I will laugh.

We have a hedge around our front lawn, not good to sit on, but great for the kids to stuff their trash into it. Nothing is perfect. Hedges have to be trimmed, pickets sharpened and painted. Always maintenance to be done.

Two years ago, older brother and his family were visiting. One morning, he looked out the front window and called us all over. “Look at the color they are painting the house across the street!”
And Wonder Girls said, “Oh, that’s only the primer.” As she stared in horror at the mustard-yellow paint being applied.

The next morning, we looked out and saw them painting the trim a yellow-brown. As WG came in, my brother said, “WG, I don’t think it’s the primer.” He laughed and WG winced. “It’s baby-shit-brown!” She declared. WG has a good eye for color.
So we have lived with the mustard house for two years and people we meet tease us about it. “How do you like living across the street from the yellow house?”
“The baby-shit-brown one?: WG asks.

So now they are doing the pickets. The new posts were white, for a day. And we held our breath. The next day the posts became BSB! And we knew all was lost!
Today they are working in the hot sun, screwing on the pickets…painted bright mustard yellow!
Mad dogs!


PS. It’s now dark, 10pm, and 85 degrees outside(and a damp 25% humidity) The house across the street doesn’t look so bad at night.

Sleeping with Darth Vader

When you laugh, the whole world laughs with you.

When you snore, you sleep alone!

That’s what my strange friend DAC says and if you talk to anyone who has a bed partner who snores, they will say the same thing.

In fact, anyone who lives within the same house or apartment complex can say the same thing.

So think of poor Wonder Girl, a light sleeper, stuck with this giant warthog that can shake the house when he snores. And when the snoring stops, so does the breathing. And she waits, and waits, and waits, and then with a gasp, I begin to breath again.

And she tells me she does not know what is worse, the noise of the snoring, or the silence.

And surprise, it really isn’t healthy for you. Or the comely lass trying to sleep at you side. For the poor gal has to do what she can to get you to roll over and sleep on your side, where you don’t snore as much. Now over two hundred pounds of sleeping like the dead warthog does not move easily. Poor Wonder Girl!

Though it may sound funny, there can be serious consequences. The lack of oxygen puts a big strain on the heart and lungs. Plus the constant half waking up to start breathing again robs a person of their deep REM sleep. The result is that they don’t get a good nights sleep and are not at their peak during the day.

So I finally mentioned the problem to my doctor, and quick as a wink, he had me scheduled for a sleep study. The study involves strapping some equipment on and sleeping. It little machine records air intake, heart rate, breathing rate and if you are on your back or side.

Long story short, I have moderate to severe Sleep Apnea. (but only when I sleep on my back) What they suspect happens to me, is that when I am on my back, my breathing passages get blocked by my tongue collapsing. Short of having a nurse sit there all night and turn me over, I need a CPAP machine. It blows a continual stream of air trough my nose and keeps my breathing passages open. With luck, it will enable me to breath well and get a good nights sleep. As will the comely lass that shares my bed.

So now I wait for my appointment to get the machine. And we will see what happens.

Will it be a nice quiet machine? Or will Wonder Girl claim that she is now sleeping with Darth Vader?

Me, or a close facsimile

Nuff said

Second hand Rose

I took Friday off because my sisters were coming over for a shopping trip. I know, ‘woo-hoo’ you say. Well, older sis was up from LA and we have not seen her for a while. Younger sis just lives fifteen miles away, so we see her often.
The shopping trip was not your usual type. We planned to hit the antique and second-hand stores. Nothing specific, but we have ideas. Wonder girl was looking for more old things for the kitchen. The decorations there are late thirties. Old coffee pot, sifter, old cans. We were thinking of maybe an old electric mixer. You can get them on eBay for twenty dollars(plus shipping), we at least know the value.

It always fun to go through these stores and look at the old junk, some of which we own.

By the third store, a break for lunch. We had seen a couple of mixers, but they were sixties models and not quite right. Yes, we can be picky. My sisters found a few little things, Wonder Girl found an old, interesting aluminum coffee pot.
More browsing. Mixing bowl for the mixer run fifteen dollars each, but we have the mixing bowls.

And in the eight or ninth store, we found a nice, 1939 model Sunbeam Mixmaster! It was in excellent shape and actually works! You couldn’t beat the price, $8.50.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the shopping, but the sisters found a few more interesting items, as did WG.
A good, fun day.

