Philosophical quandary

Dear Tee Shirt Girl,

I am faced with a deep philosophical quandary-
Specifically, at what point does one officially become a dirty old man?
My wife once said to me (when I was much younger and giving her a more than admiring look. Which I think is okay, since she is my wife. :-)
Anyway, she said, ‘You are a dirty old man.’
To which I had to respond with, ‘Excuse me! I am a dirty Young man. Someday, I hope to be a dirty old man!’

So, is it a matter of how old I am? Or is it relative to how old the woman is?
It is somewhat permissible for a thirty-year-old guy to ogle(to look at amorously, flirtatiously, or impertinently.) a twenty-five-year-old gal. And it’s okay for him to ogle a thirty-five-year-old gal. But a forty-five-year-old guy should not be ogling a twenty-five-year-old gal.

I think perhaps I need to poll a number of women and find out what they consider a D.O.M. to be.

That way, I will know when can I start wearing a tee shirt that says-

IT’S OFFICIAL!
I AM NOW A DIRTY OLD MAN!
(WOHOO!!) OR (YIPEE!!)

(And I sincerely hope that one of you is Bolera enough to say, ‘Oh Warty! You are much too young to wear that tee shirt!’)

Nothing much happens

A good boring weekend. Just painting the house.

We were just getting ready to start painting when Kimical Girl came over from next door. She said she liked to paint and offered to help. So we gave her the roller, Wonder-Girl took the lower cutwork, I took the higher cutwork. It worked out well and we got the stucco in front all painted. Rather nice of her to help.

Today we finished up the front siding and trim. Almost done with the whole house. Just the white trim on the back windows needs to be finished. WG will work on that a bit this week and then I’ll finish up. There are some parts of painting that I am just better at; there are some parts that WG is better at. I am really good at painting freehand. I don’t need tape or edge tools to paint the white woodwork where it hits the blue stucco. Maybe because I have patience.

So yes, we have quiet weekends where we just do a lot of work.

Fishing Buddy

I was going to write about the guy’s fishing trip and my fishing buddy. Fishing Buddy is rather cumbersome, so I thought I’d abbreviate it as FB.

I had to laugh, FB, no way GW will you use that abbreviation! Everyone knows(nowadays) it stands for Fuck Buddy.

Which reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine. She was describing how there was this guy she knew. If business took her to his city, they would spend time together. If business took him to her city, they would spend time together. They would go out to dinner, see the sights, movies, and…
And when they parted, there wasn’t a lot of communication until they were together again.
I said that he sounded like a FWB, Friends with Benefits. “Oh no.” She said. “I don’t know him well enough to call him a friend.”
“Well, how about Acquaintance with Benefits?”
“Yes, I like that.”

And you know, when I was young, we didn’t have fancy terms for someone who we liked enough to use on those occasions when we were horney.

I have never been in a situation like that, but I have talked to those who have. And I have noticed something. If the two can keep it at just friends, or realize that all they will ever be is friends,(maybe because of distance) then it’s okay.
But problems can develop if one develops feelings for the other. And then they are possibly stuck. Do they wait and hope the other develops feelings? Hide their own feelings and hurt. Or do they realize that they have to get out?
That must be a terrible situation to be in.

And I think back on those times where an ex-girlfriend wanted to get together with me. That was very different. She was in town for the weekend and wanted to have dinner with me. Or there was some strange problem with a household appliance and she wanted me to help. And if I spent the night, it was different. For me, there was no hope of something starting again. It had ended and there was no future. The wound had closed and the scars tissue healed. Ignore the fact that the wound would sometimes ooze a little blood from time to time.
And maybe, once or twice, I think there was an attempt on her part, to rekindle what we once had. But I knew that would never happen, despite the fact that I have always remained on good terms with an ex. When it ended, it was because we realized that it wouldn’t work between us. No one did anything terrible. No screaming or fighting. Just the realization that it wasn’t working.
So for one night, it was easy to slide into the warm, comfortable feeling we had.

And then you don’t hear from the person for months.

I suppose that made me just a ‘booty call’?

I’d like to think it was more.

Next to Nothing

You know, there are times you really want to pull someone aside and give them a talking to. Just to let them know that they are really screwing up.

I’d like to do that to a friend of ours, but I am not sure if it’s my place. I have seen her do this a number of times.
We are at a party and she has had a glass of wine or two. Just enough to loosen her already sharp tongue. Then someone throws some large sausages on the barbeque.
‘Oh wow!” She will exclaim. “Will you look at the size of these! I wish husband was half this size!” You go on, and on. We are already uncomfortable. Darling, you don’t disrespect your husband like this in public. None of us are as big as those sausages, and most of us know that if we were, women would have nothing to do with us. But you continue to tell us how his size isn’t enough, or it doesn’t last long enough, or it’s not used on you enough.
Yes, we get the picture, you will never be satisfied with what he has. We see the hurt in his eyes as you cut into him.

And then later, with maybe another glass of wine in you, you have the audacity to talk about wanting to get lucky later that night. And you will wonder why he is not interested.

Darling, you have already told him he is not wanted, so why would you be surprised if he shows no interest? Why would a guy want to go where he is not wanted?

And furthermore, you’re not the young hottie you used to be. There are a few extra pounds on you. Now it is good that you watch your weight and you go to the gym regularly. But dear, you no longer have the attractive figure that you once had. So if you want your man, then you need to give him some encouragement. Make him want you. But you do the opposite, and push him away.

And you fail to realize what a good guy you have. For when it’s just the guys, does he bad mouth you? Mention your fat ass? No. At most he might grouse a little about your shopping, or some other little thing that people like to complain about. Because you know, we all like to complain a little. But at most, it’s the little minor things that irk us all.
Things that if you heard them, you could easily defend yourself.

He has no defense and I hate to see him bleed.

Or maybe I should shut up?

I think that I have a unique position. When I hear those who are inside the circle, bemoaning what it is like and all the games that are played, I wonder if they see my perspective?
For I am outside the circle and I have been for almost three decades. That allows me to say things that are perhaps a little more truthful? For when you are in the game, all are suspect. Because we know what it is like.
If some gal approaches you, from out of the blue and starts paying serious attention to you, the little warning voices says; ‘You know, she probably just wants to get into your pants’.
Maybe you listen, not to carefully, for you probably feel the same way about her. And that’s okay, for you are both just playing the game. And sometimes, the game just lasts the night.

But there comes a time when you are no longer playing the game. You are outside the circle, watching those inside scurry around. And that’s when things change. That’s when you can stand back and really evaluate a person. Maybe she is just a friend, someone you work with. And you realize that when you offer them a compliment, they may not understand that you are in earnest. They might just call you Bolero, or maybe a sweet-talker. They are deep in the game and misunderstand.

So I have to be careful and temper what I say.

Which makes it hard to try and be a friend. For when I read your blog, where you wonder when guys will stop looking for something better. Stop judging you by just your looks and see the smart, funny person you are inside.
Do you understand that there are those of us who already do? That when we were in this big group, running around the island, having fun, that you stood out? Perhaps not in front of the pack, but you were noticed.
And I came away with the one thought, ‘I like that person! For she is smart and fun to be around.’ And if I get back there and the group goes on another outing, I would hope you go too. Because there are people there who I am friends with simply because I enjoy their company. And adding one more interesting person to the group just makes for more fun.

And guess what, I can throw them a compliment once in a while and they will accept it. For they know that I am outside the circle and my only agenda is to be their friend and help them feel good about themselves.

So when you ask, ‘When will guys mature enough to realize that what is inside a person counts for more than what is on the outside.’ The answer is that eventually most men and women do. Some understand this at twenty, some never do. So you should never waste too much time with the immature. For there are those out there that have matured and can appreciate you.

And occasionally, a compliment is simply meant to be nice. And there is nothing lurking behind it.

Dredge

Dredge
By G.W. Hogg
©10-9-1999

(I have never seen him since that day, but I always wondered what might happen if we both met at one of the High School Reunions. I can only guess.)
“Hi”, was all I could say, at first. Inadequate, but there it was. I struggled to hold back the memories, ones I had left stored away in boxes. Thoughts and feeling that I put away and didn’t want to dredge up. But up they came, unbidden.
“You’re looking good.”
“Thanks. Time seems to have been kind to you.” I answered as I struggled with my feelings.

I always dreaded coming to reunions, just for this reason. They were always people I wanted to see. Old friends, girlfriends, but not this person. This was the one old friend that I wished had died, or at least never came into my life again. It is hard to talk to someone, even to look at them, when the last time you saw them, they told you were going to die. It was said as if the person you were turning your back on knew you the best, knew how you thought, knew who you really were. But I turned my back and went away with another. I could not be friends with both of them, they despised each other. I had to choose between a deep friendship of over ten years or one of two months. I threw it all away for a chance at a happiness I’d never thought would come. I chose the right path, but I didn’t know that then. All I knew was that I was told to choose between the two. And when I made my choice, there were these parting words, “When you kill yourself, make sure you don’t get any blood on her sofa.”
It wasn’t an “if”, it was a when. As if this person knew me so well that they knew my fate.
But my fate has not been that dire prediction, not even close. But I think a part of me did die, the day I turned my back. Never have I had the same friendship, the same bond. I may have thrown that away and never realized it.
As I think about it, I wonder. Maybe a therapist could figure it out, I cannot. But therapy would probably bring out other things that I have successfully buried. Resurrections can be ugly and I am happy to leave them buried. I do not think that going through the pain would make me any happier. Best leave it alone.
But now I have to face a small part of what I buried. The part that I could never figure out. How my leaving cause us both so much pain, how it caused me less.
“I only came to see if you were here, to tell you one thing and then to leave. For I can’t stay here, be in the same room with you.”
I didn’t know how to answer, so I kept quiet.
“I always loved you. And I still do. Your leaving me hurt me more than you will ever know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know. I also knew that you didn’t feel the same way towards me and I couldn't change you.”
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t be, it is who you are. I will leave now and I’ll never come to one of these functions again. The pain is just too great.”
He turned and left, I mumbled “bye”.
I watched him go and could do nothing. I couldn’t reach out to him and I didn’t want to. What I needed was to get a drink and find some quiet place to think. To somehow figure out this new part of the equation, something that I had never thought of before.
But there was no time. I could see my wife approaching, chatting with one of my old girlfriends. Thirty years together, but this was something I could not talk about. So I did what I always do, and put my thoughts and feeling back into a box. So when my wife came up to me and handed me a drink, I could smile and tell her that I was having fun. Tell her that I was having a wonderful evening and how happy I was that she came along.
I smiled at the old girlfriend and we told a story about our days in High School. Others joined in the tale and we all laughed at the end.
“Hey,” someone asked, “did you see Bill Robertson here?”
“No”, I answered. “ I didn’t see him at all.”

