Random Esquire

As I mentioned, my trainer’s name is Dewayne.  I do not know his last name so when I put his number into my cell phone, I listed his name as Dwayne Trainer.  Obviously, at that time, I did not realize his name was actually De-wayne.  I can’t be bothered with such specifics.  Anyway, when he calls, his name pops up and in my head, I read his name as “Dwayne Twainer.”

The Italian asked me today to request resumes from readers of my blog.  What for?  To be his girlfriend.  He asks that I pass along this fine piece of information:  “Jewish guys are great in bed.”  He does, however, issue a warning that he has a three month expiration date, after which he will begin his Seinfeldian evaluation of your body parts, obsessing over a body oddity until he cracks and must be single again.  Such is the way of The Italian.

I’ve been frequenting a food bar for lunch as it gives me a large option of both hot and cold foods which comply with my stricter eating standards.  In case you were not familiar with my previous eating standard, I will tell you that I had a fairly low bar:  It should be edible.  But I have graduated from that school of thought and am now on to the “it must be relatively good for me or at the very least, not so bad for me” school of food thought.  Today, I made my way up to the counter with a container of chicken and steamed vegetables.  The woman who rang me up peered at me over her glasses.  This is the second time she’s done this.  The previous time she asked me what I did for a living.  I told her I was an attorney.  This time, she eyed me curiously and said, “Are you married?”

I was so surprised, I’m sure I laughed.  That probably isn’t the right answer to that question.