So tonight, get out the scrub rags, old toothbrush, spray cleaner and soldering iron. A little scrubbing, dismantling and more scrubbing and the gunk is cleaned off. New cord takes a bit of work, but after an hour and a half, we have a cool looking old mixer on the counter, and it works! Wonder Girl is quite pleased. It is just the old look she wants.

Now I wonder if I should look for the juicer attachment?

Happiest place on earth

Though it may have been a long drive down, it is well worth it. WG worked on some crossword puzzles and kept asking me for help. I try to make it a practice of having no cross words between us, but I help when I can.
After an hour she had to put them away. She said they were making her ill. I asked her why and she said it was the tiny letters. I had to throw in, ‘Well, it’s a small word after all!’ That got me poke in the arm with her pen.
A six hour drive to LA to see our son and his new puppy. Oh yes, and meet his roommate. Playing with a five month old Jack Russell Terrier is a lot of fun for a while, then you start looking for the off switch and you remember that puppies do not have an off switch. Still, cute is cute.
We spent a fun three days visiting and just relaxing. It takes a few days to unwind from the real world and pack up your troubles in your old kit bag.


Then it was off to Disneyland to meet Wonder Girl’s sister and family.

Disneyland is still a fun place. Lots to do and see. The rides change a bit, get spruced up and you really have to admire the amount of work they put into things. At the gate, it seems expensive, then you see all the little details that they put into things and you understand.
The Jungle cruise is still fun and they recently redid it. The new puns are just as corny and wonderful. I am not sure if it is my age, but I did notice a few scuffs. I suppose they cannot maintain and repaint as often as they used to. Still, the people are very friendly and their desire for you to have a good time seems in earnest.

And then there are the people to watch. Moms and dads trying to keep their little ones in check. The little ones seem to want to run everywhere at once. So excited. At the end of the day, the little ones get tired and sometimes cranky. Well, so do us older folks. My calves are still a little sore from all the walking!

The other amusing thing is seeing the teenage girls dressed up and trying to look hot. The amusing thing is that a lot of them fail to realize that when you have a fat little tummy, no one wants to see it sticking out, or lapping over your too-tight pants! As my strange friend DAC says, ‘Waist not, flaunt not!’ And yes, there are adults who forget this.

Met a cute little Australian woman in the smoking zone(there are very few of these) She knows about sunscreen, as did most. But you do see your share of lobster-people. Yes, they will hurt, but they are having fun.

Two days, between both parks was tiring, but not enough time to enjoy everything. You need a good two full days to see all of Disneyland, one day for the California Adventure. But alas, we had but two days.

Then the long drive home and reality creeps in. The sprinklers kept it all watered, so of course it grew. Now we have to mow and trim. Our weekend will be full.

Tails of the back yard

So we are now pretty well set. The last part of the sprinkler system is in. I hooked up the drip mist sections to the ferns, added a few to some big flower pots. And then turned the stations on one by one and adjusted the head. Looks good and I am pleased. Now, when we go on vacation, the lawns will not die and all the potted planed that Wonder Girl carefully tends, will be safe too.

There is still much to do before we are off on vacation.

Since it is summer and things are drying out, it’s time for the local wildlife to come browsing.
Can’t do too much about the birds, but the roof rats have started to show up. We don’t get many, but we usually see one a year. They are attracted by the plants and vegetable garden.
WG saw a large on last week, but Tommy (aka the Guardian pup) was snoozing and he missed it.
So, after I take Tommy to the kennel, I’ll put out the traps again. You can’t use poison because if Tommy catches a half dead rat, it will poison him too.

And the city frowns on shooting off a shotgun, in the city limits.

Maybe I could buy a pellet pistol?

A song in my head

You know how you get a song going through your head?
Last month, after a long dusty day of doing yard work, it was shower time.
I turned to Wonder Girl and inadvertently said.
'Well, I'm off to clean the wizard!'

PINING WOMAN

Read the next post first, then you will understand why I wrote this.

PINING WOMAN
By GW Hogg
September 17, 1998


Louisiana fires are burning somewhere,
tonight.
And I sit here wondering
where the chard remains are buried.
Monroe, Kansas, Idaho, California,
have all been touched,
or torched.

Week after week
we heard your quiet voice
Speak of a lost lover
felt your passion,
burn.

For the man you loved
was somewhere else
married to another,
as are you.

So I began to wonder
about this woman
aflame with passion
for the man she could not have.

Why did she leave?
What was the sin of their affair.
And was it the forbidden
that made it burn so hot.

And I pitied her,
being torn from the man
who lit her fires.
And wondered why she left him.

