Master Manipulator

Well, I finally had my procedure to fix my ‘frozen shoulder’ (adhesive capsulitis) Basically, my shoulder froze due to the build-up of scar tissue in my shoulder joint. I am sure it was caused by heavy lifting on two home improvement projects about a year and a half ago.

So my shoulder complained bitterly when I moved my arm beyond certain points and sleeping was very uncomfortable.
Two cortisone injections in my shoulder joint last winter made things manageable, but not better.

So last Thursday, WG and my neighbor CG (Chemical-Girl) went with me for the surgery to fix it. CG came along so we could drop her off at the car repair shop and pick up her car. It ended up that she was also good for moral support for WG and comic relief for the two of us.

It was a long wait. You check in and they give you one of these ICUB (I see ur Butt) gowns to wear, have you lie down on the gurney and you wait (for hours).
It was nice to have the girls with me, to chat and laugh while we waited.
The prep nurse was fun and immediately caught on to our banter. At one point, she asked if I had shaved my armpit. I hadn’t and CG asked if she could pluck them out.
I told her that she could go ‘pluck’ herself.

So for about two hours we teased each other while the Nurse asked questions, then the Anesthesiologist came and asked questions. The doc visited and checked on me. He even wrote his initials on the arm to be fixed. He found it amusing that I had written ‘NO’ on my good arm. (Yes, I am glad his initials were not N. O.!)

Then a nice sedative is put into the IV and I am feeling much better. Wait a little longer and they roll me into the block room. A nice little injection at a shoulder nerve to block it and soon my whole left arm is numb. Imagine a limp dead fish, yes, that numb.

So, the procedure was to manipulate my arm to break loose the scar tissue (imagine putting a big wrench on a rusty bolt and forcing it to move!)
If the manipulation was not successful, then two little incisions in my shoulder would let the surgeon go in with a scope and cut loose any scar tissue that didn’t rip loose.

It was funny, listening to him describe what he was doing, how he could hear and feel the scar tissue tear loose. I couldn’t hear, or more importantly feel, a thing.

After fifteen minutes, or so, of him arm wrestling my limp arm, he said he was done. And, since it went so well, no need to cut into me! And no overnight stay.

The next day I tried my shoulder exercises and could move my arm through almost the full range of motion! And better still, very little pain!
Nice to have a surgeon who is a master manipulator.

Guilty pleasures, guilty secrets

Not long ago, Even-sister sent me her mp3 player to pass on to our niece. It didn’t work. After I charged it up and reset it, I listened to a lot of the music on it. WG asked later if it was now good. ‘Well,’ I answered, ‘It’s good, except for some of the music.’
It’s just that there was a fair amount of country music, which I don’t care for and lots of Bluegrass, which for me, a little goes a long way. (but I did pull off one John Prine song I liked.)
I think we are all like that. We have music we like to share with others and music that most folks like; but we have some songs that we are just a little too embarrassed to let people know that we listen to.
So I don’t mind playing my iPod in the car, I can usually skip the stuff that WG doesn’t like. But there are songs, silly or sappy, that I always bypass, despite that I like them or that they have special meaning to me.
I seriously don’t want anyone to know I listen to that crap.

Wise to her tricks

Yesterday morning, WG and I were relaxing on the back deck. Just back from our dog walk, we were reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Tommy was resting and Molly was exploring the backyard. Nice and peaceful.
It was then that we heard some click-click noises coming from the side gate as if someone was trying to unlatch the gate or maybe the wind was making the gate rattle the latch. After a few minutes of this, WG got up to check the gate and laughed when she saw what was going on. She called me over and we both got a chuckle out of what was going on.
A little bird was frantically pulling at the string that unlatches the gate! I guess it was building a nest and the green string looked useful. The bird kept at it until WG walked over to the gate and shooed it away. “We can’t have that!” She said. “It might open the gate and…where’s Molly?”
Uh oh. We immediately checked the yard and in the house, no Molly!
WG opened the gate and went into the front yard and I heard her calling for Molly to come! A moment later, the Bad Beagle ran back through the open gate, followed by WG.
“She was just down the street. Our neighbor was shooing her home.”
Tommy, the good dog, was still resting on the grass.
WG closed the gate and put a brick in front of it. “That will keep it closed.”

