Odd shift

This is more than silly. But last week, when Thirteen told me of her new job and that she would now be in the 1% of the 1% in this company, I felt my universe shift. I don't know what that means, but I feel something has changed

Someday

"Why are you always nice to me?" She asked.
"Because someday you might wake up in a meadow, look at the odd plants and realize that you're on a strange world. With a faint memory of being poked and prodded by aliens going through your mind, you start to walk. When you come across me, lying there unconscious you think; 'Well, I was hoping for someone better looking, but he was always nice to me.' And you drop the large rock you were carrying.

Revised When I first met Kit

The Tale of Two Kitties

By G.W. Hogg

©2-8-16

I first met Kit late Saturday night as I walked back to my company’s apartment in Cebu City. It was almost midnight as I made my way down the dim and quiet street. The end of my first week of training had gone well and I had been out to dinner with eight of my coworkers from the planning group. Despite being a thirty something single guy, I was careful how I acted with the group. So despite the encouragement of my coworkers, especially one rather cute one, I was careful not to drink too much.

I turned off the dim street, onto the dark alley that led to the back of the apartment complex. The full moon had just risen, but shed little light on the narrow alley. I hadn’t gone more than a few steps in when I noticed something moving high up on a wall. I flattened myself into a shadowy doorway and watched.

A guy was carefully pulling himself onto the top of the high wall. He was being slow and careful, trying to avoid the jagged pieces of glass set into the top of the wall. If it weren't for the full moon, he would have been invisible in his black, head to toe, skin tight outfit.

I was preparing to run when the figure stood and silhouetted by the full moon, I could see the special curves that told me it was a woman, and a rather nicely shaped one at that!

   The bulge on her back told me that she was successful and had filled her backpack with loot. I was curious, so I stayed in the shadows to watch.

Balancing herself on the edge, she pivoted on one foot, turning so she faced back the way she came. In one smooth motion, she crouched, grabbed the top of the wall, kicked off and hung for moment, then dropped to the alley below.

And something went terribly wrong! As she landed silently, I heard a nasty crack and she stifled a scream as she fell over. I stood there for a moment, listening to her quiet moaning and wondering what I should do. Does a gentleman help a damsel cat burglar in distress?

Not sure of the karma, but remembering the tantalizing silhouette I saw, I stepped out of the shadows. Whistling a tune, I started down the alley. This way, I hoped she would not be startled.

She was a darker shape amongst the dark gray bins and boxes cluttering the alley and I could just make her out as she froze against the wall. I continued, pretending I didn’t see her until I was abreast of her, then I turned and stared at her.

 "Are you in need of assistance my dear?"

She let out a little squeak, there was a flash and I was facing two feet of naked Japanese steel.

Because of the black hood, I could only see her eyes, but the pain and fear in them was unmistakable. I stood there for a few moments, not wanting to test her skill with a blade. It never wavered.

Finally, she spoke. "Go Away!"

"I thought you could use some help, especially since I think you broke your ankle."

"I don’t need your help, you stupid American! This doesn’t concern you. Go before trouble falls on your head!" She shifted her leg and from the sharp intake of breath, I knew it hurt.

Her voice sounded young and judging by her stubborn attitude, she was very young. "Now darlin’, be nice or I’ll get a long stick and hit your ankle."

Her eyes went wide. "You wouldn’t!"

"Probably not. Still, I think you need my help. Or do you want to crawl all the way home?"

"I told you I don’t need your help!"

"Okay, I’ll leave if you show me you can stand." I stepped back and waited.

She seemed to think it over and sheathed her short sword. Then using it as a cane, she levered herself up onto one leg and stood. "See! Now leave!"

"Okay." I turned and walked away.

I was maybe four yards away when I heard her cry out, followed by a thud. I knew what had happened, but I kept walking.

"Help!" I heard in a quiet, plaintive voice. I kept walking.

"Please help me!" A little louder this time. I stopped, turned and sauntered back.

 "Does the little girl now need help from the stupid American?" I asked as I stood over her.

Her fierce dark eyes glared at me, and then she let out a sigh. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty. If this kind American would be so good as to help a poor damsel in distress…I…I might be in his debt."

Her last few words were so forced; I thought she might hurt herself. I reached down for her wrist and she grabbed mine. "Nothing would please me more than to help this charming young damsel."

I pulled her up, steadied her and we took a hop-step. She almost lost her balance. She was rather short compared to me, so I had to bend over to put an arm around her slender waist. We tried again, but her sharp intake of breath told me that even this jarred her foot too much. "I don’t think this will work."

As we stood there, we heard sirens in the distance, then noise over the wall. "I think we need to hurry!" She said.