Then I realized,
that my pity.
belonged to another,
her husband.

For she was lost
before they met
and would still be lost
when she left.

The poor man
could not comprehend
her pain for another
nor ease it.

And in her attempts
to replace the man she cannot have,
Who else would her fires lick
besides my classmate?

I try to comprehend
this passion that she feels
compare it to my own
and do not understand.

For my passion sleeps at my side.
a constant ember,
always ,
ready to ignite

And the pining woman will know no rest.
For she cannot be happy where she is,
and will not find joy with him
Will only death’s embrace
extinguish her fires?

A Smile is Just a Smile

Bullshit

There are so many smiles. A smile can change a plain woman into attractive. In fact, a pretty woman without a good smile can cease to be pretty. How attractive a woman is can depend simply on her smile. Now I am not talking pretty vs. beautiful vs. plain vs. cute. I am simply saying, does the person attract you, or not?

And it doesn’t have to be a pretty smile, it can be a warm smile, a cute smile, or a mischievous smile. Something that lights up the face, and makes the eyes sparkle. Something that says there are interesting thoughts going on behind the face.

And a smile can ruin a face.

Take the pining woman.

The first night of a new semester and as I walk into the creative writing class, I scan the room.
The tables are all in the center of the room, I move to the left. There is an attractive blonde on the right side. My glance brushes past her. So lightly that she is unaware.
Blonde, shoulder length, pretty face, blue eyes. Well dressed, as if she works in an office in the city.

I sit across from her and to the left, set my coffee down and the folder of stories. I have two stories ready for the first night. I know the routine for class and I am ready. And I glance up and to the right at the pretty blonde. Our eyes meet, I smile, she smiles. The world freezes.
Alarm bells go off in my head.
The bos’n mate begins screaming ‘Dive! Dive! Dive!’
I feel claws sink into a part of my anatomy, that claws have no business sinking into; especially for a married man!
Red lights flash DEFCON4.
I feel a chill.
Warning! Self-destruct sequence will begin in five seconds!
I have an almost overwhelming urge to get up and run from the room.

I drop eye contact and turn to the left as the instructor walks into the room.

‘What the hell was that?’ I wonder as the instructor begins to talk. I have never had that kind of reaction. I dare not make eye contact again. There is something weird going on here. More than me just having too much coffee today.

I am going to have to stay well away from this woman, don’t sit across from her. I don’t know why

Puzzled, I pay attention to the class.

Once a week, we have class. People bring in stories, poems; read them; get feedback. The blonde woman has poetry. Lots of it, and it seems good. And I begin to understand.

She lived in New Orleans and began an affair with her college professor. She fell in love with him and he said he would leave his wife to be with her. And something happened and she left. Traveled. Ended up in California. And began to wait, as she is still waiting. Waiting for a man who will never come to her. Who has told her he can’t leave his wife to be with her.
Every week, she reads her poetry; we learned the depth of her feelings. For she wrote well, though perhaps I did not catch all the nuances. I am not good at poetry. But it was clear how in love she was with the man she could never have.

When class ended, we all went to Julie’s apartment for a little get together. Maybe ten of us and not the pining woman. We learned more.

As she has pined for this man, she had gotten married to another. One night, while sitting in one classmate's car, she poured out her heart about her feelings, then grabbed him and kissed him. Long, hard and deep.
We all agreed she was trouble and troubled.

And for whatever reason, at a visceral level, I was warned.

So I pay attention to smiles.

Imagining the past

So I have been emailing DO from high school. It's been fun talking about what we remember of the students, teachers. One teacher in particular was quite popular with the guys, and she did not seem to mind the attention too much.
And that reminded me of the story I wrote years ago. It's a small piece of a larger thing.


Honor Student
Ann I
By GW Hogg
©3-24-00

“I don’t want to do anything that will get me in trouble.” She said as she finished filling her glass of wine.
I put down my coffee and walked over to her, thinking about what she really meant. This was the moment, now or never.