The little bird kept at it all morning, until I replaced the string with a thin chain. So, as I have said, never trust a beagle! Nor little birdies also!

Discombobulation

I not sure if dogs count, if they know when one gets more treats than the others; but they can tell time (mostly).
And that’s the problem we have, now that I am no longer working. For it is hard to maintain a schedule now and the routine is broken. Tommy like his routines.
If I get up before seven, which is not likely, it is the usual. Pet the dogs who are waiting, make the coffee, WG and I take the dogs for their walk. But if I get up later, then we have to wait until after eight, for the sidewalks are crowded with kids walking to school.
Now it is fun to see the expressions on the little girls’ faces when they see Molly and Tommy, but it is hard to walk and constantly avoid them. Not everyone likes dogs and it’s polite to let the kids have the sidewalk.
So Tommy waits for us and watches for the signs of the walk. Molly does not see the signs and is just excited.
And it is hard for me to set up a routine, but I am close. Choose one day to do projects, one day to job search. I have found that on the current stone path project, I am better off if I just mix half a bag of mortar. Then I am only on my knees for four hours and my knees don’t hurt as much. I then have the afternoon to do like fix-it jobs, or write.
I really have to be in just the right mood to write and I can’t be if a project looms over me. So a half-day of the project, I have made some progress and I can clear my mind of it and think of a story.
I have nine pages of a fun little story done and might be able to finish it soon. Willow will be pleased.

It’s three o’clock and Molly is antsy. She thinks she should be fed. Tommy is relaxed, for he knows feeding time is four-thirty. Tommy can tell time, but Molly is hopeless; or should I say, hopeful!

The kids are getting out of school now and Molly has to bark at the voices on the other side of the fence. Tommy sometimes barks, but Molly always does. Silly beagle that she is.

Sigh, I am a man of unfortunate leisure, with dogs.

Nobody knows where we are.

So, we have started laying the stones for the front walkway. I have found that it takes the same amount of time to lay a big stone as it does to lay a small stone. So despite the smaller space in front: because we are using smaller stones, it will take longer to do the front walkway than it did to do the backyard patio.
Put down a dollop of mortar, set the flat stone in the mortar. Tap it down, check the slope, tap it some more. If you tap the north side down, the south side lifts a little. Tap the center and it settles evenly. Because of this, I have to run a string over the stone to see where the high and low spots are, then careful tapping gets the stone to match the slope of the walkway.
Most stones are flat, but some are a little uneven and they take longer to set. I have to make the uneven stones fit the average.
Then some silly song goes through my head.
One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

I wish I could remember the rest of the song, or who sung it, but it reminds me to take a step back and eyeball the slope and fit of the stones. It is easy to get focused on one or two stones and get off your mark.

Wonder-Girl has the stones all positioned. It’s like a picture puzzle, but without the picture. WG checks the fit in the pattern that I can’t see. Not too many of one color together, not too many with similar shapes together.
I am too busy just getting them set in mortar.

One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

We make a good team. WG does the chipping to make them fit, adjust the color and texture, I set them in the mortar and keep the slope (or do my level best.)

Four to five hours at a time, then even a steady dose of Advil can’t keep my knees from complaining. Time to clean up and call it a day. WG says it is looking good, I can’t see the forest for the trees.

After the stones are done, we will put in the border of clay bricks. At least they are uniform in size and shape, so they should be easier to lay.
I’ll worry about that later, I am still focused of the paving stones.

One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

Old dog, old tricks.

Flapity-flapity-flap, Flapity-flapity-flap.
‘I didn’t want to get up this early.’ Wonder-Girl grumbles. I was barely awake, but I knew it was Molly. A bother of a beagle.

It used to be Tommy that would sneak into the back of the house and shake his head to wake us up. Flapity-tinkle-flap. His dog tags would tinkle. After we got Molly last year it wasn’t long before Tommy brought Molly along on his wake up calls.
So if we slept in too late on Saturday morning, there was a chorus of flapity-flaps and a tinkle. I am sure that the flapities are a little different since Molly has the oversized beagle ears.
Now Tommy is an old guy and I know that he has just gotten lazy. Instead of him walking all the way to the bedroom, where he is not allowed; he has taught his tricks to Molly and he sends her to do his dirty work.