Bring out your Dead

By G.W. Hogg
©2-12-00

“You know, you really shouldn’t keep your feelings bottled up.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes you do. You need to let your feeling show. It’s just not good for you to keep things inside. You don’t want to explode someday”
“You’re confusing things. There is a big difference between keeping things bottled up, and neatly packing them away in a cupboard.”
“No there isn’t.”
“Oh but there is. Bottling them up means that you stuff them away and try never to see them again. I know where my demons are kept. They are neatly shelved and put away. I can get them out at any time and look them over. I just don’t want to.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No. To me, it’s like a gravestone. It tells you what is buried there. I have no desire to dig up the corpse just so I can experience the smell of rotting flesh.”
“That’s a disgusting analogy.”
“But that is how it is. Airing things out will not remove the stink. Things happen. If I do not understand why I don’t want to dwell on it. I know something happened. I know I was hurt by it, but I do not think I’ll ever understand the why, so I put it away. If I ever feel the need to experience the hurt, I can always drag it back out again. I just don’t see the point in feeling the pain again.”
“But you’re not dealing with it.”
“Yes I am. It is one thing to fall and break your arm. You know how it happened. You remember the pain of it. And you can say to yourself, ‘I’ll never do that again’. But when someone does something to you, understanding why does not mean it will never happen again. It is something that someone did and they may do it again. You learn to deal with it and put the hurt away. The hurt is there, always will be. I just choose not to keep experiencing it over and over.”
“But wouldn’t you feel better if you could forgive someone for what they have done?”
“No, that doesn’t change what was done, it only makes them feel better.”
“But talking it over helps.”
“No, it doesn’t really. I’ve just learned to accept what happens.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“The why of some things cannot be understood. Endlessly going over something is like poking yourself with a pin. You may get used to it, but you’ll never like it. I just don’t see the reason to go and poke myself.
“But you need to deal with these things.”
“You may like to, I don’t. Sure, I could get used to poking myself with a pin, but I’d rather not. I deal with things by not poking myself with them.”
“But talking about it helps.”
“I’ve never found it so.

Unrequired Love

Curious.
I was IM chatting with Fibberkin the other day and we had a nice long chat. She told me that someone that she chats with she really likes. She asked me if you can fall in love with someone just through chat and phone conversations. Well, I am not sure if you can fall in love, but you can become really good friends. As I have said before, I have some friends where the friendship developed before we had ever met, or seen each other.
For others, we were well on the way to becoming friends. Meeting in person just sealed the deal.
I had to think about Fibberkin’s situation. She is single, so maybe she is, maybe she is not looking, but she keeps her options open. So if she is starting to have feelings of friendship for someone, is she confusing the feelings for something more? Or maybe they could lead to more?
This will be interesting to see how it plays out. She is a nice kid, though I have never met her in person.

The other interesting thing is that I suspect who she is talking about(no names were mentioned).

Less than perfect.

Amusing that if Wonder-Girl falls asleep while watching one of her shows I have to be careful when changing the channel. If I lower the volume and switch to one of the network channels, no problem.
But if I switch to the History Channel and start watching ‘Modern marvels’; she invariable wakes up and mumbles, ‘Turn it back.’ I switch back, and she falls asleep again.

I kinda wish she was like Skinner or Filet. Both of them love the History Channel. Well, I guess you can’t have everything.

Sayings

Things I heard a friend say.
Or things I have said
Or things I wished I had said.

--
I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleaze.
--
Is a man more than the scum of his parts?
--
I may be slime, but at least I’m self lubricating.
(does that work better for a woman? :-)
--
You know where his mind is at.
Every time he gets an idea, you see it!
MTM
--
‘Cook?’
‘Don’t ever call me the ‘C’ word!
RP
--
Love hurts,
but only if the cuffs are too tight.
--
The last time I let my feminine side out,
she slapped me!
--
It’s not that things have gone down the toilet yet;
but the waters are swirling around us(me).
--
My mia culpa runneth over!
--
Are butts all their cracked up to be?
--
I have so many black marks,
it makes the white ones look bad
--
So much to do, so little time.
So many words, so few that rhyme.
--
Breakfast, lunch,
And always dinner.
Why is it,
I don’t get thinner?
--
Never hurry a naked woman.
--
Waist not,
flaunt not.

--
The voices say I should not listen to them.
--
Why is it called infidelity,
when you are out of fidelity?
--
What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine.
WG
--
Hey, we’re friends, you share
WG
--
As Grandpa used to say, “I’ve become a believer in old wives tails.”
--
Can you get to a stable relationship by horsing around?
--
It’s the singer, not the thong.
--
Does enlightening ever strike twice?
--

Kith the girls and make them cry.

Well, I don’t think that I have ever done that; but I do like the little pun in there. However, since most of my friends are girls, you can say I ‘kith the girls’ (And don’t even try to get uppity with me. I won’t use ‘female’ or ‘woman’ The old saying uses ‘girls', so I will use ‘girls’ But I digress :-).
Unfortunately, there is a danger there. By becoming friends, you grow fond of them. You like them and you would like to see them happy. I suppose, by being a friend; that makes them happy to some degree. Someone likes them more for just who they are. Someone to remind them that yes, they are quite fetching. Someone who simply likes to be their friend.
So I want to see them happy. Want them to find someone who sees what a nice person they are. Someone that they can fall in love with and who will, in turn, love them back. I can’t do that. And I am puzzled at times, to understand why someone does not see them as I see them. For it can’t be that I am the only one who sees them is such a positive light?

So I sit and watch, and count them off. This one seems to have found a nice guy. This one is now married and happy. Oh, I so wish that she could find someone.
Someone to make her happy.
Then I would be happy.

And I wouldn’t think that sometimes; it’s kith the girls and make me cry.

An, a pit of knees.

(see, it doesn’t quite work. I could try, an a pit of needs, but it just doesn’t flow into ‘an epiphany’.)
My arms, my shoulders, my knees are froze.
Well, mostly, my knees. They were sore this morning, they will be sore tomorrow. But most of the eves are painted and the wood on the house is prepped. (Thanks in large part to Wonder Girl, who has been working tirelessly at my side this last week. Or perhaps it is I that has been working tirelessly at her side? :-)
Either way, we have gotten a lot done. I will be glad to go to work tomorrow and let my poor body relax.

But there has been no rest for the wicked. Saturday, while it rained and I couldn’t paint, I drove over to my dad and stepmom's house and spent the day installing a new kitchen faucet and repairing the bathroom drain.
I hate working on old houses with galvanized pipe(their house is eighty years old). Everything is fragile and you have to be very careful. At least with the faucet, I was careful and brought everything. From new nipples, shutoff valves etc. I learned a long time ago to replace everything. After all, the stuff is old and any part could break or leak at any time. So you replace everything.
Faucet done in two hours and went well.
The bathroom drain was a bastard. The bad leaky fitting in the basement broke off in my hands. But because of the limited space, I couldn’t cut off the pipe like I wanted. So when I attached the new fitting, the drain pipe moved out an inch. So the other end of the pipe, upstairs, moved in an inch. Into the wall an inch, so now the pipe from the sink would no longer reach the drain pipe. I tried various things with the pipe in the basement, but I couldn’t make it better. So a trip down to the hardware store for a new (longer) P-trap.
With a new P-trap. The job was done in five minutes. What I thought was going to be a simple job took three hours.

And now it’s Sunday and my knees are sore and stiff. I would say that I am getting too old for this, but my dad is much older. I couldn’t have my dad doing this kind of stuff. He can’t twist and turn like I can. And you know, after all he has done to help me grow up, the lest I can do is fix a few plumbing problems.

I joked to a friend of mine, that when I get old, I am going to buy a house next to my son so I can be a burden on him! :-)
Actually, I would like to live near him, so he can come and help his old man. And I can listen to him complain about his knees!

Women don’t know

We were watching ‘what not to wear’ the other day and there was this odd looking woman on the show. WG said ‘If she plucked her brows, she could be a knockout.’
‘No.’ I answered, ‘she could never be a knockout.’ WG gave me a funny look. I didn’t add that the gal could not be a knockout even if you double-bagged her and turned the lights out. And the fact that you could use her eyebrows for paint brushes had nothing to do with it.

Oh don’t even start with me. You all know people that you find attractive and those you don’t. But have you ever thought of why you do or don’t?

The next day we were talking about Skinner and WG said, ‘Well, she’s not very attractive.’
I didn’t say a word. Women never like to be contradicted in this situation.
Skinner is very attractive. Though sometimes, cameras catch her in a less than attractive light.

And I can tell you the quick one-word reason for the difference between these two women. Proportion.
The first woman had a body shape that was just…well wrong. Nothing fit, flowed, or worked. Legs too long for her body, posture sucks. (Okay, and her face was seriously not worth looking twice at.) Plucking her eyebrows wouldn’t change a thing.
Skinner, though petite, has everything in approximately the correct proportions.