All our time spent alone in her apartment. All the long talks we had. Her telling me about the little town she grew up in and how she was one of the few girls who didn’t graduate pregnant. I understood the implication, she was careful. The discussions of English writers and the authors real meaning. What a ‘vorpal blade’ really was!
I don’t know how or why, but one day after class, she invited me to her apartment. Fresh out of college, maybe she liked that one of her students enjoyed her class, actually got something out of it. Maybe I was actually interested in learning something, not trying to endure summer school like the rest of my classmates. Maybe I also paid attention because she was young and gorgeous. Most of my other teachers were much older. But I enjoyed the class and watching her. Her big smile and the way she would laugh.
And now I found myself walking towards her, taking the glass out of her hand and carefully placing on the counter in her small kitchen.
“I won’t tell.” I said and gently kissed her on the cheek.
“Reg, I can’t. I could get into so much trouble.”
I took her hands and kissed them. Held them and looked into her eyes.
“Reg…”
I kissed her on the lips. Softly, just a taste. I looked into her eyes again and when I kissed her again, she pulled back just a little, paused; then she opened her mouth and devoured me.
Buttons, belts and bra straps fought us, but we won. There were long scratches on my back from her pulling off my shirt, her zipper got broken. As I fumbled with my pants, she pushed me into her bedroom, onto her bed and stripped the rest of my clothes off. I fumbled a lot, but she was a patient teacher. There is a difference between a woman and a teenage girl, a wonderful difference that I discovered that night.

In the rosy pink light of dawn, I awoke and cuddled next to her. As I kissed her, she woke up and this look of horror crossed her face.
“Oh My God! What have I done!”
Stunned, I could only watch as she leapt out of bed and grabbed a robe from her closet.
“Ann? What?”
“Oh God, what was I thinking! I could get into so much trouble! I could lose my job!”
“I don’t understand.”
She sat on the bed and looked at me. The emotions on her face were too complex for my young mind to understand. “Ann?”
“Reg…Reg, we have done a terrible thing. Please, promise me you’ll never breathe a word of this!”
“But…”
“Not a word! Oh, what was I thinking!”
“Ann.”
“Promise me!”
“Okay,” still not comprehending. “I’ll never mention this to anyone.”
“Do you swear?”
“Yes, I swear I’ll never tell a soul.”
“Reg, you’re a wonderful young man.”
“But.”
“But we should never have done this. I am too old for you and there are laws.”
“But I thought.”
“Oh you dear sweet guy, of course I am fond of you, who wouldn’t be! But this can’t happen between us.”
She started picking up her clothes and I gathered up mine and slowly got dressed. We didn’t say much, I didn’t know what to say. I felt crushed and rejected. I guess she sensed my mood, for she came to me and gave me a big hug.
“Reg, you were wonderful, better than most. If you were just a year older, I wouldn’t have to worry about the age difference.”
“But it’s there.”
“Yes, it’s there, damn it all. I do enjoy your company and lord knows I enjoyed last night.” She smiled at me and I felt better. “We can only be friends, no we better not even be that. Reg, if we still spend time together, people might wonder.”
“And if they wonder, that’s all it will take for you to lose your position.”
“You understand.”
“I guess I do, but I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either.”
“Okay, I guess I can handle it. It’s not me.”
“No, never you.” And she surprised me by giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to have to be hard on you in class.”
“I understand, we don’t want people to get ideas.”
“And.”
“And I can’t come over here anymore.”
“No, I am sorry.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Do that. Remember a woman who risked jail for a night with you.”
“Thank you, I will.”

I felt a lot better as I walked home that warm summer morning.

Or

“I don’t want to do anything that will get me in trouble.” She said as she finished filling her glass with wine.
I picked up my coffee cup and walked over to her, thinking about what she really meant.
“Just a little wine?”
“No, sorry.”
“Then I guess I’ll have some more coffee.”
“Okay. Now, what did you mean when you said that you didn’t understand what Bram Stoker meant by…

Bring out your dead II

Yes, we are dead today. After a marathon of work over the weekend, all of you muscles ache.
I spent a good part of Saturday, under the house, running the new water line to the backyard sprinkler valves.

I need the pipe to go forty feet under the house, turn right for about ten feet, then straight again through the wall in the front of the house.
Chip a hole in the stucco, then drill a two-inch hole through a 4x6. Push in a ten-foot length of PVC pipe. Enough to go across the house to the existing water line. Then feed in ten feet of PVC pipe, glue on a coupling and another ten feet; until forty feet of pipe is under the house.

Now the fun begins. With a tub of all the tools I need, it’s time to crawl under the house. This is a job for a tiny person, but it has to be me.
It’s all crawling on your stomach work. Keep your butt low, there may be nails above you. Rocks and hard dirt dig into your hands and chest. Dirt gets scooped into your pants.
Put on a strap, crawl six feet, put up another strap. You get to the bend, glue on an elbow, spill the can of glue. A full can of glue. The solvent fumes fill the air. I am sure it’s just not healthy.