And sometimes, when we are not paying attention to Molly, she walks up to us and flaps her ears. Just to get attention, I think.

Building a Better Beagle Barrier

So we have this patch of dirt for the vegetable garden. Tommy knows to stay out (border collies know their borders (mostly), but the Molly dog doesn’t. I put up a simple little wire mesh fence to keep Molly from becoming a mud-mutt. But alas, it didn’t work. The persistent (stubborn) beagle kept pushing at the bottom of the fence until she wormed her way in. Then we would wonder where Molly was and we would find her in the dirt, trapped by the fence. Because of the stone border, she could get in, but not out.
Since Molly is not good with the word ‘NO’, we decided that we needed to build a better beagle barrier before we planted the vegetables. Molly has already trampled Wonder-Girl’s flowers, so there is no sense in planting vegetables unless they are protected!
The wire mesh fence took a day to build and the planting took the second day. By Sunday evening we were all set.
Molly was not happy.

Monday morning Molly went right to the fence and began trying to push herself between the wires. I think she smelled the little present that the neighborhood cat left. (Why do dogs like cat shit?) Anyway, she pushed apart some of the wire, but could not get through.
So far, so good.

Until she takes a running jump, I suppose.

Beagles are stubborn and you can never trust them.

VeeDee part two

I looked a box of my dad’s collection of toys and found a toy washing machine. When I looked inside, I saw this (see pic) and had to laugh. It is another attachment to the VeeDee. We all know that washing machines have agitators, but this one is designed to ‘agitate’ something else.

Rabbit test

Years ago, when the Tommy dog was young, we had a house rabbit. One of those mini bunnies. You know the ones. Barely enough meat to feed a person, much less two. I would joke to people that the bunny was our emergency earthquake food. Wonder-Girl never thought this was funny.
So when I joke about catching the bunnies down the street and having them in a stew, I know it would last a long time because WG would never eat bunny.

Rabbit stew is quite tasty, as I remember it. Every so often, my dad would bring home a brace of (dead) rabbits from the lab he worked at. Dad would gut and skin them, mom would make us a nice dinner. Two big, plump rabbits would feed our family of seven.

So decades later, when I was remembering the rabbit stew, it occurred to me to ask my dad just what kind of experiments they did. Part of me didn’t really want to know. After all, I am somewhat normal, I think.
So five years ago I finally bit the bullet and asked him what they were doing with the rabbits. They were doing test on plant viruses and were using the sensitized rabbit blood to test for the presence of the virus.
Okay, not some kind bizarre growth hormone or long-lasting neurotoxin to kill insects. Simple plant viruses.

I am glad I didn’t ask him when I was little. I still remember the Thurber cartoon about his uncle that caught Dutch Elm disease!

A Man of Unfortunate Leisure

So, tomorrow is a new day and my first day of leisure. After twenty-six years at my company, they could no longer afford my services. I have tried to think of a good analogy and I think sailing ships are a good one. You are stuck in calm waters with little breeze and diminishing food. So you lighten the load and hope you can continue to feed the crew you keep. They were beyond getting rid of the dead wood and have increasingly cut into those that were needed.
So they put me in a rowboat with a few rations and said good-bye. It is now up to me to row to other ships, similarly becalmed in the sea of business, to see if they need another crewmember.

So I will polish my resume, last written in 1996. (When I was told not use a dot-matrix printer!) Now things are emailed and instead of two interviews, I can expect six. Sigh. Manufacturing has changed so I will try to expand my horizons and look at other companies.
At least I have time to do the pile of Honey-do’s around the house and research more of my dad’s toys. I have six boxes to categorize and eight boxes that I have not even looked in! Research model planes and their engines (from the 1940’s). It takes my mind off my troubles.
Next week I will reschedule my shoulder surgery. Might as well have that fixed during my downtime.

It’s rough waters, but I can still row a boat.

Toys for boys, and…ummm…girls?

Friction toy, Japan, circa 1950’s




Friction toy, England, circa 1904.


Yes friends, this is the patented VeeDee for Vibratory Massage! Good for what ails you, be it Lumbago, Headache or Neuralgia.

Used in the treatment of what was then a common female nervous condition known as hysteria. (Husbandus ineptus?:-)
All stainless steel construction, variable vibrations by simply adjusting the wheel on the end. It even comes with two soft, natural latex attachments. Just the thing to sooth those hard to reach places! (The ones your husband can’t even find if he had a GPS.)

