My sister started laughing and said, “What?!”

And then we discussed whether or not it had any merit.

So what say you, readers?  We all know it isn’t true all the time – I’m just curious about if you think there’s some truth to it at all.

What do you think?

You remember him, right?

He’s the Jewish guy.

Glad we’re on the same page.

The Italian has resumed his former love affair with a Venezuelan woman.  The most obvious indication of this is that he can not stop talking at 100 miles per minute.  Here’s a snippet of our most recent conversation which we held over the phone while in the office.  Vinnie is his co-worker.

The Italian: “You are a very attractive man. And I do mean that sexually.  That’s my favorite thing to say. I say that to everyone. Mainly to my boyfriend, Vinnie. Did you know Vinnie was my boyfriend?  Oh, she [hot Venezuelan girlfriend] hates it when I call him that. But I call him that. VINNIE! Do you like it when I call you my girlfriend??”

[Heard in the background]: *SIGH* “I’m better with it since you started seeing [hot Venezuelan girlfriend] again.”

The Italian: “HA HA HA, He doesn’t mind! He’s my boyfriend! He’s in the next cube! We share a cubical wall!”

RandomEsq: “Is there a glory hole in your cubicle wall? You can tell me. I am your friend.”

The Italian: “Oh no no no no, no glory hole! RIGHT, VINNIE?! Oh, I just love Vinnie. He’s my boyfriend.”

RandomEsq:  “Is your dick in the glory hole right now?”

The Italian:  “HAHAHAHA! NO.”

RandomEsq:  “You’ve been getting a lot of sex, haven’t you?”

Whenever The Italian gets a lot of sex, he is wound up like a whirling dervish.

The Italian:  “OHhhhh yessssssss. LOTS OF SEX.  The best. We can never break up again. It can’t happen. I’m short, bald, and ugly.  I can never break up with [hot Venezuelan girlfriend] again!”

RandomEsq:  “DUDE. What is wrong with you!”

The Italian:  “Drugs. NOOooo, ha ha ha!  NOW THIS IS THE STORY ALL ABOUT HOW MY LIFE GOT FLIPPED TURNED UPSIDE DOWN…”

and then he was off. Singing Fresh Prince.

Yes.  Seriously.

I almost want to give out his number so you call can experience it.

RE:  What about Gordon Ramsey?

Beth: Gordon’s attractive in a what-an-asshole! way.

RE: See right there. That kills me – That there even is a “what an asshole” way of attractiveness.

Beth: Oh, I guess it’s like the whole bad-boy thing women are attracted to.

RE: This just stumps me. When I think of what I want in a chick, I never think I’d like a whore with spending problems.

Beth: As for sleeping with Gordon, I’d go on a date with him and see what he was like as a “real” person.

RE:  Wait wait wait.  Back up.  What do you mean “what he was like as a ‘real’ person”?  You want him to actually be nice?

Beth:  Well, I presume he has as TV persona that’s more extreme than his everyday persona. I’d want him to be interesting. And yes, kind.

RE:  So, the thing that first attracted you to him, you don’t actually find attractive?  Man, seriously, women love faux assholes.

Beth:  I think it’s his take-charge-ness that really attracts me.

RE:   Guys don’t want to date a girl who is a whore, take her home, and then find out she’s a prude.  They like a girl who is sweet and then are pleasantly surprised when she turns out to be a whore.  See how that works?  That makes sense to me.

If I may now direct your attention to my earlier post:  Do men like whores?

So, tell me… Do women like bad boys and if so, why? I have a theory on this but want to hear what you all have to say.

I know.

I was just as surprised as you.

This came to light when her head exploded, spreading ash across much of the midwest thereby prompting the FAA to cease air travel for nearly 24 hours.

Perhaps you heard.

2.  I then informed Besos that it would be helpful if she told me these things when they occurred.  I said, “When a dog poops in the living room, you have to catch him.  You’re not supposed to just find it and then go get the dog and rub his face in it.  By then, he doesn’t understand. You have to catch him in the act.  I didn’t know I’d been pooping in the living room.”

I looked up from my meal to find her staring at me, chewing thoughtfully.  I said, “Bad analogy?”

She nodded.

3.  Besos and I then had a conversation about my alleged lack of sensitivity in one of my recent blog entries.  She was quite stern.  She said, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  She wasn’t familiar with the ..um, the joke about rolling a girl in flour.  After I explained it to her, I watched her sit there and try to look stern but fail because she was forcing herself not to laugh.  +1 Random.

4.  Besos then mentioned an incident that happened about a year ago while she was at her brother’s place and her parents were visiting.  It seems she was in the room next to her parents and *cough* heard some things.  She had previously described said things as ‘baby talk’.  However, she elaborated on the story through shudders of disgust.

I said, “Ohhhh.  I didn’t realize your dad was going for penetration.”

I looked up at her staring at me with an open mouth, teeth bared and eyes almost squeezed shut.

“Agghhhhhh!!!!”

And then I understood why she was upset.  Because she caught me pooping in the living room and let me know it was wrong.

See, I’m really not that complicated.

No one is getting married anytime soon.  We (Besos and I) were teasing each other.  That’s it – no one is engaged, etc.

We just are obnoxious about teasing each other.

– Now Back to Your Original Program –

Besos:  Someone proposed to me this morning. You’re late to the party, honey.

RE:  Did you accept?

Besos:  Thinking about it.

RE:  Did you get a diamond ring??

Besos:  It’s in the mail.

RE:  Did someone really propose?

Besos:  Not this week.

RE: You kill me.

Besos:  I’m just teasing you, sweetheart.  I don’t want to get married.

RE:  *Blink*

Wait.

WHAT?

Then I just couldn’t stop laughing.  Because it cracks me up when she gives me a hard time.

And let’s face it.  No one could date me without a decent sense of humor.

Hell, no one could stand me if they didn’t have a sense of humor.

bah.

“I am going to marry the next person who asks me.”

*Blink*

I froze in place and wondered why I was always late to the party.  Then I snapped out of it and responded:

“HEY!”

She didn’t miss a beat.  The next text said:

“Need to check it off my list of things to do before I am thirty.”

I responded:

“You’re 35!”

Well.

Ya know,…that is the wrong response.

Wrong.

If you were wondering.

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?

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.

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