Most Wonderful

Yes boys and girls, it’s that time of year again! Better than the witching hour, it’s the sex days, I mean six days, between Christmas and New Years Day. The Naughty time of the year when you can misbehave! Because we all know that after the 31st, you have to be nice or Santa will not bring you any presents! So when someone asks you, ‘Have you been a good boy this year?’. You can truthfully answer ‘Yes’.
Maybe you were deliciously wicked during the ‘tween time’ last year, but nobody has to know that.
Least of all, your parents.

So you slide out of bed, careful so as not to wake the delicious, warm sylphid lying next to you.
You don’t remember her name, just that she was standing on the balcony having a cigarette when you stepped out to have one yourself. A tall, slim redhead, she had a warm smile.
She shared common likes, including a taste for gin. That you were as far underage as she was above never seemed to matter.
What mattered was that she lived just down the hall from where the party was going on.

But it is now time to go, you tell yourself as you hunt down your clothes. There is no need to complicate her life, so you should slip out as easily as you slipped in. She has a boyfriend far away. Your recollection is fuzzy. Something about being on mission, or on a mission. The Gin garbles things.
You step outside the apartment complex and try to get your bearings. Your friends just said they knew of a New Years Eve party, not where. Then you recognize the skyline and the top of the Grand Lake Theater sign.
Home is a bit of a walk, but you should be home in time for breakfast. You start to hum a Christmas song, then chuckle as you alter the words. “It’s the moist wonderful time, of the year.”
You will try to be good, this year.

A Little White Lie

I am constantly amused by the things we don’t say, the truth we dance around. Even when we are mostly sure we can say things, we still try and be nice. (for it is, as I have stated, that a Gentleman is at minimum, complimentary)

I was exchanging emails with a chat-buddy the other day and was trying to figure out how to describe someone. ‘Mousy’ came to mind, as did attractive.

“Wait a minute GW.” I can hear you say, you can’t have it both ways.
Maybe I can. After all, I do not control my instincts, they just are. At best, I can just report on them. So I am confident in saying that I am repulsed by some pretty women and attracted to some plain ones.

If you listen to women, (which you should not do since they are the worst judges of feminine pulchritude); you will hear things said that contradict how you feel.
Why, some of the most attractive women I know have been referred to (by other women) as-
‘she isn’t very cute’
‘she is kinda plain.’
‘she is kinda homely’
‘she is not much to look at.’
‘she wasn’t very pretty.’
Can I prove it? Yes and no.
Which one of you women wants me to tell you to your face, that you are mousy but very attractive? Can you handle it? Can you understand that perhaps your smile is the cheapest and best makeup you could ever wear?

I remember talking with MT (Megatits) last year, about the Big Rumor/Scandal. She was telling me about it and the pictures that had been emailed to her. She had erased them but was shocked that people would take pictures like that and allow others to see them. Especially given the guys marital status.
‘Naked pictures?’ I asked.
She nodded, then said, “I just don’t know what anyone sees in Them! They look like little girls!”

Now I have to pause and think. If I ask to see some of the naked pictures, does that make me a pedophile, since you think they all look like little girls?
And really, what does it matter to you what they look like? They are no threat to you, being thousands of miles away. Is it that important for you to put them down? I guess it is since we know you erroneously think that the bust is the primary gauge of beauty. Is that why you think they look like little girls because they have tiny tits? Of course, you do, since you never learned that tits don’t make the women. (it’s the women who makes the…nevermind, you get the picture)

But I think I knew that when I met her, which explains why I disliked her from the first moment we met. I know, that is terrible, but true. So while all the other guys were admiring her figure, I was trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

Yes, I eventually figured it out and I was right in my first impression. Just as I was right in liking that little freckle-faced redhead the moment I met her. I have learned to trust my instincts.

So when you ask me to describe someone I remember from decades ago, I hesitate, then dance around the truth (as I remember it)

But she did have a very attractive smile.

Looking in the Past

One of the things I have taken on is the disposition of my dads toy collection. Unfortunately, not a lot of the information was written down. What I do have are some old spreadsheets, a big box of toy collection books and Google.

Easy stuff like Tootsie Toys are found and I can figure out what they are worth. The same for Paya wind-up cars.
But the hard stuff is the really old toys;
like a cast iron, Horse Drawn Hook & Ladder.
I am sure it is from about 1909-20,
but I have found no pictures.



Then there is a Green,
Pressed Steel Delivery Truck.
It’s probably from 1920-30s and some one
repainted/refurbished it. But there were
dozens of toy makers and not enough pictures.








At other times I have incredible luck.
I have an unmarked
Pressed Steel Airplane in a Presses Steel Hanger.
I type in three words into Google and the second
link has a picture of the exact toy!
Scheibel Toy Airplane with Hanger






One down, twelve boxes of toys, or more, to catalog.

(Sigh)

Pricks and Prods

The MRI showed wear and tear on my shoulder, mostly normal for a guy my age, but nothing that screamed fix me.
My Ortho-Doc looked the scans over and pointed out where there were bad spots. (It is really cool to see the image slices of my shoulder.) He wants to send me to a specialist, just to make sure, since there were no big problems.
(Yes, no little demons with pitchforks showed in the scans :-)
Oh, and since the last cortisone shot didn’t help, he wanted to give me another, but from the front.
He goes and gets the stuff and my mind wanders. I’m thinking that there could be something to a shot of cortisone and a shot at a courtesan? Hmmm, I’ll have to play with that.
The doc comes back and mixed up the cocktail. No, I don’t look at the long needle, but I sure felt it when it went in! Boy, there was some tough stuff he had to push the needle through!
The effect was immediate and good. I could move my arm and the pain in the extremes of my range had lessened. (sure, a lot might be sure to the Lidocaine.)

Now, weeks later I have a much greater range of motion, without pain. I can really start exercising and stretching my left arm. This is important since it helps break loose the scar tissue that has formed. Over the next three months, I need to see progress.
Because if I don’t have good progress, then the Orthopedic surgeon will present the other option. Put me out and then forcibly move the arm where it should go; ripping through the scar tissue. And maybe some Arthroscopic help with little knives.
None of us want that option, so I exercise, stretch.
And hope that in three months, all they will give me is a shot of cortisone.

I’d rather have a shot of cortisone, then be shot by a courtesan.
Still needs work.

Necessity is the Mother

Of strange Bedfellows.