It these modern days of electronic devices, it is perhaps time to move back to a more simpler time. Going ‘green’ could never be easier and more enjoyable! Why this device would be certified ‘green’ by even Al Gore! (Tipper didn’t have much to say, as she was a little out of breath! :-)

And think of the benefits ladies! Not only does it burn calories and firm up those flabby arms, but it is the most enjoyable exercises ever! (sorry Thigh-Master)

So ladies, if the batteries on your iGasm or OhMiBod have run out and your feeling a little cranky; well then, get cranking!

Before the floor

Gosh, so hard to keep my fans happy. :-)
So here you are, the pictures of the bath
as the floor was torn up. just with the new floor and toilet. And a closeup of the Arcade doll house toilet.

New Bath

Well, WG and I finished Step-mom's downstairs bathroom today, finally! :-)
New paint, new toilet, new light fixture, shelves over the toilet, new vinyl flooring. There are four corner shelves by the light switch(you can't see). A new door knob completes it.
One of the best things is the mirror on the right. After we took off the mirror strips on the wall, Step-mom's thought she might want them put back up, despite them being kinda shabby. WG happened to notice a mirror on the wall of the Toy room, behind a shelf. We brought it home and took some old picture frame wood that our son had salvaged years ago(there was just enough!) I made the frame and WG painted it green with silver highlights.
Since the sink and tub are still avocado, the mirror frame looks very good. The only thing left to put back up is the bear toilet paper holder. I was able to fix it, but lost the roller in it. When I find it, or buy a new one, I'll install it.
Particular attention should be paid to the little toilet on the shelf. I found that in the dining room. It is an Arcade cast iron toilet, probably for a doll house.
An actual collectible, I looked it up! We all think that it should stay on one of the shelves as a decoration because it is a similar green and it is a little beaten up.

And to think we only wanted to put down new flooring and a new toilet. But gosh, it looks good

Kith the girls and make me cry

I was good, last September and held my tongue. The whole time I was there, I saw my friends, talked and laughed with them; had a really fun time (as usual).
And not once did I turn to Little Appetizer and say, “You do realize, don’t you, that you will never see me again?”
It would have been cruel to say that, especially since my friend is doing what makes her happy.
So I kept quiet and had fun with her and all of my friends.

And now it occurs to me, as I review my severance package, that I won’t be sent to that little island to train people anymore.

And that I will never see them again.

Times are tough all over

As I was walking the dogs down our street the other morning, we saw two shapes dart across the sidewalk and under a fence. One was black, one was tan. Molly went nuts, as she should, since she was born for this. Tommy strained at his leash, eager to join the hunt that Molly’s howls announced.
I held the leashes tight, for the two bunnies that had streaked past were probably someone’s pets. (And is bunny number three, by the school, someone's pet also?)

Now beagles were bred to hunt rabbits so it would be natural and right to let Molly go hunt. And since Tommy is half beagle, it would be okay to let him hunt also.

Wonder-Girl did not think it was funny when I looked at the two dogs last week and said. “Things are tough all over and kibble is expensive. So the next time we see the bunnies, I’ll let you loose to catch your own breakfast!”

Maybe there will be enough left over for some stew?

Righting #1

RIGHTING 2009

Tidbits that serve no purpose. A collection of puns, funny sayings, slips of the tongue and one-liners that I have thought up, but am still polishing.(or can’t bear to throw away.)
And yes, I would like royalties.
--
What’s a woman’s ideal wait?

A bird in the hand is better than one on the internet

Plain white tease

Dude, it’s called KY jelly, not penetrating oil!

Running a fowl of a wild goose chase

“I don’t think we have been improperly seduced, I mean properly introduced”
She slowly looked me up and down. “I think you were right the first time.”

I’d rather have to shampoo the carpet, than hose your blood off the street. (did I read that somewhere?)

I was too young for the 60’s, so I missed the drug experimentation. But I did get in on the tail end of the free love part.

Maybe the lesbian couldn’t say, “Let me get this straight.” Or “Give it to me straight.”

A vestigial virgin. Not a virgin, but she still has the box it came in.

I am like a canary without a coal mine.

