Random Esquire

Rubbermoon sent me some interesting glass slides of scenes from various locations.  It’s what you imagine a picture might look like if it was printed on glass.  Very interesting!  I took pictures of them with the sun looking through.  Each slide was labeled with some indication of the location.

Swiss Lakes

Blue Lakes of Italy

Mediterranean

Norway

Got a bit

of a

wanderin’ eye

issue

goin’ on.

Lady Date Penelope says, “You know I am Spanish, right?”

I’m not a big fan of talking on the telephone.  I spend about 50% of my day at work on phone calls.  By the end of the day, I’d rather be next to someone than have a phone against my ear.  I dislike the sound of a ringing phone and often have calls silenced.  E-mails and text messages make the smallest of blips.

I actually don’t speak with almost anyone on the phone other than my family and some very good friends.  Even then, I often choose not to answer the phone.  I forget that not everyone is like this until I hear the sound of someone’s phone ringing and I instantly get a confused look.  My communication with most people is done via IM or text message.

That’s right.  Apparently I’ve entered some sort of friendship blackhole in which relationships are advanced without the troublesome, hampering need to actually see someone face to face.  I’m being rather tongue in cheek there.  But you get my point.

The other day, I was discussing something with Sitcom and I said, “Hey, you free right now? I’m going to call you.”  She said, “Sure!”

And I realized something.  Remember when people would just stop by someone else’s place?  The general rule was that you called first.  You call before you stop by.  Now?   Now I text before calling someone.

What the hell?

Calling is the new stopping by.

I worked last last night and my workload was lightened a fair bit by my most recent work wife.  She’s a new work wife.  I’m a polygamist in the office.  Work wife and I have a work-deal to discuss so I sent her an e-mail asking if I could take her to lunch and we could sit down with the contract in question to discuss.  She accepted.  Simple, right?

Except, see, last week, I read my work girlfriend – Instigator – the riot act when I found out that she had brought her lunch to the office.  Because, really, folks, what’s the point of a work girlfriend if you aren’t running off at lunch time?

There.  Does that set the scene?  Can you see how this is going to go?

I walked into Instigator’s office this morning and prompted peered at her eyeball and exclaimed, “You have green eyes!  That will make a good picture!”  She ignored me.  Then she said, “Are we going to lunch today?  I purposely did not bring something to eat!”

I opened my mouth and said, “Oooooooeeeeeeeewwwww…, about that….” and then  Instigator’s brows furrowed and her lips curled and when I explained the situation, she said, “WHAT?!”  I cringed.  And then I told her who my new work wife is and that we had lunch plans.  And then she picked up some paper from her desk, wadded it up and I instantly ducked down behind her desk to avoid the flying paper ball.

She said, “Look, first, I wasn’t invited to your Lady Date.  Then, you didn’t take advantage of the fact that my husband was out of town last week. NOW we aren’t going to lunch?”

So I am eating two lunches today.

I continue to take pictures of eyes.  This is Sitcom’s eye.  Click to enlarge.

You may recall that two weeks ago, I had the distinct pleasure of dinner with four really fantastic women.  This little outing was promptly nicknamed my Lady Date by Dysfunction Junction.  Sitcom was one of those lovely women and knows well my fascination with Pe (as she is known in Spain) – a.k.a. Penelope Cruz -  and she brought me a gift which was promptly named:  Lady Date Penelope.

So far, Lady Date Penelope has planned a nice getaway to some Spanish beaches as well as offered to teach me Spanish…with her hips.

Last week, on a cold and cloudy Chicago Friday, I decided to take Lady Date Penelope ice skating in Chicago’s Millennium Park.

She ended up in the arms of a strange man who attempted to put the moves on her!  I do not kid, friends.  See?

How did this happen?  Continue on to find out.

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1. Yesterday, I went to QTMama‘s blog and nearly choked on my coffee when I read the title entry: “My Hymen and Random Esquire.”

It isn’t every day you see something like that.  And by ‘something like that’, I mean QT’s hymen.  Because let’s face it.  No one’s seen that thing since 1987.

2. I received an e-mail today from a co-worker who does a great deal of work on contracts for me.  She’s very detail oriented and seldom misses anything.  I, however, have been underwater working on deals and so she had some outstanding items with me about which she needed my legal opinion.  Her e-mail politely laid out those items, generally, as such:

a.  You have this, review that, get back to me on this.
b.  See the attached e-mail. Review language, provide your review and approval.
c.  Open the document attached, check x and y, please approve.

