Random Esquire

Last Wednesday, I took off work so I could accompany Besos to the hospital for an endoscopy.  I took along my camera.  This is because it is not every day that you get to see the inside of someone’s stomach and I wanted to document said procedure for posterity.  And when I say “for posterity”, I mean “for the blog.”

This may come as a shock but sometimes, I am annoying.  Like, really annoying.  That is exactly how I seemed when I bounced into her place, big grin on and camera ready to rock and roll.  Except, did you know this …?  that being the person who is going to get the endoscopy is actually a lot less fun than being the person who gets to stare at the inside of a stomach?

Me:  “Do you think they’ll let me in with you? Do you think they’ll let me film it?”

Besos:  “NO AND NO.”

Me:  “I think if you consent, maybe I can watch.”

Besos:  “We’ll see.”

Me:  “Do you think they’ll let me film it?”

Besos: “NO.  I am telling you NO.  You can not film it. I am saying NO.”

Me:  *Sad Trombone Sound*

Guess what?  They didn’t let me in.   Otherwise, I could be showing you a picture of the inside of a Besostomach.  I know! Bogus, right?

So, that was Wednesday.  My day for the hospital came last night. (more…)

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?!

1.  It’s obvious when I’m over-thinking anything.  I stop writing.  Clearly, clearly, the writing I do takes really, just the barest minimum of thought.  Minimal thought = de rigueur to write or read RandomEsq.

2.  You know what I’m eating?

Birthday cake.  Random FTW!

You know how QT wished me a happy birthday?

“Happy Birthday, Retard.”

Like I said, folks – a minimal amount of thought is good.

3.  I put my parents on my mobile phone plan and got them each new phones with a keyboard. Then I got them unlimited text messaging.  And then I got my first text message from them.

“hi.”

Well, that’s proven useful.

4.  I have four dates tomorrow night.

That’s right.

Four.

Well, I’m taking four ladies to dinner.  Not four different dinners. I couldn’t eat four dinners in a row.  Or even out of a row.

I let the chef know I was coming and bringing four attractive women with me.  He’s going to demand two of them.  I’ll let him choose which two he’d like.

And then I’ll take one back as a finder’s fee.

And he’ll only get one.

And I will get three.

And it will be RANDOM FTW!

5.  Well, after that brief week of nearly no writing… I do believe I am back in the saddle again.

Today I discovered that I might be adopted.  Or may have been born in the back of a taxi cab.  Or to two drunkards.

The jury is out.

Here’s how it came about.  I was filling out this W-2 thing to have it sent to me electronically instead of via mail.  In order to confirm my identity, I was asked the city of my birth.

I dunno.

I know that seems ridiculous but really?  I don’t know.  How many times have I had to cough up that information?  Nearly none.  So I don’t remember.  It’s a waste of my brain space.  So I called my parents and they answered on speaker phone.  I said, “Hey, I gotta fill out this thing…where was I born? like, what city?”

And I’ll be goddamned.

They *paused*.

Then my mother said, “Why do you want to know?”

And see, that?  Right there? That right there?

THAT’S NOT FUNNY.

I said, “What do you mean WHY?  Dude, if this is how I find out that I was adopted, I want that washer and dryer back.”

Oh, did I mention they got them?  They did.  They were delivered on Saturday and they kindly sent me a picture.

Okay, back to the business at hand.

Well, they started laughing and told me where I was born.  They seemed pretty pleased with themselves.  I’m sure that they were only disappointed that I wasn’t in front of them to witness their sideways glances.

WTF.

1.  I feel the need for another guys night with Editor.  The ironic thing about guys night is that we talk about women the entire time.

2.  I finished all of my Christmas shopping.  Again, this isn’t because I just couldn’t wait to get started.  More that I see Christmas as a band-aid I prefer to rip off in one quick motion.