I know women who would kill to have her body…
…And guys who would pay money just to touch it.

I tried to eavesdrop on the gynecologist, but only got snatches of conversation.

As the Englishman said, ‘May I give you a Brit of advice?”

She looked around and said. “Is it global warming? Or is it just me that’s hot.”

Auntie climatic

An inconvenient troth?

Does it take a village to define a village idiot?

Caught in Candy

Life’s a beach. Then you get sand in really uncomfortable places.

The world is my oyster, but I am allergic to shellfish.

Militias prosecution

Living vicariously through you
Living precariously through you.
Living bi-curiously through you.

Beware the virgin who’s tattoo says. “You break it, you buy it.”

Do gay polygamists tell tales of their four fathers.

She was like a farce of nature

I am not ignoring you, the voices drown you out.

The voices talk to me because they think I am real

It’s like looting the cabins onboard the Titanic

If turnabout is fair play, what is foreplay?
(are twins four-play?)

Do you want me to list my girlfriends gynecological? I mean chronologically.

When you go trolling for trollops, should you us a reprobate?

Authors know when two wrongs make as write.

Are ‘Cougars’ mounting lions?

Tweens – The age between ‘hello kitty’ and ‘Hello Sailor’

‘So, do you want to help me take over the government?’ She coup’d in my ear.

Everything but the kitchen slink. (relate to the dogs slinking into the kitchen to get a snack?)

I’d like to follow my bliss, but she got a restraining order.

Dude, when they asked if you were an abuse survivor, self-abuse doesn’t count!

She said she would try to, ‘crack the art of being your own lover.’

Helping the marginally breedable continue to procreate.

Looking for a little piece and quiet

Pipsqueak

Pipsqueak - Informal. a contemptibly small or unimportant person; a twerp.
Pip - Informal. someone or something wonderful: Last night's party was a pip.
Squeak - a sharp, high-pitched sound.


I stumbled across an archive site and realized that I could continue the tracking of my missing Pipsqueak.
It's become a kind of game and maybe more fun than a computer game. It is interesting what people archive and this place isn't complete.
When my emails bounced last year from the two accounts she had and her blogs all vanished, I did the usual googling, but this only gave me places where people mentioned her name. Unusual also was that a lot of the mentions were in abandoned places. (will companies ever purge the old inactive blogs? Judith, your blog might last forever?)

The archive had most of her blog, which was interesting to reread, but more importantly, it gave me names of people who were her friends. From there I tracked down a few email addresses of her friends and I sent some emails.
I received an answer, of sorts, saying that Pip had some troubles and had to remove all records of herself.

There was a trace of her real name last month and she did change jobs.

So that’s all I know.

And I’ll wait for a squeak. (A wonderful sound?)

Creating Monsters

One of my Cebuana coworkers emailed me, requesting a meeting to go over the output of a report.
But instead of a simple request there was this added little hook,

“I know you can't say "NO" to me...hehehe...bcoz I'm one of your favorites...let me remind you of that ;-)”

Oh sure, laugh all you want. My life can be very difficult.

Searchin

“Well, Sherlock Holmes, Sam Spade got nothin', child, on me.
Sergeant Friday, Charlie Chan and Boston Blackie.
I don’t care where she's a hiding she'll never hear me a comin'.
Gonna stealth through the Internet like Bulldog Drummond”

'Cause I've started searchin'.
Oooh, Lord, now searchin', mm child.
Searchin' every which a-way, yay, yay.
But I'm like the Northwest Mounties.
You know I'll bring her in some day.
Gonna find her. (searchin – Coasters)

Okay, so I am not Boston Blackie, but I think it’s time to really dig through the Internet and see if I can find The Pipsqueak.

I was digging in the ether recently and managed to get into the Plasticine level and found curious records of deleted blogs. So I am going to go digging and see if I can find what happened a little over a year ago and why she vanished from the ether.
Perhaps she lost track of my email addresses; perhaps I said something to upset her (I doubt that)
But I think it might be fun to play detective.( I can always ask Older Brother for hints.)

Or frustrating.

