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.