Random Esquire

I watched part of snowboarding competition.

And it struck me as sort of interesting that someone can win a gold medal in the olympics

in a pair of jeans.

Interesting!

I’m sort of fascinated with the different levels of comfort people have with each other regarding bathroom things.

For instance, there was the Hair on Soap.

Recently, I wondered about sharing bath towels.

I asked a few people and the reaction is all over the map.

Some people don’t care at all.  Other people?  Other people are downright violent about this topic.

SingleMomMindy said, “No WAY!”  When I asked why, precisely, her response was to inform me that she “wouldn’t share underwear either.”  I asked if she thought it was fair to compare a towel to underwear.

“I do.”

My friend, Bev, said she’d rather share a toothbrush than a bath towel!

Bath towel doesn’t really bother me.  Whatever. At least they were clean when they used it, right?  Underwear?  Well, I assume by sharing underwear, you mean that you’d be putting it on clean – though it seems other issues at work with that one, aside from just sanitary ones.    But toothbrush!  That’s interesting to me.

So, I’m curious:

1. What do you think about sharing a bath towel with your better half?
2. Not right when they are done using it but after it has dried.and
3. Which would you rather share with your better half?  A toothbrush or a towel?

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?!

8 Cookies + Beers + 6 Shots at the Bar = Socks on your teeth in the morning.

I could do the mathematical proof for you.

But let’s just take my word on this one.

I tried to explain flirting to QTMama today.

I said, “If a woman puts my hand on her boob, then I know she’s interested.”

I went on to explain that if I squeeze it, that means I am interested, too.

However, if I am not interested, then I fake a grand mal seizure.

This is so I can still squeeze her boob but then topple over on to the ground.

I don’t think she understood, though, because she mentioned our plan on getting married at 50 if we’re both still single.  (We also discussed my work bonus.)  The conversation took a turn for the worse.  Witness:

QTMama:  DUDE.  I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING.

RE:  WHAT.

QTMama:  When we get married?! That BONUS IS HALF MINE! WOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO

RE:  You can’t tell, but I’m staring at you.

QTMama:  Because we are both stupid so of course we will be single at 50. YOU SEE?!  This works out SO WELL.

RE:  I’m going to spend all my money on hookers, blow and race cars before we get married. Cause by then your vagina will be large enough to serve as a two car garage.

QTMama:  SO? You will love me nonetheless

RE:  Well, sure, you’ll be keeping the rain spots off my cars.

QTMama:  You know what. I don’t care if my vag is the size of a garage. You WILL LOVE IT. Cuz that’s how IT goes. And don’t be thinking you can hit on other women when we get married either.

help.

That’s right.

I’m going to quit saying it.

Instead, I’m going to replace it with: “You love me.”

Because, really, this is the message I am hoping to reinforce.

Obviously I’m not going to extend my love to someone if I’m not confident they feel the same way about  me – that’s just common sense, right?  Clearly.

So I figure by the time I decide that I love someone, they’ve long decided to love me and are probably just waiting for the right time to express such love for me.

If you think about it, I’m doing them a favor by breaking the ice.

It’s a pretty good plan.  I’m going to roll with it.

My 8 year old daughter’s buddy – lets call him ‘Matt’ – was over the other day.

Matt is 9 and a neighbor and my daughter’s best friend (not that she would admit this in a million years, he is a boy after all). Daughter and Matt were goofing around and decided to play ‘dog‘. By that I mean that Matt pretended to be a dog and Daughter pretended to be his owner.

I was in an adjacent room, paying very little attention because that is the kind of attentive parent I am. Then, I hear Daughter speaking with an English accent – quite a decent one at that.

She is saying stuff like ‘Now you be a good doggy or I shall have to become more strict‘ and ‘You are being a very, very bad boy‘ and ‘If you keep being naughty, I shall have to punish you.  BAD doggy‘ and he is making sad puppy noises.

I decided to take a closer look (what with being supermom and all) and there is Daughter, holding the end of a piece of twine as a leash, with the other end forming a ‘collar’ around Matt’s neck.  Matt is on all fours, seemingly content with his role in this little drama. It was reminiscent of – well things I felt I shouldn’t be thinking of.  Later, I was recounting the story to my husband, telling him how Daughter was pretending to be a British dog owner.

Daughter overheard and jumped in to correct me: “Mom – I wasn’t a dog OWNER.  I was a dog TRAINER.  Because Matt was a very, very bad dog and needed a lot of training.”

Well that really put any doubts to rest.

My little one is practicing to be a dominatrix.

And a rather good one too – the next day she played over at Matt’s house and came home sporting a shiny new pedicure.

She proudly told me Matt had polished her toes.

11:30 a.m.  sunshine. sleep with blanket.

1:30 p.m. move with sun to couch.  take blanket with.

2:00 p.m.  fell asleep mid-stretch.

3:00 p.m.  something on paw.

3:10 p.m.  nope. back to sleep.

I woke up this morning and thought, “I want to play guitar.”

It isn’t the first time I’ve had this thought.  My sister and I grew up playing multiple musical instruments but I’d never learned how to play the guitar.

At 10:20, I called up Buddy who has played for years and said “I want.”  Response: “Go get.”

By 11:30, I had purchased a guitar, case, strings, music, tuner, picks, etc.

By 1:30, I wished for callouses on my fingers.

I sent a picture of my red-lined, string molded, throbbing fingers to Buddy.

The response?

“Poor you.”

Bastard.

I walked into Instigator’s office today and when she looked up from her computer at me, I paused.

She was wearing lipstick.

See, Instigator usually puts on lipstick after I walk into the office.  She puts on lipstick for me.  What’s the point of having a work girlfriend who doesn’t wear lipstick for you?   I recalled seeing a large group of people in one of our conference room and quickly deduced that they were her people and that she was wearing lipstick for them.

I said, “Those your people?”  She nodded.  I made a circular motion with a hand indicating her face and said, “I just want you to know that I know this wasn’t for me.”

She ignored me.

Churro joined the conversation with me and Instigator.  The three of us were discussing something when Fresh Express wandered in.

I am ashamed to say that it was…. how shall I say this,…  it was pointedly obvious that Fresh Express was not wearing a bra.  I attempted to go cross-eyed rather than endure.

Afer she left the room, I sighed and said, “Could she please wear a bra?!”

Instigator looked at me and said, “Could she please wear some shoes!”

I gaped. I hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t been wearing shoes, for God’s sake.  I’m pretty sure that if  Denny’s would refuse you service based upon your level of dress or undress, then certainly it is not appropriate for the office, no?

Churro chimed in that yes, in fact, Fresh Express was walking around in a pair of socks that were “fucking filthy”.  Sure enough, I noticed them later.  They were purple Donny Osmond socks, my friends.  And they were black on the bottom.

I’ve mentioned that Fresh Express once washed her socks in an office coffee pot, right?

See, this is why you don’t drink office coffee.  It could just as likely be Fresh Express Sock Dirt colored water.

Unacceptable.