Constraints

I like to write stories. Sometimes, just to take my mind off my troubles, I weave the stories in my head as I try to fall asleep. (Yes, I can hear you now, ‘They must be really boring stories!” Oh shut up! But I digress.)The fun thing about them is that none of the characters, though lightly patterned after bits of people that I know, really exist. This way, I can have anyone do anything. Go on adventures, fall in love, make love, kill an enemy; it doesn’t matter.Until now.A while ago, I reconnected with a dear friend on one of the social networking sites. We had lost touch thirty years ago, due to a falling out I had with a mutual friend.Being the silly person that I am, I wrote a fictionalized account of how we first met and posted it on her account. (based solely on what I remembered about her 30 years ago and our mutual liking of Star Trek). To my surprise, she added several paragraphs to the story. Over the last few months, each of us has added bits to the story, based solely on what the other person wrote. It’s turning out to be very fun, since neither of us knows where the story is going.And yet, there are constraints, for I know where the story is not going.Like I said, when I write a story, it is about fictional characters. This time the characters are us, but in a fictional setting. So I cannot let my character do things in the story that I would not do in real life. And that’s the rub. For if anyone else were to read the story, they would soon wonder, ‘When are these two gonna admit their feelings for each other and spend the night together, locked in passion?’ Ah, but that can’t happen, the story has constraints .I have the story in my head and avoid the obvious traps. The elephant in the room. If these two people are stuck aboard a crippled starship for almost a year, they will either end up falling in love, or one shoves the other out the airlock! And I have to dance between those two extremes and still make the story plausible. At least I have a fun story to think about as I drift off to sleep at night.

It’s safe now.

Yeah, it’s still out there. The story (rather racy) that my friend wrote and I posted to Usenet for her, back in ’93.

Some years back, while searching for my old work email address, I found her story archived at a bunch of sites. (see April 02, 2006 - Words never die on the Internet).
No big deal, except that at the bottom of the story was my work email address! Anyone reading it and who worked for my company could figure out it was me. That made me worry since I did not want a call from HR asking me to explain a sex story with the companies name on it!
Now, seventeen years later, I don’t have to worry since I no longer work for that company.

Still, amusing how some things never go away in the aether.

Betty look alikes and slipping into the Twilight Zone

First day on the job, I passed by her office and let my eyes glance covertly in her direction.
I had to look twice at her, carefully because no gal likes to be stared at. Yep, there is an uncanny resemblance. I let my eyes slide away from her and acted as if I never glanced in her direction.
Another Betty look alike.

Oh sure, this gal is attractive and that does catch my eye, but her profile reminds me of Betty. Straight on, she is just a pretty woman. And she seems nice.
Over the months that I have been here I have talked to her just a little, we say hello as we pass in the hallways. Maybe there is some resemblance from the front, but really it is the profile.
A lot of the people I work with do their work in the field, so I don’t see them all the time.

What is also amusing about my work is that I now work with another woman who resembles my twin sister a bit and another that resembles my sister-in-law. (more sound of her voice and how she speaks.) Oh, none of these are doppelgangers, it’s just that they have some resemblance.

Now if someday, the Betty look-alike pulls me to one side and says, “You know GW, I know a guy who looks very much like you.” That’s when I will know I have slipped into the Twilight Zone and I will start to worry.

I’m not saying we ought to misbehave

So last week, on my day off, we went next door to help Chemical Girl pack. Losing her house has been tough on her, and besides the help, she could use some company.
Later, while we were eating pizza, I thought I’d relate a story to her.

Years ago, one of my work friends was going to move. I wasn’t sure when and was a bit surprised when, as he was talking to a bunch of us guys, that he said he moved over the weekend.
“ Everett, I didn’t know it was last weekend. I kinda expected you to ask me for some help.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to help.”
“Sure, but I would have had to go to the adult store first.”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Well, I thought it would be funny to buy a big dildo. When I got to your place, I would roll it under the bedroom dresser. Then, when a couple of the other guys moved the dresser and discovered it, you would have some explaining to do!”
Everybody busted up laughing, but Everett just got a worried look on his face, “You would really do that to me?”
“Oh, probably not; but I thought of it!”

Wonder-Girl and Chemical Girl thought the story was funny.
And I reassured CG that no, I would not do that to her.
I hope she isn’t worried.

