Here they come again?

I had a small nightmare last week. It was about the plant I used to work at and the people I worked with.
I know why I had it, they have been on my mind these last few weeks. There was reunion party last weekend. A lot of my former coworkers we getting together.
I just couldn’t go. Part of me wanted to see them, part of me dreaded what it would do to me.

Because this is what I went through, as I watched my friends disappear, as they slowly closed the plant

==

DREAM THREE

4/29/02

I was at work and there was trouble. Accountants were scurrying around, trying to do things. The FBI, or someone like that, was investigating the company. There were discrepancies in the accounts and lots of money was missing. The main area of cubicles where this was taking place was right where my friend Lois worked. I tried circling the area, to try and see her. Maybe just so that she could see that I was there and was concerned. I know I could not go and talk to her. If I did, then I would be under suspicion.

One by one, the authorities would take someone to a conference room across the main hall and they would interrogate this person.

Again I circled the area of cubicles, but could not see my friend. I thought of sending her an email, just to let her know that I was nearby, but that would cast suspicion on me.

My friend had nothing to do with accounting, but she worked near them. I was sure that if they started looking at me, they would find something wrong. Maybe I made a mistake on an expense report. Maybe I slightly exceeded my authority on some matter. It didn’t matter what the little transgression was, they would hunt until they found one and I would be cast out like all the rest. It was a regular witch hunt.

The dream shifted, and I was talking to some woman who was the cause of all the problems. I knew she caused everything bad and that she was evil. I was looking around for one of the authorities, someone I could denounce her to. There was no one around and then the woman pulled out a gun and said she was going to start making her coworkers pay for not standing by her. I started talking to her, trying to convince her that not everyone was against her. I somehow convinced her that I was still her friend and that I would never do anything to allow her to be captured.

I do not remember exactly what happened next in the dream, but somehow we ended up back at my house.

The police had followed us and were trying to break down the front door. This woman handed me the small gun she had and then pulled out a larger one from her purse. She screamed that they would never get her, pulled open the closet door and dove for the hidden door in the back of the closet. This secret door led to the basement room. I followed her and when I looked through the secret door, this woman was on the table in the basement, crouched like a cat, gun pointing towards me. I could see my wife slumped on the floor, blood pooling next to her shoulder.

There was no more time to reason with this woman. I stepped back from the doorway, yelled something and emptied my gun into the wall. Then I jumped through the door, yelling that my gun was empty and that they were coming. I yelled that I needed more ammunition to hold them off.

This woman, who now began to look like this neurotic woman that my wife worked with in Reno; handed me her gun and wrapped her arms around me. I emptied my gun at the wall, to get the police’s attention. No one came to the doorway to help and I felt her grip tighten on me. I was now in serious trouble. I felt her clothes melt away. She was bleached white under her clothes and on her back was a set of black leathery wings. As she bit into my neck, I realized that she was a succubus and that I was moments away from having all my strength drained from me. If I didn’t call out for help, then no one would be able to save my wife.

I struggled to cry out, but could not. Finally, I managed to pull her arms off of me and push her back from me. She glared at me and hissed like a cat. I could barely hold her off as I struggled with all my might to scream!

Finally, I managed to scream!

And my wife was shaking me and telling me that it was okay and it was all some kind of bad dream.

I had cried out in my sleep and awakened her. I don’t think that I have ever done that before. I told her a little of the end of the dream and we snuggled together and she drifted back to sleep.

I have not been able to sleep. The headache I went to sleep with is still there. So I got up, took three more aspirin and decided to write it all down. Maybe then I would be able to go back to bed and sleep.

(As they began the slow shut down of the factory, I watched helplessly as all my friends, people I had known for twenty years, were slowly cut away and discarded. I had dreams like this for the six months leading up to the closure and then for almost two years after that. I don’t know how they all reacted to the closing, but I felt like the only person on the Titanic who had the one lifeboat. Six years have gone by and only recently did I finally have a nice dream about my old coworkers.)

Not even 28 days later.

After two days of 100 degree temps, and very dry, the noises in the downspout stopped.
I waited until the next weekend before I took the mesh off the downspout. Out dropped a little desiccated lump. Easily picked up with gloves and dropped into the nearby garbage can
No fuss, no muss. No more rat.

The Lonely boy

Yes, the Tommy-dog is quite lonely. WG flew up north yesterday, to visit her sister. Her sister’s youngest daughter is having a bridal shower and WG saw this as a good chance to visit her sister and her family.
So it’s just the boys. Not so much a problem for me, but Tommy knew something was up when we left for the airport last night. When I got home without WG, well, the little guy was kinda of moping around the house.
He is used to monitoring WG.

And you know, when she gets back, he will snub her for a day or so. I mean, how dare she! Who will give him extra love, and snacks? Mostly the snacks.

I just talked to her and it’s 69 degrees up there, 90 on my back deck. Amusing how I am sure that she wishes I was with her if only to keep her warm at night! Me, I don’t mind too much, it is far too hot for hugs and snuggles!

Got a chance to chat with Danger-Girl last night. Haven’t communicated much since my visit to Cebu. I think it’s a little amusing that only recently did I stumble across her email and IM address. Tidbits get left out there in the ether.
She seriously needs to put some more words down on the web. How else are we supposed to live precariously through her?