And women can never see this. The will get stuck on eyebrows, or breasts. Sorry, they really don’t matter that much.
Is she proportional? Does she have the .7 hips to waist ratio? Is her face symmetrical?

Oh, my personal preference, does she have a good smile? Is there a hint of an impish sense of humor? Can you see the intelligence in her eyes? And when she smiles, do her eyes sparkle?

So remember ladies, you don’t know what we find attractive. And if we find you attractive, shut up and don’t negate it. Nothing is more annoying!

Not a kid anymore

A small vacation and we are painting part of the outside of the house. Just the eves and trim. The walls will be easier and later.
I bought US a pressure washer to scrub the walls. WG has already found other uses for it. She will soon be able to scrub down all kinds of stuff in the backyard. Deck, driveway, fish pond. She will have fun with it.
But right now it’s all climbing ladders and painting under the eves. It is slow work have it sure makes your hands, neck and back tired.
Since I am a little younger than WG, it does take quite the toll on me that it takes on her. But it is not a big difference.
I do agree with her, that next time, we will hire it done.
We aren’t kids anymore and ten years from now, we will be even less.

A Muse to amuse

Sometimes, the Muse climbs up my back, parks her cute little butt on my shoulder and starts to whisper in my ear.
If I have time, I can listen, mull over what she says, play with the ideas and then weave the story.
If I am really lucky, I can get it written down.

Alas, at times I can’t concentrate on the Muse. And when I finally have the time to think it over and write it down, the story idea is incomplete. No matter what I do, I just can’t get the ideas to weave together.
And you can’t force a Muse.
And I am stuck with a fragment…

Green Eyed Monster

In the warm humid night, a dark shape glided down onto the roof. The sylph-like figure climbed onto the parapet at the edge of the roof and hunkered down. Her sharp talons dug into the cement and she balanced effortlessly on the thin edge. Her glowing eyes scanned the night sky. Lori was hungry, always hungry, but she waited, motionless, patient.

She did not have long to wait. For within the hour, she saw a shape coming across the night sky. Dark against the starry sky, the shape flew silently.
‘I told them we had to watch.’ She thought to herself. ‘What good is power unless you exercise it occasionally? If you don’t, they will doubt your power.’ She smiled to herself, as she watches the dark shape fly closer.

Still motionless and undetected, only her eyes moved as she tracked the shape as it slowly glided down towards the hotel below. It appeared to almost stop in mid-air, then alight on the balcony wall. Then she smiled as the shape almost lost its balance and half fell onto the balcony.
“Amateur.” She hissed derisively as she stood and unfurled her dark leathery wings. She effortlessly launched herself off the parapet.

The young man didn’t hear the thump on his balcony, nor the noise of the sliding glass door slowly opening. He stirred a little, when a wing thumped into the door frame, but continued to sleep.

‘Foolish mortal.’ Nuby thought as she came through the doorway. ‘Leaving your door unlocked made it too easy.’ She walked slowly to the bed, her talons silent on the deep carpet. He was big and she would feast well tonight. She bent down and could sense their mark on him, smell where they had touched him. ‘It means nothing.’ She thought. ‘Your marks do not frighten me.’
His eyes suddenly opened and she met them, held them. “You are dreaming of a young woman in your room.” She commanded. His startled look was replaced by one of dreamy lust. She sat on the bed and let his eyes rove over her. “Embrace me.”
As he sat up and snaked his arms around her, she could feel his warmth, feel the life pulsing through him. Soon it would be hers.
She kissed him gently on the lips then moved her mouth over to his neck. “I doubt they even suspect.” She whispered to herself.

“I don’t suspect, I know!” A voice hissed behind her.
Startled, Nuby leaped to her feet and spun around, her wing scraping against the young man’s arm.
Lori’s arm was already in motion and her backhand cracked into the side of Nuby’s face. Stunned for a moment, she could not defend herself as Lori’s other hand, clenched into a tight fist, smashed into her jaw. Pain exploded through her head as she fell back on to the carpet.

Ignoring her adversary for a moment, Lori walked over to the dazed young man. She gently raised his chin until he was caught in her gaze.
“You had a strange dream tonight, nothing more. You will tell no one about it, for saying that you dreamt of us being in your room, well, it would embarrass all of us.” He nodded.
Lori noticed that he had a cut on his arm and that there was a thin trickle of blood oozing down his arm.
“A cut here is more dangerous than you can imagine, my friend.” She said as she leaned forward and licked the blood off his arm, savoring the warm salty taste.
“Mmmm…the taste of you on my lips always thrills me. But now is not the time and I will have to be patient. Lie down, go to sleep.”
As he did as he was told, she turned her attention to the poacher who was still lying stunned on the floor. She reached down and despite her slim build, pulled Nuby to her feet.

(seriously needs more work)

Annoying the Sylphid

The Sylphid how are u?
GW Hogg Working hard, as usual. Flirting with the 'second-hand-night-creatures' :-)
The Sylphid dang! flirting huh?! tsk tsk
GW Hogg what is so wrong with that?
The Sylphid I am soooo not hearing this. You don't ever do that to second-hand night creatures. Only to the original ones :P
GW Hogg oh, so now you're turning into a 'green-eyed monster'? :-)
The Sylphid it's right now dark green
GW Hogg 'Green-eyed Angel', dark green because she is an Angel with a smudge? And I am safe from her, thousands of miles away. :-)
The Sylphid u just wait when we meet again
GW Hogg I am not worried. For when we meet again, my smile will melt your anger. :-)
The Sylphid bwhahahahhah
The Sylphid you are confident are you? hehehhehe
GW Hogg yes, I am

--
It is so much fun chatting with friends. I can pretend that I am paying attention to another and my friend will pretend that she is jealous.

Hmmm…I wonder if I can fold this into the other ‘Night Creature-Vampire tidbits?

And you wonder where I get my ideas from.

Answers and questions

People spend serious time dealing with silly questions.

The answer is, it makes a sound, not a noise.

You don’t even have to be a scientist to know this. Any English teacher can tell you this answer.

The other silly part is, who cares? Did the tree fall on you and hurt you? No, because no one was there. So who cares?
And yet, I am sure there are Philosophy majors that can waste endless time debating such a silly question.

If I am going to waste time trying to puzzle something out, it needs to have some meaning. Some consequence.

So when I can’t sleep at night, or I am relaxing on my back deck, I’ll sit and wonder; what did she really mean when she said,
‘I only give lip service to oral sex.’

Amore

How does one tell what kind of eel it was that bit him?

If an eel swims you by
And takes a bite of your thigh
That’s a Moray.

I was thinking (I know, dangerous for me to do), as I was reading some stories recently. It occurred to me how most vampire stories have the person being bitten on the neck. You know that no doctor today would ever say, “Strange these two marks on her jugular vein. I wonder what caused them?”
Everybody knows what caused them!
And by now, any sensible vampire would bite a victim anywhere but on the neck.
If we add to this mix that a hundred years ago, an embrace with a kiss on the neck was pretty darned erotic. (Okay, if WG kisses me on the neck, that’s pretty darned erotic! But I digress)
If someone wants to make their vampire story racier, they have to spice it up a little more. What better way than to have her kiss her victim on the thigh, a little higher, a little higher. And just when you think she will move to the main event, she takes a bite out of his thigh! After all, there is a nice big artery there.

So if I ever put the story together, you will wonder how the poor guy ever explain why there is this hole in his leg.

“I don’t really remember how it happened. One moment I was swimming in the ocean with my friends and I saw this eel. The next thing I remember, I awoke in the Doctors office while they were stitching me up.
I guess it was a Moray.”

But I still wonder, when the vampire bites, is that amore?

Not sure

Odd, but she seems nice.
Not sure who she is.
Barely know her.
But her smile bothers me.
Not a ‘Danger Will Robinson.’, but a whisper.
Quite, barely audible.

Danger, be careful.

Danger

Danger

Why?

You don’t know me

Isn’t it funny when you get a message on a networking site. The gal says she just moved to the area and was looking up people.
She says she saw my picture and thought I was cute.
And I should visit her page and send her a message.

But why would I want to contact someone who’s eyesight is so bad that they think this-


Is cute.

It’s always quiet here.

Not that I am complaining, but life goes along nice and uncomplicated.
The weekend was two beautiful spring days lined up together.

So we mowed lawns, trimmed some bushes. A little tightening of some fittings on the sprinkler system ran the sprinklers.

Some painting, moved the fireplace insert from the garage into the fireplace. It looks good! WG did a nice job cleaning and painting it.

Washed the dog.

Like I said, nice and quiet.

Now I could write every day, about my life, but I fear I would bore you.

Much more interesting to make things up, write them down and post them here. The only problem is that these postings are in reverse order. So what you see now is based on something written earlier. So if you don’t understand the contest, keep reading.

The Incurable Wound

It has been months since my trip to the islands. I still talk to my friends there, exchange emails, but something tells me that they had more of an effect of me than I realized.

Like most people, I dream. Perhaps unlike many, I remember my dreams. Some are odd, some erotic; but most are nice, pleasant, meaningless dreams. Since my return, however, I have been plagued by the most unsettling dreams. The odd thing is how similar they are. I dream that the three of us are together and that I am one of the three. It is weird seeing the world through her eyes, feeling her feelings. I have talked to many women over the years, but none have ever expressed feelings like the ones I remember her having.
Most involved the trio being out at night. Walking through darkened parks, dancing at clubs; and meeting men.
Usually that’s all there is to the dreams, at least that’s all I can remember. That is until this last one.
It is early afternoon right now. I am sitting on my deck and enjoying the warm sunshine. And yet, the thought of the dream gives me a chill.

