Random Esquire

1.  You may recall that The Ballerina sometimes says things that one might not expect. Like “You’ve got to own that shit. Like a lazy eye.”  Or there was the time I invited her to dinner and her response was, “I’m only going to come if it has a fall theme.”

The other day, I was bogged down at work and a little stressed.  I received this IM from The Ballerina:

“can i bring you something to cheer you up? scones? a multi-racial prostitute?”

*Blink*

And no, there’s no inside joke here.  She just says things like that.

2.  Lately, I have noticed a lot of ads on television for some organization called: Catholics Come Home.  In the ad, there are images of famous Italian pieces of art in the Vatican, charity work being performed, Pope John Paul with folks, the current Pope, Pope What’s-his-name,…all while a voice over tells you to come back to the Church.  And I found myself wondering why they don’t show a clip of Pope-What’s-His-Nuts getting tackled because, I can tell you, if I knew that shit was going down at church, I might be more likely to attend.

3.  I had a dream last night in which I was seated with my foot pulled up near me.  There was a cut in my foot and I was pulling 5 foot long parasitic worms out of it.  I kid you not.  I was frantically pulling them out and as I did so, I could feel them sliding through my leg and foot, all wet and warm.

I woke up and found that Little Filthy was licking my foot.

He’s sleeping in his own bed tonight.

My family suffers from a condition known as Gallows Humor.  We don’t intend to.  It’s just that we enjoy it so much.

You may know Gallows Humor by its primary symptom:  inappropriate laughter.

Shall I give you an example?

When I was growing up, my mother had a best friend named Ruby.  Ruby’s husband worked overseas and so she was often at our place for dinner.  I spent my high school years thinking of her as my second mother.  In 2003, after months of treatment, Ruby lost her fight against cancer.  We were rightly devastated.  I should note here that Ruby had a fantastic sense of humor and so I do not feel badly about what happened… during her funeral service reception.

See, Ruby had decided to be cremated.   And right after the funeral was the luncheon reception thingy.  What was on the menu?  Barbecue.   That’s right.  Ruby’s daughter had decided to have a barbecue reception after the funeral proceedings…for her cremated mother.  Everyone stood around eating carrot sticks and staring at the slabs of ribs.  In the horrible silence, I stood next to my father as we looked at the serving table and I whispered, “No one wants to feel like they are eating Ruby.”

My father lifted his head and stared at me.  “What did you say?”

I said, “You know…the barbecue.”

My father said, “Random! It’s Friday during Lent and all of Ruby’s friends are Catholic. They aren’t eating because it’s meat.”

Oh.

And then?  Then we stifled laughs for the next 20 minutes.  See? Something is wrong with us.

Then, on a much more personal note…

(more…)

1.  I watched The Sound of Music last night with a friend.  What a scandalous movie, really.  He stole a nun and then took her on a month long honeymoon.  I mean, I get that she’s got a lot to discover… but a month?  They’ve pretty much guaranteed themselves additional brood.  And at one point, Uncle Max called the children a bunch of “gloomy pussies.”  I bet they re-write that line in modern productions.  It got better when it went all Indiana Jones at the end and the Nazis got their comeuppance. Then I realized that if this whole thing happened in the present, it’d be a reality show.  Nun mom trying to deal with 7 step children… while pregnant.

2.  Little Filthy got a bath.  This has endeared him to me.  Enough that I sent a text message to his mom, Boss, who is currently in Florida with family:

RE: When you comin’ back?

Boss: In a day or two.

RE: Hurry!

Boss: Why for?

RE: Cause the dog is cute right now, how he’s sleeping.

Boss: Ok.  Don’t let him move.  For 48 hours.

RE: He won’t.  I glued him.

3.  My Neighbor was over for a bit yesterday.  She brought Barnabas, her pug, over.  Little Filthy promptly showed him how to remove kleenex from the box.  Neighbor and I gaped as Barnabas delicately tried to pull a kleenex from the box.  She said to me, “You realize who you’re raising?”  I turned to her and said, “Uh oh. Who?”

She said, “Alvin.  You’re raising Alvin.  And my dog is just one of those innocent other chipmunks.”

I said, “Oh, like Simon?”

She sighed and said, “I’m afraid Barnabas is more like…Theodore.”

We’re raising monsters.