Lest you think I am now a man of leisure, you don’t know the powers that conspire against me!
Last Sunday, as we were unloading stones from my truck, Chemical-Girl came over and asked if she could help us. (She is such a devious creature)
When we were done, she grabbed a beer from her garage and came over to sit and chat on our back deck.
By the time I joined them, there was a hint of conspiracy in the air.

Later, after she had gone home, WG told me that she mentioned that she would be out of town, to CG. You know what, CG said, ‘I have a few project to do, can I borrow your husband?’
WG said, ‘Sure, just have him back by Tuesday.’
Why do you think I am glad that some of my female friends live so far away. I have too much to do already! I seriously don’t need to be lent out like some piece of farm machinery!

Add that to the ‘hints’ of things that WG wants me to do. No, there will be no rest for the wicked.

Add this heat to that and I will seriously not get any fun things done. Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun.
My dog isn’t mad, and I only have a little English in me. I’ll stay inside when it’s hot.

At least Tommy gets his morning walks.

Today I saw somebody

Who looked just like you,
She walked like you do.
I thought it was you.

Okay, it’s not quite like the song; but the other day I ran into someone’s almost double. (if she had really been a doppelganger, I would have left.)

I was waiting to get my haircut and I had just been called to the chair by the stylist. When I looked at her, she seemed familiar.
Dark hair, good looking, nice smile. Wearing blue jeans and a button-down, loose fitting, long sleeved shirt.
Something about her seemed familiar. I studied her in the mirror as she asked about how I wanted my hair cut.
Hmmm…face is similar, but more from the profile. Similar petite frame at about five-three or four. Black hair and naturally tanned skin.
Similar, as if she was a sister or a cousin. But that wasn’t what completed the picture.

Have you ever met someone who has a vibe, or aura around them? Something that tells you; yes, she could rock your world! It funny how some people exude a sensuality and I suspect that they don’t even know it. Even stranger is the people who seem to lack any sensuality about themselves. Stranger still are the ones who are perhaps extremely good looking, but you get no vibe from them. That indicates they would be as exciting as a dead fish.

And that’s what completed the picture. For this stylist had the same aura of sensuality about her that my friend has. (and no, I will not even give you a hint as to who she is. That would seriously embarrass her.)

And that is the interesting part. For like this stylist, my friend is an attractive woman. But what makes her much more attractive than someone who is better looking, is the vibe she gives off.
And that can make all the difference in the world.

Twenty-eight Days Later

Yesterday, I trimmed the jasmine in front. I really hacked it back a lot. As I was cleaning up the debris, I heard a strange noise. I looked up at the downspout and I could hear scraping noises coming from inside it. I knew right away what it was!
A roof rat!
Now we don’t get them very often, but once in a while, one tries to make a home in our yard. And I (with Tommy’s help) do my best to discourage it.

I have mentioned them before and how they are attracted to things like vegetable gardens.
We have a vegetable garden and I don’t want the bastard (assuming it is male, of course) eating our tomatoes.

Now I don’t know that I could coax him out of the downspout and if I could, I was probably not fast enough to whack him with a shovel. Now I could put the Tommy-dog on guard, but I doubt he is fast enough either.

So I did the only other sensible things. I went to my workbench and grabbed some three-inch deck screws. Now I knew that the top of the downspout was plugged by a wire mesh device meant to keep leaves from getting into the downspout and to keep the occasional rat from getting onto the roof. (they don’t call them roof-rats for nothing)
Now I used to keep little wire mesh plugs at the bottom of the downspouts, to keep the little bastards off the roof. I don’t worry as much now since I found the last secret entrance to the attic and I have plugged that up!
So I grabbed the old mesh plug and stuck it into the bottom of the downspout. Two deck screw driven through the aluminum downspout to hold the mesh in place and the little bastard was now stuck inside the downspout.

Now I am sure that the lunatics at PETA would be incensed, but this has now become a little experiment.
How long with the little bastard live?

We shall find out.

Secret Names

Along time ago, and possibly still today, people had secret names. There was your name that your family knew and there was your name that everyone else knew you by.
Why the secret name? Because if someone knew your secret name, they had power over you. Spells could be cast against you.

Today, we no longer believe in such nonsense, but perhaps we should?
For nicknames are now the secret names. Know your friend's nickname and maybe you can find them on the web.

I am sure that all of you, at one time or another, have Googled your own name. And if your name is even slightly common, you get 20,000 places to look. So if you want to find yourself, Google is not the place to look.
There have already been problems where someone applies for a position and they are turned down because someone Googled their name and saw the person drunk and acting stupid.

You are safe if you have a common name. Not safe if someone knows your nickname. Or, if you have a special, unusual email/social networking name.

Makes me wonder what might be out there. What secrets do my friends have hidden on the web? What parts of their soul have they bared?

And do I want to know?

And should I tell anyone if I find it?

Philosophical quandary

Dear Tee Shirt Girl,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing much happens

A good boring weekend. Just painting the house.

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

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

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

Fishing Buddy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’d like to think it was more.

Next to Nothing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe I should shut up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dredge

Dredge
By G.W. Hogg
©10-9-1999

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

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

Bring out your Dead

By G.W. Hogg
©2-12-00

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

Unrequired Love

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

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

Less than perfect.

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

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

Sayings

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

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

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

Kith the girls and make them cry.

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

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

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

An, a pit of knees.

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

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

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

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

Women don’t know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a kid anymore

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