And at the end of the e-mail was this line:

“Dinner will be ready at 7:30 p.m. and don’t forget to leave your dry cleaning on my table tomorrow morning.”

So.  I guess I’ve got a work wife to go along with my work girlfriend.

3. Oh, hey, CERN – Get a move on with that teletransport device.  Awesome, thanks.

4.

What you talkin’ about, Attorney?

5. It has come to my unfortunate attention that I… am a biter.  See, I think that more people would be biters if they realized how good it feels on your teeth.

There were signs.  Apparently, when about 4, I bit a little girl while we were outside playing.  Look, folks, you can’t fight nature.

I don’t really know why I get the urge.  But it does mean that I’m sitting around waiting for a woman to see Lady GaGa’s song Teeth to me.  Sometimes, you just want to take a bite of some bad girl meat.

“People need a little loving and, God, sometimes

it’s sad the shit they have to go through to find some.”

Richard Brautigan

1.  I was recently expressing some melancholy to a friend about the frustration, sadness, helplessness and sometimes hopelessness of loving another person.  I am, for better or for worse, cursed with an ability to see the lighter side of just about everything in life – in those situations where laughing may be the only substitute for crying.  And I don’t cry.

As I sat there and let loose things that had been on my mind and unloaded what has been feeling like a heaviness, I began to feel a little lighter.  And then my friend, in sincere and utter honesty, and pure fellowship of being said:

“Love.  What a cunt.”

And the pure truth of it, the shock of it – made me laugh so hard that any tear I might shed made itself known then, in the midst of laughing with a friend.

And then in what seemed like an utter release, she said, “God.  I love that word.”

Which made me laugh even harder.  It was, however, the next line that pushed me over the edge:

“I smell T-shirts!  Finally, my millions!”

2.  Today, I listened to QTMama discuss her own frustrations about love and relationships.  And again, in the midst of genuine sadness and frustration, though not my own, I found myself laughing with someone else who also sometimes laughs at these moments of earnest emotion.  I listened as QT expressed her frustration at not finding someone.

She asked, “What is wrong with me?  It’s been two years.”

I said, “You will not like my answer.”

*silence*

I said, “There is nothing wrong with you.”

And then…. QT said, “I haven’t had sex in forever, I regrew my hymen last week.”

*Blink*

And then I just burst out laughing.  I said, “You cannot say shit like that!”

She said, “What? About what?”

“ABOUT YOUR HYMEN,” I yelled, “That shit doesn’t happen!”

She said, “IT DOES….

…well, not really.  But FIGURATIVELY SPEAKING.”

I couldn’t stop laughing.

And she said, “I am now WITH hymen again.”

She continued, “It’s my hymen, me…and I’ll get some cats.”

I said, “You should write this shit.”

She said, “Because the world should know that I haven’t had sex in YEARS?”

I said, “It hasn’t been years!”

QT said, “Yes it has…

…Figuratively speaking.”

I said, “You can’t make everything you say true by adding ‘figuratively speaking‘ to the end of it!”

Then I said, “This conversation cracks me up. Can I blog this? Pleasepleaseplease?”

QT shouted, “OKAYFINE.”

And there you have it.

“Love is all fire; and so heaven and hell are the same place.”

Norman O. Brown

I’ve had this conversation a few times with women – about breasts and what makes for nice breasts.  I can only tell you my own observations and opinions on this topic and naturally, I am a little tongue in cheek about it.  But…as far as I can tell, there are three overall things that might define nice breasts – in order – from least important to most important.

Size

Size matters.  But probably not as much as I once thought that it did.  Size makes a difference.  But probably not as much as other things.

It may seem like the attraction to breasts is purely based upon size but that’s probably a gross oversimplification.  It’s just that breast size is the most obvious thing about them.  Large breasts usually have some movement to them and, like a dinosaur, it’s the movement that captures the the eye.  But really?  I don’t have a walnut sized dinosaur brain and I can see things that aren’t swaying with every step.

At one point in my life, I thought that C-cups were sort of perfect.  Not too big, not too small.  Perfect!  Then I met and fell in love with a woman with DD breasts.  And I’ll be damned if they weren’t perfect.  Then along into my life came a series of women with B-cups.  And my god, those were perfect, too.  Saying that you love breasts but only large breasts is like saying you love women but only love blondes.

I sometimes refer to breasts as … a snack tray.  Yes, I realize that makes me sound a little bit like an asshole.  But it isn’t entirely off base.  They are like a snack.  Like an appetizer.  An amuse bouche, if you will.  Something to whet the appetite.  Something that makes you hungry for more.

Which leads us to …

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