Random Esquire

This morning, on the Today Show, a woman who described the hunt for a missing girl by saying, “They are literally turning over heaven and earth.”

Except, she didn’t really mean literally.

She meant, “but not for reals, yo.”

Do people know what this word means?  It’s like adding on, “I means it!” to stuff. It’s supposed to mean that what you just said was FOR SERIOUS.

It’s a fantastic ONE word that captures the concept that the actual meaning of the words you spoke should be taken at complete face value as the truth.  How wonderful that there is a single word to even describe such a concept!  You don’t have to say, “I’m serious.  I meant the meaning of each and every one of those words and the statement I just made is completely true.”

You don’t have to do that! There’s a word for it! It is:  literally

What a brilliant language.

Here.  Let’s ruin it.

Literally.

Besos read and and watched the Twilight series/movies.  I, however, find the vampire kick completely boring and rather ridiculous.  The other day, however, I recorded the first Twilight movie on DVR so she could watch it again.  And today, I cleaned out the DVR and saw it and thought, “Okay, I can do this. Let’s see what the excitement is about.”

I made it an hour in before I had turn it off.

First of all – that brown haired duded who plays the native american friend of the main chick – whatshername (WHN).  That guy is as good an actor as John Goodman – which is to say: not at all.  And he’s dating Taylor Swift, right?  I don’t listen to country music but she seems quite nice and I’m sure they are quite nice together (if they still are together) but my first thought upon seeing him was that if he and Taylor Swift had kids, the kids might end up tan or pale, brunette or blond – but one thing was for sure.

They’d have some momofuku squinty-ass eyes.

Okay, next.

This kid who is a vampire.  This kid looks like some one frying panned him in the face.  By that, I mean that he has an unusually flat face.  I mean, he really has quite the melon on that neck and sometimes, I’m surprised he doesn’t topple forward but what the hell do I know – maybe he has and that’s why he’s flatfaced?

Then I gather that WHN figures out that FlatFace is a vampire and he says that she should see him for what he really is – out in the sunlight.  So NOW I started to pay attention because I was thinking that this was going to be like when the mask gets ripped off the Phantom or the burlap sack gets lifted off the Elephant man.  Flatface is all, “Wait until you see WHO I REALLY AM. You will be SO SCARED.”

And then the jackass steps into some sunlight and…

he sparkles.

Like a kindergarten art project.  Like…all glittery.

WTF?

For real?  That’s *IT*?

No skin blistering?  No blood red eyes?  No blood curdling scream from the girl?  He just sparkles like someone dipped him in glue and he rolled around in glitter? What the HELL?

And that’s when I turned it off.

As you know, I run a break-up service.  My primary client is QTMama.  However, as I plan on expanding my client base, it makes good sense to show you my work.  Below, you will see three letters I have most recently drafted for QT.

Please feel free to contact me should you be needing my services.  I guarantee 100% closure.

THE CLIENT LETTER

Dear QT,

We’ve received your most recent order for one break up letter and have three from which you may make your selection.  Please let our office know your selection at your earliest convenience.

RE Breakup Letters, Inc.

Selection #1:  The Attorney Style, on behalf of QT

Dear Mr. Jackpot,

I am writing on behalf of my client, Ms. QTMama, whom I represent in this matter.  It has come to her unfortunate attention that you are not so much Jackpot as Crackpot.  Or, perhaps, in an effort to maintain the theme of this relationship, one might say that you have come up Snake Eyes.  You’ve Crapped Out.  You Busted.  You bet against the House and lost it all.

As Trustee of Ms. QTMama’s feelings, I must tell you that I am disgusted at how you managed her emotional funds while they were in your care.  Your negligence has consequences, not only for her, but primarily, for you.  That consequence is that you are no longer entitled to manage said funds and are cut off from receiving additional funds.  Please act like a gentleman and do not attempt to beg for more funds from the coffers.

As a gambler, I am sure you know that if you squander the funds entrusted to you, you eventually ruin your credit and no more will be extended to you.

Cordially,

Random Esq.

2.  The Poetic Style, with apologies to Joyce Kilmer

To Whom It May Concern:

I think that I shall never see
A man as foolish as are thee.

A man whose feelings run amuck,
like a gambler, out of luck;

A man that sucks the fun from life,
with needless toil and worthless strife;

A man that may not ever lay
his hand upon my great snacktray;

Upon my bosom, men have lain,
but your attempts will be in vain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But not as big a fool as thee.

-QT

3.  The Short and Sweet Style

Dear Jackpot,

I do not like you anymore.

-QT

Again, please let us know your selection as soon as possible.  Most sincerely,  -Your Cookie, RandomEsq.

p.s. QT asks that you let us know which letter you prefer.