I am reminded of this fact when I look at our two dogs. Molly has her own little bed that was just fine, thank you very much. Tommy has his by the couch. They each keep to their own space.
Now the temperature has dipped and their cold-hearted masters simply put on long sleeved stuff and don’t turn on the heaters! So poor Molly, being a short haired beagle, is starting to get cold! What is a poor little dog to do, but snuggle up to Tommy.
So now, when I walk through the Family room, Tommy has his head resting on Molly, who is snuggled up next to him. I wonder if they sleep together on the couch at night? I am sure they don’t, since they both know that dogs are not allowed on the couches!
Unless it’s dark and no one can see them.

A lot of things happen in the dark and the weather is cold.

Today we were going shopping and Wonder-Girl asked me to bring her a shirt so she could iron it for me. So, of course, I brought her a short-sleeved polo. After all, it’s supposed to get to 65(18c) today and we will be in the car or indoors. Plenty warm, for me.
WG immediately said ‘No’, she wanted me to wear a long-sleeved shirt. ‘Seeing you in short-sleeves just makes me cold!’
I had to laugh since I know it’s true. So many winters nights she will be wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a sweater, or sweatshirt, and there I am in a Tee-shirt. ‘Go put a coat on.’ She says. ‘You are making me cold!’

Yes, I know I can never understand women’s needs, since I rarely get cold. Exploit them, yes; understand them, no.

Like that time our friends had a small party. It was a chilly October night and even I had wished I was wearing more than a T-shirt. Anyway, we were saying our goodbyes and Farm-girl gave me a hug and said “Oh! You’re warm!” She used the same tone of voice a woman would use when she says, ‘Oh, Chocolates!’

So WG has the heater on tonight and she is wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Molly and Tommy are snuggled together. It is 72(22c) and I am shirtless since 72 is plenty warm for me.

I think about this when I remember what my female coworker once said, as we were discussing this disparity in core temperature. ‘Sometimes,’ She said, ‘I think that the only reason a woman sleeps with a guy is that he is warm.’

Laugh all you want, but I suspect that is a good explanation for a certain persons actions, decades ago. Why else did she come into my room, blonde on blonde in the pale moonlight and ask if I was cold?

Floating through aether

I’m never gonna fall in love again
I don’t want to start with someone new
Because I couldn’t bear to see it end
Just like me and you.


I was chatting with one of the Cebuanas a while ago, not long after my return. “Do you miss me?” DeeDee asked.
“A little.”
“Only a little?” :-( was her answer.
I didn’t mean to make DeeDee pout, but what else could I say? Add six Ducklings to the four Night Creatures, mix in Sundae and the other seven, plus other miscellaneous friends and never forget Pip; I just can’t afford to miss everyone equally. Should I miss you more than Little Shrimp, whom I have known for five years? Or Chickadee, for fifteen? Or Office-wife #1 for twenty? DeeDee is a nice girl, but I have only known her for maybe six months.

There is an old Ray Bradbury story where a group of spacemen are traveling to Mars when their ship unexpectedly explodes. They are blown in all directions by the explosion. Still alive in their suits, the talk to each other via their suit radios as they float away, alive as long as their air supply lasts.

And each time my company lays someone off, they are blown out into space. Sure, one or two went out the airlock voluntarily, but the rest were flung off into space.

I feel that way sometimes as I chat with my friends from far away. Some I wonder if I will ever see again, some I know I never will. Do you realize the last time we saw each other was the last time we would see each other?
But with the wonders of modern technology, we can stay in touch. But does that just make the connection thinner and more tenuous? And at what point does it break?

I almost think that is what happened to Pip. Did she reach a point where she just turned off her radio?

So I really cannot afford to like the new ones too much, I tell myself. I am still getting over the old ones.
And they are out there, ethereal and diaphanous, but out there.

Dark Tails

Sometimes, there are no stories, just fragments.

People here like to put bumper stickers on their cars that say, ‘Never drive faster than your Guardian Angel can fly.’

As I walk through the dark spaces between street lamps, the moon obscured by the scudding clouds, I can only hope I can outrun my Dark Angel when she swoops down on me.
--
As we walked through the small park to the Miriam Hotel, the girls seemed to walk a little closer to me. I am sure that it was because it was dark.
The youngest one stopped us and pointed up. “I read somewhere that friends are like stars. You can’t always see them, but they are there.”

We stood there for a moment, thinking about what she said and of our friendship. Then Nancy turned to me, the moonlight cast a white pallor on her normally tan skin. Her full lips seemed redder as her tongue slid over them, seeming to taste something in the air. She reached up and caressed my cheek with her hand. “You know my friend; you are never truly alone if someone is secretly watching you.”

We all thought it was creepy-funny and laughed about it as we continued to walk to the hotel.

But I remember the look in her eyes and the sharpness of her smile. I think about it now, sitting alone in my house, miles away. I wonder if it explains the odd feeling I get some nights now. Why I sometimes dream of her visiting me and how hard it is getting out of bed the next morning.

But mostly I wish I could get rid of the damn bedbugs I brought back from the island. Then maybe the bites I keep getting would heal.

MRI Dreams

When I was younger, I remember seeing a picture of an old woodcut image where a person was beset with joint pain. In this woodcut, the pain is caused by tiny demons poking little pitchforks into him. They sure had wild imaginations five hundred years ago.

I was thinking of this, as the Tech got me set on the little bed. She put earplugs in my ears, clamped my bad shoulder in some odd plastic cage.
Slowly, the narrow bed I am on is pushed into the hole of the machine. My arms scrap against the sides a little, so I pull my arms in. There are two little light strips above my forehead, an inch above my forehead.
I can’t move. My arms are tight against my sides. I would be okay, but thanks to a surgery on my left arm ten years ago, my ulnar nerve is on the side. The pressure on my left arm is causing it to hurt and my left hand is starting to go numb.

So as I am lying there in the metal doughnut, listening to the growl and bang of the MRI machine, wondering what the Tech sees on her screen. Then the old woodcut comes to mind.
It sure would be amusing if she rolled me out of the coffin like structure and said. “Yes, Mr. Hogg. If you look at the screen, you can see little demons here, here and here. They are what is causing the pain in your shoulder. ” She indicates grey little blobs holding pitchforks. “Now the good news is that there are only three and they are weak demons.” She picks up a scalpel and a stainless steel pan. “We can tell that it’s a simple matter of your humors being out of balance.” She swabs my arm with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. “A little bloodletting will get you humors back in balance.” The scalpel doesn’t hurt as much as my shoulder joint.

After a half hour in the steel doughnut, the banging, growling and grinding noises stop. “All done.” The voice says from the speakers. I feel the bed move. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I blurt out through clenched teeth. My right hand is clenched tight and there are small tears coming out of the corner of my eyes. The pain in my left arm is killing me.
“You can sit up.”
I do and start to massage my left arm.
“Are you okay?”
“My arm is killing me. It was tight in there.”
“I thought so. You were shaking in there.”
I shook my arm and could feel the pins and needles as the blood returned to my arm.

