Random Esquire

1. The Italian called me and woke me up yesterday to tell me that his son asked him, “Dad? What’s a clitoris?”

Yes, I’m serious.

The Italian responded, “I don’t know but I know where to find it.”

I told him to tell his son that it was a woman’s Staples Easy Button.

2. I went to lunch with Instigator and spent hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Okay, so that’s not entirely how that shit went down – but more or less how it happened. We went to lunch and I told her about an awesome loft I had seen the day before but that someone had already made an offer on it. She said, “let’s just drive by!” We drove by. Next thing you know, I called my realtor and we put in an offer. Then a third party made an offer and suddenly, I was in a bidding war.

I got the loft. And it’s kickass and awesome and perfect.

But maybe next time, I will just meet Instigator for coffee.

3. The other day, Besos and I were in the living room and Little Filthy was no where to be found. It was quiet. Too quiet. We found Little Filthy in the bedroom with a tube of Chapstick between his paws, the top chewed off and half the actual Chapstick clearly eaten.

*sigh*

4. I have train rage lately. To avoid my train rage, 1) don’t put stuff on the seat next to you when there are people standing, 2) let me off the train before you try to get on, 3) stand the hell up and give your seat to pregnant women, 4) don’t ask me for money – for any reason, and 5) on the escalators leaving the station, stand to the right, walk on the left. Is this too much to ask, people?

5. I jerked awake the other night after a nightmare. In it, I was on an upstairs balcony of a home, in a hall that overlooked the living room. A nanny was there, watching a baby crawl. The baby stopped crawling and sat down with his back toward the railing. I asked the nanny, “Can the baby fit through the rails?” She said no. And then I watched as the baby leaned back and his head slipped right between the rails, his legs shot out to get balance and he slowly began to fall back between the rails. I yelled and lept forward to reach for him. That’s when I jerked awake.

What the bloody hell.

As a child, Boss went through a phase in which she would only eat white foods. I find this fascinating since my only qualification for if something is edible is 1) if it stopped moving and 2) I can fit it in my mouth.

This prompted a discussion with Instigator on if we could give up a particular color of food. I offered that blue was the obvious choice because so few foods are naturally blue.

“Oh, I couldn’t give up blueberries.”

I said, “Well, that’s pretty much all there is for blue. It’s like, either one thing – the blueberries – or an entire other color. What other color could you give up?”

“Aren’t blueberries really more… violet?”

“No, no, no! I mean, the actually color is in the name of the food! They’re blue! Quit splitting hairs! What color would you give up?”

She thought for a moment and said, “Black.” Apparently someone doesn’t care about blackberries.

I said, “What about coffee? You drink coffee every day!”

Instigator said, “I eat blueberries every spring! And isn’t coffee brown?”

I said, “No. You can’t go changing the color of coffee as if everyone in the world doesn’t refer to is as ‘black coffee’. It’s black. It counts as black. If you’re going to give up black, you have to give up coffee!”

I am passionate about food color, it seems.

We then spent 20 minutes discussing the merits of some food colors.

If you try to eliminate green, you might as well just give yourself a heart attack. I mean, that’s just asking for trouble. Red would be difficult – apples and meat and strawberries… Yellow would mean no more lemons or eggs. Who wants that? We tossed around orange but decided giving up orange juice would be hard. Plus, I like mangoes.

Instigator was steadfast. She was going to give up black and keep her blueberries. No more coffee, black truffle, blackberries – none of it! She loves her blueberries.

I said, “What about… CLEAR things? Could you give up clear things?”

She stared at me, puzzled.

I said, “okay – let me put it this way – would you rather give up alcohol or blueberries?”

She said, “OH. BLUEBERRIES.”

There you have it. The world according to Instigator.

Alcohol > Blueberries > Coffee.

When I was visiting my parents recently, they pulled out a file of drawings my sister and I did as children. You may be familiar with some of our other differences.

Now, let me explain what you’re about to see… This was a workbook of sorts that we each colored while in kindergarten about ourselves, our lives and our family. With that, let’s get started.

PAGE 1:  THIS IS MY HAND

We were each supposed to draw a picture of our hand. Here is my sister’s hand, complete with manicured nails and a ring.

Let’s see my hand:

Seems okay so far, right?

PAGE 2: THIS IS MY FOOT

Sister’s foot – complete with toes and instep. Also, possibly some injuries.

My foot – notice that I did not even bother to take off my shoe.

PAGE 3: THIS IS MY HAIR

Sister’s hair: She took time to give herself a part.

My hair: I took time to give myself blue eyes.