3.  Sitcom will sometimes say, “That’s so gay.”  Now, lest you think Sitcom is being derogatory, I will tell you that she is not.  She is nothing if not open minded.  However, if you don’t know Sitcom and you heard her say it, it is possible you might get that impression.  But don’t worry.  You see, every time that Sitcom says, “That’s so gay, ” she follows it by clarifying to anyone within earshot, “I mean ‘gay‘ as in ‘totally lame‘ – not like ‘gay‘ as in the totally awesome homosexual way.”

It makes me laugh every time.

4.   Little Filthy has a new baby.  It’s a moose.  He takes it everywhere.  I put his leash on today, turned to grab my coat and when I turned back, his moose was in his mouth.  I had to explain that the moose did not go outside.  Moose sleeps in the bed with us.

This is a sad, sad family.  heh.

Do you dance?

I marvel at people who can’t dance.  It just seems normal to move your body to the beat of music.  My best memory about dancing was with one of my first girlfriends who was Puerto Rican.  We shook our money maker down on Miami beach.

I grew up in a relatively musical family.  My sister and I play no less than 7 different instruments between us.  Her children are also growing up with music in the house and will most likely take some sort of instrument lessons.

Anyway, I happen to stumble across this article which asked the pressing question All the Single Babies: Why do Tots Love Beyonce? This question arose after the slew of videos turned up on Youtube of babies dancing to the Single Ladies video.  (See a lot of them here.)   Turns out, according to the article,  babies/tots love high contrast visual stimulation… and a good beat… and repetition.  And her video?  ALL OF THE ABOVE.

Soooooo, I’m going to visit my sister on Thursday.  My niece is 3 1/2.  My nephew is 1 1/2.  Now, when I arrive, my sister and my brother-in-law will still be at work. And it seems only fitting that I give the nanny a break when I arrive, right?

So, it’s gonna be me.

And the kids.

And my laptop.

That’s right.  I’m going to let them watch the video.  Over and over.  And I’m going to film their reaction.

This is for science, people.

For science.

I told Instigator today that I was buying Christmas gifts now so that they would be delivered when I am in NYC this week.  That way, I can wrap them and my sister will be surprised, as well. (She normally ends up wrapping the gifts I ship there.)  It’s all about proper planning.

Instigator asked if my niece and nephew would also be opening the gifts when I was there.  I said no, they would have to wait until Christmas but I was getting gifts now.

Then I said, “We’ve all already exchanged Christmas lists.  We don’t have time to dilly dally.  Christmas is very un-romantic in my family.  We swap lists, we swap money.  It’s a transaction.  If Christmas was sex, it’d be prostitution.”

I know.  It’s hard to believe that Christmas is not a big thing for me.  Especially considering how I took time to explain Easter to Little Filthy.  (“Jesus, cave, blah blah, third day, blah, stone rolled away, blah blah, if he sees his shadow, there are six more weeks of winter.”)

Here’s the thing… we aren’t particularly religious.  This means the whole Jesus thing?  We’re not convinced.  There.  I said it.  Well, at least, my sister and I are open to other options.  Excuse us if we’re cynical.  It happens after each spending four years attending and collectively giving over a quarter of a million dollars to Notre Dame – and getting donation cards in the mail from the University every other week.  Of course, there was also that priest the performed the Black Market Baptism on my sister’s kids for a generous donation to his mission in Sri Lanka.  Then there are all of the hypocrites.  Basically, I don’t care what you believe – as long as you treat people well.  (And, by the way?  Seems Jesus agrees.   Matthew Chapter 25: 31-46.  I knew studying theology would be helpful at some point.)

So, yeah.  Christmas?  EH.  I could take it or leave it.

Having said all that… when I look at my niece, who is 3 1/2 right now, I still want her to feel that Christmas is a special time of year.  I want her to be excited on Christmas morning.  I want her to believe in Santa Claus.  I want her to look forward to giving gifts and experiencing the happiness that comes with giving.  And yes, I hope it will be a year round thing and not just once a year.  I want her to be mesmerized by a Macy’s store window.   I can’t really help it.  I want her to like Christmas.