A little air blows in through the vent. You strap the pipe to the floor joists and crawl away from the fumes. You find the spot in the front wall, drill the hole, roll onto your back and stare up at the pipe that is too short. Okay, it’s a ten to fifteen minute crawl back to the crawlspace access door. Get…you measure…eighteen inches of pipe; then crawl all the way back. I wish my friend Skinner lived close by. She is short and was in the military. She should be a crawling expert. But being a wimp, I know she would not do it.

I grab my cell phone and call Wonder Girl. I can hear her footsteps above as she gets to the phone.
“Hi Honey, can you do me a favor?”
“Everything okay down there?”
“Yes, but I need a little more pipe. Can you cut me an eighteen inch piece of the one inch pipe in the Garage? Then feed it through the hole by the front faucet? Then feed the rest of the pipe through the same hole?”
“Sure.”

Maybe five minutes later, the pipe comes through the hole. It’s not just cut to the correct size; but the burrs have been sanded off, inside and out. Is there any doubt why I call here Wonder Girl? In minutes I am done and it’s the long crawl to get out.

Sunday, we rent the trencher, dig the trenches. Hand dig some spots. Lay out the pipe, fittings, sprinkler heads. Measure, cut pipe, glue. We work well together, to each according to their needs, from each according to their abilities. We started at eight am, by nine pm we are filling in the trench. Dead tired, but ninety percent done.

And Monday we are sore and tired. And while I sit in my comfy office chair and juggle parts, Wonder Girl is finishing up with filling the ditch and getting the dirt off the lawn before it kills it.

There is no stopping Wonder Girl.

You don’t know me.

So, PB asks if I have heard anything of a 30 year reunion. No, for she is my conduit to that world.
The I get email from Pcakes, who happens to work with a gal from my high school. Strange connections. So I pass the info to PB. And to be a nice guy, pull some names off the bulletin-board, and pass the info on to them.
Two emails bounce, of seven, not bad. Some were to people I barely knew.

And an actual answer!
So for the past two days, I have been exchanging emails with DO. I don’t think I ever said a dozen words to her in High School. (We won’t go into the strata of that world, yet)

Anyway, It’s been fun exchanging info with her. She traveled in different circles and only occasionally the edges of our circles intersected.

She’s been married for twenty three years, three kids, nice marriage; sounds pretty good. Lives maybe fifteen miles away.

Add one person to talk to.

Oh, PB will be my date, like the other reunions. It’s getting to be a tradition.

I don’t like you.

Interesting, a few weeks ago, when I went in for the bi-monthly blood donation.
As I walked up to the technician, my first thought was, ‘I don’t like you.’ I don’t know why. She was a nondescript woman of about forty. She was competent, but not good. I can’t there was anything bad about her. I just didn’t like her.

Oh, and they have changed the questions and they ask them verbally now! Boy, talk about tiresome!
Did you have sex?
It’s okay for love, but not for money, or drugs.
Hmmm…Gas, Grass or Ass, nobody rides for free. (does barter count?)
Did you have it on a train?
Did you have it on a plane?
Do you like green eggs and Ham?
Sam I am…
But I digress

I’m gonna have to think of some new material to keep it amusing. Twitchy was the one who asked the questions. Poor gal seemed twitchier today. Now I like her, despite the fact that she is a bit of a Gorgon.

Who knows why, I certainly don’t.

Stories from the wilderness

The annual fishing trip
The river at High Bridge campground was running fast and high. We unpacked the truck and set up camp, eager to go fishing. However, stream fishing season does not start till Saturday, so now it is all talk and getting to know one another again. A’s three sons, Thomas 8, John 20, Chris 25; Gary(Chris’s friend 25). Later that night, Chris and John’s cousin Sean arrived, with his girlfriend Jenny, and Chris and John’s two half-brothers, Artie and Kevin.

It was fun for Al and I to listen to the younger guys talking trash about how many fish they would catch. Well, Chris (the lip) was the biggest talker. Ignore that Al and I each out fished him the last two years. But that is part of the game. Later, some of the young guys got in to a discussion about which of their two football teams was the best, would be the best. But all this talk kept the camp warm.

Saturday dawned warm and full of promise. We all worked the creek, scrambling over rocks and steep banks. Few nice pools and eddies to fish. The river is so full and fast, that the known spots are not there.