“Your doctor will schedule an appointment within a week, to go over the results.”

As I drive home, I wonder how many little demons showed up on the MRI and if there is damage.

Snicker

So we are at the end. I put the last Snickers bar in the freezer for Wonder-Girl.

Right before I left for Cebu, I bought a case of Snickers bars. Yes kids, a case. Forty-eight Snickers bars.
I took some with me as favors for my friends in Cebu, hid a dozen around the house for WG to find and hid the box in my closet.
She found all of them since I did not hide them well.

That was two months ago and I gave her the last one tonight.

This weekend we will go do our monthly shopping at the big-box store. If I shop by myself, I can sneak another box of Snickers bars home. Ready for when WG gets a craving for a chocolate bar.

But if we go together, then I will have to make a separate trip on my own and smuggle a box back into the house.

Being sneaky is difficult

Dark Angel

Dark Angel
By G.W. Hogg
©10-31-08



Nancy looked up from her book, just as Jane flew in through the open doors that led to the backyard
“God Damn it!” Jane exclaimed as she landed with a thud and folded her dark leathery wings against her bronze body. “Next week, I’m going to see the plastic surgeon!”
“What’s wrong?” Nancy said as she stood and glided quietly over to Jane. She reached up, wiped the trickle of blood from Jane’s chin. “I can see you fed.” She seductively licked the blood off her finger. “And you fed well.”
“Not well enough. You know how I like to frighten my victims!”
“I could never understand that. They taste so much better, when improperly seduced.” She sat down again as Jane continued to pace.
“I know you like the smoky mix of serotonin and endorphin that you get from seducing a man, but nothing beats the sharp tang that adrenaline gives to the blood.”
“To each her own. But you never have a problem frightening them.”
“It’s not just frightening them, it’s how you do it. Oh, you wouldn’t understand!”
“Oh come on Jane. I’m not dead!”
“Well, you know how I like to swoop down on my victims.”
“Yes.”
“There is a subtle difference in the taste of blood, depending on how you frighten them. Startling them is the absolute best! Their blood is just flooded with adrenalin!”
“So.”
“So, I just can’t startle them with my damn breasts!”
Nancy just started to laugh. “You of all people…” and she continued to laugh.
“What do you mean, me of all people!”
Nancy caught her breath and looked her friend up and down. “You have this wonderful, slim, petite body. Your breasts are just the perfect size for your frame! I don’t know why you insist on frightening your victims when you could seduce them so easily!”
‘Damn it! It’s not the size! See how the left nipple turns out?”
“So.”
“So! So! Don’t you know anything about flying? When I hit top speed in my dive, the aerodynamics are such that my left nipple whistles!”
Nancy started laughing so hard that she fell out of her chair and rolled on the floor.
“It’s not funny! Half-way through my dive, they look up and see me! It ruins the surprise!”
Nancy finally caught her breath. “I just wished my little breasts could whistle. ‘Hello Sailor’.” And she started laughing again.
Jane was so furious that she couldn’t speak.

When Nancy finally stopped, she got back up and gave her friend a hug. “I know you are picky about the food you drink. I shouldn’t laugh, but you know how live women obsess over their breasts.”
“You didn’t have to laugh!”
“Oh come on! Admit it, it is a little funny.”
“Well…”
“Anyway, maybe you should wear a bra?”
Now Jane laughed. “A vampire in a bra? That would look so ridiculous! I want to frighten them, now make them laugh.”
“Well, how about a sports bra?”
“What? And flatten my perfect, perky breasts? Never!”
They both started to laugh until there were tears coming out of their eyes.

The rooster crowing in the distance stopped their laughter and they looked out the window at the lightening sky.
“Almost bedtime.”
“Yes. Let’s get ready.”
They blew out the few candles and walked into the next room of the abandoned house, pulled open the hidden trap door and descended the rickety staircase into the basement. Nancy’s too white skin appeared to glow in the darkness, while Jane’s natural bronze worked to hide her.
They each slipped into their clammy shrouds and climbed into their coffins.
“Good night Jane.”
“Goodnight Nancy.”

The coffin lids squeaked safely shut, just as the sun rose over the horizon.

Do you really want to hurt me?

Do you really want to make me cry?
Last week
Wednesday
I am not sure what I should say to my PT tomorrow.

‘If things don’t improve soon, I am going to have to ask you to stop helping me.’?

Oh, she does not like to hurt me, but she has to try. That’s the only way she can tell how my frozen shoulder is. Move it until it hurts a bit, then move it a little bit farther. She says that I am a little better.
The problem is, by the next day my whole arm hurts like hell. It moves a little more but hurts more.
Push the limits.

Last Monday I saw the Orthopedist. The idea was to get a nice shot of cortisone in my shoulder joint. Ease the inflammation and the pain. Regain some mobility. Maybe break loose the scar tissue that has built up in my shoulder joint.
I let him move my arm places that it did not want to go. Nothing tore, as far as I could tell, but it hurt like hell.
‘Yes, it looks like adhesive capsulitis.’ He said. ‘We can try a little cortisone.’
No, I did not look too closely at the 3inch (7.5 cm?) needle.
But the needle slipped into my shoulder joint easily, I am sure the lidocaine in mix helped.

But the little cocktail did little for my shoulder joint. I think the Orthopedist was disappointed it didn’t help much.
But the shoulder was a little better and he could move it around a lot more.
(Little did I know that I would pay for days.)

Ortho–doc thinks there might something else causing problems and will schedule an MRI. That might be fun, I have never had an MRI.

By the time Thursday rolled around, my arm was better and maybe a slight improvement from the shot.
The PT worked me over pretty well, but she was careful this time. She tends to wince when I jerk from the pain. She tells me that the cortisone can take up to a week to fully help.

A week later-
So I do my stretching exercises every day. Just a little each day. Keep some ability to move. I hope no one tries to dance with me at the party this Saturday. Or at least not until I have had enough beer to not feel my arm scream.

Which wife

So, last Friday night, Wonder-Girl was hosting a Bunko party with all her girl friends.(boys not allowed :-)
It was Bunko night and there were a dozen ladies there.

Anyway, Wonder-Girl shows them the picture of me and witch-girl on the broomstick, flying over the Chocolate Hills. They all thought it was neat. And then one of the ladies asked
"Who is the cute young lady on the broomstick with your husband?"
"Oh that's Shy, his Filipina wife." WG said.
The women that knew us just laughed, but a few of the ones that don't know me just kinda looked around, not knowing what to say.
I wished I could have been there to see some of their faces!

