Random Esquire

Have I mentioned that the morning after coming home with Little Filthy, I held him out to her, in my hand, and told Boss that I was going to return him and get my money back?  I didn’t plan on having a half pug, half chihuahua…  with fleas.  It just sort of happened.  When Boss saw him trot out, all 2.8 pounds of him, she gasped and I reached for my wallet.  I suspect that this may be how many purchases begin and end: with a gasp and wallet grasping. Then we discovered that he likes the taste of his own creations, has a tartar problem, drinks coffee, steals my food and occasionally has gas that rivals a human.   But by then, I sort of dug the little guy.

I like it chilly when I sleep so I often crack the patio door before going to bed and wake to find it 60 degrees or cooler.  While Little Filthy is normally relegated to his own Little Filthy bed, I often wake mid sleep-cycle to find that he has jumped on the bed and is sleeping on top of me, or even under the covers.  Apparently, he was chilly last night because I woke to him rustling under the covers and nudging me to get up and feed him.  I groaned, rolled over and pulled the covers over my head.  My eyes opened slowly.  It smelled like… like butt.  Then I realized that Little Filthy had Dutch ovened me.  I groaned, “Dog!” and pushed the covers off.  He bounded up the bed and landed on my stomach.  Oomph.  I sighed, stretched, and yawned.  Mid-stretch, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open, he pushed his face toward mine and the monster licked my teeth.  I admitted defeat and got up to feed him.

Here he is, in his Little Filthy puppy glory, looking like he’d never dream of interrupting your sleep or baking a potato on your mother’s Oriental rug or steal the cheese off your sandwich.

Monster.

Instigator was out of town last week. She cordially sent a picture from the beach-side pool in Cabo to me, in the office. She refrained, tastefully, from sending me a picture of the butler who came with their hotel room. She returned on Monday and sent me an e-mail recapping her conversation with Fresh Express, complete with her inner thoughts, captured here for your enjoyment.

Fresh Express: “You back? From your vacation?”

Instigator: (. o O Since I’m sitting in my office, safe bet.) “Yes. It was nice.”

Fresh Express: “Really? Was it?”

Instigator: “Yes, really nice.”

<awkward silence>

Instigator: “We were in Mexico.” (. o O Will you please go away now??)

Fresh Express: “Really? It was nice, huh?”

Instigator: “Yes.”

Fresh Express: “You walk around in your bathing suit?”

Instigator: “Yes.”

Fresh Express: “Really? You’re kidding. Wow.”

Instigator: (. o O WTF?)

<more awkward silence>

Fresh Express: Did your daughter enjoy it?

Instigator: “She didn’t go; she stayed home with babysitters.”

Fresh Express: “Oh, like your regular sitter?”

Instigator: (. o O No, a stranger off the street. What do you think, crazy lady?) “Yes. She had fun, too.”

Fresh Express: “Well, sure. She’s a latchkey kid. Just like me. It’s fine – I turned out OK. I mean, what, you know? They say it’s bad but look at me. I’m fine. You know?”

Instigator: (. o O OMG. Way to make me feel guilty and terrified all at once. However, technically, she is not a latchkey kid since she is six and has no key. In any event, I’m not going to accept that she will turn out “OK” like you, you lunatic.)

<awkward silence>

“Yes.”

1. I will be seeing Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty on Sunday. I’ll be taking a guest. I told her that she could pay me back (for the ticket) with her ballet knowledge. When I printed out the receipt for the tickets (from TicketMaster), I noticed that the ‘convenience charge’ for each ticket was $327.50. Yes, you read that correctly. The total bill was over $700.

Needless to say, that’s a goddamn lot of ballet knowledge.

2. I forget what people look like unless I see them a lot. For instance, I met someone a few days ago and even though I got a good look at them, I can’t picture them any more. After my first date with Boss, I remember telling her, on the phone, “I can’t remember what you look like.” All I can remember is an impression, but no specifics. What the hell?

3. I know a woman who will proclaim, “I hate jazz!” And you know what? It cracks me up every time. Sometimes I think she’s the only one with the balls to say it. I’m only a minor fan of jazz; sometimes I find it tiresome. I know it’s a little ridiculous, but it seriously makes me laugh every single time she says it.

4. Catherine Tate, I bet you hate Jazz.

Weekend events prompted some discussion in my circle of friends on how to treat women. So I’m going to pull a page from my Guide to Women black book and list a few of my personal rules here.