Al gets a nice twelve inch trout in a pool above the ‘swimming hole’. A nice fish for the creek. We have fun that day, some bites, some nibbles, a few little ones that get away, but no one else brings home a fish.
The fish becomes part of our dinner.

We fish a little more after dinner and Thomas says he saw a really big fish near the ‘swimming hole’.

The second day, we try another stream. The fish are not cooperating and rain forces us to move on. We drive to the other side of the lake, beyond the rain, and try another stream.
We spread out along the steep banks.. Some jump from boulder to boulder, into the middle of the river. John misses a jump and gets wet up to his waist, and a nice scrape on the chin.

I get three little fish, throw two back. The third had swallowed the hook, so I keep the little nine inch fish. But my little hole gets me nibbles and bites and I am having fun.
Al and Thomas come by, they want to head back. They are getting nothing. John and Artie join us.

On our way back, we try another stream and get nothing, so back to camp.

After a late lunch and a cold beer, we relax. Not a great day, but not bad for me.

Thomas still wants to go back to the ‘swimming hole’ and try for the big fish he saw. So Al and I agree to try once more.

It’s a short walk to the spot. Al takes the top of the boulder and fishes the pool on that side, Thomas and I take the safer spot on the shore and fish the small pool on this side of the boulder.

Suddenly Al calls out that he has a fish. I look up at him, twenty feet above me and his pole is just moving a little.
“It’s a big one. Someone get the net” Al’s a pretty calm fisherman and I detect an edge to his voice. I set my pole to the side and go get the net. It didn’t feel like a time for Thomas to be the net man.

By now Al has guided the fish to our side of the boulder, but he cannot climb down the steep face of the huge boulder and land the fish.
As Al coaxes the fish towards me, I try to get under him, but the rock is too steep. So throwing caution to the wind, I put one foot in the water and then step onto a small boulder directly under him.
The fish is huge!
Kneeling, I stretch out over the water and try to dip the net in front of the fish as it swims past. Unfortunately, between the cloudy water, the glare of the sun on the ripples and the trout’s coloration; I cannot see the fish when he is directly in front of me.
Al has the drag set really light and the fish can almost swim where ever it wants. He guides it, coaxes it in front of me three more times before I can see it, dip the net and catch the monster.

Thomas is jumping up and down on the bank all excited. I carefully make my way to the shore and Al works his way down the boulder, grinning like a son-of-a-bitch.

The fish is big, looks like 24 inches long.

“Thanks for the assist.” Al says.
“No problem. I was just afraid I’d screw it up and lose your fish.”
“Sorry you had to get your shoe wet.”
“It was worth it.”

Thomas gets the stringer and I hand Al my pliers. The little hook is just barely in the lip. In a second, the hook is out and stringer hooks the fish through his gills. Al places the fish in the water, now kept from escaping by the stringer.

“Well, I’m done fishing.” Al says, the big grin still stuck on his face.

Thomas and I try a little longer then call it a day.

Al lets Thomas carry the trout back to camp. Everyone at the other camps were impressed.

But the best was when Chris(the lip) gets back to camp and sees the huge fish his dad caught. The best way to shut up cheap talk is to quietly prove it wrong.

Nose to tail, the trout was 21 inches long. The scale showed three pounds, but are not sure how accurate it was. It was the biggest fish anyone in the group had ever pulled out of that creek.

All in all, a nice weekend and I at least got some credit for an assist.

Smelly old goats

Well, we are off tomorrow, to the annual ‘guys’ camping trip. It’s ‘guys’ because the women really don’t want to come.
No running water, no showers, no flush toilets. Just the river and ‘pit’ toilets. No wonder the gals don’t want to come.
Three days of fishing in the stream and camping in tents. Always a good time.

So it’s Al and his three sons, Bill’s son and there may be a few guest. We will find out when we get there.

With any luck well catch some fish, not stick a fish hook in any important body parts.

Poor Wonder Girl will be left all alone, in a house that for three days, won’t get dirty. She and Al’s wife will probably go out for drinks one night or see a movie. WG has other friends to shop with. Then there is yard work to help pass the time. She may not miss me.

Al’s wife has one little weakness. She is uncomfortable staying by herself. She knows there is no reason for it. So she will bring the dog into her bedroom, lock the bedroom door and snuggle up with Betty. Betty is her little 9mm handgun. She’ll be fine.

Of course, the dangerous time will be when Al and I arrive home Monday afternoon.
No showers for three days, sweat, dust and fish essence. Three days growth of beard.
Our women will not want hugs from their long lost men. At least not until we smelly old goats have gotten in the shower.

