Rocking Chair

I found a perfectly good rocking chair down by the dumpster. It was wooden, with nice soft cushions. I actually sat in it and rocked back and forth right next to the dumpster. It was light, so I carried it home and placed it in my bedroom, where it was blocking a closet, but that was temporary. Soon I would replace my ratty old recliner with this baby, opening up more room in my parlor.
Of course I would have to pay the super to help me get the recliner out, so my rocker wasn't completely free. Frankly, I don't know how movers got the recliner into my place, the doorway is barely wide enough. But if you saw the quality and felt the comfort of that rocker you would understand my jettisoning an old friend.
My brother and sister-in-law understood nothing. They looked at me like I was crazy. Did you ever stop to wonder why anyone would toss out a perfectly good rocker, they asked. Actually, I hadn't. They said one word--bedbugs. My response was 'huh?' The more they talked, the more I realized they had a point. I may have innocently brought in millions of bedbugs to my condo. The more they stared at me the more I also concluded they suspected I had brought these critters into their midst.
I was ordered to buy bedbug spray and saturate the thing. I did as told, furious at the criminal who left the rocker out where any idiot could take it. I've spent the last three days spraying it, leaving the windows open, with my door closed. I hesitate to use my bed or dress there. This morning there were red patches on my cheeks. Oh God, has the onslaught begun?

Annoy Someone

When I'm sitting next to someone on public transportation and we're both reading a book, I enjoy annoying them by reading faster and turning the page before they do. If they don't notice what I'm doing, I'll cough loudly every time I turn said page. They will shift in their seat, realizing what is occurring and what is at stake. Frankly, I give them no choice in accepting the challenge. The prospect of losing face and confidence as an efficient reader compels them to participate.
Back and forth we go, flipping pages, breathing quickened, brows knotted, blasting through entire chapters. My rival invariably falls behind. Why? Because I only take James Paterson books with me on my travels, with five page chapters and middle school prose. If my foe is reading James Joyce or Virginia Woolf, you can guess the outcome. I don't like losing.
But sometimes they will fake it, pretending to flip through pages with complete comprehension. Their jittery manner tips me off. Guilt swallows them, haunts them. They are disrespecting classic authors. More importantly, they will become even more annoyed at me because once they disembark they will have to reread every sentence they skimmed to get meaning and subtext.
No one reads James Patterson for the subtext.

Adopt

A local library is starting an Adopt A Shelf program, where individuals can pick a shelf or an entire section and come in every two weeks to make sure all the books there are in the right order.
I think this concept can be applied elsewhere to benefit all of us. I've decided to start Adopt A Cold Cut and I've chosen Genoa salami. I will do my utmost to publicize this delicious staple of nutrition, making certain to combat any bad publicity directed at my chosen one. I will promote it at social gatherings, dinner parties, and even barbecues. I will push for more inclusion in school and prison menus. I will conduct sessions on how to correctly slice it. I will do the research necessary to weed out nefarious suppliers of knock off Genoa salami, mostly on 14th Street in the city. It was a tough decision not to go with pepperoni, but I'm only one person.
I would think applying the Adoption concept to power tools would also work. We have power drills, saws, screwdrivers, nut removers, but to my knowledge, there are no power wrenches. There is something remarkably embarrassing in a man not being able to open a jar in front of a women. One twist should do it, but too often guys with weak forearms and wrists struggle mightily to no avail. The power wrench would end this embarrassment. Muffled jackhammers are next in my idea bin.

Socked

Someone is sneaking into my place and depositing socks in my sock drawers. I use the plural because up until recently I needed two full drawers to hold my socks. Then I had a long talk with myself. Actually it was a short talk--I get bored with myself during long talks. I decided to be pro-active and eliminate the problem  with a Sock Decluttering Assault.
I was merciless. Anything that looked like it might be on the verge of a hole got tossed. All those mismatched couples, goodbye. Dozens with the tops scissored to give my lower extremities more circulation unceremoniously dumped into a baggie. White, brown, blue, gray, black, wool, silk, cotton, it mattered not how old, how attractive, how sturdy. These were socks I knew I'd never wear again, replaced by diabetic ones with little elastic to block blood flow.
Yes, it was traumatic. Having sufficient back up socks was almost as important as back up underwear. But one reaches a point in one's life where choices have to be made. My ties are looking at me suspiciously and they should. When do I ever wear ties? I assumed by now I'd need formal wear for events where I receive writing awards. Strangely, that hasn't happened, so several of my suits and perhaps 80% of my ties may be headed for Goodwill.
None of this explains how I wound up with socks I don't remember buying. What if the same person is also breaking in and leaving cuff links and tie clips? I know this: if I come across a nose ring in my spare change drawer I'm calling in detectives.