Note the obvious family resemblance.

PAGE 4: THIS IS MY HOUSE

My sister lives in a significantly more beautiful home than I do. Her home has a garage, driveway, door, window, chimney, tree and tulips.

My house is yellow. Bonus:  roof.

PAGE 5: THIS IS MY BED

Sister’s bed has a headboard, footboard, pillows, and ruffles. Also, a person added for size scale.

Meanwhile, I apparently thought the square in which we were to depict our bed was the actual bed. Also, I couldn’t be bothered to pick up another color crayon so my bed matches my house.

PAGE 6: THIS IS MY FAMILY

My sister has taken the time to give my father glasses and a tie. Also, note the accurate representation that my mother’s hair is darker than my father’s.

I don’t even know what to say about my picture.

PAGE 7: THIS IS ME. I AM WONDERFUL!

(seriously, that’s what it says at the top of the page):

Sister: Ahh, the colors!

Me: I included the full page, for maximum effect. WTF.

PAGE 8: THIS IS MY FAVORITE TOY

My sister enjoys her yo yo!

This is my favorite toy.

Can’t tell what it is? Let me help.

Clearly, it’s a blender, people.

There you have it. Sister vs. Random: Kindergarten Style

1.  My life would be complicated if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener.  Here is how I came to that conclusion.

I was eating a corndog from Trader Joe’s. Turns out it is actually made from soy but it occurred to me that it had been so long since I’d eaten an actual hot dog that I don’t even really remember what the hell they taste like.  This made me think of hot dogs at the ball park. Then I thought of Ball Park Franks.  Then I thought of Oscar Mayer and that weiner song:

“Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener; that is what I’d truly like to be. Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener, everyone would be in love with me.”

And I thought about it… can you imagine what it would be like if everyone was in love with you? What a sordid, dirty mess.

That’s when I decided that my life would be complicated if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener.

2.  As I walked through a parking lot today, I saw an orange on the ground. My first thought was that I wanted to throw it. It was about the size of a baseball and I wondered if I could throw it all the way across the parking lot. This made me imagine playing catch in a parking lot and I wondered if someone would say that was stupid because there could be a wild throw that ended up with a baseball busting through a car window. But that didn’t seem as likely with an orange. Unless, of course, it was the middle of winter and the orange was frozen solid.

I left the orange alone.

3.  Little Filthy had some bumps on the back of his neck, on the skin – flaky bumps. When I tried to look at them, he would jump if I touched them. So he went to the vet today. He got a full check-up, routine shots, etc. They did a fungal and bacterial check on the bumps… both negative. But he got an antibacterial shot and some shampoo and if it isn’t better in a week, he goes back for a skin biopsy. He got home exhausted after the day at the vet and I gave him some wet food. This pleased him. Then I gave him a bath.  This displeased him. Then when I made him sit on a chair and covered him with some pink blankets?  Then he was downright pissed.

I asked Besos tonight if she wanted a cookie. She said yes and opened her mouth. I grinned and grabbed a cookie and put it in her mouth.  While I did so, I said reverently:  ”The body of Christ.”

I mean, I know it’s not.  Sometimes, these things just strike me as funny and I am not good at resisting the urge to amuse myself.  Why should I? Why should everyone else be able to enjoy my humor but me?  The thing is, I’m sort of fun to have around!

Yes. I realize I sound like an idiot. It’s a problem.

Anyway, back to the story. I said, “The body of Christ.” as I placed the cookie on her tongue.

Her eyes got big and she reached out and swatted me.  This is because Besos is good and would never say such things.

I then went to open my beer and reached into a drawer for the opener. I have a kick ass vegetable peeler which saw fit, at that moment, to slice my thumb open.  I looked down at my bloody thumb.

*sigh*

Dammit, OKAY, I get it, Jesus. It’s a cookie. Not the body of Christ.

This just means that should the situation arise again, I will now say: “The body of Christ…but not really.”

Which, quite frankly, is probably good advice for anyone.

1. I have the song “You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille” in my head. Except, I keep saying, “You picked a fine time to leave me, loose wheel” because of some goofy joke I heard as a child.

2. I’m going to write a book called “You’re so vain, you probably think my Facebook status is about you.” Maybe. Or maybe I will call it “You’re so vain, you probably think this FAP FAP FAP is about you.”

3. I cleaned behind my fridge for the first time in years. I found something that belonged to Boss – it was candy. It somehow made me remember one time when I had done something that had upset her. I drove 200 miles and stood outside her place, which I think was on the 7th floor, called her and told her to look out the window where I was holding a huge posterboard sign that said, “I’m sorry.”

