Random Esquire

In an earlier entry, I discussed spooning and sleeping close, noting that I have a few sleep quirks. Here we go.

1. I don’t like used air. If someone is breathing out near my face where I am breathing in…I don’t like it. It’s used air.

2. I don’t like warm air. I don’t get how some people can sleep under covers or with their head buried in a neck. Warm air feels like used air.

3. I don’t like to be tilted. Man, I hate being tilted. I can’t take a bed that sags in the middle. I have a memory foam mattress specifically to avoid the issue of tilting. Spooning doesn’t cause tilting on this kind of mattress. If someone sits right next to me on a couch and that causes me to tilt…I move. I do not like to be tilted.

4. Don’t touch that spot on my neck. Women often put their hand on my collarbone or shoulder. I like that. A lot, in fact. But if a finger strays toward my throat…I have to move it. I don’t know why but it makes me feel like I’m choking. Shirts never make me feel this way, even a turtleneck. But a hand on the front, base of my neck makes me shudder.

5. I turn my head to the right. If I turn it all the way to the left, I feel like I can’t quite breathe. A little to the left is fine.

I’m sure there are probably more but those are probably the oddest and I don’t think they’re terribly odd. Come on. Fess up - what’re yours?

1. Little Filthy is resting on the couch with me. He has an odd habit. He moans. When he’s really sleepy, he moans and groans. And if you touch him, he moans like it’s the best thing since walks and parks and biscuits. It’s actually a bit disconcerting because it is so loud, people can hear it on the other end of the phone. Which, I imagine, is rather disconcerting for them, as well.

2. The Seattle Gang is comin’ to Chicago. Bev, LynchSeattle, and Avitania. I suspect we will get blynched, which is code for getting drunk. I would like it if they met Boss, Plush, and Besos. However, upon some reflection, I realized perhaps not all at once.

3. Instigator and I have a date Thursday night. It’s a fake-date. A fate, if you will. Wait, no, that isn’t quite right. It’s a Dake. Well, you get my point.

4. You can’t make this stuff up, people.

“APPLETON, Wisc. (NEWSCHANNEL 3) - A couple in Wisconsin telephoned police in the middle of the night after finding a man in their basement covered head to toe in barbecue sauce.

“He told the officers that it was urban camouflage,” said the homeowner.”

5. QTMama did an entry on spooning. About a week ago, she asked me if I was a sleep-toucher and said that I didn’t seem like one. I don’t think I know any more. But I was surprised that she could get this impression because I didn’t even know it was an impression people gave. I don’t seem like a sleep toucher?

You know who loves to spoon? Little Filthy. The second you are on your side, he jumps on the bed, flops down and pushes his back as close as it can get to your chest and puts his head on your pillow.

And moans.

I spoke with my sister tonight.  My niece is 2 and my nephew is 4 1/2 months old.  She said, “I’m going to get the kids baptized.”

I said, “Oh, yeah? What prompted that?”

(Just for the record, I realize the correct answer is “Jesus” but I asked, nonetheless.)

My sister said, “Well, you know I’m not all Catholic but it’s easier to do this when they are young. Otherwise, it’s a pain in the ass if they decide to get baptized later.”

Did I mention that my sister and I both went to Notre Dame?  That might have backfired.  We’re not all Catholic.  We’re Cafeteria Catholics.  (I’ll take some of that…a little of that…none of that please…)

She continued, “But if I do it here in town, I have to join the church and all that.  So instead, I have this friend…and she knows a priest.”  She might have whispered that last part.  I can’t remember because I was already laughing.

She said, “Yeah, I just have to make a donation.  To his mission.  In Sri Lanka.”

So I’m going to go visit and sign the paperwork to be a godparent.  And then, when the kids get older, I can tell them all about how their mother acquired a black market baptism for them from some beatnik poet dressed in black making money on the side by painting white-out on his collar and blessing the children with Pellegrino.

You know, since he’s for hire, maybe I’ll get Little Filthy baptized.  Anyone want to make sure my dog grows up properly? He’s going to need some godparents.

1. You may recall the previous entry in which I briefly discussed The Italian’s gratitude toward someone who helped his girlfriend pick out a certain something for her to wear. There was some natural curiosity about what exactly this outfit was. I couldn’t figure it out from the description he gave me so today, while we were on the phone, he found it online and sent me the link. I opened it up and looked at the picture. And then I said to him, “You. Fucking. Lucky. Bastard.”

Calling it an outfit is accurate. Because…parts of it were cut out. And the rest of it was see-through.

Bastard.

2. I sent flowers to Besos on Friday. Her reaction? She called me and sing-songed, “Youuuu liiiike meeeee.” It made me want to laugh and pull out my hair at the same time.