I know I said I could take or leave Christmas.  But really, Christmas probably isn’t for the taking or leaving – it’s for the giving.  So I’m giving it to my niece and my nephew in all its glory.  I’m giving it in the form of decorations, traditions, colorful paper, big family dinners and lots of time together.  I might just end up loving Christmas.

I’ll let you know.

1.  Yesterday, on my way home from work, I was in a train car with a positively stunning woman.  She was blonde, wearing a skirt and heels and had great legs.  She had very blue eyes.  She looked about 45 or so.  Perhaps closer to 50.  Partly what made her look so stunning was that she was so elegant looking.  We got off at the same stop.  I live near a dance studio and I was unsurprised to see her walk into the front door.  Ahhh, a dancer.  Well, that explains the legs.  Anyway, I remembered the incident because in my head, I thought to myself, “Ah, now she is a woman.”

2.  Yes, everybody, peanut butter goes bad.  Besos had managed to find a jar of peanut butter from the back of some cupboard that had gone untouched since my break-up with Boss.  How do I know this?  Because Boss likes creamy peanut butter and I like chunky.  Besos had found some old jar of creamy peanut butter.

Only spoiled kids get creamy peanut butter.  Down to earth kids get chunky.  We have to make that shit creamy.  In our mouths.

3.  Kennedy came into my office yesterday and I tossed him one of the apples I had brought in with me.  We sat there with our feet on my desk and ate apples.  And talked about apples.  And we both decided that honey crisp apples are great.  Any mushy apples suck it.  And we wondered who was eating mushy apples?  And then I remembered this entry in which I told this story:

“Speaking of Boss, the other day, we were in the grocery store buying apples. Actually, we were buying many different things because we have bulk buying issues. However, at this point, we were in front of the apples. There were quite a few varieties to choose from. She said she likes softer apples. I said I like crisp apples. She said she doesn’t like it when a big piece breaks off when she takes a bite. I said I love it! And we stood there and stared at each other as if we’d never met. No one thinks to ask these important questions until it’s too late and you fall in love and then you’re stuck buying two different kinds of apples for eternity.”

4.  You know, in retrospect, I’d have chosen a different nickname for Besos on my blog.  Perhaps a name that was more than one letter away from the nickname of my Ex.  I’m pretty sure that one day I will screw up and and swap Besos for Boss or Boss for Besos and then I will have at least one woman angry with me.

And I’m pretty sure that woman will be a Latina sporting some Mexitude.

And if you’ve got any goddamn sense at all… you know… you know never to screw with a Mexitude-fueled Latina.

Of course, the problem is that I have so little sense at all.

I spoke with my sister this morning.  Her son is 18 months old.  She put him on the phone and he said, “Boom boom POW!”

I said, “What?”

He said, “BOOM BOOM POW!”

Then my sister picked up the phone and said, “He likes that song by the Black Eye Peas.”  I laughed because I was shocked her kids had heard something other than Mozart.

I mentioned that I was going to go skydiving in Seattle.

My sister said dryly, “Why are you going to Seattle for that? Don’t they have that locally?”

I assured her that we did but that I was going with friends in Seattle.  She was quiet for a moment and then said:

“I THINK THAT IS RETARDO.”

Then I got a lecture.  Have I mentioned that she is my older sister?  I thought she had gone skydiving and so I mentioned this to her.  She said:

“I WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING THAT STUPID.  I DON’T WANT TO DIE BY SPLATTING.”

I hadn’t thought of that before.  Oh well.  I think it will be fun.

1.  Some people are so grumpy when they wake up.

2.  Boss came to visit Little Filthy last week.  It occurs to me that there was no real discussion on who the monster would stay with when we split.  Nevertheless, I like to think he chose me in a courtroom setting by coming to me instead of Boss when we called to him.  But this is ridiculous because the dog doesn’t come to anyone when called unless your breath smells like peanut butter or dog treats.

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