(Sure, some of you will ask, like Glinda of oz did, is she a good witch or a bad witch? All I can say is, it depends on how you treat her!

When I did get home, around 9:30, the party was ending. The Garcia sisters Aunt A & J-Gram (both in their 70’s) were admiring my kitchen floor and Aunt A said, “You did such a good job! Do you want to do my kitchen?”
“No.” I answered.
“Why not?”
“You can’t afford my rates.”
“Anyway,” Her sister J-Gram piped in, “He only does this stuff for his wife.”
“Well,” Aunt-A said, “How do you feel about having a second wife?”

One should stay away from the Garcia sisters!

Survivor

So I went in for my six-month check up on the skin cancer that was shaved off the back of my hand (you know, last Feb.)
Unfortunately, my female doctor moved to a different office, so I have some guy doctor that Wonder-Girl said was pretty nice.
Maybe that is fortunate, for I was sure that the female doctor wanted to do some more cutting.

I was pleasantly surprised when Repair-girl-two called me into the doctors' office. I used to work with her, three blocks from here when the WC office still existed. She was one of the two techs that I would come running to when I needed a board repaired and sent to a customer. She was a few years younger than me and just as cute as a button. (maybe cuter, but I digress)
Now she is a nurse in a doctors office.
With a huge smile on her face, she says ‘the doctor will see me now.’ (you know, there is nothing better than being greeted by a big, warm smile from a young lady. But again, I digress)
So we go into the exam room, asking how things are going.
She was pleasantly surprised that I still worked for T. One of the last, a survivor I guess.

“Do you want the whole body exam?” She asks while looking at my records on the computer screen. “Or just the upper torso?”

Now if any of you had worked with us back in the WC days, you would know that a question like that would lead to, at minimum, an “Oh Baby!” (especially when asked by a pretty young lady) And then someone would whack me on the arm.

I just smiled at her and she smiled back. We know what jokes would have been said, back in the days.
“Just need to have my hand checked, but the upper torso is a good idea.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, then the doc came in and she stepped out.

The good news is that there is no sign of the skin cancer reoccurring on my hand, but the doc warned me that there was a good chance of a reoccurrence somewhere else. You know the drill, sunscreen, wear clothes, lip balm.
He looked over my arms and face and said the rest of me looked okay.
Come back in six months for another checkup.

I said goodbye to RG#2 on the way out, got a nice hug and told her I’d see her again in six months.

I survived not having ‘trench work’ done on my hand. I am still at ‘T’, long after almost everyone else was let go.
There are so many things I have gotten past and over, removing a little spot on my hand seems trivial. Not something you survive.

Overboard

I think I had a good night. At least I don’t remember waking up a lot. I wake up a lot nowadays.
I have Frozen Shoulder. Not sure what caused it, my physical therapist doesn’t know what caused it.
But my shoulder joint sticks. If I force it, it hurts like hell. My therapist shows me way to force it.
So nice of her.
If I don’t keep moving it, it will get worse.

I sleep very hard, usually. Very little wakes me up. Once when I was younger, a woman walked on me in the middle of the night.
I never woke up.

I wake up now. Many times at night. It seems every time I move in bed, my arm hurts. Hurts enough to wake me up.
Messes up my sleep so much that I am tired and want to nap in the afternoon.
My boss would not like that.

I think it keeps me from dreaming like I usually do.
Except last night when I keep having the same dream over and over and over..

The dream starts with my friend and her friends are on a ferry, traveling between islands. Terrorists take over the ferry and everyone hears news reports about how they killed some people, including my friend.
But in my dreams I kept seeing her escape. She jumps off the ferry. She throws a life jacket overboard and jumps over the railing.
Sometimes she hits the side of the ferry, sometimes she doesn‘t.
Sometimes she curls up like a ball and makes a big splash when she hits the water.
Over and over, I dreamt the same thing.

Every time I woke up I knew that she was alive, but swimming in the ocean. Safe from the terrorists, but not safely on shore.
Except once when her head smashed against the side of the ferry.


I kept waking up last night, my arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and my friend was in trouble.

Not a good night.

What she didn’t say

It starts with keeping a secret. One that some know. We may wink at one another, for only we know.
I am not sure all who know, just a few.

I am reminded again just how much fun it can be in Cebu. Not just because of old friends, but because I have (as usual) made new friends too. I expected one NC to meet me at the Marriott. Instead, a strange SUV pulled up, the window rolled down and a familiar voice behind a great big smile said, “Get in Warty! Ha! You didn’t expect some chick in a car to pick you up.”
The fun begins.
This first night was a fun dinner with the Night Creatures and others. Sure, I suffered through the embarrassing happy birthday song and the funny hat. (note to self, destroy the evidence and don’t come over here on your birthday!) Then off for a drink and some dancing. Sundae is burning up the small dance floor and drags me out there. (note to self, next time she selects the bar, bring young men as decoys!:-)
With careful coaching I manage a little dancing and don’t crush her toes. She encourages me, says I am doing well. I know different and it is confirmed a week later when I overhear her tell someone I have two left feet. Ha! That will teach you, girl. I told you I don’t like to dance and there is a reason. I am no good at it.
But still, it was fun.
That’s how it started.

The days are full of meetings and classes. Barely enough time to do any real work. But each thing I teach opens up new avenues of exploring and more questions. Thirsty for knowledge, they drink deeply.

Every night, a dinner with two to three different people. We learn who is who, what the personalities are like. The newbies become at ease. They learn the smiling giant is just fun to be around. That is important.
There is the quiet and shy one, the noisy one, the quietly demanding one; all manner of person.
They learn, I learn, the week progresses.
I have an hour to myself at work, sometimes. Catch up on work emails, peek at personal email, call the WG and tell her I miss her.
But there is little time to myself and that is good. Less time to wonder how my WG is doing, how much we miss each other.

Saturday involves friends and a resort with pool and beach. Lazy swimming and laughing over plates of Philippine food. Just fun and relaxation.
Sunday is the tour of Bohol island. A ferry ride over the calm ocean. Is it the ocean between islands? Or maybe called a strait? And when the tide goes out it is a strait-flush? (I know, bad joke)
The Chocolate Hills are interesting and cool to looks at. Tarsiers much more interesting in person, especially from six inches away! None of the girls wanted to stand next to the python for picture-picture. Bunch of scaredy-cats. Lunch on the river, a bridge across the river, but no on ramps?
Everything is green, beaches look inviting, I wonder how the old church still stands after more than one hundred years, maybe because it is still being used?
All too quickly, we are on the ferry back to Cebu island. Yes, two days would have been better. Maybe some beach time. Would be nice with WG.