4. Christmas is almost here. Someone is excited.

1.  Instigator sent me an IM on Monday that said, “Random, I had a terrible dream about you.”

Inwardly, I flinched, wondering if she was going to relay the gruesome details of my demise from her dream.  I said, “What happened?”

She said, “You spur of the moment decided that you were moving out of Chicago. Like, to L.A. or something. You are not allowed to move. F.Y.I.”

I blinked.  That’s it? I moved out of town?

I said, “I thought you were going to say I died or something.”

Instigator responded:  ”Same thing. You leave, you are dead to me.”

2.  After relaying more of my cut finger saga (which I am now referring to as the Finger Flesh Flap debacle) to a friend, I asked how her day was going.  She said, “Great! Glad you’re having a good day, too!”

I paused.

I asked what part of FFF lead her to believe that I’d had a good day.

She politely informed me that she was being sarcastic.

D’oh!  I said, “I’m too literal!”

Her response?

“More like gullible.”

3.  Nurse at Urgent Care looking at my FFF wound: “Why didn’t you come in for stitches?”

RE: “I don’t know. I figured it had to stop bleeding sometime.”

Nurse: “Did you clean it with anything?”

RE:  ”Ummm… Vodka.”

Nurse:  ”Vodka.”

RE:  ”Yes. But, I didn’t use a flavored kind.  I could have used blueberry, raspberry or vanilla. But I used plain.”

Nurse:  ”Had you had some to drink before then?”

RE:  ”No…why?”

Nurse: “Because you make decisions like a drunk.”

End of year means I end up spending the rest of my flex pay stocking up on various OTC medications lest my immune system fail me and I suffer a cold.  I studied a box of cold medicine today.  A couple of things struck me.

First, it said “Keep away from children.”  What do these people take me for, an idiot? If I have a cold, I’m obviously not going to be playing with children and infecting them.  Duh.

Second, the directions said “take with a full glass of water.”  I have two sizes of glasses in my cupboards.  One is about 10 ounces.  The other is around 16.  I wondered which one they meant.  I suppose they don’t even know what sizes I have so there must be some generic equivalent of a glass.  So I did what any red blooded American would do.

I googled that shit.

“Depends on the size of the glass” was a popular response.  Thank you, Google. But apparently, most people take a glass as the equivalent of a cup – 8 ounces.  So, take with a full 8 ounces.

Which made me wonder why a pharmaceutical company wouldn’t find it in their best interest to be more specific?  For instance: “Take with at least 8 ounces of water.”  Maybe they were more concerned about specifying that it should be water instead of, say, the generic ‘liquid‘ which I readily admit may allow me to interpret this loose language by chasing my medication with a beer.  And since a beer is 12 ounces, I’d feel rather like I’d complied fully as directed.

This then made me wonder what would happen if I tried to dry swallow the pill.  Or just suck on it until it melted away, like hard candy.  Surely, I’d swallow at least a few ounces of my own spit doing that, wouldn’t I? Though, honestly, the idea or recollection that we spend much of our day more or less swallowing our own spit was distasteful enough to think about that I briefly considered just becoming an open mouth drooler.

This then got me thinking about open-mouthers – a.k.a. Mouth Breathers.  Perhaps I’ve judged them too harshly.  While I previously just assumed that they had little concern for things other than rolling 16 sided dice and getting in line for the latest Will Shortz book, perhaps they are just hoping that they will swallow less spit purely through evaporation.

It occurs to me that I overthink some things.

1.  I have just decided to refer to masturbation as ‘self-soothing.’

I don’t masturbate.  I self-soothe.

Life skills, people.

2.  I went to dinner with a friend last week who insisted I not dare her to do something because she can not resist a dare.  Naturally, I dared her to steal some silverware.  Without hesitation, she picked up a serving spoon and stuck it in her back pocket without a second thought.  I laughed.

I mean, I laughed until she went to go use the restroom and walked across the restaurant with one of their huge serving spoons sticking out of her back pocket.

She returned and said softly, “I don’t even want to tell you what happened in the bathroom.”

Apparently, she forgot about the spoon until that split second before touchdown, when she heard it *plop!* into the toilet behind her.  I laughed, picturing the many people who would be wondering why a serving spoon was at the bottom of a toilet.

She looked at me and said, “I felt bad! It could have ruined their plumbing…”  I lifted my eyebrows.

Yup.  She retrieved the spoon.

I didn’t ask any questions.

3.  FAP FAP FAP.