And the dream started like this-
She is walking through the park, on her way home from a night at the clubs. Her two friends have gone in the other direction, back to their homes. Now a young lady should not be walking through the dark park by herself, but she feels no fear. Despite the darkness, she can see everything. She also knows there is someone behind her. For not only can she hear his light footsteps, she can feel his presence.
The path curves ahead and behind. She cannot be seen by anyone, so she melts into the shadow of a small bush. Moments later, she sees him come round the curve of the path. Tall, strong, handsome, she can see the confidence in his stride. She can feel his manliness emanating from him. She smiles to herself, as she feels the lust well up inside her. Her heart quickens and she knows the aching hunger inside her will soon be satisfied.
When he is almost upon her, she steps from the shadows and blocks his path. He is startled, but only for a moment. He remembers her from the club, bright smile and a hunger in her eyes. He knows what she wants, knows she wants it from him, as all women do. With supreme confidence, he walks up to her and wraps his arms around her. She wraps herself around him, pulling him close. Lips meet, travel; hands roam, their breathing quickens.
She pulls away for a moment and looks him in the eyes. The dark blackness sucks him in and he feels his will leaving him.
“You cannot resist me.” She whispers and he is lost.
Immobilized, he no longer comprehends what is happening. Barely notices as she sinks down to her knees. Roughly, she pulls his pants down and feels along his thigh until her fingers feel the pulse of the large artery. Overcome by lust, she sinks her teeth into his leg, ripping out a chunk of his hot flesh.
Only a small gasp escapes his lips.
She spits out the chunk of flesh and hungrily fastens her lips to the gaping wound. As she gulps down the warm salty blood, the feeling of ecstasy consumes her.

Sometime later, her mind slowly clears. She is standing over the now lifeless shell of what was once a young man. She licks her lips and savors the last tasty drops of his blood. She let herself get carried away again. Took it all, instead of just what she needed. But she knows she will not have to feed again for a long time.

Effortlessly, she lifts him up and carries him deeper into the dark park. She stops by a manhole cover and drops him. She easily pulls off the heavy iron cover and looks down into the city sewer. A good place for the likes of him, she thinks. She then reaches into her purse and pulls out a wicked looking knife. “I don’t want you coming back and hunting in my territory.” She says.
With deft skill, she cuts through his neck and then snaps the spine. First, the body is thrown down into the sewer, then the head follows. She easily places the heavy cover back over the manhole and nonchalantly heads for home.


And as I sit here on my deck, sipping a cold beer, I try to understand what the dreams mean. I am afraid that they are somehow related to the small wound on my leg. The wound that never seems to heal, but always stays an angry red.
But most of all, I fear what may happen to me if I ever go back to the islands and see my friend.

Night Creatures in the daylight

Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered weak and weary,
over many an ancient volume of forgotten Shaoi lor
--

I have been reading some old vampire stories from 1850 to1900. Some were hard to read, because of how the language is used; but most were surprisingly good.

One of the interesting aspects was that in several stories, vampires would be out during the day. Interesting how the legends and myths have differences, we accept the ‘current’ ideas in the film and books; perhaps never knowing the other ideas.

So then, if I decide to make up more interesting stories of my vampire friends, I can show them as out in the daylight?

This could make things interesting.

So, here is where it began.

When I got my first PC at work ( 1995, I still rue the day, since I was forced to move from MAC’s); the IT person said, “Give me a name for your computer. One that no one else will use.” I looked at my bulletin board and the birthday card that my Even-sister had sent me. “Warthog” I said.
The It person gave me a distasteful look. “Warthog?”
“You said to pick a name that no one else would use.”
“Okay.” She said.

Well, here is the card that started it.

(I'll see if I can get a better scan)

Year of the…whatever

Amusing, how you see one place say it’s the year pig, another says it’s the year of the boar. They say it as if there is no difference. I would be curious to know a better translation.
Different words carry different meaning.

Like the time, years ago, when a bunch my coworkers were looking over a copy of the Chinese zodiac and seeing what their year meant. Someone asked me the year I was born and when they looked it up, announced that it was the year of the rooster.
Then they looked up my friend Filet’s year. She read it and then turned to me and said, “Hey Warty, it says here that my best friend’s a cock!”

It took ten minutes for the laughter to die down.

Taking it to the next level.

I have always enjoyed jokes about people hearing voices and what the voices say.
--
The other day, NDN comes over to say hi and she is wearing a great T-shirt. It says,
I hear voices
And they don’t like you!

I immediately thought of this scenario:
There is a couple sitting in a café. She is breaking up with the guy and she says: “Honestly, it not you, it’s me.” Then she hits her head with the palm of her hand. “Actually, it’s the voices I hear. And they don’t like you!”
--
The other day we were visiting WG’s Aunt Obie. She said the doctor was a little concerned because her heart murmur was a little louder and he wanted to run some tests. She said didn’t even know she had a heart murmur.
“And you thought you were starting to hear voices!” I said. Aunt Obie had a good laugh over that one.

Chasing something?

If I lay here, if I just lay here.
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Snow Patrol

I like the song a lot; I can understand the feeling. Last week, this song woke me three different times. Not a good song to wake up to. For after I turned the alarm off, I rolled over and snuggled next to my wife. Could I just lie there? Let the world spin outside our door? It can wait. It’s so much better just lie there with my head next to hers, feel her warmth.
But of course I can’t. So I give her a little kiss on the cheek and say, “Good morning honey. It’s time to get up.”
She turns and looks at me through half opened eyes and smiles at me. A soft warm hug is shared, the world is still far away.

But the lines of the song haunt me on the dog walk. For I am not fully awake and my mind makes odd connections. One of those odd connections is to something an old friend of mine asked me almost two years ago. We were chatting on the phone and out of the blue she asked me-
“If I had asked you to marry me, would you have said yes?”
During the next two seconds, I had to jump back to a time long ago. I was what? Maybe nineteen? Twenty? How did I really feel about her?
“Yes, I would have.”
I don’t remember the next thing she said and the conversation shifted to something else.

But I felt a certain disquiet from her question, for it’s not something I ever thought about. When a relationship ends, it ends. You don’t sit and wonder about ‘might have been’, unless…

For you can endlessly wonder what would have happened if you asked the shy girl out? If you went left, not right? If she offered you a cup of coffee, instead of the glass of wine? All those times you made a choice, or a choice was made for you.

I haven’t thought much about what if’s, for my life has been good. And it continues to be good. All the choices I have made have lead me here, lying next to WG each morning, wishing the world would stay away for just a few more minutes, so I could enjoy just us.

The disquiet comes from the thought that my friend doesn’t might not feel the same as I, when she is lying next to her husband. I hope not, for I would like to think, hope, that she is as happy as I am.

And it would bother me immensely if I knew she was wondering if perhaps she should have asked me.

Don’t ask, I won’t tell

The other night, I dreamt I was staying at…, well let us just say the house of a certain female. And in this dream, in the middle of the night, she crawled into my bed; naked and glorious!
(I know that’s redundant. All women, when naked, are glorious. But I digress.)
Warm, and wonderful, I remember her pretty face. The warmth of her soft, smooth skin; the feel of her ample br...in my hands.
(okay, maybe not quite as ample in real life, but this is a dream.)

I was thinking about the dream, as I walked the dog this morning. This is one of those things that you just don’t tell a person. Especially her. For I am certain that if she knew I had a dream where we…, well she would probably spend the next few hours trying to scrub off the imaginary taint of where I might have touched her.

What is most amusing is that she was the subject of a dream. For in real life, it would never happen. I am just not her type. But that’s okay. It’s better that way. We know who we are. We know and respect each other’s personal boundaries, know which lines we will never cross. And is because of them, we can be friends. Friends without all that sex stuff getting in the way.

Which means we can be friends for a long time.

Darkness Never Falls

It can be fun to take little phrases, combine them is such a way, that they are twisted into something quite unexpected.

Take my friends I call my Night Creatures. I call them that, for they work by night on the graveyard shift.
Take also the phrase they have used when I hesitate to help them; ‘You know you can’t resist me!’
--
It was early evening, as I walked through the park to meet them. The hot tropical sun had just gone down and the shadows were coming out to play. As I watched the shadows grow I realized; darkness never falls. It slowly pools around the trees and shrubs, filling the low-lying areas. It fills the gaps between things and slowly obscures the ground. Soon the area along the path is hard to see, even if the sky still has a faint glow. The stars begin to come out as the land around slips into the night.
And then I see them, coming down the path. Smiles on their faces as they see me. Happy faces in the darkness. Hungry to see me, desiring my company. Their diaphanous gowns shroud their subtle curves and shapes. All dressed up to go someplace special. They were mysterious, when I asked them where they were taking me.

They seemed a little different, as they got closer, almost gliding along the path. Their smiles were a little different too. Subtle changes that I barely noticed.
Silently, they flowed closer; until they stood before me. My gaze swept over them and was caught by the small one’s eyes. Dark eyes, so much darker than I ever notice before. The black void sucked me in until all I could see was her eyes. Hungry for something. I tried to pull my gaze away, look at anything else. “You cannot resist me.” She said as she smiled. I couldn’t focus on her bright white smile, I only felt it. Felt the hunger emanating from her, waves of desire washed over me, augmented by the hunger from the other two.
They moved close to me and I felt their hands on me. One wrapped her arms around my waist and the other two put an arm around me.
“You cannot resist us.” She said as one hand slid up to my neck. She pulled my head down to her and I felt her lips on my neck. Strange, her lips felt cold.

The alarm slowly penetrated my stupor and my eyes resisted opening. Bright sunlight streamed through the hotel window and hurt my eyes. I crawled out of the bed and tried to stand. I wondered what I had drunk the night before; what caused me to feel so weak.
I stumbled to the bathroom and made a pot of coffee. While it brewed, I climbed into the shower. The hot water felt good but made me too relaxed. It made it cooler and that seemed to help me wake up.
I still felt weak, when I emerged from the shower. I poured myself some coffee, hoping it would wake me up.
Just as I was about to shave, I noticed two red welts on the inside of my arm. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that there were more welts on my other arm and my leg.
‘Damn!’ I thought. ‘Bedbugs!’ After all, what else could cause the bites on my skin.

