Random Esquire

1. Little Filthy is resting on the couch with me. He has an odd habit. He moans. When he’s really sleepy, he moans and groans. And if you touch him, he moans like it’s the best thing since walks and parks and biscuits. It’s actually a bit disconcerting because it is so loud, people can hear it on the other end of the phone. Which, I imagine, is rather disconcerting for them, as well.

2. The Seattle Gang is comin’ to Chicago. Bev, LynchSeattle, and Avitania. I suspect we will get blynched, which is code for getting drunk. I would like it if they met Boss, Plush, and Besos. However, upon some reflection, I realized perhaps not all at once.

3. Instigator and I have a date Thursday night. It’s a fake-date. A fate, if you will. Wait, no, that isn’t quite right. It’s a Dake. Well, you get my point.

4. You can’t make this stuff up, people.

“APPLETON, Wisc. (NEWSCHANNEL 3) – A couple in Wisconsin telephoned police in the middle of the night after finding a man in their basement covered head to toe in barbecue sauce.

“He told the officers that it was urban camouflage,” said the homeowner.”

5. QTMama did an entry on spooning. About a week ago, she asked me if I was a sleep-toucher and said that I didn’t seem like one. I don’t think I know any more. But I was surprised that she could get this impression because I didn’t even know it was an impression people gave. I don’t seem like a sleep toucher?

You know who loves to spoon? Little Filthy. The second you are on your side, he jumps on the bed, flops down and pushes his back as close as it can get to your chest and puts his head on your pillow.

And moans.

I spoke with my sister tonight.  My niece is 2 and my nephew is 4 1/2 months old.  She said, “I’m going to get the kids baptized.”

I said, “Oh, yeah? What prompted that?”

(Just for the record, I realize the correct answer is “Jesus” but I asked, nonetheless.)

My sister said, “Well, you know I’m not all Catholic but it’s easier to do this when they are young. Otherwise, it’s a pain in the ass if they decide to get baptized later.”

Did I mention that my sister and I both went to Notre Dame?  That might have backfired.  We’re not all Catholic.  We’re Cafeteria Catholics.  (I’ll take some of that…a little of that…none of that please…)

She continued, “But if I do it here in town, I have to join the church and all that.  So instead, I have this friend…and she knows a priest.”  She might have whispered that last part.  I can’t remember because I was already laughing.

She said, “Yeah, I just have to make a donation.  To his mission.  In Sri Lanka.”

So I’m going to go visit and sign the paperwork to be a godparent.  And then, when the kids get older, I can tell them all about how their mother acquired a black market baptism for them from some beatnik poet dressed in black making money on the side by painting white-out on his collar and blessing the children with Pellegrino.

You know, since he’s for hire, maybe I’ll get Little Filthy baptized.  Anyone want to make sure my dog grows up properly? He’s going to need some godparents.