Moral Dilemma

I'm at the urinal in a supermarket and the guy in the stall, who sounds about 85, is having trouble UN-spooling the toilet paper. Don't anything work anymore, he grumbles. Question: should I knock and offer to help him? Sooner than I'd like to think, I might be in the same situation.
Thankfully, he got it going and finished his personal hygiene. I hate these decisions.
The other day outside the same store I found a perfectly good cylinder of the Original Pringles potato chips. I picked it up, stood there looking around for someone to step forward and claim it. Normally I would just take it, but this was Pringles. I'm sure the person who lost  it was stunned and heartbroken, maybe suicidal. But if I bring it to the courtesy counter odds are someone will just stick it under their coat. I mean, it's freakin' Pringles, not Wise or store brand and NOT pretzels. That would have been easy. No one cares about pretzels except guys in bars.
The cylinder is on top of my fridge and as days go by, the chances of my returning it decrease. Let me carry the guilt.

Absence of Presence

There are people who enter a room causing electricity throughout. Then there is me. I come into a room and everyone yawns. Even the pets. The furniture shrinks away; chairs mutter not here, sit over there.
I have no presence, no gravitas. Ironically, this helps me as a writer. I can be there watching and listening without garnering attention, making it easy for me to create stories and characters. Inside, I am a lava flow of creative juices. But on the outside I simply have no presence.
Imagine trying to create a character based on me. What is my core essence? Plaid shirts? A sensual lower lip? Hairy shoulders? I don't do karaoke or dance. I take no controversial stances. I even vomit quickly without fuss. Never once have I projectile vomited.
No, I'm someone who blends into the decor. But I'm always watching and listening.

High End

Every year my life coach, Ellen, sits down with me and helps me whittle down my list of friends. I'm not a snob, but do have expectations of these people, who must qualify as high end friends.
Right off, we eliminated Harry and his Velcro painting of Hillary Clinton. Louise's earrings were too ostentatious--out. Marge we kept because finally removed that Neil Diamond tattoo from her shoulder. The Fanucci twins were problematic. They voted Republican, but had a 36 D cup. We kept them.
Al was kind to me all year, yet his connection to Tupperware forced me to toss him out. I want my friends to be both accomplished and edgy. Like Augie, who claimed to have invented the Frisbee and rode around on a bike wearing a Batman costume.
Truthfully, I have only one Superhero as a friend--Elastic Man. But like rubber bands, his elasticity decreased over time to the point where his left arm just snapped off while battling an evil villain. Ellen said he had to go and I agreed.
So it went for two hours. At the very bottom of the list was Ellen's husband Steve. Certainly Steve stays on, I said. Ellen frowned. It pains me to inform you that Steve has removed you from his high end list, she said. He feels you did nothing interesting all year.
I sat there in shock. I realized he was right. I needed to get myself a nose ring. It's a start.

Well Wishing

This is the time of year for well wishing. You send out messages of support, hope and joy to people. You wish them continued success, renewed creativity, serene happiness for them and family.
This is all well and good when it comes to those who have been responsive in the past. You send them a message, they respond, life goes on.
But what about those who've ignored you all year? I mean seriously ignored you to the point where they never respond to anything. These are folks who, for some reason, have decided you are not worth their attention. It's not like there was an argument between you or you stole something from them. Getting inside their heads leads only to frustration--it's impossible. Evidently, some people get up in the morning deciding they will feel better about themselves if they snub a percentage of their acquaintances.
Should you continue to wish them a happy new year etc., hoping that they will comes to their senses and recognize you as someone worthy of their attention? Or should you just write them off as a loss and move on?
This year I'm leaning toward contacting a few and waiting. If they do not respond I'll toss in the towel on the rest of them. Frankly, based on their posts, they aren't all that interesting anyway. I will keep them on my social media pages in case something really great happens to me like a publishing deal. I want them to know about it. Boy, do I want it in their faces. I feel much better now.

My Secret

I love my Lycra workout shorts, but I must confess sometimes I wear them under my pants. It's that tight, sensual feeling on my nether regions I can't seem to resist. Walking around the gym, it's hard for me not to stop in front of a full length mirror and admire my quads, hamstrings and glutes.
I have another secret. Sometimes I stick tissue in the crotch to make me feel more secure surrounded by huge guys. And sometimes, in the process of exercising, the tissue pops out. Let's just say I've been warned by the gym manager.
My other secret is I steal coffee cups at people's homes during social events. Stick them right down my pants in between my underwear and the Lycra shorts while I'm in the bathroom. I've accumulated quite an array of cups. I have a trusting face and no one notices.
What can I say? I like living on the edge. Tomorrow I'm having breakfast at Waffle House. I doubt their metal detector will pick up a glass coffee cup.