Fox and Hound

I come from a family in which everyone cooks.  While my mother prepares the dinner on Thanksgiving, on Christmas, everyone brings along additional food.  The result is that we have roughly 5 times the amount of food actually consumed.

This year, I was tasked with dessert.  I am more of a savory type (har har) but I gave it a whirl.  Result?  Banana bread pudding, chocolate sauce, fresh berries, dulce de leche ice cream, and a caramelized banana.  Picture below.

I hope you had a great dinner!

Torchin’ a banana.

Neither Salma Hayak nor Penelope Cruz were under my tree this morning.

Santa FAIL.

Oh – and Merry Christmas!

1.  The dog stinks.  But I haven’t given him a bath because I told my niece and nephew that I’d give him a bath the day after Christmas – and they could watch via Skype.  So, the stink stays for another few days.

2. The song You’re So Vain is awesome. But there’s one line that just sort of kills me.  “But you gave away the things you love.  And one of them was me.”  Christ, is that depressing or what?

3.  The odd mood that had settled over me last week has lifted.  Random FTW!

4.  Dude. It’s Christmas Eve.  And I’m working.

*HOWL!*

My apologies for being so slow on this!

I wrote the names on paper and let the dog dig one out of the pile. I took the first one he licked.

I’ll give the first two letters of the first and last name – if this is you, please shoot me an email at to randomesq at gmail.

First name: HE

Last name: CL

Let me know if this is you!

-R.

Today I discovered that I might be adopted.  Or may have been born in the back of a taxi cab.  Or to two drunkards.

The jury is out.

Here’s how it came about.  I was filling out this W-2 thing to have it sent to me electronically instead of via mail.  In order to confirm my identity, I was asked the city of my birth.

I dunno.

I know that seems ridiculous but really?  I don’t know.  How many times have I had to cough up that information?  Nearly none.  So I don’t remember.  It’s a waste of my brain space.  So I called my parents and they answered on speaker phone.  I said, “Hey, I gotta fill out this thing…where was I born? like, what city?”

And I’ll be goddamned.

They *paused*.

Then my mother said, “Why do you want to know?”

And see, that?  Right there? That right there?

THAT’S NOT FUNNY.

I said, “What do you mean WHY?  Dude, if this is how I find out that I was adopted, I want that washer and dryer back.”

Oh, did I mention they got them?  They did.  They were delivered on Saturday and they kindly sent me a picture.

Okay, back to the business at hand.

Well, they started laughing and told me where I was born.  They seemed pretty pleased with themselves.  I’m sure that they were only disappointed that I wasn’t in front of them to witness their sideways glances.

WTF.

Remember the other day when I asked what your Dating Style is?  What one characteristic about you attracted people the most?  I’m not sure I’m in love with QT’s answer for what was my most attractive characteristic because it makes me sound like …well, …like an attorney.  Of all the nerve.

Well, the other day, I may have said that women should come with disclaimers or warning labels.  This became a bit of a twitter discussion and it was decided that everyone should come with a Dating Disclaimer.

Beth suggested that mine would say, “I’m fun.  But exceedingly selective.”

I’m not sure that the women I have dated would agree with this.  So, I decided I’d give it a go and write down what I think the last few women I’ve dated (and written about here) would say should be my Dating Disclaimer:

Besos:  “Breast maniac.  Busy with side hobbies and activities to the point that you may feel unimportant.”

Plush:  “Breast obsessed.”

Boss:  “Surprisingly may not buy you the 3 carat ring you picked out.  Also, breast crazy.”

Honestly? if I had to come up with a genuine disclaimer about myself and dating…it think it might say:

Warning:  Too Literal.

What can I say?  It’s a problem.

So, fess up, folks.  What’s your Dating Disclaimer?

Last week, I received an invitation to an event that sounded really interesting.  I invited Boss because we had mutual friends who were going to be there from out of town.

Well,

I forgot.

I didn’t forget about the event – something came up and I couldn’t attend.

I just forgot to tell that to Boss.  Which is really not like me and is entirely like her.

This morning, I got a text message from her that said, “Wait…was last night the party with [Friend 1] and [Friend 2]??”

*flinch* D’oh!

I responded, “Yes. You wore a cute dress.”

She said, “Did I have a good time?”

I responded, “Yes, but you got sloppy drunk. Figures!”

She said, “That’s why I don’t remember!”

Thank God she’s got a decent sense of humor.