Random Esquire

I introduced my sister to the term “Funsuck” this weekend.

Here’s how the conversation happened – and to preface it, I’ll say that my sister has a friend – Sara – who, upon first meeting her, I identified as pleasant enough but also just as likely to hang you by the feet in her lair and deposit her eggs in you.  She’s… stiff.  Just everything about her appears rigid.  When I asked her if she had any siblings, she stated, “One.  We don’t get along.”

Well.  Aren’t you just lovely?

Anyway – back to funsucks.

Sister:  Sara is having a big 40th birthday party.  She decided that if she wasn’t married by the time she’s 40, she’d throw herself a big party.

RE:  You know why she’s not married?  Because she’s a funsuck.

Sister:  RANDOM!  (She was laughing.)  What??

RE:  A Funsuck!  Someone who sucks all the fun out of life.

Sister:  (laughing) She even sent out invitations.

RE:  Does it say “Happy 40th” to me??

Sister: No…. they are calling it a Family Celebration.

RE:  Does it say “Family Celebration in lieu of wedding“?

Sister:  No!

RE:  What a funsuck.

You know the people I’m talking about, right?  This is the person who, through some unseen force, is able to drain the life blood out of a group of people.  A person who has just gone sour, like milk.  Or like  mayo left in the sun to turn yellow.  Everyone else has to accommodate or compensate in some way by putting on a smile and paying attention to them, etc.  My sister and I refer to this as shaking a rattle at a baby.  Because when the baby fusses, someone has to go shake a rattle until he calms again and everyone else can return to having a good time.

Funsucks, of course, are closely related to mopes – who, as I have said, should be put down.

Dude, tell me who your funsuck is.

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.

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.

My sister likes to ring me on her way home from work some days. She’s usually pretty entertaining because she’s very prim and proper but says off the wall things.  For instance, she said that she’s going to show her kids the movie Mystic River so that they never run away.   And arranged a Black Market Baptism for her kids (which involved cutting a check).  And she once said that getting my niece off of diapers was like pulling someone from a line of coke.  She just says stuff like this and I find it really off the wall.

That brings me to the other day.  First, some background:  My niece has a very old fashioned name.  For our purposes here, I will use the name Bonnie for my niece because it is sufficiently old and rare enough to make the point.

My sister called me and informed me that Bonnie had just attended a birthday party.  She said, “All the other kids were running around the yard, playing.  Bonnie just wanted to sit and watch and eat cookies.  She just wants to eat cookies!”

I laughed.  My sister cried out, “A  fat kid named Bonnie isn’t gonna have any friends!”

I protested through my laughs and said, “Don’t say that! What’s wrong with you?”  I could practically hear her shrug.  She said, “I’m just honest.  You know how kids are.”

I suppose, like me, my sister is not here to gloss over the truth.

That brings me to my next story.

Today she called on her way home and announced that there was a warrant out for her nanny’s arrest.

*Blink*

See, that’s not the sort of thing you begin with.  You’ve got to ease your way into that kind of bomb.

It turns out that her nanny received a ticket and it was mailed to an old address, never paid, fail to appear, blah blah, boom!  Warrant.

I think we would both be more alarmed if it weren’t for the fact that my sister and I are sort of fascinated by being so close to someone so on the edge of the law.

We’re a very straight and narrow bunch.  We gotta take our excitement where we can get it.