Holly Jolly

I went to a library to hear Christmas Carols yesterday afternoon. They had lots of cookies, pastry and hot chocolate. Four adults dressed in red and white outfits bounced around, getting pumped up. One tuned his violin, another failed to tune her flute, which cost her later.
There were only a few of us in the audience, which was just fine. They were scheduled to begin at 2:30, supposedly standing outside. A couple complained it was too cold to the young woman who organized it. In short time it was switched indoors to a point near the Christmas tree. To me, this made sense. I settled in on a comfortable couch, drank my hot chocolate and appreciated retirement.
They were pretty decent; the singing was fine, choice of songs familiar, as you might expect. I enjoyed the violinist, but was dubious about the showy necklaces he wore. The other guy looked like Christopher Plummer and had Bill Medley's baratone.
The flute player realized her instrument wasn't tuned after several abortive tries to play something, but eventually that got resolved.
Then it happened. The grade school across the street let out at 3 and kids swarmed in and around us. Kids do not hesitate. If they want a space they take it. If they want most of your couch they take it. And if they want hot chocolate and cookies, boy do they take that. Thankfully, I'd already had two cups and four cookies before they attacked us.
I left at intermission. Too much holiday spirit upsets my stomach. I think I've outgrown kids.

Tuesday Coffee

Is there anything better than sitting in Burger King sipping their Tuesday Senior Coffee, discounted by 30 cents, and reading Lee Child's latest thriller? I could have been at the gym, running with my club, or attending a Meet Up for writers. That would mean work. Punishing my body, coming up with insights, smiling a lot.
Here I can just be myself on a December evening. The guy sitting in front of me is blasting his radio tuned to a talk show. I don't even have to look up and acknowledge anyone. After 90 minutes I shut my book, return the extra milk containers to BK, and head out into the night.
Am I becoming a loner tired of people? Recently I quit three groups I was involved in and a fourth is ending because the facilitator is changing jobs. Today I could have gone to the library and watched White Christmas, but decided to hit the gym. Afterwards I went to Goodwill to browse. Found nothing that appealed to me. Reminded myself that I had only a dozen more days to donate tax deductible housewares, and I have to say, my knick knacks are far more appealing than what they have.
Six more days to another discount coffee. Nothing better than retirement.

What Bit Me?

First they yank out all my leaves, then dig into my heart. My artichoke identity is compromised.
He rips off my cover and cracks me in half... granola bar
How can I still refer to myself as a Yankee bean if they try to drown me in soup?
My best friend Ralph was swimming next to me in our bowl when this beast grabs him and swallows him whole. Goldfish have rights too.
I wake up lying on my side, feathers gone, somebody taking a bit of my leg. Where did my head go? I wish we chickens could run faster.
I'm basking in the sunlight, buried in cool earth and then I'm pulled violently and teeth puncture me. Sure I'm going to squirt juice. This is what tomatoes do.
Since when do humans give us hickeys? Yams don't even have necks.
Stop complaining. My owner licks instead of bites. You do not lick potatoes.

Let's Not Talk About It

My social circle is incredibly polite. When we meet for our discussions, manners are our priority. This past Saturday I had just put out the coffee and snacks and we were juiced to begin our session. Suddenly one of the members, Jim, keeled over, face down on my new red tablecloth. We were stunned.
Being the host I felt I should say something. I asked Carl to see if he was breathing. Carl declined, citing fears he would be sued if he moved the head and snapped something. Joyce remarked how she never realized Jim had pattern baldness. Lucy became anxious because Jim was her lift. Keith got up, walked over and removed Jim's keys from his jacket. He gave them to Lucy and pronounced the problem solved.
Bob was upset because Jim's collapse took attention from his topic--Why We Need More Amusement Parks. Bill arrived late, looked at Jim, shrugged and revealed he had never liked the guy. Too many plaid shirts. Carl poured himself a cup and proposed we begin and if Jim woke up we'd inform him where the discussion was.
Well, eventually he regained consciousness, but by then everyone was gone.
He staggered outside and barked, where's my car? I doubted Lucy would return for him. How rude to lose consciousness at such a moment.

Crushed It

Suddenly 'crushed it' has become the new hip term. When did this happen and why weren't seniors informed? I was finally used to going green and now I have to incorporate this new tag in my daily discourse.
I can't imagine Ian McKlellen auditioning for King Lear and telling friends he crushed it. It's all I hear now.
I shopped for blueberries and crushed it.
I wore my new suede jacket and crushed it.
I baked an apple pie and crushed it.
I jogged around the block and crushed it.
I read the entire Sunday Times and crushed it.
I argued with a meter maid and crushed it.
I went to Confession and crushed it. Jesus really does love me.
I cut my toenails and crushed it.
I rotated my own tires and crushed it.
I listened to Keith Urban and crushed it.
I did the Rosary and crushed it.
I had a bowel movement today and absolutely crushed it. Ask anyone.