Guilt

My neighbor just lost her house. Breaking up with her S.O. and then losing her job took its toll. Add in the housing bubble bursting and she was underwater with a house she could no longer afford, nor sell. While she was trying to renegotiate her loan and avoid the foreclosure, the bank sold her home.
Yesterday I found out what the new owner paid for it and I feel bad. The house sold for a mere $236,000.
It has now occurred to me that despite not even having my job for a year, I probably could have qualified for a loan, bought her house and rented it back to her. Then, some years down the road, after she has repaired her credit, she could buy it back. (WG thought the same thing. After all, we own our home completely, and our cars.)
Now I feel guilty about not helping her. Yeah, I can just hear my friend FL saying, ‘Why do guys feel the need to always rescue a gal?’
It’s just who we are, I guess. If a gal feels some need for security and protection, it just fits that us guys feel some need to protect and provide security. It’s not a major force, but it is there.
It’s that entire ‘Damsel in Distress, Knight in Shining Armor’ thing. Sure, bothersome at times, but if a gal does need rescuing; it’s nice that there can be someone there to rescue her.
So sure, I would be ‘rescuing’ my neighbor. However, she’s a nice gal and both WG and I like her. Good neighbors can be hard to find. (Yeah, the dogs love her too.)
I would never want to be a landlord, I dislike being in charge, but being CG’s landlord would be fairly easy. Oh sure, there would be complications. I couldn’t charge her too high a rent. It’s one of the rules; a KiSA does not take advantage of a DiD. It would be rude.
I would have to play down the ‘you owe me big time’. I could tease her once in a while, but I have seen the look of horror creep over a woman’s face when she realizes that she owes me.
A KiSA should not give women nightmares!

There have been a number of occasions where I was the KiSA. Yeah, an average looking guy in a ’73 Valiant would never qualify as Prince Charming on a white horse; but I was there when a KiSA was needed. Fixed the problem, got a nice thank you and was on my way. (Yes ladies, despite some nasty stories, all we really want is to help and receive a nice thank you. We are happy to help, because that’s what we are supposed to do.)

And now I realize that I might have missed this one and it was a big one.

(PS- Yes, we can argue for hours, the semantic difference between rescuing and helping. Some other day.)

(PPS – maybe that’s why some of my independent, female friends have trouble finding someone, they don’t need rescuing. I guess some guys can’t handle that. But that’s a discussion for a later date.)

Cross Country

What if there was a huge disaster that wiped out eighty percent, or more, of the human population? What would you do? Where would you go?
As a fan of ‘end of the world’ type stories, I have often thought of this and wondered what I would do.
That brings up a special term I have for a few people. “I would travel cross country to find you.”
Imagine the desolation of your country. Roaming packs of starving dogs. Roaming bands of lunatic people. Gangs of despicable people. Religious fanatics.
Yes, for some people, I would travel cross-country to find them. Family, and some friends.
I know that to some of you, the whole idea is frightening. So be it.
But there is another frightening aspect to this. There are people I know that I would not want coming to look for me! More acquaintances and co-workers than friends. But none the less, people whom I would rather avoid.
“I guess you are nice enough, but I would rather travel three thousand miles through a hell infested wasteland to look for someone who might be alive, than be with you.”
Hmmm…I guess it’s better than; ‘Well, maybe if you were the last woman on earth.’ I just want to go see if the second to that last woman on earth is still alive.

There are only a handful of people, for whom ‘I would travel cross-country to find you.’ applies.
And I am sorry, but as fond as I am of you, attempting to pilot a yacht or 275 foot Coast Guard cutter across the Pacific to find you is beyond my skills. (Not that I have ever thought of it, despite the fact that the cutters are only twenty miles from here and they have a range of 6,000 miles. :-)

Time is tight

So, I have been working again for just over six months now and could not understand why I have no time for anything. Get home, eat, play with the dogs, talk to my wife. A bit of TV and then off to sleep.
I used to get home from work, work on a project, write a bit; then the rest of the stuff. Now, there is no time.
I puzzled about this for a while and then it dawned on me what was different, I go to work.
Back in 2005, I was working three days in the office, two at home. That morphed to the point that during my last few years, it was four at home, one in the office. That gave me an extra two hours at home and a later bedtime.
So now, time is tight.
Early to rise, early to bed, makes a man healthy, wealthy and dead. Sigh.
And just give up things.

I really shouldn’t give this up.