I struggled to pack and then went down to the restaurant to have a late breakfast. I was feeling starved and ate much more then I should. Then it was back to my room and pack my last few things.
The rest of the day was a blur and hard to remember. I nodded off on the cab ride and again in the terminal. I was so glad to get onboard the airplane and sink into the oversized seat in business class. As I lay in my seat and sleep began to overtake me, I remembered something from the night before.

I was looking in her eyes, lost in their black void. I heard her say, “He will be mine.”
“We want him too.” Was their answer.
“He can only belong to one and I am the strongest.” Their silence was their assent.
She pulled her gown off one shoulder, exposing the strangely pale skin above her breast. With her other hand, she drew a sharp fingernail across her skin, cutting a slit in her skin. As the bright red blood flowed out of the wound, she grabbed my head and pulled me to her chest. I felt her blood on my lips, tasted the cool saltiness.
“Drink!” She commanded.
I drank, though I tried not to.
“Now,” she said, “you will be flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.”

And darkness took me.

Two Scenarios

Odd event at Radio Shack
I was standing in line at the store and I noticed the young woman in front of me. She kept looking at someone/something behind me and to the left. It just seemed like she was nervous, maybe doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She was maybe late teens, early 20’s; 5’3”, Asian, black hair.
She paid cash for her GoPhone, one of those pre-paid phones.
She got her change from the two twenties and left. I paid for my battery and left.

As I was about to start my truck, I saw her come out of the store, followed by an older white guy. He didn’t come out with her, but after her. As if he did not want to be seen as ‘with her’.
He was a little grey haired, jeans and tee shirt. But he was too old looking to be with her and he didn’t look like her dad. He looked like a blue collar worker. She walked up to a white truck parked in front of me, it had the logo of an engineering firm on the door. He unlocked the door and she got in. Then he walked to the driver side and got in.
The whole thing just struck me as odd. Like somehow the two of them hooked up and he was buying her the phone. Like a ‘sugar daddy’. She gets a phone, he gets sex.
I think if he was the dad or a relative, then he would have been at the cash register with her; would have walked out with her.

Now maybe I am reading too much into this, but it seemed odd.

Car shopping
Two weeks later, my twenty-six year old niece called me up and asks me if I would help her shop for a car. Sure.
We stopped at a dealership where I know the sales manager(aka Hunky. Hey, Wonder-Girl and her friends named him that, not me!). Just as I am introducing Niece to Hunky, Hunky’s wife, Coconut-Girl walks in. I make the introductions, then Coconut-Girl leaves.
My Niece ended up buying a nice used car from Hunky and I think we were treated pretty well. (I hate dealing with car buying, hate it, hate it.)
I was careful explaining who my Niece was, for I did not want people to think she was my ‘Niece’ and I the ‘Uncle’.

A week later, Wonder-Girl walks into her semi-monthly girls party. Coconut-girl walks right up to her and says, “So, who is Warty’s cute young girlfriend.”
They both laughed.
--
I think about the two scenarios and despite the possible similarities, I still get a bad vibe about the young lady in Radio Shack. Something there was not right.

Happy VD

Little Shrimp
Willow
Adventure Girl
HSGF
Filet
Skinner
Daughter-Twin
Pip
Danger Girl
(she whom I dare not name)

Just wanted to wish you all a Happy Valentine's day and let you know I am thinking of you.

Zippy Lives!

For now.

A few weeks after the bastard raccoon ate our goldfish one of our friends dropped by with a small catfish that he caught. We put it in the pond. Two days later, he and his wife bought a dozen goldfish for us! They were at the pet store and thought they’d help us.
It was very nice of them, but within a week, all the fish were gone. All but Zippy. WG named it that because it was always zipping around the pond. Maybe that’s why it’s still alive.
So Zippy lives, for now. I think I need to go buy one of those fence chargers and put a little electrified wire around the pond! Yes, thousands of volts pulsing through a naked wire will teach the bastard raccoon a lesson! Hmmm…maybe I can extend it to the top of the fence? That will discourage the squirrels from eating the oranges and nectarines!. Maybe it can guard the vegetable garden in the spring?

Now I know what your gonna say, “But Warty, you had no problem with the hawk eating the little birds.”
Yes, I know. But the little birds are free. They can be very noisy and they shit everywhere! Plus all you have to do is put out some birdseed and there they are. Ponds have upkeep. Ponds are relaxing, as is the little waterfall that we have.

Yes, I think an electrified fence is the way to go.

Oh My!

They had a free electronics recycling day Saturday so I loaded the broken TV, an old Apple computer and some miscellaneous computer junk(formally Junque) into the truck and went down to dispose of it. This is a good deal since they normally charge $25 for a TV or computer. The other good thing was it forced me to seriously evaluate the Junque(aka ‘treasures’) I had and determine if they should be thrown out. Now OB and I try to keep older stuff, for who knows when you might need it? But there comes a time when you have to face facts and realize that no one wants an old 500mhz Pentium3 processor or an ISSA slot modem.
In the past, I amassed old computers and cobbled together some decent systems for YB, YS, my dad, my son, WG, Prickly and her mom. Sometimes, a person finally buys a new system and the old one comes back to me. I refurbish it and it goes on to the next family member. That is real recycling!

At least I did due diligence and tried to find a non-profit that wanted the old computer stuff. Now I can hope that the recyclers really recycle this stuff, as opposed to shipping it off to some third world country.

When I arrived there, I could see pallets and pallets of old computers! And you know that among the junk computers, there were some treasures! Boy, if I could have spent some time looking over the stuff before it was hauled away. You know that some people will buy a new computer and just junk the old one! YOU KNOW that there was some good stuff in there.
But alas, then don’t let you salvage. You drop off your stuff and as you drive away, you look longingly in your review mirror at all the good stuff that you will never get to play with.

Tails of the forbidden zone

Or, 'I said there are rules, Damnit!' (mostly)

I have told you how Tommy will not cross the kitchen floor into the rest of the house unless there are specific circumstances(rules). Someone at the front door; are you awake yet(walk time); where’s WG.
The other morning, while I was sitting at the kitchen table, putting my socks on(pre-walk), he came across the forbidden zone for a chin scratch. Now, this is permissible since he comes just far enough for me to scratch him under his chin. We do it most mornings.
Well this morning WG stood two feet from me, just outside the kitchen. She called Tommy, but he would only come as far the chin scratch mark, but no further. After all, there are rules!

So, Christmas morning and we are about to open our stockings. Our son comes into the den, and of course his dog Enzo(who has no rules) follows him in. As we are sitting there, WG comes in, turns and calls to Tommy.
And without any hesitation, Tommy walks across the forbidden zone, into the den and sits down at WG’s feet!

I am not sure if it was that our son was there, Enzo was there, or that we were all there. But it is amusing how the rules seem set in stone, but there are exceptions that only he knows about.

Undefined

I was reading my company’s harassment policy (not to be confused with a ‘her-ass-meant a lot to me’ policy), but I digress.
But I notice a couple of funny things.
1. It specifically says that you cannot harass a person about their age if they are over forty. So does that mean I can call some of my coworkers ‘youngster’, and they can’t call me ‘old man’?
2. Just what the heck is ‘Genetic carrier status’? Does that mean no Blond jokes?
Oh, I think that’s a blond joke!

Wrong word

We went to a party Saturday night at Prickly’s neighbors. It was a fun party. Good food, beer, champagne. The usual thing where you sit around and chat, swap stories, tell a joke or two.
Then we all sat at a table and began playing a game. I don’t recall the name, but it was fun. (that everyone had a few drinks under their belts made it more fun)

One of the ladies there was named Tiff. Good looking young lady, but perhaps not as young as she thought she was. She was there with her boyfriend. I think what bothered me was the little alarm that rang in the back of my mind.

So I was at one end of the table and Tiff was at the other. Fishing buddy, Prickly, and Wonder-Girl to my right. Everyone else spread around the table. At one point, Tiff looked at me and said “magnum. You look like Magnum. Is it okay if I call you that?”
“Ah, that’s what my wife calls me sometimes.”
“And Prickly says you resemble him.” Says WG.

(‘Actually’, I thought, ‘you can’t’.)
Prickly and Fishing buddy made little sexual comments about things being ‘magnum’. That’s okay, they are my friends.

But Tiff seemed to have latched on to me, usually directing questions and stuff to me. Now I don’t mind a little attention, heck, everyone likes at little attention from a good looking member of the opposite sex. But a little goes a long way. Oh sure, if you are single, it is nice. But if you are married, it makes one uncomfortable.
During one break, Tiff was chatting with WG and actually said, ‘You don’t think I am hitting on your husband? ‘Cause I’m not.’
(‘darlin, if you have to ask, you have already stumbled over the line)
I suppose if she had been sober she would have behaved better. But she sure made me uncomfortable.

It’s funny because I remember when Little Shrimp and I were chatting once on IM and she mentioned that I looked a little like Magnum P.I. and that she could call me ‘magnum’. I responded back that that’s what WG sometimes calls me.
Little Shrimp responded back, “oh, then I won’t”
From six thousand miles away she understood that it was WG’s nickname for me and therefore she could not use it.

Some women understand personal nicknames and know how to act properly, others I guess just don’t.

Seduced another

So I sent this picture about holiday decorations to NDN (next door neighbor). Her response was, ‘Don't you be getting any ideas!’

I think it’s kinda nice that she would even think that I might do this to her house. I guess it’s like Oscar Wilde once said. “I’m not saying that we should misbehave, but that we should look as if we are capable of misbehaving at any time.”

My work is done with her. Without ever doing anything, my reputation is set.

So I have seduced another to the dark side of the farce.

Shucky-darn

I think it was YS who first started using this expression, years ago. We all began using it and it means a pleasant misfortune.
Like last week. When WG made her great fudge. Unfortunately, she messed up the timing of the cooking just a little bit. The resulting batch, while tasting good, did not have the smooth creamy texture it is supposed to have.
“This is simply not good enough to share with anyone.” She declared. “You will have to eat it all.”

