I sit in my car with my binoculars trained on my writing group sitting in a cafe waiting for me. I am the Prompt God, providing writing prompts to write to. I purposely arrive late every session. Make them sweat. I can see feeble attempts at conversation. They look nervous, glum, periodically glancing out the window, looking for me. But I am far enough away to remain incognito.
Some are yawning, restless. I am not a sadist, but they must be reminded of my importance. I check my watch, nod and put down my binoculars. It is time for my entrance.
I get out of the car, adjust my shorts, tuck in my shirt, tug my baseball cap down, clear my throat and march to the entrance. They can see me now. Excitement is palpable.
I will open the door, enter, and be met by a collective sigh of relief. Or perhaps a collective gasp. One or more may break into sobs.
I carry responsibility well.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Town Without Pity
How can one live without passion? I am passionate about one thing--anchovies. Wherever I've lived and worked I've stayed near anchovies.
Once, on a blind date, I tried to explain my anchovy love to the young lady. Her reaction spoke volumes. She performed a citizen's arrest before we got past the appetizer. Ignorance is the bane of this town without pity. I bought a home here thinking it was a tolerant place. Stored crates of anchovies in my basement freezer. Did not realize I was violating foolish zoning laws.
We had a block party and I wanted to share my treasure with neighbors. Crates of anchovies ready to be consumed. Some sick SOB turned me in. You can't trust anyone. I paid a fine and did 50 hours of community service providing solace to condemned lobsters. But people just won't let it go. I am shunned everywhere I go. Even the crossing guard looks away when I am near.
What ever happened to a pluralistic society? To liberalism? To delicacies and enchanting finger food?
Once, on a blind date, I tried to explain my anchovy love to the young lady. Her reaction spoke volumes. She performed a citizen's arrest before we got past the appetizer. Ignorance is the bane of this town without pity. I bought a home here thinking it was a tolerant place. Stored crates of anchovies in my basement freezer. Did not realize I was violating foolish zoning laws.
We had a block party and I wanted to share my treasure with neighbors. Crates of anchovies ready to be consumed. Some sick SOB turned me in. You can't trust anyone. I paid a fine and did 50 hours of community service providing solace to condemned lobsters. But people just won't let it go. I am shunned everywhere I go. Even the crossing guard looks away when I am near.
What ever happened to a pluralistic society? To liberalism? To delicacies and enchanting finger food?
Death Bed Confession
I don't have much time left. I want to clear my conscience. I admit it. I embezzled money from the PTA. I took their trust and flushed it away. I used the money to adopt Vietnamese triplets. I am a single parent, respected in the community, but my life was built on lies and deception.
This town could have had new monkey bars for the kids if I hadn't stolen the funds. I have to live with that, although, according to doctors, not much longer.
Of course, there's the additional problem of my kids growing up and running into a series of problems. Grand theft auto, burglary, identity theft, disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly, driving with a suspended license and cruelty to small animals. At least they didn't set fire to anything.
Now I can die in peace, right after breakfast. Two eggs over easy, home fries, pancakes and sausage. I'll pay. There's still a few bucks left over.
This town could have had new monkey bars for the kids if I hadn't stolen the funds. I have to live with that, although, according to doctors, not much longer.
Of course, there's the additional problem of my kids growing up and running into a series of problems. Grand theft auto, burglary, identity theft, disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly, driving with a suspended license and cruelty to small animals. At least they didn't set fire to anything.
Now I can die in peace, right after breakfast. Two eggs over easy, home fries, pancakes and sausage. I'll pay. There's still a few bucks left over.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Libido
I am a divorced 45 year old woman who is horny. I needed to do something about this quick. So I found Studs Unlimited on the Internet, checked out the website and the rates. The building had three floors. The first floor consisted of young studs. Too expensive for my budget. Second floor was slightly paunchy middle aged men. Still just a bit over my spending limit. The third floor only listed a price--$35 all night. That I could afford.
I drove to the place in a deserted area of town near some warehouses. I was let in by a genteel man in a freshly pressed three piece suit. He looked about fifty. When I told him I wanted the third floor deal he swallowed and stated no one had ever chanced the third floor. I replied I was adventurous and the price was right. A few of the young studs looked at me admiringly. One nodded and gave me the thumbs up.
I paid and began climbing. One middle aged guy stuck his head out the door on the second floor. He was in his underwear, with a garter belt. I shook my head and pointed up. He seemed disappointed.
Finally I reached my destination and carefully opened the door. It was brightly lit. A TV showing Wheel of Fortune occupied one corner. Seated in six wheelchairs facing it were six of the oldest men I'd ever seen. They snored, coughed, honked and wheezed in symphonic unison. Spittle and mucus ran down their chins. It smelled like a skunk convention.
But I was horny. I picked the one on the far left, who looked a bit cleaner, stripped myself naked, straddled him and slapped the bastard awake. I had paid for all six all damn night and I was about to get my money's worth.
I drove to the place in a deserted area of town near some warehouses. I was let in by a genteel man in a freshly pressed three piece suit. He looked about fifty. When I told him I wanted the third floor deal he swallowed and stated no one had ever chanced the third floor. I replied I was adventurous and the price was right. A few of the young studs looked at me admiringly. One nodded and gave me the thumbs up.
I paid and began climbing. One middle aged guy stuck his head out the door on the second floor. He was in his underwear, with a garter belt. I shook my head and pointed up. He seemed disappointed.
Finally I reached my destination and carefully opened the door. It was brightly lit. A TV showing Wheel of Fortune occupied one corner. Seated in six wheelchairs facing it were six of the oldest men I'd ever seen. They snored, coughed, honked and wheezed in symphonic unison. Spittle and mucus ran down their chins. It smelled like a skunk convention.
