Random Esquire

Inspired by popular demand, Randomesq has granted me my very own login so that I can now share some randomness directly. So, to initiate the Plush contribution, I will share with you all the joy of traffic school.

(Feel free to cheer.)

For the record, I’m a speeder. I’m the person that whizzes by you at mach 5 on the freeway and makes you wonder what the hell is so important down the road. I love driving, but I have to do it a lot, so I’d rather be doing it quickly and arriving at my destination in less time than Gmaps tells me it will take. I know it’s unsafe (one of the Fatal Four), but I also know that I’d rather spend 8 hours cramped in the seat than 9.

I also accept that I will occasionally be caught, and while most of the time I get away with a warning (batting your eyelashes can’t win ‘em all), I wound up in traffic school for doing something like 95 in a 65mph zone. Legally I should have been imprisoned; luckily Mr Officer dropped my official time to 79mph so I could just take the class. Four hours of Defensive Driving later, here are a few tidbits to share with you safe drivers who will never know the joy of traffic school:

* We were greeted by this:

* They hand out permanent markers at the beginning of the session. Ostensibly it’s so you can write your name in big bold letters on cardboard name tents, but I’m convinced it’s so everyone gets a little high before the teacher has to put up with 30 adults in pseudo-detention.

* The girl sitting directly behind me was 22 years old and had received, to date, 23 tickets. I felt much better about my reckless driving knowing that she’s out on the road.

* This same girl, along with the nurse to my left, decided to form a ghetto peanut gallery. Four hours of derisive or contradictory comments (followed by “You said it, girl!”) after every single sentence out of the poor instructor, and I’m willing to bet he was sniffing those markers at break just to get through it.

Yes, I did tell a masturbation story during class. But I maintain that it was completely relevant! We were asked about distracted behavior that we had witnessed in other drivers, and after hearing the lame responses of my classmates (A woman applying lipstick? Please!) I raised my hand and offered the worst bout of distracted driving I’ve ever witnessed (NSFW):

Last year, while driving back to Chicago late at night after a business trip, I looked over at one of the few other cars sharing the freeway and saw a man driving with his seat laid back and his interior lights on. I then realized that said man was naked. I then realized that said naked man was furiously jerking himself off behind the wheel and looked like he was about to have a stroke. Seriously, I will never forget his giant bulging eyes. If that’s not distracted driving, well then, I don’t know what is.

Traffic school teacher decided that I was just making a mockery of him and refused to call on me for the rest of the evening.

One useful bit of info I picked up, though, is that you should always wear your seatbelt. Yes, I’ve heard it before and I generally click it to avoid a ticket, but do you know how Princess Diana really died? Car accident, drunk driver, etc. But according to Señor Safety, Di wasn’t wearing her seat belt, and when the car crashed to an abrupt stop, her body crashed to an equally abrupt stop microseconds later against the front seat. However, her internal organs kept on moving at the original rate, causing her heart to tear loose internally, which led to her rapid death from internal bleeding.

I’m still unclear as to how the seatbelt could have prevented this particular situation. I raised my hand to ask, but for some reason the teacher wouldn’t call on me.

I sent a text message to Plush earlier this evening to ask her permission to divulge a little bit more about her life here in my blog.  She was in traffic safety school.

I said, “Is it too revealing to discuss [DEEP IMPORTANT SECRET]?”

She said, “Not as far as I’m concerned.”

I asked her another question to delve a little deeper, to which she responded:

“Still in traffic safety class.  Call you @ 10?  Teacher’s already annoyed with me for a masturbation story I told earlier.”

*Blink*

1. As I mentioned earlier, Plush is ill. Earlier today, I asked if she’d eaten anything. Her response: “Yes, I ate some soup, some Jamba, and some Chef Boyardee ravioli, and that last was probably not a great idea…” How about that. I didn’t now they still made Chef Boyardee. Or that he had the nerve to call himself a Chef. But, whatever.

2. Instigator did not have a good day. Too much travel and too many frustrations have left her feeling on the brink. The Company head cheese sent out a company-wide e-mail today on following the code of conduct. Instigator forwarded the e-mail to me and said, “Did you get this? Or was this directed specifically towards me? Just trying to figure out what I’ve done…”

I wrote back, “I didn’t get that. What’d you do? This time?”

Her response?

“I hate you.”

3. The Ballerina told us last night that she’d taken pole dancing lessons.

Pole dancing lessons.

I think I choked on my pie.

1. I’m ready for the week to be over. Because I’m over it. Too sleepy to go into the office but unwilling to miss lunch with Instigator to hear about her horrible business trip.

2. Dinner was very fun last night, despite the hole where a Plush should have been; she is under the weather. We started with red wine, bread, cheeses, fresh berries, and olives. It was a simple meal - bacon wrapped filets with rustic mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. The most successful dish was probably the salad. Spring greens, yellow heirloom tomato, candied walnuts (which I candied the day prior), sliced dates, and goat cheese. The dressing was inspired by The Ballerina, who likes pear martinis. It was a pear infused white balsamic whisked with extra virgin olive oil and salt and pepper. I stirred, she dipped spoons and tasted. The hit of the night was The Ballerina’s peach pie which we all ate with ice cream while sipping a Moscato d’Asti. The food was a good excuse to get together and laugh.