“Well Shucky-darn”

Justifiable homicide

So I was in the jewelry store looking for some emeralds for WG. (I had already been to six others) There was a nice earring, pendant and ring set. Simple, the way WG likes her jewelry. But WG doesn’t wear many rings because of her knuckles get swollen from arthritis. I asked the clerk if it was sold without the ring. She said no, but suggested that I could give the ring to someone.
Okay, freeze frame, and let’s think this through. A married gentleman does not give jewelry to any woman, except to his wife. Though I have a lot of women friends and they all like jewelry; they would also think it inappropriate to receive jewelry from me. Maybe the clerk thought I had sisters I could give it to? But how would I split one ring among sisters? To be fair, each would have to be given a ring.

I think the clerk just didn’t think it through.

It was like that time a lady at a store handed me a flier for a new weight loss spa. She suggested I take it home to my wife.
How stupid was this woman? What man would bring something like that home to his sweetie?
Hand that to your wife, implying that she is fat? Would you really expect to wake up the next day?

There is such a thing as justifiable homicide and you know an all woman jury would acquit her.

I did find a nice pendant and was able to find matching earrings. I hope she likes them. And if not, well then I can take her shopping after her birthday and find her something better.

It’s not easy being me

So, the other day I IM’d Fever-girl to ask how she was doing. (I was concerned about her, Dengue fever can be a serious hemorrhagic illness). She said, “I am pretty and cutie fine. :-)”. I knew she was feeling much better, for you could almost hear her smile.

I always have fun chatting with her.

Then last week we had to do that ‘sensitivitysexualharrassmentethicsdotherightthing’ BS at work. Instead of a seminar, you read things on the web and then agree to be a good boy at work. Really effective.

So the next time I was chatting with her, I told her that I should really follow the guidelines at work. So, to avoid the risk of offending her, I should no longer refer to her as pretty or cute.
You could almost hear the ‘harrumph’ from seven thousand miles away.
‘I would be offended if you stopped calling me pretty or cute.’ She said. ‘And furthermore, I was pretty and cute long before there was any company policy!’

Yes, do not get ‘small but terrible’ upset.
So to keep our friendship, I will continue to refer to her as ‘PQ’.

But you know what is going to happen. Others will read this and insist that I call them ‘pretty’ or ‘cute’. (Heavens, I do not want to see Willow pout!)

But I must be careful! For I know that Skinner would be incensed if I called her cute. ‘Cute is for little girls’ she once said.

So I walk the fine line, ever struggling to keep my friends happy, ever mindful to use just the right word.

Thank goodness that Wonder-Girl accepts most any compliment, when properly given.

A new way forward

Maybe I am dating myself, but the recent announcement that Bush is looking for 'a new way forward' sure reminds me of that line from David Frosts 'All purpose political speech' where he says,


'For it's only with your back against the wall, that you can then move forward'

Nomenclature

We bought a wrought iron table base from a salvage yard last year. Wonder-Girl like the looks of it and we bought it. Three months ago, we took it down to a shop and had it powder coated. (that’s a very thick, enamel like coating)
Last week, we finally ordered the glass table top for it.

So my son called the other day and asked what was new. I told him that we finally got the glass top for the patio table. And it is now on the back deck.
“Does the Master like it?” He asked.
“You mean the Mistress? Yes, she likes it.”
“I wouldn’t use that word.”
“Why not? It is the female word for Master.”
“But it has the other connotation.”
“And that’s okay. We are married after all.” (and I gave him my best dirty old man laugh)

So folks, use the right nomenclature. A man may be the Master of his destiny, but a woman is the Mistress of hers.

Of course, one could argue that Wonder-Girl is the Mistress of my destiny. And if that is so, then I accept my fate.

The Bolero in the corner.

Ever paint yourself into a corner? Sitting there stuck. Nothing you can say or do. Been there, done that; will do it again.

I remember Rooster once said, ‘There are no ugly women, just ones I don’t find attractive.’ It made me think a little.
Now we have all seen someone who looks like one of the Gorgon sisters, or perhaps Quasimodo. I suppose those are the exceptions that prove the rule. (go look up prove in the dictionary.) But since I consider ugly to be someone that is painful to look at. Most people aren’t ugly.

So then, I classify them as attractive, or not. Either I am drawn to a woman, or not.
So women fall into this huge sliding scale. Those outside the lines are not attractive. Those inside the lines are. I know that part of it is instinctive and visual. But there it is and you have to live with how you are made.
You know, it is easy to say nice things about a person that you find attractive. Wonder Girl has probably gotten tired of all the nice things I say about her, so I try to come up with new ones.

And it’s a fine line you walk, doling out the compliments. You want to be nice, but not become known as just Bolero (a smooth talker).
And it pains me to see my friends beat themselves up over their perceived flaws. So I try to be complimentary.
So when I say to one friend(who thinks she is fat), you are nice and curvy, I know I am close to crossing the line(for I dare not say that you are attractive). And at that moment, my other friend realizes that no matter how fond I am of her, I have just placed her on the other side of the line.

And there I sit in the corner, wet paint all around. By trying to be nice to one, I have maybe hurt another.

But my silence would have hurt them all.

Thanksgiving

Was at our house this year. With only nine guests, it should be a more intimate gathering.
Of course, WG started a few days early, getting as much prepped ahead of time. With her directing and me assisting, the work is fairly easy. So Wednesday I picked up Aunt Obie and the final prep was done.
So Thursday, it was get the bird in the oven and finish setting up. This way, when the guest arrived, we could chat for a while. Younger Brother, his wife, and their son; mom, step-mom and dad, a cousin and cousin’s boyfriend.
Snacks are eaten and the dog has settled down. Once the bird is done and sits, the rest of the food goes in the oven. Neat and organized.

The good thing is that we all get along and we all behave. No one argues about stuff. There is enough to talk about without getting someone riled up. But that is how we are.
Everything was done on time and dinner was served at three. Quiet descends as we dig into the favorites. Turkey, mashed potatoes, baked yams, stuffing, green-bean casserole.

After dinner, several people just got up and began clearing the plates, washing dishes and general cleanup.
Then it was dessert time. Pumpkin pie with real whipped cream, pecan-pie bars and cranberry bread.

The nice thing is that everyone helps; if not during the prep, then during the cleanup after. It sure makes things easier for WG and me.

All in all; a nice, pleasant get together with many of the family.

And by seven, everything is put away and the house is back to normal.

Creator and Destroyer

Maybe it is the birdseed we put out, maybe it is the hedge that has grown up along our back fence. Regardless of the cause, all summer long, our backyard has been home to 3-4 dozen little Finches. (Possibly house Finches) They are kinda fun to watch, but at times, when they are all chatting, the chittering can drive you mad. The only way to quiet them is to shake the hedge. Then some fly away and rest get quiet. But not for long.

They gather around the feeder and eat, then they all flock to the hedge and chatter about their day. (or the food, or whatever.) The hedge is so thick that you cannot see them, just the shaking of the little branches.

Then they fly back to the feeder and eat some more.

And last month we realized that the hedge was way too thick. So we did some major hackenabush.

Now you can see right through the hedge and see all the little birds.

And someone else can see into the hedge and spot the tasty little birds; for now we have a falcon watching our yard. A blur of motion is all you see as he swoops into the hedge and tries to snatch a tasty snack.

Wonder-Girl is not pleased! Despite the noise the little birds make, she does not want to see them eaten. We would rather the falcon eat the pigeons. Maybe the pigeons are too big? (Me, I don’t care what the falcon eats. Everything is fair game)

We hope that the falcon also tries to catch mice.

Now, since the hedge is open, the finches don’t hang around as much, but we know that as the hedge fills back in, the finches will be back.

So though we have destroyed the finches hiding place, we have created a feeding place for the falcon. I guess it balances out.

Who r u?

There is a way to stay in touch, in a roundabout way. You read a friends blog and leave a comment. They read what you say and leave a comment. It’s a way of communicating. And they also get to read the things that you forgot to tell them.

I like to leave comments. Sometimes I have something to say. Other times, I’ll leave a funny comment; just so they know I stopped by.

But that brings up a question. If a friend has the same blog in two places, and I write a comment on one; should make the same comment on the other? Or a different comment?

And as I write, I try to think of what others would say as they read this. Do they laugh?

Who knows.

And is anybody out there?

You can call me Po.

I was chatting on IM, with a co-worker the other day. I enjoy this because you learn more about them and they about you. It makes for a better work relationship and you make friends this way.

After a while, she said, ‘I like chatting with you. You’re nice, like my Grandpa.’

I am sure what you are thinking, no guy wants to be thought of as THAT old. But considering that I am over twice her age, it’s not so bad. (She had said that when she saw my picture, she realized that I was not old like her Grandpa, but more like her dad.)
When you think about it, it is actually a good thing. Since I do strive to be the Gentleman, this means that I strive not annoy young women. No one likes a dirty old man.
So if they see me as older, it puts a nice little distance between us. We can be friends with clears line that won’t get crossed. Then everyone can relax.

But I am not thrilled with being thought of as a ‘Grandpa’. Maybe older Uncle?
I’ll take Po, (Cebuano for ‘respected elder.’)

So yes, you can call me ‘Po’

Travalin Man

A week, north of Boston. Business trips can be tedious for some, but not for me. Besides the fact that I enjoy learning new things from people, I also get a chance teach people things.
Beyond that, there are the WF’s. No, I am not talking ‘What a Fox’. That’s a WaF. I am talking about Work Friends. (though I will admit, some of my WF’s are quite pulchritudinous.)
It makes a trip more enjoyable to be able to see friends. Some still work for the company, some have moved on and bettered themselves. Normally, I might not travel to these places and get to see my WF’s. But if I have to travel there on business, then what little time I get to spend with them is a bonus.