Monday comes around again and the crush of training and meetings is upon me. This is good. Less time to brood.
When you have been together as long as we, you enjoy the first few days apart. As time goes by, you slowly miss each other a little more each day.

Heard from WG that our dogs teamed up and caught a rat. Molly flushed it out of the ferns, right into Tommy’s jaws! Now how cool is that?

Gave Spam-girl-one some pointers on using her clutch on a hill. “Thanks.” She said. “It’s like having my dad here helping me.” Bingo, just the reaction I wanted.
Sundae said to me, “I know you have lots of girls here, but don’t forget your woman!”
That’s not possible, but it serves to illustrate; they are mostly girls. Even Warm Chick, despite that she is older than most. Because most are younger than my son, they are kind of like little girls; at least in my eyes.
But I forget too easily sometimes, that I could be their father. Amusing perhaps, until the old guy(older than me) bought Danger-Girl a drink. I saw her mouth the word ‘pedophile’
Sure, I teased her that it looks like we should go and leave there, but I would never do that.
Still, it makes me pause. The guy was not that much older than me. One misstep I would gain that label. I walk as carefully as I can. (but I take less care with my ‘woman’ :-)

And I almost spill the beans.

The remains of the second week are filled with discoveries. My coworker/friends are finding out new things and I am discovering just how much more I have to teach them! Spam-girl-one says she wants me to stay another week, others echo the sentiment.
Nice to be wanted, but I have a home waiting for me.

Amusing how one of my ducklings is called balut.

Before I know it, it is Friday afternoon and I am being driven to the airport. So much work got done, so much left to be done, way too much fun also.
But it’s goodbye till next time. So nice to have friends in faraway places. Even if M&M echoed balut. ‘I’ll miss you when you leave today, but not tomorrow.’
Mischievous little imps, but that’s why I like them.

So I sit here in the Manila airport waiting for my flight. I wonder whatever happened to Pip? She is somewhere around Manila, but vanished off the web.

At least I got to say goodbye to my friend.

She may not be here next time I come.

At least she didn’t say what Blondie said to me, about forever.

Makes the parting easier.

How to kill a fly

Here is how I used to kill the flies that would buzz around the center of the room.

1. Stand at the perimeter of the room.
2. Hold a Zippo lighter in one hand. A can of butane fuel in the other.
3. Hold the nozzle an inch or so from the lighter.
4. Light the lighter and touch the nozzle of the butane canister for just a brief moment.
5. A very satisfying little fireball blows into the center of the room, killing the little flying monsters. Those that are not killed get their wings singed off and they can no longer fly and annoy you.

Warning:
Try this outside first so that you learn to make small fireballs, not big ones. This lessens your chance of catching things on fire.
Keep a fire extinguisher handy.
Do not do this when your parents are at home! They just do not understand ‘fun’.

Miss Adventure in L.A.

Yes, Molly is fine, the little shit!

So we are in L.A. and staying with our son and his roommate.
Saturday night, we leave their house to go see Donna Summer. All three dogs are getting along and while we expect them to be rambunctious, they will be okay. Okay Tommy(the old mutt) sleeps a lot and Enzo(the devil dog Jack Russell terrier) and Molly(the mostly good Beagle) chase each other.
(Nice concert, by the way)

We get back from the concert at about 11:30 PM and Tommy and Enzo greet us at the front door.
Molly is nowhere to be found!

And the little gate to the side yard has been shoved open! One of us forgot to lock the bottom latch and the Molly dog pushed through!

Of course we were frantic. Miles from home and the hound dog has gone wandering. We searched the neighborhood but could not find her. There are a number of busy streets around, so of course, we were worried.

Molly’s tag has our home phone number on it, but that does us no good when we are 400 miles away. We thought of calling our neighbor and having her go to our house to listen for messages. Then I remembered that we can access the messages remotely, but that I had no idea how.
So while some were driving around looking, I went online and found the manual for our answering machine. However, I did not know the access code. Roommate looked up the same info and was able to read the default code!

And the first message was from a guy asking if we were missing a Molly dog! And he lives on the next street over.
Roommate called him, apologizing for waking him up at 1:30 in the morning. Yes they had the dog and we could meet them tomorrow morning to pick up the little rascal.

So by 9am the next morning, little Miss Adventure was back in Wonder-Girl’s arms being punished with hugs.

Our son screwed a board to the little gate so Molly can’t escape again (she still pushes on it.)
We will add a cell phone number to her dog tag.
We will never trust a beagle.
I don’t think I will forget the code for the answering machine!

I Got Mine

I try to offer words of encouragement, advice to my friends; but knowing full well that my words are flawed.
I got mine.

And it wasn’t that hard.

So as I offer words of hope and I expect you will all understand that I always think that things will turn out okay for you.

They did for me.
I got mine.

And it wasn’t that hard and I didn’t look that long.
And I was probably very lucky!
(And maybe she was a little bit lucky.)

I got mine.

A good wife, a nice house, a job I like, a good son, some dogs that think I am almost a deity.

Okay, so I got lucky and got mine.

But I think that you can get yours too.

Never Gonna Fall in Love Again

I was alright, for a while. In fact, I could smile for a while. I kept my good face on the whole week, while in N.R.
Meet new people, train new people, keep myself busy and pay as much attention to my Chickadee as I could

And I got through those two weeks without a problem until Thursday afternoon when it was time to leave for my flight home. I went to give Chickadee a hug goodbye and she said, “I guess this is goodbye forever.”
Damn! She didn’t have to say that!
“No my friend. The next time I am out here, we will meet for dinner.”
“We will?”
“Yes, just like Skinner, I will make time for you.”

I made it outside, to the car, before my eyes got wet.

A month later, at the end of June, I was lucky, for there were over a thousand fires burning around the state and the air was full of smoke for a week. It was Chickadee’s last day and I called her on the phone to say goodbye. Then I went outside to think. The smoke in the air was good and thick. If Wonder-Girl asked why my eyes were watering, I could say it was the smoke in the air.

I’ll go through this all again, when Office-Jewish-Mother has her last day. And that is almost the last of them. All I have left are newbies and they are six thousand miles away. It will be hard to miss them as much since the ocean keeps us from getting too close.
Yes, keep telling yourself these lies and the next time will be easier.

High Bridge Campground

What is up with this sign at the campground’s outhouses?

Who or what is ‘Ol Henry’?

Is the same ‘OL HENRY’ sign at other campgrounds?

The Tail of the Horny Bitch

So most of you have heard of our new addition, the very cute little Molly dog. She is busy learning the house rules, with the Tommy dog helping.
Molly is very much a beagle, including some early morning howls to wake us up. Of course, if we forget to close the dog gate, Tommy leads Molly into the back of the house to check on us.

