Random Esquire

Boss is on the ground, doing Pilates to a DVD.. Little Filthy and I are watching from the couch. I made the mistake of looking at the contorted position of the woman on the screen, looking at Boss and then saying, “Her legs are straight.” Boss just said, “JESUS. Yeah, right.” Her leg then swung around in a circle and knocked Little Filthy’s container of treats off the coffee table and on the ground. I won’t lie. Some of the charm in watching her is that she’s wearing athletic socks and house slippers. It’s really a little bit ridiculous.

She just said, “I can’t even sit like that.” I just said, “How’s that feel?” She said, “It hurts. And I don’t feel skinny yet.”

Did I mention that this is her first time? And she’s already skinny.

She just burst out laughing and said, “I don’t know why you’re not doing this with me.”

New session - doing something called “Teaser.” Now she’s swimming in position. On the floor. In our living room. Little Filthy has now moved off the couch and is sitting on the rug near her, obviously curious enough that it warrants a closer look.

Just had a narrow miss; almost knocked her head on the coffee table. She just asked Little Filthy, “Do I look like Madonna yet?” Then, answering her own question for Little Filthy, muttered, “You’re retarded.”

Oh, new lesson. She fast-forwarded through most of it. I wonder how effective that was. The woman on the screen is moving, double time. There’s a lot of rolling backwards and forwards in pilates. I just asked, “Is this…a sped up version?” She said, “This is the advanced.”

Her first time, people.

Boss is still asleep in bed. I’m on the couch, reclined with my laptop and Little Filthy is on his back next to me, in the same position as me, head on my shoulder, eyes rolled back and paws twitching. He is a handful. Yesterday, Boss looked down at him at her feet and said, “Ohhhh, I wish we were divorced so I only had part-time custody of you.” I blinked. She looked up at me and saw my face and said, “Ohhh, was that mean?!” I laughed and said, “YES. To both of us.” This is a perfect example of Boss-Speak.

Boss isn’t trying to be mean, it’s just that she’s unintentionally horrible.

For instance, upon hearing that someone received a large inheritance, she might say, “I wish your parents got staph infections.”

Or upon reading about the increased wages for special education teachers, she might say, “Ugh, I wish my kids were all retarded.”

Back to the above situation. Let’s break this down. Notice how, after she says this horrible thing, she does not instantly, upon hearing the words escape her mouth, realize exactly what she has just said and commence with the back-tracking. It does not dawn on her that she has just said something completely crazy. When she sees my face, she realizes that something is wrong but does not entirely know what that something is. She does not immediately apologize but at least has the good sense to realize that what she’s said was probably not good.

What she meant in the above situation was, “I wish my mom lived in town and could watch him when we travel.” I know we’re speaking the same language but I translate a lot of what comes out of her mouth.

Because I know that her mind works this way, I know not to take it personally or seriously - but she could really mess up a lesser person.

American Idol began tonight. It is like the Olympics of reality television. I mean the Special Olympics of reality television.

1. Boss and I had a wonderful meal out last night. She had a glass of riesling, I had a cab. We began with escargot and a beet salad followed by beef tenderloin and monk fish. We ended with a banana bread pudding and a trio of chocolate desserts. Slept like rocks.

2. Little Filthy has this odd habit. First, some geography. We have a bookshelf lined wall. Our couch is a few feet off that wall. Little Filthy will grab a toy and run run run like hell down the hall and then he’ll bound on to the couch, collide with the back of the couch and the toy goes flying out his mouth and lands behind said couch. There’s a Nordic Track behind the couch and Little Filthy is terrified of it. So once intertia yanks that toy out of Little Filthy’s mouth and it lands on top of the Nordic Track, it’s gone until either Boss or I retrieve it for him. Sometimes he tries to convince us by standing on the couch with his front legs slung over the back, dancing from one back foot to the next and whimpering some sad tale. This happened tonight. I said to Boss, “His toy is back there.” She looked over the end of the couch, reached down and picked up…a pair of underwear. That rotten dog loves underwear and …well, I have a bad habit of leaving it on the bathroom floor. Boss just looked at me and handed them over. So, I guess I’ll start making sure my underwear makes it into the hamper.

I’ve had much I felt like writing about and so little patience to actually write but here goes:

Boss and I bought a new bed frame. And a memory foam mattress. She no longer must endure my flopping around. She is one of those people who lay down in a certain position, internally declare it perfect and drift off to Nod. That same weekend, I got the HDTV itch which could only be satisfied with a purchase. So purchase we did and we have a new television. We promptly watched any movie we could.

Boss has been out of town for about the last 10 days. She returns on Friday after nearly two weeks with her family. While the long story is far more entertaining, I will provide the synopsis of her trip to first see if she bonks me on the head for it: Boss and sister drive four hours to Miami. Sister does not have/bring her purse. Boss’s wallet is stolen. 250 miles from the condo, no ID/drivers license, no credit cards, $5 cash, half a tank a gas and one bar left on the cell phone. How will she get back to the condo? Which brings up an interesting point…how will she get on the plane and get home? Ah ha, I’ll overnight her passport. Which is in the firesafe. The key to which is on her key chain. Lovely, no?

Before Boss left, she said, “Get your action movies out of the way.” Mission Impossible III, X-Men, Superman Returns…CHECK.

Speaking of movies, one night, Jeepers Creepers II was on TV. It occurred to me that older people are rarely the intended victim in these movies. I suppose that is because younger people are the intended audience. Older people know that there are enough scary things in the world without paying to experience it in a theatre. Plus, who wants to see an octogenarian using a walker with tennis ball legs and dragging an IV with them shuffling down the hall being pursued by some weird old-people-serial-killer? Besides, even if you did make a movie that involved a person stalking AARP members and you managed to attract a bunch of baby boomers to the theatre, some actress would close the medicine cabinet and see someone or something behind her in the mirror, an audience member would gasp, have a cardiac event and die right on the spot. I’m not sure you could get people to pay $10 for that. Maybe.

Which brings up Saddam’s death on the internet. I have chosen not to watch it. Some things make me feel like my soul just got a little dirtier and I suspect this is one of them. This made me think of the dealth penalty.

Churro and I discussed the different methods used by various states in carrying out the death penalty. I believe there is a state (perhaps more than one) that still “offers” the death penalty. The electric chair seems a particularly ghastly way to go. That reminded me that the Texas Department of Corrections used to put on the internet a list of their convicted death row prisoners’ last meal request. One person requested an assorted bag of Jolly Ranchers. Wise guy. I doubt they let him finish those. Rather interesting was the request from one Odell Barnes. He beat a woman with a lamp and rifle, stabbed her in the neck, and shot her in the head. Right after he’d sexually assaulted her. He requested, “Justice, Equality, and World Peace.” Life loves irony.

I notice that one person requested yogurt. Yogurt. I had yogurt this morning for breakfast and I can tell you honestly that if I had died before lunch, I would have thought to myself, “My last meal was yogurt? How disappointing.”

Another unfortunate soul requested “God’s saving grace” which really begs the question of how well these prison officials are informing the prisoners of to whom they are actually speaking and for what purpose. Imagine seeing the priest next and requesting your chicken fried steak and country gravy from him only to find out he’s doling out the saving grace. That’d be a final kick in the pants, wouldn’t it?

Little Filthy got a bath today so I suppose we’ll go lay in bed and stare up at the timbers and grouse about missing Boss.

So…what would be your final meal?