I go to work with my friends in my group, reestablish bonds. For the ones that have left, I have to arrange time.
I missed Skinner on this trip, perhaps next time, I can give her more advanced warning. Sill, I got to have lunch with DT. (The Daughter Twin)
I haven’t seen DT in a couple of years. She is still the fun young lady I have known all these years. But she has slimmed down and stayed slim. Plus she is using less makeup and her freckles show. (yes, I like freckles) She has grown up into an attractive young lady. As Wonder-Girl said, ‘your daughter is all grown up.’
Nice to know that she is happy too.

Shy-girl was there from Cebu. I got to work with her for two days before she flew back to Cebu. As a bonus, I took her out to dinner, just the two of us. Mostly as a thank you for all the hospitality that the Cebuanos showed me when I was there. Plus it was a good time to learn a little more about who she is.

And to gain another friend.

It was suggested that next year I should plan two trips to the East. And two trips to Cebu.

I’ll be a treat to see so many friends, so many times.

My Halloween joke

Mick Jagger buys an old estate just outside of London.
Soon after he moves in, he begins to hear strange noises at night. Besides the usual creaks and groans, he thinks he hears doors closing and footsteps. It seems to be a little noisier each night.
Halloween night he is awoken by this terrible noise from the kitchen. He runs downstairs and finds a ghost pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and throwing them against the walls.
“Just what in the bloody hell are you doing.” Mick yells.
“This is my house!” The ghost screams. “You can’t have it! I’m going to keep this up until you leave!”
Mick throws back his head and laughs. The ghost just stares at him. Finally, Mick stops laughing, catches his breath and says,
“You know, you can’t always get what you haunt.”

Not my cup of tea

I don’t care for funerals. Not just because nothing can be said. Instead of listening to music, or hearing people singing, I would rather sit and talk to people. Reminisce.
Maybe it’s because I am not religious, I take no comfort from talk of the afterlife. After all, the person is gone, so what happens now to them affects me not.

So I help those left behind. Give them aid and comfort, for they are the ones I can help.

I am so glad that I won’t be there for my funeral

Winter is coming.

It was 64 degrees out, when I took Tommy for the five am walk.

There was an unsettling, warm dry wind this morning. Like the breath of a thousand-year-old mummy, when she whispers in your ear.

I don’t mind warm winds in the summer. I have gone for a 5am walk and it was 75 degrees.

And in the dark heart of winter, it’s always a cold wind.

But October is when there is a chill coming. Winter is just around the corner. I know this because it was 86 here yesterday, 84 today. Warm dry winds blow off the lands, sucking the last of the moisture from the brown, grass-covered hills. The end of the fire season and high winds whip over the hills.
We always get this mini heat wave in October. Right before the rain and cold of November descends.

But a warm dry wind blowing over me, at five am, is very unsettling.

Can you find me? Will you try?

Something Danger Girl wrote recently, a little quote about building walls just to see who really wants to scale the walls and be with you. It reminded me of this 30 year old cartoon.

(I seriously keep too much junk)

I live in a shell.
That inside a wall.
That is inside a fort.
That is inside a tunnel
That is under the sea
Where I am safe.
From you.
If you really loved me, you'd find me.

PS-oh, and in case your are wondering, it does not work!

Bastard!

So, at 3am, the Tommy dog began to bark. It barely registered and my sleepy mind was debating what to do when Wonder-Girl gave me a nudge. “Tommy’s barking.”
So I climbed out of bed and peered through the window blinds. No prowler in the backyard.
I meandered to the kitchen and looked out, no aliens on the front lawn. Tommy barked again.
Into the family room and Tommy is at the back door. He barks again. I look out into the backyard. No zombies. Tommy’s hackles are raised and he emits a low growl. I turn on the lights and notice a pair of beady eyes staring back at me from the lawn.
Damn, a raccoon! I know what Tommy is thinking, Intruder! But I don’t let Tommy out. I have heard stories that raccoons can be formidable opponents. And this one is about Tommy’s size.
I pet Tommy and calm him a little. When I look up, the raccoon is gone.
Most of the time, I never see what Tommy barks at. This time I saw the critter. We get squirrels all the time and cats. Sometimes an opossum.
Back to bed.

At 8am, I am my in my home office and working, when WG comes in all upset. ‘The fish are gone! All gone. Not a trace!”
“Damn, the bastard raccoon ate all the fish!” I go look at the little pond and there is no evidence of a disturbance. Just no fish.

Our son built the pond years ago and I helped him finish it. We had to change the water many times until the chemicals got leached out of the cement.
Some of the third dozen goldfish survived. Mostly. Over the next fifteen years, four fish made it. And they were pretty big, after fifteen years. One fat one was about six inches long! We cleaned the pond constantly. Added a filter a few years ago and a waterfall.
So we are pissed at the damn raccoon for eating our fish. I hope he gets a stomach ache!

Random thoughts on Maui

We got back home just in time to enjoy the first cold storm of the season. Not really a cold storm, but we were used to 85 plus on Maui. We kinda wished we were still there.
Maui was great, as usual. Even when it clouded up, it was still warm (well, hot and humid for me). Wonder-Girl sure loves the hot, humid weather. We did some sightseeing, including a tour of a pineapple plantation. We were the only people on the tour, so the guide gave us twelve pineapples! Not those green things you get here on the mainland, but yellow, ripe, sweet fruit. We ended up giving away five of them. One can only eat so much each day.
Most days, we relaxed by the pool and read. The ocean was right there, so I did get some snorkeling in. Saw a school of five unicorn fish, each as long as my forearm and hand. It was fun swimming slowly over them and watching them feed on the coral. (Skinner would so not like swimming with such big fish.)
Kannapali beach is on the leeward side, so we didn’t get much rain, despite it being the rainy season.
Did you know that botanists love getting those flower necklaces? That way they can get the lei of the land.
We also found out that some of the oldest parts of the island chain(like Midway Island) are just coral atolls. You see, once the land wears away, there is nothing at’oll left.
(hey, this is my blog and I’ll use all the puns I want!)

Only a week there seems not enough, but if we see all the sights, then there are fewer reasons to go. Next time, we’ll spend some time on other islands.

I did notice some odd things. Like most of the people working in the stores and restaurants were white folk. I expected a lot more Hawaiians. I have no idea why, since I don’t know the culture there. I know some Hawaiians resent the houlies and I am not surprised. (Hmmm…I could add a chapter about this to ‘Cross Country’. I’ll ponder that some more.)
Since it is an island nation, I am sure that they don’t have the same illegal immigration problems. No one can swim there from neighboring countries. I think this affects the price of their crops. Everything is expensive there and without cheap labor to work in the fields, other countries can produce food cheaper. That may be part of the reason that they have fewer pineapple plantations now. It would be nice to chat with some of the people there and find out how the labor is classified.
Everywhere, there are cultural differences and it is interesting to explore them.
Though I am sure that a lot of houlies don’t care.

Storytime - Inky, Sucky

Inky.
Sometimes, I am partway through a story and I realize that before I can go any farther, I had better figure out the rules. Why does he do what he does, and who the hell Sucky is.
Because later on in the story, I might fold her in as a subplot, or maybe just a continuation of the story.

So I sat down and wrote how Inky and Sucky met. A piece of the original story was posted a while ago here.
I hope you can figure out what they are by the clues.
GW

--

Inky, Sucky
By G.W. Hogg
©9-15-06

The grocery store was not very busy when I stopped off to buy something for dinner. I wasn’t surprised. The moms had been there earlier and now they were back home busy cooking dinner for their husbands and family. I’ve always had a hard time thinking what to make for dinner. Many nights I decided as I drove home, if not as I perused the aisles in the store.
It was Friday, the repair job on the linotype had taken a lot less time than was expected and I was able to quit early today. I felt like something easy, but tasty. I looked over the meats in the butcher counter and the cube steak looked good. Maybe Swiss Steak tonight? I could make several and then I would have leftovers. They were always good.
“How’s the cube steak, Fred?” I asked the old guy behind the counter.
“In two days ago. The Missus cooked some up last night, quite tasty.”
“Okay, I’ll take four pounds.”
“Company?”
“Naw, just figured I’d cook up a mess. That way I won’t have to cook for a while.”
“Smart thinking. Still, a man like you should have a wife at home. How long has it been, three years?”
“Three and a half.”
“She was a good woman. Shame to have been taken so young.”
“Yes, it was.”
He weighed out the meat and then wrapped it up in the white paper. After marking the price with a grease pencil, he looked up. “Anything else?”
“Yes, I’ll take two of the thick pork chops and a chicken.”
“Okay, but you should buy the chicken on Tuesday. I’ll have fresh ones in then.”
”Okay. Thanks.”
He weighed and wrapped up the chops. “There you are.” He said as he passed the wrapped meats over the high counter.
“Thanks, Fred.”
“You’re welcome Mr. Scott.”

I took my time selecting the potatoes and vegetables. Meat, starch, and vegetable. At least the minimum. I had seen guys who didn’t take care of themselves. Always eat right; not that I really ever had to worry. A few more items and I had everything for tonight’s dinner.

