Random Esquire

Meg Ryan is very down to earth and far prettier in person than you’d expect.

Okay, so that’s not really Meg Ryan.  And it wasn’t a date.  But it could be Meg Ryan. About 20 years ago.  Before she was over plasticized.  You know. When she was cute.  Quite appropriately then,…this is QTMama who certainly lives up to her moniker.

I met QTMama and her friend, Jenn, last night.  We drank, laughed, and ate our way through a good four hours before walking to an Irish pub for more drinks and laughter.   Here’s QTMama’s re-cap of the evening.  Tonight is dinner and dancing.   Some small shots from last night.

QTMama holding her drink:

After dinner drinks, one of which QTMama aptly identified as reminiscent of the scent of her grandfather’s garage. Damned if that wasn’t spot on.  One was coffee based, another slightly sweeter and mild and the last had enough capsaicin in it to make me cough just from sipping it.

Off to stir up more trouble with the ladies.

1.  I love how we can carbon date the Shroud of Turin but can’t figure out how old a couple of Chinese gymnasts are.

2.  The Italian called me on Monday very excited.  It seems he’d found a new porn website that featured Latin women.  I asked him, “If a woman that young and that attractive hit on you, would you sleep with her?”  He said, “If I got a woman that hot, it’d be because she wanted to steal my car.”  I burst out laughing.

3.  ‘Cleavage’ is sort of a harsh sounding word to describe something so good, isn’t it?  Couldn’t someone come up with a better word than something that sounds like you split open a dinner roll?  or chopped something in half?

4.  Besos described our relationship as a constant state of half amusement, half embarrassment.  Hmm.  I wonder which half I am.

5.  Have you ever had someone tell you a sexual fantasy and it was, more or less, one of your sexual fantasies as well?  And you were stunned at your good fortune?  And then you blinked and wondered if you were on some twisted version of Candid Camera?  Anyone?

no?

1.  I tried tamarinds this weekend.  Besos cracked open the pod and I bit off some of the sticky fruit.  Then I shuddered as drool drained out my mouth.  Okay, that’s not entirely accurate - but it was damn sour.  I can’t believe that I hadn’t had it before.  Then I decided that I wanted to eat more things that I’d never eaten before.  So I tried menudo.  Only, I found out later that Besos had told the server that I was a novice and so some things were left out of the soup.  I demanded to eat whatever was omitted so the server brought me a bowl with a calf’s foot in it, which I ate bits of while Besos cringed.  And then I ate a taco…with tongue.  That’s right. A tongue chunk taco.  Again, Besos cringed and shuddered.  What else should I try?

2.  The local newscast showed a bar where supporters were cheering on an Olympic athlete from a neighboring town.  They interviewed a woman and I did a double take at her.  She had the deepest vertical wrinkle I’d ever seen between her eyes.  It looked like a slot for a vending machine and I wondered if anyone was ever tempted to slide a quarter into her forehead.

3.  I’m officially a photographer (I guess) in that I’m going to get paid for some photographs.  Which is ironic.  Because LynchSeattle had to explain what an F-Stop was to me just last week.  How about that. I’m like a half-ass idiot-savant.

[Edited to add:  Just spoke with Besos and now I'm disturbed I picked at the calf foot.  I don't like the idea of eating something that probably stepped in its own feces.  Or anyone or anything else's feces, for that matter.  Yeah, probably no more foot for me.]

1. I find it humorous that I somehow manage to be a bit of a foodie and to enjoy some incredible meals and yet yesterday, I found myself banging two frozen waffles together over the sink wondering if too much ice had formed on them to get them crispy. And then I burned them in the toaster oven. Foodie FAIL.

2. I noticed a bulge in the bathroom ceiling yesterday. I quickly figured out that the air conditioner’s condensation drain was clogged (the AC is above the bathroom) and that the kill switch to prevent the pan overflow had obviously failed. But for a moment, as I stared at the bulge, I hoped that it would beat and pulse and indicate the presence of a evil spirit or poltergeist in the hopes that I could avoid calling AC repair and just opt for a priest or crazy little old lady to tell me that ‘this house is clean.’