3. What the hell is up with the weather in Chicago? With the windchill today, it is below freezing down here by the lake.

4. Anyone hear how many of those teenagers who were taken from that compound in Texas were pregnant? Of the 53 girls aged 14-17, 31 of them have been pregnant. Jesus. And world is broiling over Hanna Montana showing skin at age 15. Just wait until she gets pregnant. Oh wait, that’s right…that’s Jamie Lynn Spears. Thank you, Today Show, you are most informative.

5. I think I’m going to compliment a stranger today. I feel slightly odd but I think that if I think something nice/good about someone, I’m going to tell them, even if I don’t know them. We’ll see how this goes over. This is the kind of stupid thing I decide to commit to that ends in disaster, or at least with a funny look from Instigator as I try to explain my reasoning. Like the time I decided to go an entire weekend without speaking. My own idiocy keeps me entertained.

Are you a lurker?  Stop in and say hello!

An early morning run to the store was in order to pick my up my proteins for tonight’s dinner. My neighbor laughed at me as I juggled a bag, a baguette and a bunch of fresh tulips and tried to unlock my front door at the same time. I whistled to myself as I put things in the my fridge and then I turned to the bunch of tulips. I looked to the bookshelf for a vase, which is where the vases normally are. Then it occurred to me - What the hell makes me think I own a vase?

I realized then, of course, that when Boss and I split, the vases went with her. I sent her a text message and said, “You didn’t leave a single vase! Mah tulips is dyin’!” I knew she’d laugh at this. She said, “I only took my vases…I can’t help it that you’re a boy!” Well, that’s true. There’s really no help for it.

So the tulips are in a Pilsner glass. Because that’s what women like to see. Flowers in a beer glass. Hey, man, improvisation is key with me.

Little Filthy and I are lazy morning-ing it.  He has fallen back asleep on the bed and I am sipping coffee at the computer, looking for a decent preparation for monkfish.  I am having guests over tomorrow night and have decided on doing a simple, seasonal meal.  I am making a bacon wrapped monkfish and beef tenderloin.  I was going to wrap the monkfish in prosciutto but I’ve heard that prosciutto gets funky in the oven.  Bacon, it is.  Steamed asparagus.  Simple green salad. I’m deciding between a jasmine rice or baby new potatoes.  Who the hell knows.

Why the heck am I such a foodie?  My mother worked in the evenings when I was younger. When my sister and I came home from school, she’d have a meal prepared with instructions on how to cook it.  She’s an excellent cook.  My father is an excellent eater.  This is not to be underappreciated.  He could work all day and if my mother had made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he’d have beamed and said, “Thank you!”  He was just happy someone made something for him.  Anyway, I got to enjoy preparing food and to appreciate people eating it.

Cooking for someone you like or love it great.  It is like saying to someone, “You have this basic need…and I wish to fulfill it.“  What could be a better indication of caring about someone?

Having said all of that, it’s entirely possible that I’ll botch the meal tomorrow night and you know, it won’t phase me.  At least my guests will know I gave it a go.  What’s the worse that could happen?  We scrap the meal and order pizza?  Sounds like a good evening to me on all counts.  Plus, by then, everyone will be so drunk on wine, I might just tell them that I made the pizza myself.

1.  My friend took her boyfriend to a nice dinner last week at Schwa.  She ate lamb brains.  Actually, she took a bite of the brain and then told her boyfriend that it felt like she was “eating thoughts and memories,” and then she gave the rest to him.  She said, “I couldn’t do it.  There’s information and shit in there. I can’t eat information.”

2.  Benefactor sent me picture mail from his phone.  It took me just a moment to figure out what the hell was going on.

I wrote back, “Dude.  Is that you giving the Hulk a blowjob?”  He responded, “Correction:  That’s me giving the Hulk an amazing blowjob.  Did you completely miss the look on his face? He was blue when I started.”

3.  My XBOX 360 isn’t reading disks.  This is going to put a serious cramp in the dinner party activities considering I just picked up Rock Star.  RANDOMESQ SMASH.

Add your own answers here.

1. In your opinion, what five words best describe you.

Happy, responsible, funny, generous, intelligent.  (There’s a whole host, I am quite sure, of negative things but screw that.)

2. What five words would your friends use to describe you?

I’ll go with the five Instigator listed for me:  Funny, bold, clever, confident, vulnerable.

3. What are you most complimented on with respect to your a) personality and b) body?

a) cleverness b) hair or my nose, oddly enough.

1.  In your opinion, what five words best describe you?

2.  What five words would your friends use to describe you?

3.  What are you most complimented on with respect to your a) personality and b) body?