Random Esquire

1.  This is me watching basketball tonight:

“Who is playing?”

“Butler? Seriously? they named a school after a manservant? Well, I can’t say that that makes any sense to me at all. Who are they playing?”

“The Huskies? Isn’t that, like, a clothing line or size for chubby boys? So it’s the servants versus the chubby kids?”

“I gotta go with the servants. The huskies will probably tire by half time or take a break for cookies and juice.”

2. My uncle’s e-mail was hijacked and the entire family received an e-mail from ‘him’ stating that he was stuck in another country and would we mind sending him some money?

My uncle realized what happened and sent a follow up e-mail that said, “Ignore that last e-mail from the hacker. If you want to send money, send it to <his real address.>”

My cousin replied, “The joke is on the hacker. He thought we would send money if you were stuck in another country.”

Welcome to the family.

3.  As my condo buying deal is damn near finalized, I thought it was time for me to break the news to the boy. He’s grown up here and has never lived someplace else.  We sat down at dinner and I told him I had news for him. I then explained that we’d be walking in a new neighborhood, sleeping in a new room, terrorizing a whole new park full of dogs. And then I showed him a picture of the new place.

And you know what? He just couldn’t care less.

What a past few weeks filled with both condolences and congratulations.

For my part, I’ve been riding a bit of a roller coaster, as well.  Here’s how shit went down.

On Monday, I made an offer on a condo. The counter-offer made it clear that the sellers were still 1) in denial about the housing market and 2) my mortal enemies. After gnashing my teeth, I responded with a “take it or leave it” counter and on Friday – they took it.

Much rejoicing commenced.

Until the next Monday.  When I got the condo association meeting minutes and read about 3 units in the building in foreclosure. And one of them? Had been completely stripped clean. See, sometimes, when a person is ticked about being kicked out of their home by a bank (deserved or otherwise), they decide to take everything that isn’t nailed down. Kitchen sink, kitchen counter, bathroom sinks, toilets, EVERYTHING.

This displeased me.  Especially since I had the home inspection done and the unit I wanted was impeccable and perfect and lovely.

Also, the condo association president? Yeah, he can’t afford his home now, either.

What’s this mean? It means that all these units would significantly drive down the price of my unit.

I ain’t okay wit dat.

So on Friday – yesterday – I told my lawyer, “Burn it.” and I walked away.

It was like asking the prettiest girl in the world to marry you and she says YES! And then you find out her entire rotten deadbeat moocher family is going to move in as well. Oh, and they will eat your food and not make the bed and hey, can you spare $50 to float them just to next week?

Fuck that.

BAH.

1.  Dude. I’m back. Brace yourselves.

2.  I have been in a bit of a hole for two reasons. First, work had me swamped. Second? I’m looking at condos to buy.

Let me ‘splain sumpin about home buying.

I’m against it.

Okay, I’m not. It’s just… it generally sounds a little bit like a pain in the ass.  Which is nuts. And I got over it. I mean, not right away – but pretty quickly when I walked into a place I really liked. When I saw the kick ass wine fridge built into the granite topped kitchen counter. And the huge steam shower. And the two jacuzzi tubs. And the Brazilian cherry wood floors. Yeah. All that helped.

3.  Boss came to visit Little Filthy. He promptly buried himself in her bosom. I mean, see, this isn’t just me, folks – it’s like an animal response.

4.  The Italian got married in Las Vegas last weekend. He’s been trying to sell him home and buy a new one for the two of them.  He called me after he got back home and said:

“I just got hom from Vegas, dropped off my wife and now I’m going home.”

Then he burst out laughing and said, “Did you hear me? I dropped off my wife and now I’m going home! I have figured out LIFE and happiness!”

Well, some things can’t be argued with.

5.  Besos and Boss met each other yesterday. That was interesting.

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.

You may recall that I once sliced off the tip of my finger with a mandolin while cooking. I bandaged said finger and did not let it sufficiently air out, so to speak – resulting in a rather unsavory finger which I then offered to Little Filthy to smell – and he promptly licked my open wound.

Well, this time… I was cleaning a carving knife, it slipped and I watched in slow motion as it began to fall downward.  My first thought was that Little Filthy was probably below me and so I scrambled and reached for the knife.  That… was a mistake.

The result?

Crime scene in the kitchen.  I took my bloody fingers from the kitchen into the bathroom and attempted to stop the bleeding.  I admit, I paused to watch it bleed because I just so rarely cut myself and this is the first time that I could see it bleed…with a pulse.  I was strangely fascinated by the amount of blood and how quickly it clotted along my fingers.  See?  Eating steak does pay off. Anyway, once I had my fingers wrapped up, I made my way back into the kitchen where I witnessed Little Filthy kindly cleaning the kitchen floor.  Of my blood. With his tongue.

A friend called and I explained said situation to her.  I like that her first reaction was, “Are you fucking with me?” because there’s nothing better than being reminded that you’re a bit of a prankster while your lifeblood is steadily pumping out of your fingers.  I decided against stitches and realized I have no antiseptic. She suggested I pour vodka on it. Not one to argue, I proceeded to grab a bottle and splashed some on my fingers.  She mentioned cauterizing it but I’m pleased to say that I politely declined in favor of some antibacterial crap and multiple bandaids.

Finally, I went to sleep, tired after a less then stellar day and Little Filthy crashed next to me.  I woke up a few hours later and found Little Filthy, wide awake, staring down at something on the bed.  Turns out that blood does not agree with his stomach and the contents of said stomach were now about a foot from my face.

You know, I’ve had better days.  I’m going back to bed.

1.  When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.  Also known as:  When someone feeds you a shit sandwich, don’t bother asking for a second helping.

2.  Spend your money on things that can’t be taken away from you: Education, piano lessons, vacations, time with family, etc.

3.  How to cook. You know why? Because I eat. Duh.

4.  If you need help, ask for it.

5.  Don’t let pride get in the way of an apology.  In fact, don’t let anything get in the way of an apology.

6.  The less tolerant you are of dishonesty, the more tolerant you have to be of human frailty.

7.  People will believe anything if they 1) want it to be true or 2) are afraid that it is true.

8.  Most people just want to be heard.

9.  Until someone said to me “just be yourself”, I hadn’t realized there was an option.  There really isn’t.

10.  First Rule of Women: Be funny and bring money.

[Edited to add:  11.  Sometimes a feeling is just a feeling and not necessarily the way things really are.]

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.

My sister is worldly as can be yet suffers from a complete lack of pop culture knowledge.  She works a ton, has traveled the world, raises kids… but didn’t know what a MILF was when someone told her she was one.  When she tried a book club (of predominantly stay-at-home moms, they all talked on and on about a movie until my sister inquired, “What the hell is Twilight?”

SO, my sister was at a work event at which a gentleman was describing a contest of sorts in which the employees would be completing. He said, “The prize is a gift certificate to Tiffany’s! It’s quite sizable. You could get your wife a pearl necklace!”

Afterwards, another employee informed him that his comment made it sound as if a man was sure to win.  My sister, believing herself quite worldly and proud of her open mind, informed the room, “That’s not true!  A woman could give her wife a pearl necklace, too!”

A woman in the room snorted and said, “That’s not gonna happen.”

Someone politely explained the term to my sister.

Tell me an embarrassing story, please!