Jennifer

She was in her mid-twenties, but looked seventeen. Blonde, fragile features, chirpy voice, pretty young woman. Studied acting at Rutgers. I met her at a local community theater. Asked her to perform a few of my monologues for a workshop and she agreed. She was just about perfect in each of the three she did. Before another show, I met her mom outside, and she also looked much younger than her age. She'd flown in from the west coast.
After that show, I saw them interact backstage and there seemed to be the kind of friction evident when a mother and daughter are close, perhaps too close. Jennifer told me she had a problem with sugar. Maybe she was pre-diabetic. I didn't press the issue.
Over the next couple of years I saw her in more productions--Off Off Broadway, community theater. She decided to apply for admission various places for an MFA and I sent her letters of recommendation. Faith Ford was her favorite actress. There was a benefit for a theater group she was starting. She seemed nervous around people. After one show, they had to drag her out to meet the audience. I recall she peeked out from backstage at another play, saw me, and scurried back behind the curtains.
Something wasn't right about Jennifer. I remember she told me she had to take a bus back to NY late at night all by herself when performing in NJ. She sounded like a middle school student. Fragile.
Recently, I tried emailing her and it bounced back. I hope nothing happened to her. She would be in her early thirties now. No Facebook page that I could find. There are some people you lose track of who haunt you. Jennifer is one of them for me. Maybe she moved back to Oregon. Became a teacher, married and lived happily ever after.
Or maybe whatever problems she had, finally overcame her.

Using What You Have

I have decided to sell my imagination. People have indicted it's my best feature. Why not profit from it the same way male models make money from their cheekbones?
I haven't worked out the fee range yet, but I can see numerous utilitarian uses for it that can benefit common folks who just can't make up goofy stuff.
1. An excuse for getting out of work.
2. A story/essay/report/term paper needed for a school assignment.
3. A monologue or skit to impress a hot actor or actress.
4. An alibi.
5. A witty joke or humorous anecdote to use on a first date.
6. A long, spooky story to scare little kids who annoy you.
7. A complete fabrication to explain suspicious behavior to your spouse or partner.
8. A false history to relate at reunions.
9. A fully logical rationale for illogical acts.
10. A series of daydreams to entertain yourself during traffic jams.
11. Fantasies to take your mind off aching body parts.
12. Quick, vicious retorts to use in sudden verbal conflicts.
I have something of value I'm willing to share for a price. With the extra money coming in I imagine myself on a South Seas cruise.
For a bit extra I can create a dual personality you are not responsible for. Multiple personalities we would have to discuss.

Olive Lust

My salads are a dismal excuse for food without olives, preferably black, pit-less ones. I never took a poll, but anyone who ever consumed my salads went right for the olives first. Several times I considered leaving them out, just to see what the reaction would be. But I backed off at the last moment. I can't afford to lose any more friends over condiment conflicts. When I insisted on bacon bits as an ingredient, four once close buddies got up and left. I had to beg their forgiveness, offering to double the crouton ratio.
I go by instinct and my instinct declares nine olives per bowl is the limit. You don't want the olives to overwhelm the celery. Celery has a tendency to sulk and grow limp, which isn't as bad as cucumbers, which rot at a stunning pace when left abandoned. Tomatoes have the right attitude toward olives--benign indifference. Tomatoes are the cats of the produce world, remaining above it all.
Dressings seem to avoid olives, settling over lettuce, almost caressing its chunks. I can't say for sure if olives are standoffish. It's not like they clump together. Each individual one stakes out its own position and challenges the feeder to ignore it. Picking up an olive with your fingers doesn't bother me as long as one quickly consumes it. Fondling your olive around others shows disrespect for the food staple and other diners.
One last word about those disturbing hosts who sprinkle nuts into their salads. Nuts cannot be eaten with any other food, not even Cheese Doodles. Nuts impart wisdom. Nuts tell you to embrace some sort of olive lifestyle. Without nuts, we'd all be obsessed with pickles. If the Greeks had made the transition from pickles to nuts they wouldn't be in such a horrible financial crater.