1.  I heard Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer today.  I just gotta ask, when is there ever a warm, moist air mass moving over the North Pole on Christmas Eve?  Is fog really an issue at the North Pole?  So I decided to figure it out.  Turns out that because the air is so bitterly cold, it takes a really small amount of water in the air before it saturates, resulting in fog.  But not of water droplets – of ice crystals.  And this is not an infrequent thing.  So I guess the song does sort of make sense.

2.  And then I realized that I’d spent far too much time thinking about that.  Because, really, is the fog part where the song loses credibility for me?  Not the anthropomorphic reindeer?  Or Santa or the LED nose animal?   No.  See, I quickly pinpoint the fog and question that.

Sometimes, my brain is useless.

3.  You may have heard – I have a new service that I’m offering.  But you’ll have to visit QT’s blog Friday morning to hear more about it.

Speaking of, check out that little Meg Ryan.

4.  I am the product of miscegenation.  This means that rarely a week will go by when someone does not ask me about my ethnicity.  However, I fully admit that it sometimes gets tiresome.  I would probably not mind except that most people seem to think that this is an acceptable way to inquire about your ethnicity:  “What are you?”

Sometimes, because I have decided to be playfully difficult, the conversation goes like this:

Person: “What are you?”

RE:  “American.”  Big smile.

Person: “No, I mean, like, where are you from?”

RE: “Oh!  Sorry – I’m from Chicago.”  Big smile.

Person: “Where were you born?”

RE: “Ohhh, Minnesota.”  Winning smile.

Person: “But what language do you speak?”

RE: “…English.”  Confused look.

Person: “I meant other than English.”

RE:  “Oh!  French.”

I don’t look French – even though I am 1/4 French.  I do appreciate the curiosity but sometimes, I want to make something up.  So I’ve decided to start saying, “I’m Caraway.  Perhaps you’ve heard of our seeds.”

5.  I realize that I have shifted this posture to Little Filthy. Once, while dining al fresco with the pooch under the table, a man walked by, did a double take at him and clearly wondered what breed he was.  The beast is pug-chihuahua.  The man said slowly, “What….is he?”

I said slowly, “He…is   a     dog…”

Amy Dickinson is an advice columnist for the Chicago Tribune.  She is often on NPR, too.  I used to think she was okay.  Until she informed a woman who had been raped that she was “a victim of [her] own awful judgment.”

*insert needle scratch across record*

You can read the article here.  Basically, a girl writes to Amy and relays a story about going to a frat party, getting intoxicated and being in a room alone with a boy.  She told him no, she did not want to have sex.  At some point, she realizes that he has gone against her wishes but she has a delayed reaction due to the alcohol.  They are then interrupted and must leave the room.  She asks Amy: “I guess my question is, if I wasn’t kicking and fighting him off, is it still rape?”

What is so massively offensive about Amy’s response is that she does not say, definitively, “YES.”

Instead, she says that the woman is a victim of her own bad judgment.  Then she warns against “getting drunk at a frat house” as it may result in “unwise or unwanted sexual contact.”   The problem here is that her logic reads like this: “You got drunk at a frat party.  Don’t you know that getting drunk like that often leads to unwanted sexual contact?”

Amy seems to have forgotten that there is no rape without a rapist.  She completely skipped over that little tidbit.

You don’t just get drunk and suddenly there’s some unwanted sexual contact.  There’s another party involved who is doing the unwanted sexual contact. Perhaps Amy meant to say:   if you get drunk at a frat house, your chances of unwanted sexual contact increases because rapists are more likely to target you.  But she just leaves it at “drunk at frat house = unwanted sexual contact.”  That’s unacceptable because while it may be a woman’s choice to get drunk at a frat house, that doesn’t mean she is consenting to unwanted sexual contact.

You know why rape happens, Amy?  Because there are rapists.  Not because someone got drunk.

I won’t be purchasing another Tribune or contributing to NPR while this woman still works for them or is associated with them.

Disgusted in Chicago,

RandomEsq.

p.s.  Please pass this on to your readers and encourage their voice be heard on the Tribune’s website.  I have left my comments there, as well.

1.  Dear Tiger Woods,

We know something’s up.

Shady.

Signed,

People who don’t really care beyond that point.

2.  Dear Couple who crashed the White House State Dinner,

WTH is wrong with you attention whores?

Dear Secret Service,

WTF.

Dear V.P.

Quit letting strange women put their hand on your chest and get a picture snapped.

Shady.

Signed,

Taxpayer.