Just after we got Molly, we took her to the Vet for a checkup. The Vet said he could not see a scar on Molly’s stomach, so he does not think she was spayed. We ask some questions about what to look for since we have never had a fertile dog before, much less a female.

Two days later, little Molly dog begins to leave little drops of blood here and there.
The bitch is in heat!

So we get dog diapers for her and wait for the hordes of male dogs to start scaling the walls.

Poor, poor Tommy dog! It’s bad enough that this little three-year-old pint-sized dog wants to play all the time; now she wants to PLAY!

Molly will bark at Tommy to get his attention. Then she will paw at this chest or shoulder. Then she slides up next to him and bumps her butt against his. It’s like she is signaling, ‘Climb aboard big boy and I’ll give you a ride!’
Tommy is fixed and couldn’t care less.
Molly won’t take no for an answer! She will bite at his ears, his chest. She’ll mount him from behind, she’ll get on his head and hump on it.
When Tommy has had enough, he will ‘talk’ to Molly (he has a pretty good bark on him) and she leaves him alone for a while.

And half an hour later they are at it again.

We have two more weeks of this fun, then we can get the horny little girl ‘fixed’.

Duckling Tails

Make way for ducklings.

While I was back east, we took a tour of Boston, via the Freedom Trail.
My Boss and his M’ad friend lead the tour, with-
Two young ladies from China,
Three young guys fro Costa Rica
And five young ladies from Cebu. (okay, the M’ad friend is from Cebu too, but it’s my story and I get to tell it my way.)

So, it was while we were trying to cross a street and the Cebuanos were dawdling, that I tried to hurry them along and said, ‘Come on…Come on…’ and they the perfect name came to me! “Come on DUCKLINGS!” I said in a loud voice.
Amidst laughs and giggle, the ladies hurried across the street.

And so they became The Ducklings. It fit so well, since the story, ‘Make way for Ducklings’ takes place around the Boston Public gardens, where we started our trip.
(if you want to know more, look here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Make_Way_for_Ducklings)

Amusing how one of them asked me, “Why not ‘chicks’?” I know she meant, as in cute, young thing.’ (which she is, but I digress)
I had to explain how ‘chick’ had acquired a bad connotation, as in ‘you can’t do that, you’re just a chick.’
No one uses ‘Duckling’ and it is cute enough.

So Warty has his Ducklings now.

One of them called me ‘Mother Goose’, so I had to correct her and say it should be ‘Father Goose.’ Which made me immediately think of the Cary Grant movie(it’s a fun movie.)

So, that’s the duckling tale.

Molly reactions

Skinner, who owns a male beagle named Buddy said-
"If you wanted a beagle you should have just told me. I'd have packed Buddy up within the hour!"

My son, who owns Enzo (aka the devil dog) a Jack Russel terrier with no off switch said
"She is VERY cute...and looks to be well behaved...want to trade??? No really, I'll pay you!"

A new, the nine billion names of dog.

(sure, only older brother recognizes the title)

Molly Bolt
(bolts out the door)

Molybdenum grease (Yes, Molly grease. Like greased lightning)

A wiggle butt and a wag tail pup.

A Miss Creant

Like any beagle, we know she is up to no good.

Enough silliness-

So the update on the new dog is that Molly the 'no longer fertile beagle' (no, really, we have a certificate from the vet stating that she had been spayed)is doing just fine and is adapting well to her new house.
She knows a lot of commands and obeys them (mostly).

We took her to the vet last Monday, for a check up and have her ear looked at. The vet could not find a scar on her stomach, so he could not confirm that she had been spayed.
Wednesday, Molly went into heat. She is now wearing a little diaper to keep from leaving little blood spots everywhere.

Once she is no longer in heat, we will have her spayed.

With luck, we will be able to keep her safe until she is no longer fertile

Such ugly green eyes

You know my friends, you should not be so.
Neither one of you looks good with green eyes.

You need not be so possessive. Are you not already one of my favorites?

Or am I wasting my breath, because I feel you'll never read this.

New Addition.

We went to one of the local dog rescue places, to look for a new dog for Wonder-Girl. She wanted a smaller dog, maybe like a pug.
Our fifty-five pound Tommy is too large for WG to lift into the car.

So we heard of a Puggle that was available, but overweight. Now a Puggle is a Pug-Beagle mix. Maybe not as many health problems as a full pug, with that goofy looking smashed face. And frankly, I just don’t like pugs.

We got there and the Puggle seemed okay, but not a lot of personality. He was a little bigger than Tommy and very fat! But even if he lost weight, he would still be bigger than Tommy.
And then they let the little three-year-old beagle out of the kennel. She immediately warmed up to Tommy and started following him all around the yard.

Okay, so Molly seems to have chosen Tommy and they both got along very well. WG was torn between both dogs, mostly worried that the beagle would easily be adopted and the Puggle wouldn’t. But the shelter people assured WG that they do not have the dogs put down and always find homes for them.
So we took the beagle, Molly. (Okay, they would have thrown in the Puggle for a few more dollars, but two dogs are plenty.)
And come on, a beagle is so much better looking than a pug. Plus beagles were bred to do something. Pugs were bred to just be lap dogs. Kinda hard for a guy to walk a pug and keep his dignity

Molly has made herself at home and follows commands that Tommy already knows. So despite here being found as a stray, she did have a family that took care of her and worked with her.

She is slowly settling into the household routine and we shall see. But I think she will work out well.

And WG is very pleased with the gift I got her and the Tommy dog helped pick out!

Dealing with the Nubies

So, we have a new batch of Nubies to deal with.

It is so hard to train them, especially since their ages range from 24? to 33?. No, I have not asked their ages, that can be considered rude.

But I do want you to be aware, that I am listening to every word you say, tasting the sound, listening to the feel, playing with the phrases you utter.
And always thinking of their other meanings, what has not been said, looking for a way to make something funny.
And when I say things, at times I am leaving an opening for one of you to say something, if you listen well enough.

You will get points if you catch on faster than others.

Like last night, when we were driving back from dinner and I said that with all of these pretty ladies, the hard part was not playing favorites.
L2 said, “So, you admit that we are all pretty.”

I could not see her, but I will bet she was smiling. Nice catch L2 and nicely played. You get a Ganda point for that one.

Sleeping with my FB

Well, the annual camping trip is coming up and I was expecting to be sleeping in my tent, as usual.
But this year DeepT cannot make it. And FB’s son won’t be coming. So there will be an extra bed available in Fishing Buddy’s trailer.
(Oh, and I’ll bet you thought FB had a different meaning? You have a dirty mind!)