Black Coffee

It’s just after seven and as usual, I am awake. When I first got laid off, I would sleep in till eight or so. There was no reason to get up early. Yeah, I know, talk to the dogs. They will tell you that I should be up on time and take them for their walk.
Over this last year, despite not having to get up, I started getting up early. I am basically a night person and I have the unique ability to ignore noise on a Saturday morning and sleep in.
Now, I wake up between six and seven and get right up. It’s almost against my religion to get up so early, especially when I don’t have to. Sigh, so here I am, sitting at the kitchen table of my brother’s house. He and his nice wife seem sound asleep and I have to figure out a strange kitchen.
I managed to find the coffee and make a small pot. Soon that magic herbal remedy will infuse me with wonderful chemicals and I will wake up enough to realize that I should have stayed in bed.
There is no sugar in the house! Yeah, yeah, I know from past visits that they usually don’t have sugar on hand. Yeah, I should have brought some from the hotel, but I didn’t. Oh, I could go searching through the kitchen cabinets, but I just don’t like looking through other people’s cabinets, even if it is perfectly okay.
There was a half-packet of sweetener on the microwave and I used that to sweeten my first cup. I know there is more, but I won’t search.
So I will sip the strong, bitter liquid and slowly wake up.

I wonder if the rats in the walls have quieted down? Someone just knocked on the door leading to the garage. I hear creaking footsteps.
There is storm blowing outside and it makes the house creak in different ways than my house, so I notice them.
A walk right now would be good, I haven’t gone for a walk all week. However, it’s raining and I don’t have any rain gear. So it’s sit inside and listen to the house creak and the wind blow.
And wait for my brother and his family to wake up and start the day.

Inappropriate Toy

Most of the toys from my dad’s collection are the usual things, Marx cars, Tootsietoys, model airplanes, etc.
But there is one toy that, while it may have been funny in the fifties or sixties, in light of the recent scandals; it is no longer amusing.
It’s called ‘The Merry Monk’ with fun raising action.

Watch the video.

I am just not comfortable selling it, but I am curious as to what it is worth.

One of a kind Ol Yeller Fire Truck

One of the interesting things in my dad’s toy collection, is a late fifties, early sixties, yellow peddle car. It’s a fire truck with ‘Roseville Fire Department’ on the sides.

As you can see from the pictures, it’s a Hamilton Steel Products fire truck, built on a jeep chassis. The odd thing is, it is yellow. My research guy has started looking into this and has found that Hamilton only made red and blue fire trucks.
So my research guy has started contacting fire departments.
It looks like Hamilton might have made a yellow fire truck for the Roseville, Michigan Fire Department. The local fire chief may have a picture of this car on display, years ago, in the firehouse. With any luck, he can find the picture and send us a copy.

Someone at the Roseville, California fire department also emailed him, saying that they remembered a yellow fire truck. They are checking with some of their ‘old timers’.

It will be interesting to see what the rest of the research leads to and ‘how one of a kind’ this peddle car turns out to be.

If it truly is one of a kind, the value increases.

Addendum - Feb 2.

It's nice when experts give you the value of their experience. My research guy has found out that the front and rear ornaments are not standard on the Hamilton trucks (which is what we figured). Also, the hose reel is non-standard. Further checking revealed that the lettering is vinyl. Though the yellow paint is the only paint, there is a little bit of red over spray by one of the peddles.
So, we figure that someone(possible who worked for one of the fire departments), took a red Jeep fire truck, stripped the paint off and had it repainted in yellow.
It's still a good looking truck.

Wifey Ear

Years ago, a coworker was trying to get my attention from across the aisle. Exasperated, he finally raised his voice and said, “GW!”
“Yes?”
“Stop using your ‘Wifey ear’.


So, I went in to have my hearing checked last week because I have been noticing greater difficulty hearing some people, particularly my wife.

I fully expected the Audiologist to come back into the room after the test and say, “Your hearing is fine.” Whack me on the arm and say, “So pay better attention to your wife!”
But alas, it turns out I have lost some hearing in the higher frequencies. (Yes I know, it comes with age.) The Audiologist explained that this type of loss makes it harder to hear women and children, since their voices are usually at a higher pitch. This explains a lot, since Wonder-Girl has a soft female voice. There have been many times when she answers the phone and the person on the other end asks if her mommy is home.
This also explains how easy it is for other noises to drown out WG’s voice.

The Audiologist said that I should consider hearing aids. (Thank goodness my young female friends in the Philippines don’t read this. They already tease me about being old!)
So I’ll consider hearing aids and look into the types and price (shudder)

But maybe there is a bright side. I might as well go back to my old habit of staring at women’s chests, especially since there is no point in trying to listen to them anymore:-)
(Gosh, there must be some kind of witty tee-shirt slogan I can make.)