And the Muse dances away.

You have to hate it sometimes. You have a thought, a story jells. You dictate it into the recorder and get the gist of the story pieced together. Worry about part two later. Get some of it written, and the Muse, like a will ‘o the Wisp, dances away.
And the Fourth Monkey story stalls.
And you can’t force a Muse. I tried that with ‘Just a Touch III’ and had to abandon it.

So I wait, as pieces of the story, other stories, dance in the periphery of my mind. A Darkness of Auntie, A Goddess walks among Us(just a touch 4). Ideas, but just bits and pieces. They taunt me, tease me; but I just don’t feel like sitting down and pounding them into the computer.

Blogger-buddy mentioned I may need a pen name.

I don’t feel clever tonight, I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Take the Lawn way Home

When you are a homeowner, you lawn for a power mower.

Different from when you were younger and long for a paramour.

And not to be confused with a poker hand of a pair or more.

Generally, if you have a paramour, you at least have a pair.

Of course, if you’re like Cousin Becca, who may have dabbled with a pair or more.
(makes me wonder what women think of twin guys. But I digress)

Still, it may explain why she's in Paraguay. She probably thought they said pair of guys. And she said, ‘I’m there!’

But then, Cousin is so much like her mom, and has a fondness for men.

And someday I may write, “A Darkness of Auntie.” And tell you about it. But it will take some obfuscation.

Airport Laptop

I was sitting in the Oakland airport, waiting for my flight to Boston. A couple walk up, drop their stuff. “I put your laptop in the duffle.” He says.
“I already did.” She says.
He opens the duffle. “Isn’t this yours?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I guess I grabbed someone else’s laptop. I’d better take it back to security.” And he walks back to security.

I can’t believe it. How do you forget your laptop? I am so paranoid about mine and it belongs to my company! Can you imagine how stupid you would sound, telling your boss that you lost your laptop?

Morons.

Now we go back three years.
Wonder Girl and I arrive at the Oakland airport, for a flight to Vegas. After passing through security, we walk over to a bunch of empty seats. I see a laptop sitting on a seat. I walk over, drop my jacket on top of the laptop, drop my backpack on the ground and sit.
My mind slips into overdrive.
I open my backpack and get out a book. My wife sits down next to me and does the same.
I open the book and pretend to read as I discretely scan my surroundings. No one seems to be watching me.
Or so I think.
Any moment now, someone is going to come running over, looking for their laptop.

Should I keep it? My luck, someone will come and get it. Or worse, as I enter the plane, someone will see it and denounce me as a thief.
Or there is something wrong with the laptop. Perhaps it is meant to be taken aboard the airplane. Then as the pressure drops as the plane climbs, a sensor trips and one of the battery packs is not really filled with batteries. The resulting explosion takes out the plane, or at least the greedy bastard that kept what did not belong to him.
And out there, somewhere, is the moron who misplaced his laptop. How would I feel if I lost a laptop? And you know, it’s not like finding a twenty on the ground. With no name on it, you can keep the twenty. But you know a laptop belongs to a specific person.

And what if the terrorist comes back for his laptop? What data is on it that he wants?
Or a drug dealer?

I sigh, pick up the laptop, turn to my wife and tell her what I have found, then I get up, walk over to the security desk and hand them the laptop, explaining that someone left it.
Security calls for a police officer.

I explain to them what I found, we boot up the laptop(maybe stupid?) But nothing blows up.

I give them my info and write down the serial number of the laptop. I also find out that if no one claims it in thirty days, it is mine.

I walk away, feeling okay. Maybe I’ll get a reward? Maybe a laptop?

A week after the trip, I call up the lost and found. The conversation went like this.

“Hi, I am calling about a lost laptop I turned in at the airport a week ago.”
“Are you the officer who turned it in?”
“No, I am the guy who found it.”
In an extremely hurried voice she said, “It’s been picked up.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
I hang up. The bastard officer took it for his own and she knew it! I should have just kept the damn thing!

Addendum.
I was chatting with cousin some months later and mentioned the incident. Still pissed that I passed up a free laptop.
“Oh.” She said. “You did the right thing. And not just because it’s the right thing. Yes, a terrorist might have used it to plant explosives. But it has been used as a way of passing information from one group to another. I would not want some criminal group coming after you, trying to recover it. They are not nice people to deal with.”

I feel better. Cousin deals with people like that. Better her than me.

Reunion?