The amusing thing is that I have teased my friends about being wimps because they sleep in a trailer, instead of a tent, and now I will be one of the wimps! :-)
There response is to say that if I had been there two years ago, when it snowed, that I would have thought differently.
But alas, two years ago I missed the snow. I was forced, (forced I say) to spend two weeks in the Philippines. Sadly, business trips sometimes interfere with your life.
(of course we will ignore the truth. That I was made to spend time with my friends in Cebu. Made to spend time with pretty young ladies.
Look, this is MY story and I will omit, or bend, the truth to fit how I want the story to sound.)

So this year, I will find out what luxury camping is like.

Clouds are gathering

I was going to write about fun things, like the veritable plethora of feminine pulchritude that I had to survive yesterday-

However, when I opened my email this morning, there was a note from my high school girlfriend and she mentioned that her husband was in the hospital and she would know more on Monday.
From the tone of the note, there has been some type of problem for a little while. And It does not sound good.

Maybe I am reading more into the email that I should, but since she is my oldest and dearest friend, I am worried.
You don’t like to see friends sad.
Especially when there really isn’t much you can do to cheer them up.

It darkened an otherwise sunny day

Escape to X Minus One leaves me in Suspense

It’s one thing to listen to your iPod everywhere you go, but we all know that we do get tired of our favorite music.

And then I realized that during the long boring drive to and from work, I could be listening to my collection of old radio shows from the forties and fifties!

As most of you do not know; before the invention of television, people listened to the radio for their entertainment. In some respects, it was and still is better, simply because you imagine how things look. This is especially true of Horror and Sci-Fi. Your imagination is always better than the image you see on TV or in the movies. Now these are not ‘books on tape’ being read by someone; these are dramas with multiple actors, sound effects, music.
Escape opened with these lines-

Tired of the everyday grind?
Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure?
Want to get away from it all?
We offer you ... ESCAPE!

And that is precisely what OTR shows enables me to do, to escape.

Right now I am halfway through my collection of X Minus One. It is a series of Sci-Fi radio dramatizations from the mid-fifties.

So I get in my truck, listen to the morning new for a few minutes, then I select the next show on my iPod and lose myself for the next thirty minutes

“Countdown for blastoff... X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one... Fire! From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future; adventures in which you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand may-be worlds”.

And all of our petty problem go away.

Bees Needs

A few weeks ago some bees gathered in our tree out front. They were not more than eight feet off the ground.
I have dealt with bee swarms when I was young, but since Wonder-Girl is allergic to their stings, I could not capture and keep them.
So I called the local beekeeper group and they would come and get them the next day.
And the guy wanted $100. I told him that the web site states the charges are $50. He agreed to the $50 and came and got them the next day.

Now I don’t mind a small fee, but $50 seems high. Especially since they were in a tree and easily collected. So I had to pay the guy and he gets a free swarm. Bees sell for about $85.
If they were stuck in a wall, maybe I would pay. (okay, if they were stuck in a wall, I would use my Chlordane.) But if the swarm comes back next year and the guy says it’s $100. Then I will tell him it is too high. He can either come and get them for free, or I will wait until late at night, dump them into a box and drive them to the edge of town and leave them there.

The bees will be fine.

Quotes from Bjorn....

My coworker collected phrases he overheard on the manufacturing floor. On his last day at work, he gave us copies.

Things I've Heard….

I have the habit of collecting memorable quotes at work. The only criteria I use is that the quote has to be something that was not meant to be funny when it was said. I have collected quite of few of these quotes over the last few years. All of these quotes were said quite innocently and the humor only came after the statements had sunken in for a few seconds. Usually, the person who said it laughed the hardest because they had no idea what they had just said.
Although many of these quotes sound sexual, I can assure you that almost all of them refer to some part of a system or to a tool of some sort. Whenever I heard one of these, I would write it down in my Newton. (See? It was good for something!) It was my way of capturing the fun we have around here. This is the part I'll miss the most about working here. Now that I'm leaving, I'd like to pass them all on to you as my way of thanking you all for making the last 2 1/2 years so fun for me. I'll definitely miss you all.

Bjorn J.


Sue H.
Quit playing with my springs!
Where's our rubber?
We need some little dikes... go see Paula.
Are you blowing or sucking?
I can't get this hose into the hole.
The last time I saw it, it was in your slot.
Does anyone have Vaseline in one of their little compartments?
I've got trouble down there in the fudge pipe.
I've got rusty nipples.
Any time you put something in front him he grabs it and sticks it.
You can't put it in the other hole.
Do you have any of those shaved nuts?
Are you in charge of nipples?

Paula N.
I'm so sticky!
I want bigger ones.
Let's go play Royster.

Tony T.
I need a bigger tool.

Richard D-M.
I got excited and forgot to wrap the tip.
I've got another 10 inches

Bjorn J.
He's walking around with a lot of little parts.

Steve D.
Sausage tastes good!

Royster M.
Hey Sue! Do you have a 3/8" nipple?

Ruth M.
Monica has some stuck pins.

Hugo Q.
I'm looking for 69... 1888-2-069

Richard 0.
I don't like to touch your stuff unless you are aware of it.

Dan P.
I like that little Wally

A little pain, a little blood

I saw her again Monday. She was one of those people I instantly like, but don’t know why.

About five–four, slim, long brown hair. Large eyes, a nice smile and a pleasant face. More pleasant looking than pretty. The type that is more attractive when she smiles than anyone with just a pretty face. Perhaps about thirty-five and unmarried.

It wasn’t until today, when I shook her hand and looked her in the eyes, that I realized why I liked her. She reminds me of Patch of Gravel. (similar handshake too)

And she seemed pleased to see me, genuinely please to see me.

And here is where I pause in the tale, trying to figure out how much more I should mislead you.

So let's stick to the facts.

Yes, it seemed odd that she was pleased to see. Doctors just see patients. I was one of many. None the less, she did seem pleased to see me, But I digress.
Anyway, she checked the spot on my hand where the mole was removed and said it looked like it was healing well. Still, she seemed concerned. She explained that even though the edges of the biopsy was negative(the center was positive), there was a chance the lab tech didn’t see everything and she was concerned with the lab technicians choice of terms in his description of the non-invasiveness of the skin cancer.
She talked about how the next step would be to pull up the skin and cut off an oval, then stitch it up. If that was needed. She said she wanted to recheck my hand in the near future, but she talked like she wanted to for sure do some more cutting.
We talked about a few other things involved in the treatment and agreed that I would schedule another appointment in six months.
Then she got out the liquid nitrogen and froze the shit out of the site where the mole had been removed. No, I am not exaggerating! There is a half-inch blister on the back of my hand right now. (yes, it burns.)
I wasn’t very concerned with how eager she is to see me again and maybe schedule a surgery until she emptied the liquid nitrogen bottle on my hand.
Okay, so I exaggerate just a little. Just like I might be exaggerating and misleading you when I say that she wants to see me again.
But she seemed to go overboard with the freezing like she felt something was wrong.