3.  Dear Italian Public Prosecutor Guliano Mignini,

Are you the same public prosecutor that tapped the cell phone of Crime Novelist Doug Preston?  And bugged his partner’s car?  And dragged Preston down to Perugia to interrogate him and accused him of being an accessory to murder – all because he and his partner asked some questions about the serial killer in Florence who was never caught?   Right – you’re the one on trial for abuse of office and conflict of interest, correct?

You’re the same guy prosecuting Amanda Knox, right?

Just checking.

Shady.

Signed,

We’ve got our eye on you.

1.  You know how I said that marriage was basically a higher form of adoption?  I just want to make it clear that I think Woody Allen took that a bit far.

2.  So… I was invited to a Halloween party by a young woman.  Said party is an “Eyes Wide Shut” Halloween party.  The servers?  Costumed and masked models.

!!!

Said young woman is not Besos.

So I politely declined.

That doesn’t mean I won’t still dress up like this to terrorize Besos.

3.  My mother called me this afternoon while I was in the office.  She was also downtown.  I said, “Would you like to go to lunch?”  She said, “It’s too late for lunch… but I am doing volunteer work until 6.”

I know a hint when I hear one.

I said, “Oh! That’s perfect.  How about we get dinner together?”

What do you know? She said yes.

4.  Remember when I climbed on top of my kitchen counter to get picture of Little Filthy nabbing banana?

I think may try a series of pictures of him in the bathtub.  Except I’m pretty sure that the angle I want may require me to be in the bathtub at the same time.  Negotiations are ongoing.

5.  I went to a conference this morning.  It was mainly nerds.  In fact, during one of the keynote speakers, I looked around and realized that there were about 10 women I could see in a room of over 1,000 men.  And you know what?  I swear every one of those nerds was wearing cologne.  I wanted to clobber them all.

First, you don’t marinate in it.  Second, you’re at a conference.  Not a speed dating seminar.  Third, there are 10 women here.  Even if you mouth breathers had a fight to the death, those women would be long gone by the time you found your inhaler after Round 3.

Huh.  Turns out I really am a little surly on Wednesdays.

1.  I don’t understand when people text or IM: “What?”  It’s in print.  Just re-read it.  Just as stupid is when someone writes “um”.

2.  Whoopi Goldberg needs to read the Grand Jury testimony of Polanski’s victim.  If that’s not rape….oh wait, It Totally Is.

3.  I have a cold.  My nose will just suddenly run.  Just,…out of the blue.  and like before, when it does, it feels like my face wet its pants.

4.  I’m sorry I am so slow in responding to comments.  I love reading them.  I will be better.

5.  On my walk home from work, I cross a street on to which many cars are trying to make a left turn.  Those cars get a left turn arrow which then disappears – meaning that they no longer have the right of way and must wait for pedestrians to cross the street on to which they are turning.  Got the scene?  Want story? here I go.

So!  I waited at the corner while the cars turned left and then the arrow disappeared and I got a walk signal.  I stepped out into the intersection and a car came to a screeching halt about 4 feet from me.  A woman in her car was turning left and did not look to see if people were crossing the street.

I was momentarily stunned and I stopped for a moment, taking it in.  At this point, she yelled and drove forward another foot.

And that…is when I got angry.

I held my hand out toward the car and said, “COOL IT” – because crossing the street immediately by me was a man and woman with their baby in a stroller.  The driver crept closer to all three of us who were staring at her.  She came within no more than two feet of the three of them.

And that…is when the father got angry.

The man put his hands on the roof of her car, standing in front of it as if he was going to push it backwards and he waited while his wife crossed the street, yelling at her while she yelled back.

What did I do?  I stood next to him and pointed my camera phone at her.

You know what?  It freaked her the fuck out.

Which, it turns out, wasn’t really necessary.

Because I didn’t have time to actually get a picture before we both got out of her way and she burned rubber down the street.

But this is known as The Camera Defense.  Boss used to tease me about this but I am a firm believer that most people will act like complete assholes if they think it is a relatively private affair.  But if you point your camera phone at them, they usually get their shit together pretty quickly.  Once, on our way to the lake with Little Filthy, I honked at a guy who was straying out of his lane into mine.   At the next light, we were next to each other – me on the right side of him.  He started to yell at me so I picked up my camera phone and pointed it at him and his wife instantly turned and told him to STFU and stop it.

Point of the story?

PAPA BEAR FTW!

The Camera Defense FTW!

I am, for the most part, in a perpetual good mood.  But there are days in which I get completely fed up with things, when I want yell, and when I need to purge the system.  Today is that day.   Let’s begin by blowing off steam.  As I sometimes hate the sound of even my own complaining, the rest is behind a the cut.

(more…)

No,

I do not want to read your pamphlets about Jews for Jesus

and

No,

I do not have a moment to talk about the environment.