3. Last night I saw Plush and she is just as great as ever. She’s a peach, that one.

4. My friend (new nickname: Sitcom) had a bit of a wild night at a bar a while back. It began with a bit of a slap-fight that turned into kissing that then ended with a night of passion, as they say. So life continued on after that evening and then Sitcom finds out that this person she’d had this fight/night with? Yeah, he won an Oscar. Sitcom calls up her friend to tell said friend about this bit of news but before she begins her story, Sitcom’s friend excitedly tells her story…that she (friend) just slept with a guy who designed a Target circular and wasn’t that terribly exciting?! Sitcom’s friend was so excited to have actually slept with the guy who decides if the video games belong in electronics or toys. And Sitcom then had to tell her that her wild fling was with an Oscar winner. Talk about raining on someone’s parade.

This made me think that I need a more exciting job.

1. Little Filthy likes to dig in any bag you happen to leave on the ground. Laptop bag? Check. Gym bag? Check. Purse? Check. The last few times Besos has been over, he’s managed to get into her bag and take out a metal tin of mints. We realized only when we heard him shaking it with his mouth, trying to open it. He’s eaten a pack of gum out of Boss’s purse, as well. Today, I heard him in the other room and Besos said, “I zipped my bag. He can’t get in it.” I wasn’t so sure. I walked back and saw Little Filthy with his head entirely inside her overnight bag. His head emerged and something dropped out of his mouth and on to the ground. I leaned over, picked it up and blinked.

It was a g-string.

I handed it to Besos. She sighed, took it from me and said, “Well, he’s definitely your dog.”

2. My buddy (the same who suggested I upgrade to first class on our ride to hell) participated in the Chicago Dragon Boat races this past weekend. (See picture example here.) Apparently, he wasn’t on the winning team. He complained about the difficulty of competing against the fire department and the police department. He said, “Those dudes are all like 6 foot 3…and I know you’re required to have six women on each team but they ought to make you have six actual Asians on a team.” Yeah. He’s Asian.

3. I am once again struck by the fact that I find the borderline offensive funny. I said something *cough* tongue-in-cheek to Boss tonight to which she responded, “You’re RIDICULOUS.” But you know what? I don’t think you’re allowed to tell me I’m horrible if you’re laughing when you say it. In fact, I’m pretty sure that just encourages me.

4. Take a look at that handsome devil! Chip off the old block, that g-string stealin’ little monster.

1. Little Filthy is resting on the couch with me. He has an odd habit. He moans. When he’s really sleepy, he moans and groans. And if you touch him, he moans like it’s the best thing since walks and parks and biscuits. It’s actually a bit disconcerting because it is so loud, people can hear it on the other end of the phone. Which, I imagine, is rather disconcerting for them, as well.

2. The Seattle Gang is comin’ to Chicago. Bev, LynchSeattle, and Avitania. I suspect we will get blynched, which is code for getting drunk. I would like it if they met Boss, Plush, and Besos. However, upon some reflection, I realized perhaps not all at once.

3. Instigator and I have a date Thursday night. It’s a fake-date. A fate, if you will. Wait, no, that isn’t quite right. It’s a Dake. Well, you get my point.

4. You can’t make this stuff up, people.

“APPLETON, Wisc. (NEWSCHANNEL 3) - A couple in Wisconsin telephoned police in the middle of the night after finding a man in their basement covered head to toe in barbecue sauce.

“He told the officers that it was urban camouflage,” said the homeowner.”

5. QTMama did an entry on spooning. About a week ago, she asked me if I was a sleep-toucher and said that I didn’t seem like one. I don’t think I know any more. But I was surprised that she could get this impression because I didn’t even know it was an impression people gave. I don’t seem like a sleep toucher?

You know who loves to spoon? Little Filthy. The second you are on your side, he jumps on the bed, flops down and pushes his back as close as it can get to your chest and puts his head on your pillow.

And moans.

1. You may recall the previous entry in which I briefly discussed The Italian’s gratitude toward someone who helped his girlfriend pick out a certain something for her to wear. There was some natural curiosity about what exactly this outfit was. I couldn’t figure it out from the description he gave me so today, while we were on the phone, he found it online and sent me the link. I opened it up and looked at the picture. And then I said to him, “You. Fucking. Lucky. Bastard.”

Calling it an outfit is accurate. Because…parts of it were cut out. And the rest of it was see-through.

Bastard.

2. I sent flowers to Besos on Friday. Her reaction? She called me and sing-songed, “Youuuu liiiike meeeee.” It made me want to laugh and pull out my hair at the same time.

I told The Italian that I sent her flowers. He was shocked. He said, “You sent her flowers?! Flowers are a declaration. And it ain’t the declaration of independence.”

