Random Esquire

1.  I torture Besos.

I mean, not in a truly mean way.  In a fun way.  It’s fun torture.

She got to my place last night after a long day at work.  I had made her dinner.  She ate, exhausted and hungry after a long day.  When she had finished, I looked at my watch and announced that she had 30 minutes to digest.

She stared back at me.

I said, “You know… before we do it.”

Frankly, I think she was impressed at my thoughtfulness.

(+1 Random.)

2.  I called Besos today while we were both working.  She is oftentimes with someone in her office.  She answered, “Besos speaking.”

I said, “Helllooooo.”

She replied, “Honey, I have someone in my office.  Can I call you right back?”

I said, “You can touch your boobs and say my name.”

She said (through what sounded almost like gritted teeth), “RANDOM!”

Obviously, however, she used my real name.

I hung up.

(Tie/Draw)

3.  She called me back.  She said, “Hello,” in that meaningful way.

I said, “What?  You didn’t want to touch your boobs and say my name?”

She said, “Oh, I did.  Didn’t you hear me say your name?  I was touching my boobs in front of people in my office.”

*Blink*

Sometimes, it is less fun when she plays along.

(+1 Besos)

Dammit!

1.  Apparently, I’d been doing something that Besos found less than charming.

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.

I’m laughing at the confusion caused by the previous Wrong Answer Random entries.

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 –

Lest you get the impression that Besos has anything less than a great sense of humor, here’s this morning’s conversation:

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.

Tonight, I got a text message from Besos.  It said:

“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.

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?

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.

“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 …

(more…)

1.  I am working today – on MLK Day.  Best thing I heard?

“I think all somewhat brown people should have today off. I’m so annoyed that I’m sitting at my desk.”

Amen.

2.  QTMama and I may, in fact, be getting married at age 50.  Not the best weekend for either of us.  However, she sent me a message that did make me laugh.

“I read eight books in four days. Have not turned on the tv in days. Is the world okay?”

3.  I’ve decided I want to try my hand at nude photography.

That is the type of sentence that needs all kinds of clarification.  I have decided I would like to try my skills at photographing nude subjects.  There isn’t really any way to tell someone you’d like to try this without sounding at least slightly like a douchebag.

4.  Do you ever have an ache of sorts and it feels like someone is jabbing a finger in it and making it worse? And then you realize OH, IT IS YOURSELF.

5.  I am going to write an entry on breast size.  I don’t know why I feel like I have to brace people for that.