New Age

I stood there and thought to myself. “They are all black and they all look the same.”
I just had to smile at that thought and see the humor in it. It was also fun to see the realization sink into Aunt Obie.
And I knew that we could tell her something until we were blue in the face. She had to see it.
All those TV’s lining the walls of the store looked so similar; black and shiny.
For as we left the house, Obie said that she wanted a new TV that looked like furniture.
Yes, just like her old, dying, console TV. Circa 1980, twenty-five inch, built in stereo, genuine simulated wood grain veneer.
‘Obie’, we said, ‘they don’t make console TV’s anymore.’ Sound bouncing off deaf ears

The sound acted up a few times and she realized that she should just buy a new one. Especially since the broadcasters are all going to digital next month.
The TV still works and the picture is decent. I guess Zenith was not far off when they used to say, “The quality goes in before the name goes on.”
But after more than twenty-two years, it’s okay to buy a new one.

And all Obie could see was the oblong black plastic frames. No wood grain. No square screen. No white, blue or pink.
No consol models, no furniture.

And now eighty-eight-year old Aunt Obie has a nice little 26” LCD TV sitting on top of her Hi-fi speaker (real wood) Oh, but you don’t know what Hi-fi is, do you?
But I digress.
I think she is pleased with the setup and we will visit her in a few weeks just to check on things.

Not a bad day

Fact or friction

Aye that’s the rub.
One of my chat buddies recently asked me what was the truth, in my blog. I pondered that for a while since I never thought of it before. Most of my friends, if they actually read this, know me well enough to know what is the truth, what I makeup and laugh when I blend the two.
But now I have strangers reading this blog and while I am sure some of the fiction is obvious, most may not be.
I have added labels, to identify the stories, then could not think of what other labels to use. So for now, I will leave it to my occasional readers to decide what is real, and what is unreal.

The F word

Beware the ‘F’ word, that’s all I can say.
Well, perhaps not all I can say, but an important part of what I have to say. For I have found that you have to dodge it, dance around it. Because once it is said, there is no turning back.
This was made very clear to me earlier this year when I happened to call up one of my ducklings in Boston. Degg answered the phone and I said, “How’s my favorite Duckling?”
She answered with a halting, quivering voice; “I’m…not…your…favorite…Duckling!”
“What do you mean? Yours is the first picture in the album and the caption says ‘My Favorite Duckling.’
“Yes.” She said. “And the next picture shows someone else and it says, ‘another favorite duckling’. So I am NOT your Favorite!”

Yes, I was soooo busted. So I have removed all references to ‘Favorite’. I should have remembered what my mom used to always say, ‘There can only be one favorite.’
(yeah, shut up mom. :-)
But it is difficult not to play favorites, for as you all know, in a group of friends, you might have a favorite in that group. Best if I don’t say who that might be. For I have seen even the darkest Cebuana eyes turn green!

So I was quite careful on my last trip to Cebu and never said who was my favorite. This is especially true since people have changed departments and now I have several favorites working together!

And you never know who is looking over someone’s shoulder, reading the chat session! So we have learned to avoid the F word and will just stick to calling each one a friend.

And if you are one of my special friends, well you know who you are and we should keep that to ourselves. Neither of us wants green-eyed monsters on the loose!.

“Favorite - a person or thing regarded with special favor or preference”

Can’t I have several?

A Goddess Walks Among Us

A Goddess Walks Among Us
(related to the ‘Inky-Sucky’ series?)
By GW Hogg
©2-7-08
She walked down the city street as if she owned it. Not tall, but with her head held high and shoulders back, she appeared much taller than her five feet, four inches. Her light blue dress fit her perfectly, showing off her ample curves. That it also revealed a little more tanned leg than might be proper was planned.
She knew men watched her, she counted on it, enjoyed it and used it to her full advantage. Today they left her alone, for they could tell from her walk and look, that she meant business and was not to be trifled with.
Despite the thick tropical air, she kept to her walk. When she wanted it, she could become approachable. Not now, not when she had a mission, had a need to fill. While others slowed in the heat, she walked quickly.