I let go and hunkered down. "Get on my back and I’ll carry you."

She put her arms around my neck and as I stood, she hoped up and wrapped her legs around my waist. "Giddy up!" She said and laughed.

I jogged to the end of the alley and started across the street. "Hey!" She said. "My place is to the right."

"My place is closer and I promise I’ll be a gentleman."

"Ah…okay." Then she whispered in my ear. "But I can’t promise to be a lady!" And she laughed deliciously.

We made it across the street and into the next alley unseen. I fumbled a bit getting the door to the apartments unlocked, but made it through without dropping my cat burglar.

Despite her small size and light weight, I was a little winded when I got us to my apartment on the third floor.

I let her slide off onto the small couch and got her a chair to prop up her foot.

"Is there someone you can call?"

"Yes, just a moment." She shucked the backpack off and pulled it around to her front. As she unzipped the front pouch and pulled out her phone, the pack fell over and bundles of cash fell out of the unsecured top. She froze.

I casually picked up the bundles of dollars and pesos, placed them on the dining table, then grabbed two Red Horse beers from the fridge. I opened them, walked over and placed one before her, then sat down next to her.

"Well, my little cat burglar, I think you have some explaining to do."

She gave me a frightened look, then grabbed the beer, lifted her mask just a bit and took a long drink.

"You probably think I'm a common criminal?"

I looked her over and smiled. "Perhaps not 'common', but a criminal none the less."

She smiled back, and it was a really cute smile.

"I'm not really a criminal! That house belongs to the mayor; it's where his mistress lives. He's well known for taking bribes and other bad things. My cousin told me the police are going to raid the house in the morning and all the bribe money might not make it to the police station."

"So you thought you'd help keep the police from getting their hands too dirty?"

Her smile turned impish and there was a little sparkle in her eyes. "The police don't know how much there is to seize, and if there is some missing, then the mayor will just assume the police kept it. I wasn't going to keep all of it. Most was going to the homeless children's fund that my church runs."

"And you were going to keep just enough to cover expenses?" I could not tell if she was blushing, but her smile turned uncertain and she looked away. When she turned back, the impishness was back in her smile. "You could be one of my 'expenses'?" She said hopefully.

"For a cat burglar, you're not a bad kitty. Call your friend. Your broken foot needs to be looked at."

As she called, I went over to inspect the loot. I picked up all but one bundle of hundred dollar bills. As she was talking to her friend, I stuffed the rest of the cash back into her pack and secured the top.

I wished I knew some Tagalog. She would say something, then glance at me and look away. It was probably best I did not know what she was saying.

She closed the phone. "My cousin will be here in twenty minutes." Her eyes traveled to the table. "Hey! You didn't give me everything back!"

I smiled wickedly, "Expenses."

She gave a small pout, then smiled. "Not such a stupid American after all. I guess it's only fair."

"You know, we have not been properly introduced. My name is Greg. And yours?" I held out my hand and she shook it, strong and firm.
" I think it's best you don't know my name."

"Hmmm…perhaps you're right. Well, I'll call you Kitty, since you're a cat burglar. The tale of Kitty the cat burglar. It has a nice ring."

"Depends how you spell tale."

"Either way, it's a nice tail."

She looked away, as if she was blushing, but she was smiling too.

We had just finished our beers when her phone chimed. "Oh, my ride is here."

"Then let's get you downstairs."

I helped her stand, and put on the backpack full of loot. "Ready for another ride?"

"Sure."

Despite our care, she hit her bad foot when she wrapped her legs around me.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." She said through clenched teeth. "You were being careful."

"You know, it's a good thing you're light and petite. Makes it easier to carry you."

She gave me a bit of a squeeze. "Giddy up!" Was all she said.

When we stepped out into the alley, there was a beat up white Isuzu trooper waiting with the back door open. I carefully set Kitty down, then helped her into the seat. As I went to pull away, she tugged on my arm, stopping me.

"Thanks for your help." Then she pulled me closer and kissed me, her tongue saying more than her words did.

She released me. "Maybe I can thank you improperly when my foot heals. Let's go cousin!"

She smiled impishly, pulled the door shut and they drove off.

Monday, my driver picked me up late, so by the time I got to the conference room, everyone was ready and waiting. While I set up, the supervisor introduced the two new faces, Katrina and Alfonso, who had been on vacation the previous week.

Training on the new software package went well and I wrapped up the introduction just before lunch.

"It's almost lunchtime." I said as I stood. "So let's break a little early. After lunch, I'll have each of you run the software and we'll do some hands on work. After that, I am sure I'll be flooded with questions."