Stop Pacing

People on cell phones, stop pacing in front of me. Stop making stupid circles, stop suddenly changing direction, cutting me off, stop pacing in front of businesses I wish to enter.
Stand in one spot, have your little meaningless conversation, and leave the area.
People in waiting rooms, stop pacing. I don't care how serious the situation is, whether your grandfather's ear came off or a gall bladder ruptured. You're only going to make everyone else more nervous than they are. Sit down and read a copy of Vogue with Rhianna on the cover. She looks like a cell phone pacer. So does Taylor Swift. I bet Leonard Cohen never did the pacing dance.
If you absolutely need to pace, do it with consistent rhythm. Don't get all herky jerky and change speeds. Establish a pattern and stick to it. But don't be surprised if, after awhile, I begin following you, step for step. I'm pretty coordinated in confined spaces.
And do not dare get up and pace in an audition. I will never hire you, assuming I'm ever in that position. And don't fake a gall bladder attack to gain my sympathy.

Pills and Juicers

Someone is switching my pills around, putting the wrong pills in the wrong bottles. I could die or be paralyzed.
I think it's Natalie, sneaking around in my kitchen. She lives next door and loaned me her juicer. I wanted to experiment with healthy foods. I ended up with green glob that tastes worse than it smells. I tried pouring it down the drain, but almost puked as it backed up my sink. Then I remembered I owed Lois $10, so I offered her the goop instead, and to my shock she accepted.
Except every time I drive her somewhere she insists on sipping this sewer water and licking her lips. I almost drive off the road, feeling my breakfast come up.
Feverish cleaning has still left the juicer smelling rancid. Thus, my neighbor's vengeance expressed by switching my pills. Meanwhile, Lois is pestering me to reveal the ingredients so she can mix her own batch.I think all that crystal meth she took in college destroyed her taste buds.

Your Hut is on Fire

This is the sixth hut to go up in flames. The Shah has declared this area to be set aside by eminent domain in preparation for construction of a state of the art camel trail. Coincidence? I think not. But what can I do? I am but a poor insurance adjustor. The Duchy of Kabarkistan does not respect my work. But the village where the huts block the trail is refusing to move. They were given the choice of relocating to South Kabarkistan, but the feeling is there is poor drainage there and floods are a threat. Also, they can't get cable.
Demonstrations have brought repercussions in the form of forced feeding of David Hasselhoff's CDs. The UN Rights Commmission is investigating.
My company is forced to make pay outs after what is obviously arson and the whole deal smells like oyster socks. Frankly, we should have replaced camels with cars long ago, but the Shah insists only the royal family may own a vehicle. It is doubly humiliating when the vehicle chosen is a 1988 Volvo hatchback.
What is really tragic are the two story huts without smoke alarms. I'll leave you to imagine the rest.

A Matter of Time Until

Staten Island becomes part of Nova Scotia
Toe fungus reaches Defcon 5 threat level
Eye contact will completely disappear
Twitter posts will replace a Masters thesis
Roseann Barr will be placed in a time capsule
Pepper spray will outsell Holy Water
Strip searching is an Olympic sport
Every white person on the upper West Side will adopt a Chinese orphan
Paul McCartney will develop a fourth chin
Local militia will form to prevent Taylor Swift from entering city limits
Bald becomes the new symbol of sensitivity
Boy bands will be bought & sold on the Black Market
No one south of Delaware will use the word conundrum
Excess poets will be auctioned off
The words Man Up will mean switching from margarine back to butter

Disappearing Dentist

My dentist has vanished. I spent a week calling and getting no response. Finally the phone company informed me the number was temporarily disconnected.
I am hesitant to drive past his office. What if there is police tape across the entrance? Is it possible he just snapped and went berserk on a patient with a drill? Did he do away with his receptionist? I wonder if he was secretly inhaling laughing gas, causing a disconnect with reality.
I liked my dentist. He didn't talk much and cleaned my teeth himself. He was gentler than the hygienists, who may secretly hate men and exact revenge by digging in under the gums. Maybe he served as a drug drop or sold illicit Poly dent. God, what if he wasn't really a dentist? What if he got off on x-raying teeth? Over the past three years he has filled no cavities. What if my mouth has been decaying all that time, while this fraud ignored obvious problems?
Now I have to find another dentist, preferably one without a sadistic hygienist.
Why do these things happen to me?