Though the heat didn’t bother her, she did appreciate that the conference center was air-conditioned. She paused for a moment at the entrance, searching for the registration table. When she spotted it she smiled. The table was manned by a nerdish-looking kid. It was much easier to influence a guy, than a gal. She took a few slow breaths and composed herself. Her look needed to be more approachable, seductive.
The kid was only twenty and quite bored at the registration desk. Today was the first day of the game developers conference and the important talks and sessions would not start until tomorrow. That’s why he chose to work the first day. That way he could spend time at the important seminars later in the week. He daydreamed as he arraigned his papers and the stacks of nametags on the table in front of him. As he glanced up at the door he saw her walking towards him and froze. Only his eyes tracked what he imagined must have been a character straight out of a fantasy war game. The deep V of her dress displayed just a peek of the mocha orbs that strained against the thin fabric. The small ruffles at the hem accentuated the motion of her hips as to make them hypnotic.
“Excuse me.” She said as she stopped at the table. He swallowed and momentarily shook off her effect.
“Yea, Yes, can I help you?”
“Do you have a schedule for the conference?”
“Su..sure.” He bent down to get one from the box on the floor. ‘If I can get her to stay and chat, maybe bend over a little.’ His thoughts occupied, he never noticed her reach out, quickly select a nametag from one of the piles and slide it into the side pocket of her purse.
“Are you attending the conference?” He asked as he handed her the schedule.
She didn’t mind as his eyes slid past her waist and caressed her thighs. His befuddled mind would never remember what she looked like.
“No. My brother wants to attend.”
“Oh.” He radiated disappointment.
”But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned and sashayed to the door. It was always so easy with the young mortals. She thought and smiled to herself. Most of them could be so easily seduced, but she left them alone. There was no need to punish the innocent, even though she knew their innocence would not last. It was as her mother always told her. ‘All men either cheat or leave.’ And she never doubted her mother.
As she descended the stairs and headed to the Ayala shopping center, she thought of tonight’s activities. The nametag would allow her to blend in with the other conference attendees and separate her from the ‘Lobby Ladies’ at the hotel. She smiled to herself, everything was ready. Perhaps an afternoon of shopping would relax her and prepare her for the hunt.

At seven, the taxi dropped her off at the lobby of the Miriam hotel, just across the park from the shopping center. She wore a more tasteful green dress tonight. A little less bosom, a little less leg and the heels were of a more respectable height. The doorman was good and barely seemed to notice her dress, the same with the security guard who politely checked her purse. The nametag hanging from her neck helped her blend in.
As she walked through the lobby towards the bar, she took off the nametag but kept it in her hands.

Downstairs, in the meeting rooms, there were conferences still going on. She knew they would break up soon and she would have her pick of the attendees. She smiled in anticipation as she flagged the bartender.
With a cold Red Horse to sip, she examined her surrounding. There was only one guy at the bar. Far older than she preferred, but suitable. They made eye contact for a moment and he didn’t even smile at her! That was almost unheard of, for she knew men and was on the prowl.
Before she could follow up on the eye contact, a young woman approached the guy and gave him a big hug. They talked excitedly and then two more young women arrived and there were more hugs. Then the four of them, still talking excitedly, left the bar.
Well, she thought, maybe they were just friends or coworkers. It didn’t matter, men were the same all over the world.

She clung to that thought, later that evening, as she allowed an energetic young Australian to lead her to his hotel room. He seemed to have forgotten his wedding ring, as they all do.
And it was probably the farthest thing from his mind, later that night, as she straddled him, the rhythmic motion of her hips grinding against him. Deftly, she brought him to his climax, just as she rose to hers.
He never noticed the faint blue sparks of electricity dancing over their skin until it was far too late. And when he did, she bent over him and stifled his scream with her mouth on his. He thrashed against her, caught between the throes of ecstasy and the incredible pain as she began to suck the life energy from him.
Everywhere their skin touched, and especially deep inside her, blue rivulets of energy flowed from him. He struggled against the small arms and legs wrapped around him, but it was like fighting against bands of iron.
Then slowly, as the flows of energy weakened, so did his struggles. She lay on top of him, feeling his heartbeat slow until it stopped. Climbing off him, she shook her head. They never learn, until too late, the price you pay for cheating. With renewed energy, she practically danced into the shower.
Still later, as she dried herself off, she marveled at her transformation. The small laugh lines around her eyes were gone, her small breasts were firmer, as was the rest of her body. She could easily pass for twenty-two, not the thirty-five her passport said.
Humming to herself, she dressed. She paid no attention to the dried out husk on the bed, but she did remove some of the money from his wallet. After all, he no longer needed it. Silly man, there was a price to pay for infidelity and she would do her best to punish them all.