They looked to their supervisor and when she nodded, they all thanked me and left for lunch. All except one.

I walked over to the young lady. "Katrina isn't it?"

"Yes, but you can call me Kit, everyone else does."

 "Well Kit, shouldn't you be heading off to lunch? Or did you have some questions?"

"No questions, you covered everything quite well. It's just that I was off last week and have a million emails to catch up on."

"I see. I thought it might be that you didn't want me to notice that your foot was in a cast."

She gasped.

"Not bad for a stupid American, huh Kit? Or should I call you Kitty?"

"How did you know? You never saw my face!"

"But I saw your cute smile."

She looked away and almost blushed.

"So, leave your work and let's go join the others for lunch."

"Okay."

I helped her up and retrieved her crutches from under the table. "Maybe later, you will think of a nice restaurant where you would like me to take you to dinner."

"Some place expensive?"

"If I can afford it."

"Oh You!" and she playfully hit me on the arm.

Insatiable Nomad

11-24-15
After graduating from high school, I decided to spend my summer hitchhiking around the country. On a hot June day I was walking along a lonely stretch of highway just outside of a small town in the middle of Kansas. I heard a roar behind me, turned and put out my thumb. A red motorcycle with a black sidecar came zooming around the bend. It screeched to a halt just in front of me and the rider pointed to the sidecar. 'Nomad' was emblazoned across it in bright red script. My eyes were drawn to the obviously female figure, wonderfully dressed out in tight black leather; I hesitated. She pulled off her helmet, shook out her long black hair and gave me a mischievous smile that spoke of excitement.
 "Get in!"
I grabbed the helmet off the seat, slid my backpack off my shoulders and climbed in. "You didn't ask where I was going."
She let loose a laugh and I could feel the adrenaline surge through me. "Where ever I'm going and not even the Nomad knows where that is; but I might get you home for college by September." She laughed again as she popped on her helmet, dropped the cycle into gear and I held on for the ride of my life.

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

Never at the crossroads, simultaneously

We were talking on the phone once, during one of our annual calls, when she asked me a very odd question; “If I had asked you, would you have married me?”

In a fraction of a second, which was all I had, I reviewed all the times we were together, the break up and all of the subsequent times our paths crossed, either on purpose or accidental and gave her my honest answer.

“Yes.”

“I was just wondering.” Was all she said.

You were just wondering? Like, ‘I was just wondering if I should have another glass of water’? I do wonder what was going through her mind at the time. Was she looking back on her choices in life, the choice that led her away, the choices that kept leading her to reach out to me, reconnect and sort of try again? Until we lost touch with each other, and then, by the time our paths crossed again, it was too late for you?

Because, when I look back, it was always you who came back to me, if only for the weekend.

Perhaps I look at things differently. Once it’s over, it’s over. We tried, in our own fumbling teenage ways. Sometime after you went off to college, you decided that the long distance thing was just not working, so you decided to end it.

So, it was over and I moved on.

And you kept finding me.

I know that when circumstances end something, it never truly ends.

So I wonder if, at that point in your life, you were looking at ‘might have beens’? Were you wondering if you did the right thing? Maybe, if you tried harder, asked me the question, things might have turned out differently? So you reached out to once again, to touch the maybe, feel the warmth, and reassure yourself that the 'maybe' was still real.

I hope that it was just because you were curious, not that you were having troubles. Because there is nothing I can do for your troubles…except be your friend.

And I never want to think that you might have made an error in your selection. For I know that I didn’t.

And I don’t want to think of you, lying in your bed at night, wondering if your life would have turned out better, if only it was me lying beside you.

Interstate 5 daydreams

It’s always boring, driving down highway five. Okay, it’s not a ‘highway’, it’s an Interstate. And yes, I know the difference.

There it sits, hundreds of miles of straight, flat road, in the middle of California. Nothing much to see but flat fields, an occasional oasis of service stations and fast food places. Oh, and the stockyards you smell before you see.

Regardless of the boredom, it is the fastest route to L.A. from the Bay Area.

But once you set the cruise control to 80mph (125kph), 70 when the price of gas was $4 a gallon, it’s a struggle to fill the hours.  Wonder-Girl reads a book, since the farmers don’t post signs on their crops.

I glance at the road sign, “Speed limit enforced by aircraft’ Enforced? I wonder how. The mind drifts and I can visualize a World War One biplane cruising through the skies, monitoring traffic.  It’s a two-seater and the pilot and gunner both have handlebar mustaches and goggles.

The gunner sees a sports car weaving through traffic at a high rate of speed.  He taps the pilot on the shoulder and gestures down. The pilot gives him a thumbs up and banks over into a dive.

