Random Esquire

1. My father is currently in China doing some work. He e-mailed this to me today:

Guess who I saw at the airport when I landed? All or many of the Miss Universe contestants arrived at the same time as I did. Miss Nigeria must be 7 feet tall. They look better on TV than in real life.

dad

I don’t know this struck me as absurdly funny but it did.

2. Boss and I jumped into the car to go out for dinner at Dragonfly Mandarin. Thoughts of a good glass of wine, great sesame beef and fresh green beans danced around in my head. We walked up to the restaurant and saw a note on the window that said that the restaurant had suffered a fire and would re-open in a week. I sighed. Boss, however, did not. This is because there is a place across the street that sells…cheese fries. So cheese fries it was.

3. I am listening to the book Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts which, it turns out, will be a movie. It is truly hilarous because the narrator does an Indian accent perfectly. My favorite part thus far is when an Indian character says to an Australian, “You could be doing the sexy business and making a great joy of your body!” Something like that. Which has me refering to sex as “doing the sexy business.”

Before I lived in Chicago, I lived in a smaller city and one of its “small town” quirks was that when someone asked you, “Where’d you go to school?” they were asking you where you went to high school…not college. People would ask, “Where’d you go to school?” I’d say, “Notre Dame.” And they’d say, “No, I mean…what high school.” This was because if they knew your high school, they would immediately be able to tell what part of town you grew up in and how much money you did (or didn’t) have. I thought this was so ridiculous that when people asked me where I went to school, I’d name my elementary school, Scarborough Elementary. Does anyone really care where in the hell you went to high school?

That reminds me of something else. When I was fairly new to my previous job in said small town, a new co-worker had stopped by - not anyone I was terribly familiar with. As I’ve stated previously, I am half caucasian, half something else. Most people have a vague idea I’m not standard fare so I often get asked about it. After chatting a while with this co-worker, he asked, “Where’re you from?” I said, “My family is in Chicago.” He said, “No, I mean, where’re you from?” I said, “Oh, I grew up in Kansas City.” He said, “No, I mean…you know,…where were you born?” I said, “Oh! Minnesota.” He said, “No, I mean…what are you? Are you American?”

I felt like saying, “Oh, you mean what breed am I?”

American does not equal white. For example, Americans love all kinds of food and work at all kinds of restaurants. White people love P.F. Chang’s - (Chinese food without the offensive ethnicity!) This is really basic stuff. And no, I am not Chinese. I just like to point out that white folks love P.F. Chang’s.

Anyway.

I knew what he was asking and I was being somewhat difficult because I honestly don’t know why it is hard to ask someone what their ethnic background is. I know this is one of my particular pet peeves and it has transfered to son (a.k.a. Little Filthy) which I posted about once before. It happened when a man, staring at Little Filthy and clearly curious about what breed he was asked me, “What is he?” And I said, “He…is a dog.“

Boss came home last night from visiting her mom. Did I mention that I was alone all weekend? I was. It left much to be desired. Anyway, suffice to say that I did not, in fact, eat steak every night and that mere fact by itself I offer as proof that when left to my own devices, I am exactly as mundane as my typical self.

I’m kidding. I am a rock star.

So Boss came home last night. I met her down by her car to help carry things inside. She stepped out of her car wearing a great new pair of black pants. I said, “New pants?” She said, “Mmhmm.” Then I noticed the shirt. “New shirt?” She nodded. I glanced down at her shoes. Boots. Black, leather boots. My eyebrows went up. Attorney like. I said, “Are those new boots?” She ignored me. I said, “New boots, new boots?” She pulled up a pant leg and I saw the silver accents up the boot and I smiled. I smiled. Dirty thoughts flooded my brain.

She said, “They’re my mom’s.”

I screamed the entire way inside.

1. Boss told me that a little boy in her class class said to her, “Put your hand in my pocket.”

All I wanted to know was, “Does that work?!”

2. Boss is going out of town for the weekend. Just what the hell am I going to do now? I may enjoy some of the Chicago International Film Festival which begins this weekend. The logo for the festival reminds me of the demon face from the Exorcist. It is also Chicago Artists Month so I could browse some art work. I could also just pick up a new Playstation Portable game.

3. Let’s pause to appreciate Wanda Sykes.

4. Fun events coming up. Mother in law will be here in two weeks and we will be celebrating her birthday. I got excellent tickets to see The Pirate Queen. It will also be spa week here in Chicago but I sent them to the spa for massages and facials during her last visit so I don’t know if I’ll do that again. We have some bottles of wine lined up and restaurants to try.

I was invited to a private play and cocktail party at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater out on Navy PIer in a few weeks I will look forward to that.

5. We are contemplating Paris for our next vacation. I will need to dust off my French. Speaking of…my mother is currently in Paris. My sister asked my mother if she had bothered to learn a single word in French before going. My mother said, “No.” My sister decided to teach her how to say please. My sister said, “s’il vous plait.” My mother garbled it. My sister suggested she say “seafood place” instead. I truly wonder what other English speaking natives will think when my mother ends her requests with seafood place.

I just walked into the bedroom and smelled Boss. She isn’t here. She’s at class. But I smelled her.

Boss mixes oils and scents and so no one else smells quite like her. And she puts on lotion or body oil every single time she gets out of the shower. Every single time! Last night in bed, I reached over and touched her shoulder and I could not believe how soft her skin was. First, she’s a layer of soap and shampoo. Then lotion. Then scented oils. And all of this tangles up together and every inch of her smells of it.

So right now, Little Filthy is waiting at the front door, nose pressed to the bottom, waiting to hear and smell her. And I’m about ready to join him.