Random Esquire

I used to pride myself on not having much relationship baggage but after my break-up with Boss…well, let’s just say I’d be paying to check a bag.  What form does it take?  I believe that I gave so much to that relationship that, once over, I began to relish living alone and thinking of myself.  In fact, my dream home is actually a duplex with a hamster tube running between each side.  Anyway, this new love for all things autonomous has, unfortunately, resulted in…well, I can be a little set in my ways.  Besos delicately brought this to my attention over the weekend. Here’s how this went down.

Besos:  “I sometimes want to kick Boss.”

RE:  *silence*

Besos:  “I know that I am your first serious relationship since that one…Sometimes, I wish I was the second.”

RE:  “Should I go date someone else?”

Besos:  “No! It’s too late.”

RE:  “Are you sure?  We’ll just date for a couple of months.  Then I’ll come back.”

Besos:  “Then I’ll do the same thing.  I’ll date someone else for a few months.”

RE:  “Ok.”

*pause*

“But you can’t sleep with them.”

Besos:  “WHAT?  What’s the point of that?”

Yes, we seriously have ridiculous conversations like this one.

I created a new word today.

Mexitude.

Would you like to know what it means?

I think you can guess.

I bought my parents this Breville blender for Christmas.  It is what they wanted, it’s what they got.  When my father pulled the blender out of the box, he spent about 10 minutes turning it over in his hands, feeling its heft and admiring the die cast base.  It was like love at first sight.  My mother went on a fruit and vegetable buying spree and they liquified anything they could find and then suck through a straw.  But the romance was short lived.

The power switch inside was wonky and so my mother asked me to have the blender replaced.  I had to go to the manufacturer.  That was about a month ago.  Every single time I’ve spoken with my mother since then, she asks me for an update on the blender.  Sometimes, she calls me and only asks about the blender.  Would you like to know how our last conversation went?  I called her earlier in the week.

Mom:  “Hello?”

RE:  “Hey, Mom.”

*pause*

Mom:  “Who is this?”

RE:  “How many people call you Mom?!”

Mom:  “Oh!  Hi.  Do you have my blender back?”

This is what I’ve become.  Nothing but a blender update.  And every time I tell her that I do not have it back, she is personally disappointed in me.

Mom:  “Can’t you write something bad about them?  So they will fix it faster?”

RE:  “No, Mom.  This is normal.”

Mom:  “Well, I’d sure like to have it back.  Okay, talk to you later.”

I don’t even remember why I called.

Some people just have a look.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever said that someone looks like a pedophile.

Dude, right?  Some people just have a look about them.

I saw this one dude and my first thought, which I realize is totally off the wall, was that he had rapist face.

WTF.

Anyone else ever seen this?

1.  My nose is running.  It sneaks up on me.  When my nose runs, it feels like my face wet its pants.

2.  The last time I was ill, I saw Besos only one or two times in three weeks because I tend to hole-up when I don’t feel well and am not really comfortable with someone taking care of me.  She more or less told me that that would not be acceptable this time and would I prefer she bring over soup or a break-up kick in the pants?

I chose the soup.

3.  I took pictures at Moto which are forthcoming.  At one point, Chef Cantu asked me, “Have you seen plasma in a microwave?”  I stared back.  He said, “Find a beaker!”  He rushed me to the microwave and propped the beaker upside down on three cups inside.  Then, he placed a bit of what he called plasma inside, under the beaker, within the small triangle of cups.  Mind you, I’d just eaten a bit of that white plasma in the form of a wick on a chocolate bomb that they actually set on fire (picture coming).  He closed the microwave and hit start.  The white bit flashed and flamed repeatedly and Chef Cantu said, “Hotter than the surface of the sun!”

4.  Besos arrived with soup.  She smiled and looked satisfied as I began to eat.  I glanced up and said, “Honey…I am a little self conscious because I have to chew with my mouth open because I can’t breathe through my nose.”

If you’d like to hear more ways in which you can woo and wow a woman in your life, please send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to our address and include a check or money order for$14.95.

If you know me and you would like to read the below entry, please e-mail me (randomesq at gmail dot com) or leave a comment below and I will give you / e-mail you the password.  -R.

1. I know this may go down as one of those things that I shouldn’t find as funny as I do but here it is:  The song Jesus, Take the Wheel is hilarious.  Let me get this straight.  This woman is driving with her kid in the back seat, hits ice and throws in the towel, tosses her hands up into the air and turns the mike on over to Jesus.  Dude, how about you give yourself and Jesus a helping hand and at least keep hold of that steering wheel.  I mean, is that too much to ask?  I suspect even Jesus would be saying, “For real?  How about a little help here?”

2.  I spoke with The Italian today.  He offhandedly mentioned that he used to have two pet turtles while he was in college.  I said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  In college?!”  He said, “Yes…their names were Cuff and Link.”  What world am I in, people?  Turtles are for kids who can’t be trusted with dogs.  They are for kids who need pets they can drop relatively worry-free.   He defended his turtle-ownership with some explanation that involved the movie Rocky which, I have to say, did not help his case.

3.  I am heading to Moto on Saturday to take pictures in the kitchen. Earlier this month, a writer for The Reader visited the kitchen and was able to “… work a shift in the famously secretive kitchen and live to tell about it.”  They have a class 4 laser in the restaurant.  WTF.  If you caught the No Reservations episode on Chicago, Tony Bourdain visited Moto.  It is the place that had a dish that resembled road kill.  On purpose.

Okay, found this from July 31 and decided to repost it because the monster kills me.

Little Filthy tried corn today.

A sniff.

A lick.

A nibble.

ATTACK!

Assessing the damage.

Conclusion: He likes it.

I have just returned from visiting my sister.  Dude.  My niece thinks every Hispanic looking man is named Ola.  As in ‘hola’.  This is because when she said waved to one of the gentlemen who maintains their yard, he responded, “Hi!  Hola!”  And she responded, “Hi, Ola!” thinking that his name is Ola.  Because this has occurred with more than one man, she believes that all Hispanic looking men are named Ola.

This has prompted her to remark, upon eating at a Mexican restaurant, “There are a lot of Olas here.”

Or, upon seeing any white van with a logo, “That’s Ola’s van!”

This is delightful, no?