Random Esquire

Sometimes, I give my stomach a voice. For instance, if I travel to Boston and eat some different foods, my stomach might say something like this to its contents: “What’s this? This doesn’t look familiar. Okay, nobody move until we sort this thing out.” Or if I drink too much alcohol, that last drink will be like the party-goer that broke the host’s back and it will say, “Okay, that’s it, everyone out! Out, out, out.”

If my stomach could speak right now, it would say, “What the hell?”

I ate dinner on Thursday night. Had an upset stomach. Not good. Went to sleep. Woke up and creeped into the bathroom hunched over telling Boss that “I don’t feel good.” Commenced with the regurgitation… in the shower. I couldn’t stop. It was horrible. However, I felt remarkably better after that and got dressed to go to work. But each time I would stand, my stomach would start to cramp and so finally I admitted defeat and called in sick to work. I slept the entire day, curled into a ball.

It turns out that my brother-in-law and my father had just recently suffered the same thing and my father told me to start sipping some Gatorade so I did not get dehydrated. I did. And at 11 last night, I woke up to my stomach flatly refusing to allow entry to said Gatorade and basically kicked it out of a moving car, so to speak. So I haven’t eaten in about 36 hours and had very little to drink. I feel better, overall, but I’m weery of drinking anything else. And eating does not sound even vaguely interesting.

Boss is off taking an exam. I am going to try cleaning up the place befeore she comes home and dips everything in bleach, including me. This reminds me that I must dedicate an entry to the comments Boss received yesterday during her conferences. Only a full entry will do that justice.

As you may recall from our last update, Little Filthy returned from his check up with tartar. We began our new regime of tooth brushing on day one. Which, in retrospect, was not so bad compared to the days that followed. On day two, it became necessary to break the news to Little Filthy that the tooth brushing would now be a daily event.

Denial
“No, it isn’t that bad.”

Anger
“I don’t have tartar and you can’t brush my teeth!”

Bargaining
“Look, maybe we can strike a deal. Two treats, one tooth brushing.”

Depression
“Why me?”

Acceptance
“Bring on the peanut butter toothpaste. Whee!”

It was beautiful in Chicago today. And to top it off, Boss and Little Filthy met me as I walked home from the train. We decided that eating out and outside was in our future and headed to a great place called El Barco. Unfortunately, the outside seating wasn’t in full swing so we opted for the bright inside. They serve some great seafood and the specialty, red snapper, is served ’standing up’ (picture in the link) and makes for a great presentation. We split a pitcher of margaritas, had a plate of peel-and-eat shrimp, ate off two huge platters of food and then made our way home.

Boss, who is about 5′8″ and has skinny legs up to her neck, declared that she had room for ice cream. I couldn’t believe it. I can’t imagine how many calories she must burn looking after all those kindergarteners. She’s in bed now, recovering so she can do it all over again tomorrow. It takes a lot of Mexican food and ice cream to keep a kindergarten teacher in tip-top operating condition. Today, a little kid told another teacher: “You’re a bitch.” The teacher promptly took said kid by the hand to take to The Office. The Office is like kindergarten jail/hell. The kid said, “I didn’t way what you think..I said you were stupid.” This weak attempt at evading The Office was met with an outcry from another student: “Uh-uh! He called you a bitch.” See, nothing this interesting happens in my office. Unless, of course, you count the time that Fresh Express washed her socks in the coffee pot. That was pretty good.

Anyway.

It was day two of the teeth brushing with Little Filthy. He was much better this time and sat relatively still while I pushed around in his mouth, pulling his lips apart with my fingers. He looked at Boss while I did this and his expression seemed to say, “Do you see what’s going on here? Do you?”

I made it up to him by sitting outside with him in my lap, petting him while the breeze made us both close our eyes and inhale. Today I am grateful for Boss and Little Filthy.

Little Filthy got a new bed recently and he’s like a kid with a new t-shirt he wants to wear everyday. He has been without a bed for a good bit and I did not think he minded all that much because our leather couch always had a nice, warm, dog-shaped spot in the morning. But I bought the new bed and plopped it down outside our bedroom doorway he loves it. In fact, he loves it a lot. Too much. Last night, I noted that our esteemed guard dog was not outside our bedroom doorway - in fact, neither was his bed. I forgot that I’d put it in the living room so he could chew his bone on it (as opposed to his guilty not-so-secret habit of chewing it on the couch). I walked into the living room and there, in the corner, was Little Filthy…sleeping on his bed. He seriously loves that thing. I had this vision of that guy in Mexico who hadn’t left his house in five years because he weighed a half-ton and relied on family members to bathe him and take care of him from his bed. That’s going to be our dog. So reluctant to leave his bed, I’ll be forced to feed and wash him right there. And then I’ll have to use a dolly to get him outside and he’ll be featured in a USA Today article about what lousy parents we are.

Speaking of what lousy parents we are: Today was Little Filthy’s 2 1/2 year check-up. I elected to work from home so I could take him in and pick him up as soon as they called and said that he was done. So at about 6:45 this morning, I kissed Boss bye and put the leash on Little Filthy who was wiggling around, excited to be heading out. A few hours later, I picked him up and a clean bill of health…minus one thing. Little Filthy has tartar. The vet even took the time to write down on his report, “Brush teeth once a day at home to prevent tartar.” Dammit. I felt like my kid had been sent home from school with lice.

Once home, armed with a toothbrush and peanut butter flavored toothpaste, we set to work on removing the tartar and again, I am struck by what a brilliant idea it would be to use an old Sonicare toothbrush on Little Filthy save for the fact that 1) Boss would drop her blob and 2) Little Filthy would never again come when I called him. Anyway, we had a real come-to-Jesus moment because I was hoping for this:

But what I got was more like this:

Six months. I’ve got six months to polish those pearlies. Bring it, dog.

Let me be the first person to say that Ann Coulter is a complete nutcase.

Having said that, I will admit that I did laugh when I read her statement about John Edwards just because I was so taken aback with her brazen words:

“I was going to have a few comments on the other Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards, but it turns out you have to go into rehab if you use the word ‘faggot,’ so I — so kind of an impasse, can’t really talk about Edwards,” Ann Coulter told GOP activists attending the annual Conservative Political Action Conference on Friday.

That’s totally nuts! If Kathy Griffin had said it, it would have been hilarious because Kathy Griffin loves her gays and would have meant it to be funny. Ann Coulter? You know that evil woman is just…well, evil.

Stuff it, Ann Coulter.