Bastard.

3. The other day, Besos said to me, “I have big feet.” Unless a girl’s feet are slapping around like clown shoes, I am unlikely to notice or care. I had never thought her feet were big so I was unsure how to respond. I mean, she doesn’t look like she’s going to topple over or anything but I’ve also never looked at her and thought to myself that it would take a pretty healthy gale to tip her over, either. I just don’t notice these things.

Today, she sent me a text message: “I also have a big head. You might want to trade me in for a smaller model.” She’s 5′4″. How big can her head be? Here is our exchange:

RE: “Oh yeah? Trade you for someone with a smaller head and smaller feet?”

Besos: “Exactly.”

RE: “I’ll take out an ad.”

Besos: “Oh.”

RE: “Yeah, I thought about it some more and I’m just going to deal with your big noggin. But we’re going to lop off your feet. That seems like a good compromise.”

Besos: “Hey! But they are pretty.”

RE: “Okay, you can keep the feet and we’ll just lop off the toes.”

Besos: “Okay…I guess.”

See? I am solution oriented.

1.  Jesse Jackson sure stuck his foot in it with that open mic.  Turns out he actually said the N-word.  And I don’t mean the word ‘nuts’ when he said he’d like to cut Obama’s nuts off….which is so ridiculous, I hardly know how to respond to it.  The odd thing is that just about 2-3 weeks ago, I ran into Jesse Jackson here in Chicago.  I was surprised to see him alone and not with anyone.  I hope someone is with him now, protecting his nuts.

2.   Will some nice gay man please take Bev to see Mama Mia?

3.   Speaking of nuts and gay men, The Italian’s current girlfriend wore a particular outfit in the bedroom that made him very happy.  Her gay male friend chose it for her.  The Italian wanted to thank said gay man and mid-ramble, casually said he’d lick this guy’s nuts.  I said, “Whoa whoa whoa, back up, back up….”

He said, “Yes?”

I said, “Did you say lick his nuts or suck his nuts?”

He said, “I said lick.  I’m not that gay.”

Intelligent repartee:  don’t look for it here.

1. I said something remarkably stupid to Besos. Here’s the thing…sometimes I forget that she’s Mexican. I realize that sounds stupid. But I forget. (Hey, pretty women do this to me…) Until at one point last weekend, I looked at her and sort of did a double take. She said, “What?” I said, “Sometimes I forget that you’re Mexican.” I could sense her resisting the urge to groan or roll her eyes. She said, “What?!” I said, “I forget and then I look at you and you look distinctly Mexican and then I realize that it’s like…it’s like I’m dating Maria from Sesame Street.”

I know. I know.

I’m an idiot.

2. Do extra-large eggs come from extra-large chickens? Or does the same size chicken lay different sizes of eggs, which are sorted later?

3. This morning, on the news, a reporter said, “Three masked men banged on the front door and burst in…and that’s when things turned bad.” I don’t know. I think the turn happened a little earlier, myself.

4. Emma Thompson is out. I have a new soccer mom crush. It’s Natalie Morales from The Today Show.

(more…)

My work on Friday afternoon was diverted with The Italian called me.  And he wished to talk Plush.  So we talked Plush.  Then, he broke out in song.  About Plush.  I told him he should sing to her and, never one to shy from a dare, he said, “Then call her!  Let’s conference her in.”

So I called her.  Mind you, The Italian and Plush have never met.  I said, “I have someone on the other line who wants to say something to you.”  Plush, completely unfazed, said, “Okay!”  So I made the connection and then…then, my friends, The Italian serenaded Plush with…Brandy.  As in, “Plush, you’re fine girl, what a good wife you would be! But my life, my love and my lady is the sea.”

Seriously.

Plush laughed and complimented his singing.  This was generous of her because Plush…well, suffice to say that Plush can sing.  Then I told the Italian that he should sing the theme song from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (one of his favorite things to do).  He asked her to sing along.  Did I mention that Plush was at the gym and on the ab machine?  Yeah.  So I pointed my handy Treo at the phone and recorded it as they both sang the entire song…The Italian while driving and Plush while doing crunches.

These two must never meet.  Complete chaos would ensue.  However, it is hopeless to wish some things never to come to pass because the Italian is coming to Chicago to visit this summer and I know he will not rest until he has a dose of Plush.

Prepare thyself, Random.