So I have a date to see her again in six months. Sure, you say, I don’t mind seeing her again because she is an attractive young woman and very personable.

But I fear there will be a little more pain next time.

And I fear there will be blood.

It’s getting crowded here.

It has been said that there are six people in every relationship.

There is

Who I am.
Who I think I am
Who you think I am.

Who you are.
Who you think you are,
Who I think you are.

I would like to add, that with the advent of the internet and social networks, perhaps we can add two more?

Who I pretend to be.
Who you pretend to be.


It may turn out that I am not really who I think I am. But I suppose it's okay, as long as I remain who you think I should be.

The woman who wasn't there

While at your site, I chose to stare;
At your face, but you weren't there.
You weren't there again today.
I wonder why you went away?

Betty’s little sister.

I walked into our little bank and the teller is still there. She looks like she could be Betty’s little sister.
Slim, petite; just like Betty. But long brown hair and brown eyes.
Reese Witherspoon looks a little like Betty, but Betty is so much better looking!

Now you know what I have written about Betty look-a-likes. (If not, then get your lazy ass in gear and read! Or maybe I should say, get your eyes in gear? But I digress.)

I am kind of in luck, for of the three tellers, the BLA will wait on me. I say kinda, because I want to stare at her face, study it, but I know it will creep her out. So I chat with her as I do my business. Keep my eyes away from her or on her eyes.

Yes, she looks so much like Betty. Same smile, same sparkle in her eyes. I say ‘little sister’ because she looks like Betty did fifteen years ago.

I wonder if Betty needs parts again?

Was it something I said?

One of my friends vanished from the web. Kinda makes me sad. Yes, I have neglected my relationship with her and have not sought her out and chatted with her.

It’s just not been a good five months, but that’s no excuse not to say hi.

I just wonder what happened to her?

I can only hope that she has abandoned the virtual world because she has found something better in the real world.

A close Shave

So I finally went to see the dermatologist about getting an ugly, nasty looking mole taken off my hand. (At Christmas, my doctor-sister saw it and said I should have it removed soonest!)

So the dermy comes in, (a rather nice looking young doctor. I figured she was mid-thirties. But I digress :-), she takes one look at the mole and says it has to come off.
“Shave?” Says the not nearly as pretty nurse.
“Yes.”
So they set things up, take measurements and a picture (I don’t know why they need a picture.)
The Doc sits down at the terminal and enters the info about the mole. “We’ll have to have a biopsy”. She says.
“I expected that. It’s pretty nasty looking.”
“If the results are positive, then you’ll have to come back.”
“Yes, because you’ll have ‘trench work’ to do.”
She stopped typing for a second and I could see her thinking. Rolling the phrase around in her head, feeling how it tasted. Then she smiled just a little. “‘Trench work’, I like that. It will require stitches.” And she resumed typing.
And I knew I had her. She liked my odd sense of humor and she understood it. She was like me in some strange way.
She turned to me, “Just the mole on the hand?”
“No, there is a large mole/skin tag just below my belt line, here in front.”
“Does it bother you?”
“I’ve caught it with my fingernail a few times and torn it when I got undressed.”
“Let me see.”
I pushed the waistline of my jeans down an inch or so and she could see it. (No, I don’t take my pants off for just anyone, even an attractive young doctor with a good sense of humor!)
“We’ll freeze it.” She said.
(Yes, I know what you’re going to say; of course I didn’t want to take my pants off. I didn’t want her to cut off the wrong little odd piece of skin! Well, you can just shut up, smart-ass.)

A few blasts of liquid nitrogen and then it was time for the slice and dice.

A little alcohol, a couple of pricks with the needle and the back of my hand was numb. Then the Doc picked up a thin piece of metal between her thumb and forefinger and it bent into a U-shape.
“That looks like half of an old-fashioned safety razor.”
“It is.”
“Good to see they still have a use for them.”
She smiled a little, blocked my view with a piece of gauze and shaved the mole off .
Neat, smooth, practiced. She dumped the lump of flesh into the sample bottle the nurse held and then started dabbing the wound to staunch the flow of blood.
She looked up at me. “Do you take aspirin?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s working.” And she smiled a little.
Yes, a good sense of humor. Too bad she is a dermy, not a GP. If she were a GP, I’d change doctors right away. And it’s not just because she is good looking. She has a sense of humor. My current GP doesn’t have one.

She finally got the blood to slow and put a large bandage over the 3/8 inch(9.5mm) hole she had scooped out of my hand.

After I got the wound care instructions and a bag of antiseptics and bandages, I was done.

Now I have those classic conflicted feelings. To see the nice pretty doctor again would be a good thing. But if I go back to her office, it will be because the mole was cancerous and she will have to carve a trench in my hand.

I am not looking forward to that.

Imaginary Mistress

It’s been a little over a week, since I had my last cigarette. I have my happy pills and my nicotine patches, so I guess I have all the help I can get.
It’s funny how an antidepressant is supposed to help reduce the cravings. I guess since I do not notice a change in the way I feel, I was never depressed :-)

But the cravings for a cigarette are still there, at times. When we were driving over to visit my Step-mom on Sunday, Wonder-Girl turned to me and said, “You seem to be doing pretty well. Do you still feel the cravings?”
“They come and go. Right now, I could really, really, really use a cigarette. It’s like…
Well it’s like lying next to a naked twenty-year-old syphilitic mistress.
You want to touch her and it would be so easy, but you also know that every time you touch her, your life gets shorter. And there is a good chance it can get drastically shorter.”

Wonder-Girl smiled. “That’s a pretty good way of thinking of it.”

We drove in silence for a while.

So everywhere I go, my ‘Naked twenty-year-old syphilitic mistress’ is right beside me. She seems so alluring and it would be so easy to reach out and touch her.
Feel her in my hands, feel her on my lips. Enjoy the sensation of drawing her essence into my lungs, her smell, what it does to my head.

And from what people at the clinic told me, that she will be always by my side. And for the rest of my life, I will have to constantly say ‘No’. Resisting her.
Forever.

Insubstantial Beings

If Bad Warty is like a dark mist whispering sweet lies in your ear.
What happens if he encounters the Ethereal Miss, somewhere in the aether?
Would their insubstantialness merge into one being?
So that when she licks her lips, he can taste her.