1. If you’re with her, be with her. I don’t just mean that you shouldn’t have a wandering eye (which is insanely disrespectful) but be engaged. Pay attention not just to what she’s saying but to what she wants. Anticipate it and be responsive.

2. Jealousy. Maya Angelou said it best when she said that jealousy is like salt. A little bit enhances the savor but too much is unhealthy. Keep it in check.

3. Simple Sincerity. Sincerity and honesty go hand-in-hand. Women can smell dishonesty and BS a mile away. If jealousy is like salt, insincerity is like poison.

4. “I love you because…” Yes, women want to know that you love them. But they’d rather know why you love them, in particular. I don’t think this should be a revelation to anyone but most women aren’t that concerned about your ability to love. They can figure that out a million different ways on their own. I think women would like to know what it is, specifically, about them that sets them apart from any other woman walking the earth. Tell her why you love her.

5. Quit complaining. If you’re doing something that she enjoys but you don’t, don’t bitch and moan about it. You’ll spoil her enjoyment.

6. Compliments. Don’t ignore the obvious ones and don’t forget the thoughtful ones. If she looks incredible, tell her. Tell her what it is that she does that makes you happy. And if you want to pay the mother of all compliments, tell her a way in which she has changed you for the better. Women love to be the agent of change. Don’t be afraid to 1) make a sincere and thoughtful change and 2) tell her about it.

7. Don’t turn into a jerk around your friends. Really uncool. If you find yourself doing this… you’ll probably be without a girl soon and you should probably find some new friends.

8. Have some respect. She’s her own person with ideas, opinions, thoughts, and feelings. Don’t disrespect them.

9. Don’t have contempt. Don’t express your dissatisfaction with her in the form of contempt. It’s ugly. Learn a new way to tell her if something is bothering you.

10. Be funny and bring money. ‘Nuff said.

Plush, Benefactor, The Journalist and I headed out for a night of dancing last night. At one point in the evening, I went to the bar to get Plush a drink. As I stood there against the bar, she walked over (looking like a million bucks in red, I might add) and leaned in next to me. I reached out for her while trying to catch the bartender’s eye and I gently rest my hand on the bare skin of her arm and stroked it with my fingertips. I heard Plush say, “Um…,” and I turned around to see that I was, in fact, rubbing another woman’s arm where it rested on the bar between myself and Plush. Both Plush and this woman were looking at me with slightly amused grins on their face. I said, “I’m so sorry!” The other woman laughed and said, “Well, it felt nice.” Whoops.

I saw another friend at the bar… and said friend’s ditched date whom I had met just a bit earlier in the evening when they were still together. Not cool. I saw her walk up to the bar by herself, looking a bit upset, and excused myself from the group and walked over to her. I said, “Hey, let me buy you a drink. Come join us.” She smiled but did not say much. She was terribly kind and spent the majority of what remained of the evening with us. Benefactor charmed her and we discovered that she works near both Benefactor and me so we have tentative plans to all meet for lunch sometime. I hope that it pans out.

I spent the majority of the evening dancing with Plush, who moves like liquid. Liquid you’d like to bite. If it were possible to inhale her, I might have succeeded. Alas, she is out of town now for a week so I’m left trying to inhale a memory of the evening until we see each other again.

1. I went out for cocktails on Thursday night. We met at Reagle Beagle (named after the bar from Three’s Company). It was a diverse group of people with diverse interests and I had a very good time. I was struck by how rare it is that I find someone instantly interesting but the night was fruitful in this regard. I am always intrigued by the seemingly shy.

After getting home around 1, I ended up working for a few hours and so I was somewhat bleary eyed at work the next day.

2. Friday was a long day and included a meeting that I attended with about as much alacrity as I do when going to see the dentist. Or, say, a loan shark.

Meeting over, I felt like I could relax and finally get a good night of rest – something which has escaped me all week. Instead, I made progress toward ignoring my own advice on never dating an attorney because, as you know, attorneys somewhat suck it. Begijn, do you agree? Though, really Begijn is not a typical attorney. She is a ballerina dancer. Speaking of, I met another ballerina on Thursday night and she informed me that ballerinas are not supposed to have a butt. I thought perhaps she meant that ballerinas were not supposed to have a boo-tay but no, she meant butt. I did not know this. It seems somewhat unfair and contrary to those of us who are just beginning to appreciate ballet, no? Or ballerinas, for that matter.