But I was horny. I picked the one on the far left, who looked a bit cleaner, stripped myself naked, straddled him and slapped the bastard awake. I had paid for all six all damn night and I was about to get my money's worth.
The Worshippers
I used to get panic attacks. One day it happened on the light rail going to Jersey City. A man sat next to me and whispered that he used to suffer from the same experience. He told me exactly what to do. Breath deep. But you must follow my instructions, he said.
The next night, right around dusk, I drove to where he told me, got out and brought a folding chair. To my surprise, there were at least 50 people already sitting around this mass rising several hundred feet into the sky, creating an impressive silhouette against a full moon.
As the evening wore on, more people arrived, hundreds, presumably all victims of panic attacks. We just sat there gazing at the mountain before us. There was no singing, whistling or conversation. I began feeling better about a half hour after I arrived, much better.
There was a fetid smell that I got used to, and flies swarmed all around us. But a sense of calm overcame everything. I actually relished the aroma, so thick one could almost swallow it. This was working.
I just pray some stupid environmentalists or politicians don't interfere and try to remove our savior. This is still The Great Recession and many of us are nervous wrecks. Where would we be, any of us, without our Staten Island Landfill?
I think a seagull just dropped something on my head.
The next night, right around dusk, I drove to where he told me, got out and brought a folding chair. To my surprise, there were at least 50 people already sitting around this mass rising several hundred feet into the sky, creating an impressive silhouette against a full moon.
As the evening wore on, more people arrived, hundreds, presumably all victims of panic attacks. We just sat there gazing at the mountain before us. There was no singing, whistling or conversation. I began feeling better about a half hour after I arrived, much better.
There was a fetid smell that I got used to, and flies swarmed all around us. But a sense of calm overcame everything. I actually relished the aroma, so thick one could almost swallow it. This was working.
I just pray some stupid environmentalists or politicians don't interfere and try to remove our savior. This is still The Great Recession and many of us are nervous wrecks. Where would we be, any of us, without our Staten Island Landfill?
I think a seagull just dropped something on my head.
The Incident at Kevin's Party
Louis was too competitive for our set. Whenever we had a gathering, trouble emanated from him. Spill soda on one of his Monopoly properties, he demands reparation. One time, during karaoke, he attempted to sing all the choral sections performing Handel's Messiah and injured his neck and mouth.
But the worst incident happened during charades. Louis is thin and pasty. He stripped to his underwear, fell to the floor and began crawling and twisting from room to room with such intensity we could see bruises forming, even open scrapes and cuts.
We yelled out guesses. SNAKE! SLINKY! A WOUNDED SOLDIER! BIG WORM!
Finally we exhausted our imagination and after twenty minutes of knocking himself out, practically sobbing, Louis sat on the rug and gasped what he was trying to convey.
"It a single strand of wet, hot linguini trying to escape the plate, trying desperately to avoid its fate and reach freedom."
We returned his agonized expression with one of deep concern.
This is more than a caffeine problem. Perhaps its time for Louis to go on hiatus.
But the worst incident happened during charades. Louis is thin and pasty. He stripped to his underwear, fell to the floor and began crawling and twisting from room to room with such intensity we could see bruises forming, even open scrapes and cuts.
We yelled out guesses. SNAKE! SLINKY! A WOUNDED SOLDIER! BIG WORM!
Finally we exhausted our imagination and after twenty minutes of knocking himself out, practically sobbing, Louis sat on the rug and gasped what he was trying to convey.
"It a single strand of wet, hot linguini trying to escape the plate, trying desperately to avoid its fate and reach freedom."
We returned his agonized expression with one of deep concern.
This is more than a caffeine problem. Perhaps its time for Louis to go on hiatus.
Leap of Faith
I'm terrible at parties. Lots of people say that, but in my case it's an understatement. I never know when to break off a conversation or when to approach someone. I usually retreat to a chair and eat.
Recently I attended a party full of writers. You'd think I'd be relaxed. Well, I walked in with my bottle of diet root beer, gazed at a table full of goodies and immediately felt guilty and cheap. I should have brought an entire pizza.
Immediately, a tall woman greeted me. She wore a pencil skirt, was unusually soft spoken for such a towering woman, but still intimidated me. I barely complimented her on her dress, then went blank. Damn. I filled up a plate and skulked to the back of the room. Another nightmarish night.
Then a strange thing happened. I pulled myself together and somehow established communication with about six fellow writers, nodding at the right time and holding my own. I even felt they were listening to my points. One poor fellow had gotten burnt out of his apartment and needed underwear.
I had taken a leap of faith by coming and felt God was looking after me. Or maybe it was the tuna sandwiches that loosened me up. Some cultures worship finger food.
I wound up staying an hour and five minutes, excellent time for me. I just wish I could think of something clever next time a tall, attractive woman greets me. Maybe a comment on the dip.
Recently I attended a party full of writers. You'd think I'd be relaxed. Well, I walked in with my bottle of diet root beer, gazed at a table full of goodies and immediately felt guilty and cheap. I should have brought an entire pizza.
Immediately, a tall woman greeted me. She wore a pencil skirt, was unusually soft spoken for such a towering woman, but still intimidated me. I barely complimented her on her dress, then went blank. Damn. I filled up a plate and skulked to the back of the room. Another nightmarish night.
Then a strange thing happened. I pulled myself together and somehow established communication with about six fellow writers, nodding at the right time and holding my own. I even felt they were listening to my points. One poor fellow had gotten burnt out of his apartment and needed underwear.
I had taken a leap of faith by coming and felt God was looking after me. Or maybe it was the tuna sandwiches that loosened me up. Some cultures worship finger food.
I wound up staying an hour and five minutes, excellent time for me. I just wish I could think of something clever next time a tall, attractive woman greets me. Maybe a comment on the dip.
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