As the plane levels out, the gunner swings his twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns over and aims just in front of the nose of the sports car.

With a crazed look in his eyes, he squeezes off a burst of tracer rounds. The sports car slams on its brakes and slides into the slow lane.

The pilot laughs, along with the gunner, as he pulls back on the stick and climbs.  Four crazed bloodshot eyes scanning the road for another victim

Sure, I have seen the real helicopter spotters overhead, but they are boring.

--

I always wonder, what sick mind names the prisons around here?  Not far from the Grapevine you see the sign. ‘Happy Valley State Prison’ Oh, you know the prisoners just love it there, in the happy valley.

And in this flat area, there are no little valleys, so why did they name it that?

--

You see, on the Interstate, there is no cross traffic. On the highway, you always see signs warning about cross traffic ahead. I always wonder how they know the traffic is angry?

--

I am glad I don’t bruise easily. Last time we drove down 5, it was summer. Wonder-Girl asked what all the white stuff was, stuck in the shrubs. “Oh it’s cotton.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s caught’n all the bushes.”

Yeah, she hit me.

Looking at it another way

I have this friend back east that I have known since the 90’s. One of the reasons we remain friends, probably, is that we think in similar ways, have a similar sense of humor and enjoy each other’s company.

Skinner, as I call her, and I became friends through phone calls and emails at work. It wasn’t until a few years later that she met me in person. (I had already met her, but she had forgotten the meeting. I suppose that indicates the first impression I had on her, or lack thereof, sigh.)

Anyway, the friendship worked, partly (I think) because we kept it as a friendship. (though if I had been single at the time…I probably would have made a nuisance of myself.)

There were a few curious things over the years that, if I take them out of context, squint and tilt my head just the right way; might indicate some other ideas she may have had.

The first thing was sometime in the mid nineties, before the internet. I had mentioned reading certain stories on a bbs. She asked, if she wrote such a story, would I post it for her?

Now I have been writing stories for quite a while, regular fiction, and had shared some with her. So I figured that it would be regular fiction.

So she sends me a little three page sex story and I posted it. (It is still archived at several internet sites and if you knew my original email address at my last company, you could find the story.)

The story had what I thought as a good sex scene between the two characters. Not the quiet, slow lovemaking; but a rough, pull her dress off, throw her on the bed, mount her from behind and fuck her hard, fast and deep. (With a nice touch of her wanting/having her nipples pinched hard at just the right moment.)

 I have read the story several times and based on how we act when we are together, I am sure it was not meant to be about us.

And there is something else. That is that both of us respect marriage. If she had other ideas about me, she would keep them to herself. If I had other ideas about her, I would keep them to myself. Some things are just not done.

Some years after that, she told me she had written a similar story for her boyfriend and his reaction was pretty lukewarm.

The second thing was at one time, she sent me a book to read. It was called ‘Mercy’. It was a psychological murder mystery about a man who liked to dress up in women’s clothing, a series of murders; and a woman who like to dress up as a man. The ‘Mercy’ title comes from the safe word that was used by these two people, because they were also both into BDSM

I did like the book and told her so; but it always struck me as strange that she would send it out to me. Especially since I read mostly science fiction and fantasy.

So I suppose I could take these two items together and weave it into a supposed fantasy that she has about me, or a fantasy she had and I would be suitable. But that idea is so farfetched, based on what I know about her, that it is hardly worth considering.

Maybe flattered

The other day, Wonder-Girl came back from a women’s get together and told me a strange thing. She said, “Do you know what Chemical-Girl said to me tonight? She said, ‘All the women want your husband.’”

“What?” I said incredulously.

“She said that.”

Now I am totally perplexed. You’ve met me and you know that I’m a pretty average looking guy. So that can’t be it. Now I do have a lot of female friends, in fact most of my friends are female. I suppose that means that I’m a pretty nice guy and fun to be with. (And probably because I am not trying to get into their pants, they feel safe and comfortable around me?)

I think it also might be because Wonder-Girl doesn’t constantly grouse about me? (I am only guessing this because we all know that when a spouse is on their own, they may say things.)

Maybe it’s because most of the women are divorced, or married to their second husband; and this is my first?

I don’t know. I just can’t figure that one out.

Crossing the line

(years ago) So we were sitting at the party, spinning yarns and shooting the breeze. Someone brought up different mixed drinks and Prickly's dad asked what was in a 'Long Island Iced Tea'. It has four or five types of booze mixed together. "I don't know," I answered. "But it is strong enough to knock the skirt off a college coed!." Suddenly there was silence, so I quickly added, 'Or so I've heard." Nice save, GW, but no one believed me. Deep Throat thought it was pretty good. I am just glad the kids were in the house, out of earshot. Twelve-year-old boys should not be learning the tricks of the trade, yet. Us older guys will bide our time. For such knowledge should be passed on. It’s not as if women wear tee shirts that say, I'm not that kind of girl, but if you buy me another drink...