Heard from my friend PB a few days ago. Looking to see if I heard from anyone about a 30 year High School reunion. Nothing. But not surprised. PB is my conduit to that world. I have thought of signing up on one of one of those ‘reunion websites’. Not sure I would like my email address out there. But you would think there would be more info out there. I do find it amusing how there is so much information out there, but not what you are looking for.

Maybe lots don’t care?

Where the bad girls are.

A three hour layover in Las Vegas. As I get off the plane and walk into the terminal, I can smell smoke! It’s nice to catch a whiff in a terminal today. That means I don’t have to go outside, go through security again This is good.
A leisurely cig, walk to the Taco Bell, a bit of lunch. Then I remember the nickname DT thought of the other night, ‘Gillette Girl’. It oh so works.
I know where the bad girls are, where they hang out. When I turn from my desk at home, I sometimes see a young High School girl, standing across the street, smoking.
At the hotel this week, I spied two of the front desk ladies standing by the back door, cutting a butt.
And in the terminal smoking room, there are bad girls and bad boys. And it stinks in here. I have grown so accustomed to smoking outside, even at home, that I really don’t like it indoors. If it wasn’t so quiet, I could probably get away with letting a fart go. Maybe not.
I had dinner with DT on Wednesday. I have not seen her in almost two years. DT is a good girl.
DT and I have a odd friendship, in that we were friends long before we ever met. We are friends still, and we always try to get together for a dinner, when I go east. She is much younger than I, twenty one years, but when you become friends over the phone, email, who you are is what is liked, not what you look like; or how old.
And DT is fun, fun to talk to, personable, and has good laugh.
And yes, she is pretty too!
When Wonder Girl and I were in Cebu, so was DT. WG and DT became friends and when the restaurant woman mistook DT for our daughter, we all thought it was so funny. DT began calling us mom and dad. So for the few weeks we were there, we had a daughter to watch over and take care of.
DT and I share the same birthday, hence, The Daughter-Twin.
So, last Wednesday, as I told DT about the strange tale of EL, DT coined the nickname.
The story of EL.
Years ago.
EL arrived at the plant for two weeks of training. EL was young and hot. Everyone noticed her and it was more than the ‘fresh meat syndrome’. It wasn’t just her looks and the way she walked. She picked up on the office banter immediately. And she was one of those people who exuded sensuality. (and yes, my ‘gaydar’ hummed a little)
After getting settled in, she mentioned to a group of us that she did not have a computer to work at. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered her the use of my spare laptop.
The next day, as I was in the hall talking to RM, describing this saucy little number that was here for training, EL walkup. Eyes sparkling mischievously, in a loud voice she said, "Good morning, Laptop Sugar Daddy."
And walked on, laughing.
You could see the surprise and a bit of jealousy in RM’s eyes. For here was a young hottie paying attention to me, instead of him and he knew he had been outmaneuvered.
It was fun, those two weeks, seeing guys checking her out, and then having them hear her call me her LTSD.
Most of us at the plant had worked there for over ten years. We gently teased each other about things. We knew each other pretty well and were like family.
Monday rolls around and EL finds me and wants to tell me about her weekend. Her girlfriend had flown out from the east and the two of them rented a room in the city. They had a blast!
I remember her saying, "You would not imagine the things we did!"
‘Sorry darlin’, I thought to myself, ‘you don’t want to know the workings of this perverted mind. You can bet you tight little white butt that I CAN imagine!’
The week ended. EL gave me back the laptop, gave me a little hug, a big thank you and returned to the east.
And the story seems to end, as it should.
Weeks go by and I we did exchange a few work emails, as she still had some questions and sometimes, I was the right one to ask. She always addressed me respectively as ‘LTSD’.
And then I had cause to fire up the laptop to retrieve a file. The laptop was a little sluggish, so I checked the hard drive space(back then drives had limited space). There was almost none left! I went right to the explorer cache and found gobs of files there.
Well, my computer, I can look. Most of the stuff was pretty normal until I checked the pictures!
Seems that she had spent a lot of time surfing the ALS website, and she had good taste! Oh? You say you don’t know ALS? It may still exist.
All Ladies Shaved
Nuff said!
So, my first impression was correct, as was my imagination when EL talked about her weekend.
DT loved the story and immediate suggested that I give her the nickname of ‘Gillette Girl’. And I could immediately picture EL, Razor in one hand and a wicked hungry look in her eyes and saying, ‘Any young ladies need a shave?’
I never saw EL again, and a few years later she was laid off. That was too bad, but I always have the fun story to tell people.