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!