3. Some women have flirting down to an art form. A melt-your-knee-caps art form. Speaking of fantastic flirts, I believe Plush and I will go dancing tonight. Some nights call for boogie shoes and I’m feelin’ it.

I have a buddy who, how shall I say this,… resembles a sunny-side up egg – in a good way. In the way that makes you think of purity and sunshine, wide-eyed and blinking. The interesting thing is that my buddy does computer forensics and is an expert in porn. New Nickname: Chris Hansen. Chris sneaks into the building at night, Mission Impossibles a hard drive from someone’s computer and then analyzes it. Is this job cool or what?

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve seen porn. I admit this. But Chris has seen…weird porn. Like a hard drive filled with images and videos of feet, slipping in and out of shoes. Some in pantyhose, some nude…Apparently, someone had a foot fetish. I didn’t know that foot fetish porn consisted of such normal activity as slipping in and out of shoes. That seems like a relatively trigger sensitive thing to live with. What if you’re in a meeting and a woman just slips off a heel? I wonder if women have foot fetishes for male feet. Somehow, I can’t imagine that but what the hell do I know?

“You know, you’ve got your standard porn. That needs no explanation. Then there’s cartoon porn. Chicks are normally perfect. Normally wearing skirts for easy access. Violent porn, which isn’t fun to watch. And then some people like animal porn.”

I thought of bestiality but I was wrong. There’s that, too, but this is like National Geographic stuff. It’s animals mating. People seriously get off on watching this? I don’t get it. I wouldn’t be surprised to come home and find Little Filthy in front of the television watching but I’d at least expect him to be modestly ashamed or something.

“You’ve got your fat people porn, humiliation and domination porn, fetish porn,…and old people porn.”

Excuse me? Chris isn’t talking about people in their 60′s. More like 80′s. Which really begs the question on if Viagra is such a good thing. Plus, do even 80 year olds like watching themselves have sex? I’m pretty sure 80 year olds wear blindfolds during sex. I’ve yet to see an 80 year old with mirrors on the ceiling. I’m thinking that the average dirty 80 year old man is putting in a video of 20 somethings and harkens back to times gone by. I want to make a blanket statement that horror movies and porn should not include anyone over the age of 60.

After hearing all of this, I had to go into the office the next morning. It made Mission Impossibling the packets of coffee from Fresh Express seem terribly, terribly dull.

*sigh*

I took some pictures of things I see on my way to and from work. Damn, I love Chicago.

1. Would you believe it takes more than 30 minutes to learn how to take a great photograph? Even with a new camera? I don’t know why I thought it would be like new shoes that made me run faster.

2. Kennedy is a fool. When he sits at his computer, his back is to his office door, monitor displayed to the world. I don’t get that. Not that I am browsing the web all day or something like that. Mainly, because Kennedy is so often browsing. Today, I walked into his office, managed to get all the way behind him and peer over his shoulder before saying, “Whatcha doin’?” He almost came unglued. He was buying a carburetor for his boat.

3. Here is something odd. Little Filthy is a pug and chihuahua mix. But his bark sounds like a German Shepard or something. He just sounds like a much bigger dog. People have told me this when they hear him bark on the phone but it was painfully obvious when I answered the door and the UPS guy said, “That’s what was barking at me?”

4. I’m having drinks after work Wednesday night with the aforementioned journalist with aspirations of law school. Apparently, she is dating an attorney and has a relationship issue. She said, “I need counsel. The advice I need has to be lawyerly.” I said that was good, as I was a lawyer. The first thing I’d advise is not to date a lawyer.

5. Has anyone ever said to you, “I need your honest opinion.”? Someone said that to me today. Again, I was tempted to blurt out, “I hate your hair,” before hearing on what they wished me to opine. I can’t help it. I just instantly get Blank Face and brace myself to upset them.

6. I’m hungry. Perpetually hungry. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if I ever got a tattoo, the only thing I could get would be the writing, “I’m hungry” because it would be the only thing I know will still be true 50 years from now. Do you have a tattoo?

I like practical jokes.  But, I have toned it down significantly in recent years.  Time to grow up, I suppose.  I used to send e-mails from other co-worker’s computer, asking other people out for lunch… things like that.  So, I’m just curious… what’s the best practical joke you’ve pulled off?