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.

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?

Ayup.

Let’s have a big ol’ entry about nothing.  Stream of thought ahead.

Let’s see…

I didn’t see my work girlfriend yesterday.  She was in negotiations until about 9 p.m.  What’s the point of going into the office on a Tuesday if I don’t get to see Instigator?  Precious little, I can tell you.

Oh, however, Fresh Express did come by to let me know that the building would be providing breakfast for everyone tomorrow.  Like that one time her boyfriend came into the office just for breakfast and fell asleep at a conference table with a chocolate eclair in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

Speaking of, she hasn’t cut out any newspaper articles for me recently.  Which, I am sure, the library is quite pleased about.

My sister called me today and told me that movies like Saw and Hostel scare her.  I don’t really enjoy those movies but they don’t much scare me.  And then we had a discussion about stranger danger which I seemingly have none of.  But don’t worry.  I still hate people.  (I love mankind! It’s people I can’t stand. -LVP)

And the stranger danger made me think of Boss who had massive kinds of stranger danger.  Also, I thought about her when Debra from Rubbermoon told me she bought a stamp.

Boss invited me to her kindergarten classroom for Christmas.  Lots of donations for the kids, many of whom didn’t have Halloween costumes.  We used to sponsor some kindergarten kids in Detroit. I wanted to go to take pictures of them getting their gifts and then have them printed for the families but she had to move the dates around and it didn’t happen.  Sure the kids were really happy. heh.

I found a gray hair earlier in the week.  At first I thought, “What the hell? I’m only 36!”  Then I remembered that this is the third of fourth one I’ve found this year.  Then I thought, “Well,whatthefuckever.”

I’ve been obsessing the last few days over something I am not sure how to handle.

I think part of what is bugging me is that I have not made plans for a large trip out of the country yet for 2010. I usually go in May.  I need 2 weeks away and I suspect it will be Spain this year – Barcelona and Madrid for 9 days and then London for 4.

I sleep with my patio door cracked open because I like the cold air.  When I wake, it is usually about 58 degrees.  I call this perfect sleeping weather.

I feel like taking a risk.

Let’s hope I don’t quit my job.

Who knows?  Who gives a shit?

1.  I saw a pregnant woman wearing a bluetooth device today.  It made me think of Groucho Marx.

Hear me out.

There’s a long rumored (and widely suspected untrue) story that during a taping of You Bet Your Life, Groucho Marx interviewed a pregnant woman who already had something like 17 children.  He asked her, more or less, why she had so many children.  She said something along the lines of, “I love my children who are my purpose here on Earth…and I love my husband.”

To which Groucho replied, “Lady, I love my cigar but I take it out of my mouth once in a while.”

That’s a paraphrase of this rumor.  But you get my point.  When I looked at this woman I thought, “I know you love that thing but take it out of your ear once in a while.”

2.  The Ballerina IM’d me earlier today – a little excited to tell me about a dream she had.  I was on a conference call so I watched as she told the story:

“OMG.”

“i just remembered”

“so i had this dream last night.”

“i was at some sort of . . . camp.”

“it was all girls.”

(*PAUSE*  Are you smiling?  So was I.  *RESUME*)

“and i was new or something”

“so we all slept in one room like in bunks”

(*bastard smile*)

“and then i was shown to the other room where each girl had a little cubby to hang her PANTIES”

(*BLINK*)

“it was a room entirely dedicated to storing everyone’s panties, by camper.”

“so naturally i felt pressured to make sure my best panties were always on display.”

By this point, I was trying hard not to laugh during my call.  I asked if I could re-tell this little ditty.  The Ballerina said:

“you know naturally i assume all conversations with you are fodder for the internet.”

Busted.  But look, if you’re going to have dreams about a campsite full of girls who leave their panties in another room, well, yes, you can very well expect that I am going to blog about it in just the worst possible way.

It’s what I do.

I. . .

am a blogger.

Let’s say you decided to go on vacation just for a quick 3 or 4 day getaway.  Now, stay with me here…

And you decided on..hm…Sunny Panama.

And you were looking at Royal Decameron.

And you decided to check out the accomodations.

And as you scrolled down….you saw the hotel’s picture of its Ocean View Guestroom…. nice, nice…tile and bed spread leave something to be desired…but typical…not bad.

Then there’s the superior guestroom…not bad….larger, with a table and chairs…

OH AND THEN THERE IS THE STANDARD GUEST ROOM:

*Ring* *Ring*

“Royal Decameron Resort. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to reserve a standard guestroom please.”