Later that day, she made her monthly pilgrimage to the cemetery. Wandered among the headstones to the family plot. There they were, all in a neat row. Her husband, two daughters, two sons and some grandchildren.
She missed her husband the most, these last hundred years. For all she wanted from life was to marry a good man, have lots of children and live forever.
She tried to keep him as long as she could, but even her powers could only do so much. And her mother always told her, that in the end, all men either cheat, or leave.

Muse for A Goddess Walks

In a chat session with one of my Cebu friends, (Feb, 2008) she told me that all she wanted was to marry a good man, have lots of children and live forever. As we discussed this and what kind of supernatural creature could do this, I told her that I didn’t think it could be a vampire, since the legends didn’t ever mention their ability to breed. But I thought that the creatures from my ‘Inky-Sucky’ series would work. Then she said that if she was a vampire, she would only attack men who cheated. She hated men who cheated.
So I took those things and twisted them together.
And the Goddess now walks among us!

No more floor

I spent the last week replacing my Step-mom’s downstairs toilet. I knew it would take a while, but not six days! Well, five, since the first day was shopping for supplies after I pulled up some flooring to see what I was up against. (my younger brother did volunteer to help, but I foolishly declined since the room is so small.)
There were four layers of flooring and several layers of underlayment. That would not have been so bad, but layer two was well bonded to layer one. And layer one had some kind of tar backing, so it was stuck to the subfloor! Maybe not surprising, since it was put down in 1927. Oh, and some of the subfloor had been replaced, but it matched level two. So I had to tear that all out and put in new subflooring that matched the original subflooring.
I had WG there for three days, but the bathroom is only four by five, so she couldn’t help much.
So we had-
Vinyl tiles
1/4 underlayment
Sheet vinyl flooring
3/8 underlayment
1950? Tile (red with turquoise speckles)
Linoleum? Glued down with tar?
Sub-floor

By Friday, day four, the subfloor was all fixed and ready for the underlayment, then the new vinyl floor.
By Sunday the new floor was in place and the new toilet works well. Plus someone came by and took the old green toilet!
WG and I will patch the holes and repaint the bathroom next month and install the new light fixture and the new shelves.
Here are some pics. The red tile with turquoise speckles is layer two.

Gonna lay down my hammer and chisle
Down by the riverside
Down by the riverside
Down by the riverside
Gonna lay down my hammer and chisle
Down by the riverside
Ain't gonna study FLOOR no more.

Most Wonderful

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

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

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

A Little White Lie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she did have a very attractive smile.

Looking in the Past

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

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



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








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






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

(Sigh)

Pricks and Prods

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

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

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

Necessity is the Mother

Of strange Bedfellows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Floating through aether

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Dark Tails

Sometimes, there are no stories, just fragments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

MRI Dreams

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snicker

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

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

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

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

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

Being sneaky is difficult

Dark Angel

Dark Angel
By G.W. Hogg
©10-31-08



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

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

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

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

Do you really want to hurt me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which wife

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

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

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

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

One should stay away from the Garcia sisters!

Survivor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Overboard

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Not a good night.

What she didn’t say

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I almost spill the beans.

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

Amusing how one of my ducklings is called balut.

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

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

At least I got to say goodbye to my friend.

She may not be here next time I come.

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

Makes the parting easier.

How to kill a fly

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

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

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

Miss Adventure in L.A.

Yes, Molly is fine, the little shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Got Mine

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

And it wasn’t that hard.

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

They did for me.
I got mine.

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

I got mine.

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

Okay, so I got lucky and got mine.

But I think that you can get yours too.

Never Gonna Fall in Love Again

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

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

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

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

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

High Bridge Campground

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

Who or what is ‘Ol Henry’?

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

The Tail of the Horny Bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

And half an hour later they are at it again.

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

Duckling Tails

Make way for ducklings.

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

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

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

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

So Warty has his Ducklings now.

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

So, that’s the duckling tale.

Molly reactions

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

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

A new, the nine billion names of dog.

(sure, only older brother recognizes the title)

Molly Bolt
(bolts out the door)

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

A wiggle butt and a wag tail pup.

A Miss Creant

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

Enough silliness-

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

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

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

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

Such ugly green eyes

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

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

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

New Addition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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