As I rolled my cart up to the checkout line, I saw that the new girl was running the register. I had seen her once or twice in the store. Nice looking young gal, maybe nineteen. Long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. No makeup, but she didn’t need any. Pretty face with full lips. Black skirt, white shirt, and a thin black tie. Her brown smock was buttoned up, but you could still tell where the curves were. Kinda of a funny butt, still, nice looking. I rolled up and smiled at her. She looked up, our eyes met and she smiled at me.
I felt the wave of desire crashed over me. The thoughts of cupping those young breasts in my hands, my hands on her slim waist, the moist, musky smell of her curly black hair, her nails digging into my back as she cried out.
And I let it all flow away, like water off a ducks back. I knew who she was now.
I kept looking up at her, as I wrote out the check. She saw me glancing up at her constantly, as she punched in the amounts and rang up my purchases. Yes, let her think it has affected me. She should have know better than to cast one on a regular customer. Or maybe she was just playing.
“That will be eighteen forty-nine.” She said as she turned to me. The smile on her face was a little different now, more predatory.
I finished writing the amount and handed her the check. As she reached for it, I extended one finger so I almost touched her. I was rewarded with a huge blue spark that leapt off my finger and into her hand. There was a satisfying ‘crack’!
“Son of a Bitch!” She exclaimed, then dropped the check as her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am terribly sorry Mister! I didn’t mean to say that!”
“It’s okay.” I said as she bent down to pick up the check.
“It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I just didn’t expect that!”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but it was a fun way to say hello.”
“You’re mean.” And she smiled at me. It was a totally different smile. More like a starving person sitting down to a huge meal of steak and potatoes. There was now lust in her eyes and a look of anticipation.
“Not mean. Maybe a brat?”
“Yes, a brat for sure.” She looked at the check, studying the address. When she looked up at me, her eyes glance at the ring on my left hand. Her look changed. “Married?”
“Widower”
“Oh, I am sorry.” But she looked relieved.
“Thanks. It was a while ago.”
“But you still wear your ring.”
“It comforts me.”
She started bagging the groceries. “It’s good you know how to cook.”
“I have always liked to be self sufficient.”
“Good for you.’ She placed the three bags into the cart. “Do you need carry out service? I can call the bag boy.”
“It’s okay. Billy is busy stacking the shelves.”
“Okay, well enjoy your dinner. And I’ll be seeing you.”
“Thanks…” I stared a little too long at the nametag on her smock. “Cynthia.”

On the drive home, I tried to remember the last time I had met another. Sometime before the last war. No, it was the war before that. A long time ago. I didn’t dwell upon it as I pulled the Bel Air into the driveway of my old Victorian.

If someone had been walking down the dark street at eleven, and if they had turned to look at the old Berkeley Victorian, they might have seen a white mist flowing across the front lawn and down the driveway. If they had watched it, they would not have believed their eyes. The white mist coalesced at the rose bush there, then slowly flowed up the trellis. It paused by the second story window for a moment, then flowed inside.

The sound of the window unlocking woke me. The cool damp air flowing over my naked skin brought me fully awake. I sat up and slid my legs over so I faced the window. A white mist flowed over the windowsill into a small puddle on the floor. As I watched, the mist rose up into the diaphanous form of a woman, slowly undressing.
And suddenly, she was standing there. The long dark brown hair cascaded to her shoulders. The full lips smiled with ravenous anticipation. The thin film of perspiration made her clear white skin glistened in the moonlight. My eyes traveled down to her firm, well rounded breasts. The hard, slightly upturned nipples, pointed over my head. A slim waist and flat stomach drew my eyes down to the generous curve of her hips. The black triangular patch of hair was like a road sign, guiding me down the highway. Firm, muscular thighs sloped down to slim calves and well turned ankles. I smiled back at her with equal anticipation.
I stood and let her look me over. She seemed pleased.

“It took you long enough to get here.”
“Yours is not an easy place to find. Did you have to lock the window?”
“I just wanted to see how good you were.”
“Oh, I’m good.”
I looked her up and down again and smiled. “I can see that.”
She took a tentative step towards me and I did the same. A blue spark coalesced on her shoulder, rolled down her arm and arced across the five feet between us. It stung a little where it hit my shoulder. We took two more steps towards each other and more sparks erupted from our skin and arced between us. Quickly, we reached out and grabbed each others hands. The electricity sparked and cracked along our hands. We stared into each others eyes, feeling the energy surge between us.
“I will take nothing from you, only give.” She recited.
“And I will take nothing from you, only give.” I recited back to her.
The oath and spell were said and the sparks of energy between us slowly died.
She tightened her grip on my hands and suddenly pushed down. My arms didn’t move. She pushed harder with a strength that would have forced a man to his knees.
I smiled and lifted my arms. Slowly I drew her arms up over her head, she fought back but was unable to stop me. I raised my arms further, until her toes were dangling above the floor.
“You’re a lot older and stronger than I thought.”
I just smiled and took a few steps towards the wall. I stopped when she was pinned between me and the wall. And I kissed her, long and deeply. She responded for a moment, then turned her head to the side.
“I have waited forty years for this and I am not going to play any games!” She hissed. Then she pulled her legs up, wrapping them around me. I pulled back a little to give her some room, she squirmed a little to align us, then her strong thighs pulled us together, impaling her against the wall.


She rolled off of me and lay next to me, panting. When she finally caught her breath she turned and looked at the broken clock on the floor. “I think it’s Monday morning. I have to be at work at ten. Do you know what time it is?”
“About five. I think I heard the milk truck.”
“Do we have time for breakfast?”
I leaned over and kissed her nipple.
“No, not that! Eggs, bacon, hash browns.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. I am starved!” She turned over to face me and wrapped her small hands around me. “I was so afraid you might be small. But goodness! I’ll be walking bowlegged for a week!” Then she kissed me hard on the mouth. “Not that I’m complaining.”
She stood up and walked off the bed. Then she turned and surveyed the damage. The headboard was leaning against the wall, but intact. Deep grooves, like claw marks, crisscrossed it. The bed was on the floor, it sheets torn, burned and bloody; the footboard was snapped in two.
“Can I use the downstairs shower?”
“Sure, mind the broken glass.”
She grinned, picked up her clothes that were strewn about the room and walked bowlegged out the door.

I got up carefully, trying to avoid the broken glass. I wasn’t sure how and when the mirror got broken, but we did spend two hours picking glass out of each other. I glanced down at where a large piece had sliced a three inch gash in my arm. It was healing nicely.

I showered quickly and carefully shaved the three days grown of beard off my face. A least I was able to find my shaving brush and soap.
I put a robe on and picked out some clothes to wear.

As I made my way downstairs I cataloged the damage. Some holes in the walls, a broken chair. I’d need new sheets and pillows for the guest bedroom. I was glad the windows were closed and the shades drawn.
Downstairs wasn’t too bad. I’d have to put the furniture back in place. Hopefully, I could repair the dining room table. It looked funny on the floor, with its four legs splayed out.
At least we had not spent too much time in the kitchen. The little silver and grey breakfast table was intact, as were the chairs.
I filled the percolator and plugged it in. I was really going to need my coffee today. I dug out my two large cast iron frying pans and set them on the stove. The center griddle was just too messy for bacon. It took me a few minutes to find the grater attachment for the Mixmaster. Nancy had been so thrilled when I bought it for her.
Once it was put together, it only took a few minutes to grate the four potatoes. I set them aside and fired up the two pans. Soon the pound of bacon was sizzling and snapping in the pans.
While that cooked, I pulled the ironing board out of the wall and set up the iron. Get the toaster set up. Bread, butter, plates napkins. Then it was time to get the eggs and hash browns going.
The hash browns filled the center griddle and I was liberal with the bacon grease. The dozen eggs filed the two pans and I was hard pressed to keep them from sticking together.

She came into the kitchen and saw that I had everything under control. So she plugged in the iron and started ironing my clothes. “Over easy, if you can do it.” Was all she said.
The second batch of toast popped up. She was finished with the ironing, so she took over the buttering. Then she set the table as I gingerly served the eggs. I was glad I had grabbed the big plates. Six eggs apiece, a pile of hash browns and a few strips of bacon. There was barely enough room for the toast. I placed the dishes on the table just as she sat down. The rest of the bacon I dumped on the plate with the toast.
She poured the coffee then surveyed the repast. “You put together a mean breakfast Cerric.”
“Thanks for your help Cindy”
“You’re welcome.” And we dug into our breakfast.

An hour later, we had the kitchen all cleaned up and were drinking the last of the coffee. “I hate to end this weekend, but I have to get to work soon.”
“And I have to get going too.” She stood up and came over to me. I rose to meet her.
“It’s been a great weekend!” And she folded herself into my embrace.
“I’ve enjoyed it too.” She said as she held me.
“Do you plan to be around for a while?”
“Another twenty years.”
“Good. I just moved here. I am glad I found you so soon. Like said, it’s been a while.”
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
“I’d like that. Not too often.”
“No, too often can spoil the fun.”
We turned and walked to the door. As I opened it, she pulled me too her and gave me a long, lingering kiss. “Keep your window unlocked Inky.”
“Don’t be a stranger Sucky.”

And she turned and I watched her walk slowly to the sidewalk. She turned, waved at me, then continued down the street.

Trains

Sometimes, I feel like I am going down the train tracks. I can go a little faster, or a little slower; but down the tracks I go.
But faster or slower, the course is set. I don’t have to decide where to go, for I can’t change it.

Where would I go if I could change my course? Probably down the tracks.

PC

Political Correctness – The inability to call a spade a spade.

I wonder how many people out there don’t even understand that?

Winter is not far away

Well, as the man said when his girlfriends bikini strap broke.
‘There’s a little nip in the air.’


But there is a little chill in the air. Summer will be over soon.
A little storm blew through today, dropped the temp twenty degrees from what they were yesterday.

Hoy Ganda!

1,000 Ganda points for those who remembered!
Alas, no Ganda points for those who forgot.

Nobody has ever really explained the game to me, all these Pogi and Ganda points.
(For you Americans, it’s fun game where you give a person ‘Pretty points’ or ‘Handsome Points’ for doing something nice.)

Of course I have to ask the question, what happens if you give someone an ‘Ugly Point’? :-)
I’ll have to ask someone the correct Cebuano word for Ugly. There may be several. I’ll bet it is like ‘Feo’. Still, I have to be careful. I just want a simple ugly, not a ‘Butt Ugly!’

I can hear Willow now, as she pouts from a lack of Ganda points, “Give me Ganda points, or not. I am still ninot!”

And yes my Night Creatures who read this, I fully expect corrections!