Random Esquire

Good thing Boss and I aren’t dating or this would get me in the dog house.

How did your parents meet each other?

My father was in the army and was stationed overseas. He met my mother through a friend.  They were married on an army base.

That’s the short and sweet of it.  I thought of it recently because it occurred to me that everyone in my family seems drawn to someone of a different ethnic background.  If you take either of my parents, my sister or me – each of us is married to (or, in my case, dating) someone with a different first language.

I attribute this to the fact that in order for anyone to tolerate dating someone in the family, he or she needs to have the option of chalking up half of the crap that comes out of our mouths to a “lost in translation” type of misunderstanding.  Because not only are the first languages different from our own – none of them are alike.

We like DIFFERENT.

So, I’m curious… How did your parents meet? Are they pretty alike? or different?

This week is a very special week for me.

I will finish paying off my six-figure student-momofuku-loans.  At that point… I will be 100% debt free.  No credit card debt, no mortgage, no car payment, and most importantly… NO STUDENT LOANS.

And you know what?

I’d like a goddamn letter.

I got a really nice letter when I got into Notre Dame.  And then Law School.  Really nice letters that congratulated me on my opportunity to attend their fine institution and thereby create a black hole of debt that amounted to a small mortgage for a home inside my head that not only provides no shelter but also punishes me for any ability to pay it off by not cutting me a tax break.

It doesn’t have to be fancy.  Just a short and sweet letter that says something like, “Wow.  We didn’t think it could be done.  I mean, we chalk most of you six figure kids up to Default or Die.  But you managed to do it.  Good job!” or even, “Congratulations!  You’re free.”

Something.

I was feeling pretty kick ass about not having any debt until I realized I also don’t own a bloody thing, either. Well, I haven’t bought a condo.  I have a car and a decent amount of savings.  I just looked around my place and came eye to eye with Little Filthy.  I looked at him and he looked back at me.  And then he jumped on me and licked my face.

Okay, I own a monster, too.

Life is good!

If you’ve ever sat at a light that just turned green and been slow to get your ass moving, the person honking the horn behind you may have been me.  You know why?  Cause I’m not here for my health, asshole.  Get moving.

Now, look, I don’t abuse the horn.  I don’t honk for no darn reason.  I honk for specific reasons.  The primary one is to say, “Pay attention.”

I wouldn’t honk at a taxi that was dropping people off in front of me.  I figure the people know that cars are waiting and, as a result, will move their ass with some speed.  Of course, if there appears to be some dilly dally bullshit going on, I might honk as if to say, “You stupid tourist, did you not know you’d have to pay the taxi when the ride was over? Keep an eye on the meter and have your money ready so that you can get your ass moving when the taxi stops.”   Yes. I can say all that with the mere honk of my horn.

Also, I will honk at a pedestrian on special occasions.  Like, for instance, if I have a green left turn arrow and you decide to cross the street because you think you have priority, I may honk at you.  And if you drop your groceries in shock, I will feel badly for a second but then will feel better when I drive over your oranges – but then angry again when I realize I’m dragging your now empty gallon milk jug under my car.

Okay, I may not be that bad.  It’s just that I don’t really consider it really driving unless I honk my horn. Once, a past girlfriend of mine was driving down the street and when someone cut her off, I took it upon myself to lean over and honk the horn for her.  Now, somehow, the horn got stuck and wouldn’t release and so the horn was blaring the entire way down the street.  I just want to note that 1) a woman’s look can be louder than a horn and 2) I don’t do that anymore.

So I want to know:  Are you a honker? Do you live in a big city or more suburbia?

*HONK!*

I watched part of snowboarding competition.

And it struck me as sort of interesting that someone can win a gold medal in the olympics

in a pair of jeans.

Interesting!

I’m sort of fascinated with the different levels of comfort people have with each other regarding bathroom things.

For instance, there was the Hair on Soap.

Recently, I wondered about sharing bath towels.

I asked a few people and the reaction is all over the map.

Some people don’t care at all.  Other people?  Other people are downright violent about this topic.

SingleMomMindy said, “No WAY!”  When I asked why, precisely, her response was to inform me that she “wouldn’t share underwear either.”  I asked if she thought it was fair to compare a towel to underwear.

“I do.”

My friend, Bev, said she’d rather share a toothbrush than a bath towel!

Bath towel doesn’t really bother me.  Whatever. At least they were clean when they used it, right?  Underwear?  Well, I assume by sharing underwear, you mean that you’d be putting it on clean – though it seems other issues at work with that one, aside from just sanitary ones.    But toothbrush!  That’s interesting to me.

So, I’m curious:

1. What do you think about sharing a bath towel with your better half?
2. Not right when they are done using it but after it has dried.and
3. Which would you rather share with your better half?  A toothbrush or a towel?

You may recall that I decided to get my parents new mobile phones – complete with keyboard and unlimited text messaging capabilities.

I am pleased to say that this did not happen a year ago or I suspect that every text message I receive from her might be “Do you have my blender?”

Instead, she’s opted for “What are you doing?” as her favorite text message.  I should note… My parents can be a little sarcastic.  Also, I am the youngest in the family.  And, as an attorney, the WILD CHILD of the family.

Seriously.

So on Saturday afternoon, she sent her favorite message: “What are you doing?”

I responded, “I’m getting ready to shop and then go to dinner.”

What did she write back?

“Have fun. Don’t Spend.”

then, 1 minute later:

“Have fun. Save Money.”

I laughed.

I wrote back: “I’m going to spend ALL my money at ONE place.”

Her response?

“Good. Be smart.”

What the hell was I thinking when I got this text messaging option?!

8 Cookies + Beers + 6 Shots at the Bar = Socks on your teeth in the morning.

I could do the mathematical proof for you.

But let’s just take my word on this one.

I tried to explain flirting to QTMama today.

I said, “If a woman puts my hand on her boob, then I know she’s interested.”

I went on to explain that if I squeeze it, that means I am interested, too.

However, if I am not interested, then I fake a grand mal seizure.

This is so I can still squeeze her boob but then topple over on to the ground.

I don’t think she understood, though, because she mentioned our plan on getting married at 50 if we’re both still single.  (We also discussed my work bonus.)  The conversation took a turn for the worse.  Witness:

QTMama:  DUDE.  I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING.

RE:  WHAT.

QTMama:  When we get married?! That BONUS IS HALF MINE! WOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO

RE:  You can’t tell, but I’m staring at you.

QTMama:  Because we are both stupid so of course we will be single at 50. YOU SEE?!  This works out SO WELL.

RE:  I’m going to spend all my money on hookers, blow and race cars before we get married. Cause by then your vagina will be large enough to serve as a two car garage.

QTMama:  SO? You will love me nonetheless

RE:  Well, sure, you’ll be keeping the rain spots off my cars.

QTMama:  You know what. I don’t care if my vag is the size of a garage. You WILL LOVE IT. Cuz that’s how IT goes. And don’t be thinking you can hit on other women when we get married either.

help.

That’s right.

I’m going to quit saying it.

Instead, I’m going to replace it with: “You love me.”

Because, really, this is the message I am hoping to reinforce.

Obviously I’m not going to extend my love to someone if I’m not confident they feel the same way about  me – that’s just common sense, right?  Clearly.

So I figure by the time I decide that I love someone, they’ve long decided to love me and are probably just waiting for the right time to express such love for me.

If you think about it, I’m doing them a favor by breaking the ice.

It’s a pretty good plan.  I’m going to roll with it.