Burger King Blackout

The lights went out in Burger King as I sat there reading a book. Luckily I had finished my meal, otherwise I might have let the lettuce and tomato slide out in the dark. I would have spilled the soda and tripped getting up and quite possibly have left a French fry or two on my plate.
No one screamed or panicked. I suppose I could have sneaked over to the soda dispenser and refilled my cup. Maybe even swiped extra straws. Don't laugh. As we filed to the door the couple in front of me found it locked. Evidently, BK has a system to automatically lock everyone inside in an emergency. Or so they can frisk us. Or maybe it's to keep others out. I am trying to imagine being stuck in a BK for hours, unable to see. Would there be grounds for a lawsuit? Copulation in the rest rooms?
Actually, it only took moments for the doors to open and there we were out in the blackened parking lot with nothing to do but start our cars and leave. The workers? Hey, they were getting paid for standing there doing nothing and I'm sure they had coffee. Maybe it was experimental. If you can't see the food it might taste better.

Privacy Settings

In these intrusive times privacy is so important. One must create levels of exclusion in one's life. I have gone down my list of contacts and carefully delineated where their boundaries are with regard to my personal idiosyncrasies and especially my space.
Jan can check my hair and armpits for lice, but nowhere else. Danielle can inspect my entire body for anything abnormal. Steve has permission to read my poetry, but not my strange musings, which might put him over the edge. Mirella can look through my pajama drawer, but not my underwear, Candy can check out my shorts, but not my socks, Carl can explore my medicine cabinet, but not my diary.
Harriet has full access to my diary, but not my morning pages, Howard has my garage to check, but stay out of my storage space, Keith can get into that space, but not my fridge, Ed has access to my public blog, but not my private fantasies, which are locked in a safe only Nancy can open.
Mary can watch me brush my teeth, but not pee, Josie can watch me shave, but not pee, Margaret can watch me shave and pee because she is a doctor, Ulrike can tickle me, Arlene can clean out my ears and then blow in them.
Jackie can give me a massage only above the chest.
I have to end this because Candy is in my bedroom spending just a little too much time checking my shorts. There are limits to sharing.

Tender Mercies

I am feeling especially compassionate this holiday season and decided to offer clemency to all those who got on my nerves this year.
Let's start with women who keep picking lint from my clothes. I enjoy lint; it completes me. Those who correct my pronunciation, who leaves clothes in the communal washer/dryer for hours, who bought my books thinking they were scratch and sniff, who interrupt my expatiating on any subject to remind me they have to get up early for work, who clean out the apple crumb at Dunkin.
I forgive my own body for emitting strange noises on public transportation.
I am determined to pardon all those who begin sentences with...
To be honest
Frankly
In my humble opinion
Let me say first
Before I get to my point
At the risk of offending
As inappropriate as this sounds
Maybe I'm wrong about this
Call me stupid
Be forewarned
I consider you a friend, but
To make a long story short

Finally, I resolve not to lose my temper and use chloroform on anyone this entire holiday.

Service with a Smile

My robot hardly smiles anymore. When I first purchased Louise she smiled during whatever task I gave her. I was satisfied except for one instance. When I asked for discipline, she smiled all through the spanking session. It took the edge off. I tweaked her software so that she would glare at me more often. Guess I overdid it. Now when I ask her to do the dishes she gets surly.
I can't afford another robot.  When I take her to social events she makes the other guests' pleasant robots uncomfortable. I have to assume none of these people have their robot discipline them.
It's all my fault this happened and I feel guilty, which means it's time for some discipline. Maybe at some point Louise will enjoy punishing me so much, that smile will return.
Louise, come in here please. And this time bring the suede strap. Variety is key with your robot.

Too much Light

By my count, there are now 176 tree lightings scheduled in this area. They begin right after Thanksgiving and continue to mid December. I plan to attend all of them, no matter how exhausted I become. Why? Because I know you can't and somebody has to be there. There will be singing and short speeches and lots of color. The trees vary in size, but the message is clear. We have the spirit, we know the drill.
As far as I know, none of these events include giving away free stuff. Maybe if they offered a free slice of pizza attendance would spike. Also, if it is too warm the atmosphere changes for the worst. Bitter cold, puffs of breath, rubbing of hands are conducive to a quality tree lighting.
You pray the DPW guys in charge haven't overloaded any circuits or the volunteers who trimmed the tree did not put too many figurines on one side creating an imbalance, which could lead to a toppling. I've never seen anything like that, nor fist fights or arguments. Most guys are embarrassed to be there. Nothing masculine about a tree lighting. I think the kids get bored pretty quick. Old people tend to enjoy it, as long as there are port-o-johns nearby.
The smallest towns have them and you hope all that electrical usage won't cause an Elks Club blackout. That would force all the Elks to the VFW hall and we know how much they rub each other the wrong way.