Black Years

It was last September, a month after our mom died, and I was talking to my twin sister. She said, "You know, next year is going to be another black year." "Yes, I know." For she and I are faced with the same things, almost. Our step-sister had metastatic breast cancer at the time and was getting worse. She had been fighting a heroic battle for years and was slowly losing. Our stepmom is fighting a different type of metastatic cancer, but for now, is holding her own. We share that and the sorrows to come. But I have another darkness flowing my way. Our beloved Tommy dog is now almost eighteen. A Border-collie-beagle, he has been a smart and loyal companion. But I know his days are numbered. I recently stopped taking him on his short morning walk, the walks we have done every morning for sixteen years. His back legs are weak, his front legs are arthritic and he has trouble walking without panting in pain. His mind, ears, and eyes are not as good. So I know that at some point, probably this year, his legs will give out, or something will break down. And then it will be time. Time for us to take the last ride to the vet, as I have done twice before with our other dogs. And it will be a blacker year for me, because I'll be the one to nod to the vet that it's time. Time to say goodbye. And I will cry for Tommy more than I'll cry for anyone else.

A lot has happened.

And not so much. After being laid off from my job of twenty-seven years, and searching for a new one for a year, I became gainfully employed again. It has been interesting, learning a new job, meeting new people and trying to understand the mindset of people who have not spent their lives in a manufacturing environment. One thing I learned very quickly was to keep my mouth shut about my situation. We were about halfway through my period of unemployment when Wonder-Girl looked up at me one afternoon and said, “I am so glad you convinced me to pay off our house.” What happened was, as she was determining what to do with her inheritance, I offered this idea. (Now understand that her inheritance is hers. Whatever she wanted to do was fine by me. I fully trust her judgment and offered only one suggestion.) “I think it would be a good idea to pay off the house. This way, if you want to work, you can. If you don’t want to work, you can do that also.) So as we sat there, watching the weeks of my severance pay diminish, we knew we didn’t have to worry about the house. This became more important as we watched the housing market implode from everyone’s bad decisions and circumstances beyond their control. We knew several friends who had a divorce, loss of job, or sickness suddenly change their situation. Suddenly, the house they could afford was no longer affordable. Many lost their homes. Sure, a few did stupid things when they bought their houses near the peak of the market; some got terrible advice also. Wonder-Girl always said that she never wanted to take out another loan and use the house as collateral. Do nothing to endanger our home. And now I sit and talk to friends and coworkers who are suck where they are because they owe more on their house than it is worth. I find it best to commiserate with them on the market, the job opportunities, etc. I don’t tell them that I have not had to worry about a mortgage payment. No sense in gloating over the fact that we were both careful and lucky.

Strange Sight

Sunday at 10 am, Molly and I left the house for a walk. As I reached the hedge and turned, I saw a young lady sitting on the curb, legs stretched out into the street. (The one glance showed, besides the long, good looking legs; a very short black skirt. Long blond hair, thin black jacket, black high heeled pumps next to her feet. What some of my lady-friends have called their ‘fuck-me shoes’.)Kinda surprising. I looked left and right, to check for cars and started across the street. I looked back at the young lady. She turned, looked up at me. I said “Good morning.” She smiled and said “Hi.” (Of course, she smiled, I had my cute beagle with me. That always gets a smile from women. But I digress.)It was a pleasant ‘Hi’, no worried smile, or concerned look. If she had looked as if she was in trouble, I would have asked her if she needs to use the phone. We continued on our walk and I smiled to myself. After the first glance and seeing the long expanse of bare leg, my second thought was how cold she must be! It was maybe 38 and overcast. The thick fog had lifted, but it was very damp.I suppose she must have been at a party and just fell asleep on the couch. But judging by her evening attire, I suspect that some guy took her home after meeting her at a bar or dance party. (She was very take-homeable)Endless ideas as to why she was sitting on my corner, waiting for her ride. And there are, alas, no answers. For when Molly and I returned, the young woman was no longer there.

Constraints

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

It’s safe now.

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

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

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

Betty look alikes and slipping into the Twilight Zone

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

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

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

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

I’m not saying we ought to misbehave

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

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

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

Guilt

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

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

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

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

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

Cross Country

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

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

Time is tight

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

I really shouldn’t give this up.

Black Coffee

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

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