I told The Italian that I sent her flowers. He was shocked. He said, “You sent her flowers?! Flowers are a declaration. And it ain’t the declaration of independence.”

Bastard.

3. The other day, Besos said to me, “I have big feet.” Unless a girl’s feet are slapping around like clown shoes, I am unlikely to notice or care. I had never thought her feet were big so I was unsure how to respond. I mean, she doesn’t look like she’s going to topple over or anything but I’ve also never looked at her and thought to myself that it would take a pretty healthy gale to tip her over, either. I just don’t notice these things.

Today, she sent me a text message: “I also have a big head. You might want to trade me in for a smaller model.” She’s 5′4″. How big can her head be? Here is our exchange:

RE: “Oh yeah? Trade you for someone with a smaller head and smaller feet?”

Besos: “Exactly.”

RE: “I’ll take out an ad.”

Besos: “Oh.”

RE: “Yeah, I thought about it some more and I’m just going to deal with your big noggin. But we’re going to lop off your feet. That seems like a good compromise.”

Besos: “Hey! But they are pretty.”

RE: “Okay, you can keep the feet and we’ll just lop off the toes.”

Besos: “Okay…I guess.”

See? I am solution oriented.

1.  Jesse Jackson sure stuck his foot in it with that open mic.  Turns out he actually said the N-word.  And I don’t mean the word ‘nuts’ when he said he’d like to cut Obama’s nuts off….which is so ridiculous, I hardly know how to respond to it.  The odd thing is that just about 2-3 weeks ago, I ran into Jesse Jackson here in Chicago.  I was surprised to see him alone and not with anyone.  I hope someone is with him now, protecting his nuts.

2.   Will some nice gay man please take Bev to see Mama Mia?

3.   Speaking of nuts and gay men, The Italian’s current girlfriend wore a particular outfit in the bedroom that made him very happy.  Her gay male friend chose it for her.  The Italian wanted to thank said gay man and mid-ramble, casually said he’d lick this guy’s nuts.  I said, “Whoa whoa whoa, back up, back up….”

He said, “Yes?”

I said, “Did you say lick his nuts or suck his nuts?”

He said, “I said lick.  I’m not that gay.”

Intelligent repartee:  don’t look for it here.

1. I said something remarkably stupid to Besos. Here’s the thing…sometimes I forget that she’s Mexican. I realize that sounds stupid. But I forget. (Hey, pretty women do this to me…) Until at one point last weekend, I looked at her and sort of did a double take. She said, “What?” I said, “Sometimes I forget that you’re Mexican.” I could sense her resisting the urge to groan or roll her eyes. She said, “What?!” I said, “I forget and then I look at you and you look distinctly Mexican and then I realize that it’s like…it’s like I’m dating Maria from Sesame Street.”

I know. I know.

I’m an idiot.

2. Do extra-large eggs come from extra-large chickens? Or does the same size chicken lay different sizes of eggs, which are sorted later?

3. This morning, on the news, a reporter said, “Three masked men banged on the front door and burst in…and that’s when things turned bad.” I don’t know. I think the turn happened a little earlier, myself.

4. Emma Thompson is out. I have a new soccer mom crush. It’s Natalie Morales from The Today Show.

5. Boss and I went out to eat last night. She had a mango martini. We each had a nice calamari salad. Diver scallops for dinner.

1.  It occurred to me today that we’re all just a bunch of intestines, blood, organs and viscera, etc.  Which made me think, “Thank God for skin.”  But then we’re just these great big bags of skin, filled with intestines and blood and organs and viscera, etc.  Ugh.  And we touch each other.

FTW.

2.  Again I am mystified when I see a hair on the train.  A hair from someone’s head.  Food they bought at some grocery store and then ate contributed to the make-up of that hair and that hair grew on someone’s head and survived multiple hair washings until it eventually fell out and landed on someone’s coat before it was walked to the station and it eventually fell.  On the train.

I don’t like it.

3.   There are millions of people who routinely urinate and do not wash their hands.  Because they somehow think that it’s okay to touch things after a brief encounter with their own genitals.

I love the song Paradise by the Dashboard Lights.

Don’t hate me for being juvenile.

My work on Friday afternoon was diverted with The Italian called me.  And he wished to talk Plush.  So we talked Plush.  Then, he broke out in song.  About Plush.  I told him he should sing to her and, never one to shy from a dare, he said, “Then call her!  Let’s conference her in.”

So I called her.  Mind you, The Italian and Plush have never met.  I said, “I have someone on the other line who wants to say something to you.”  Plush, completely unfazed, said, “Okay!”  So I made the connection and then…then, my friends, The Italian serenaded Plush with…Brandy.  As in, “Plush, you’re fine girl, what a good wife you would be! But my life, my love and my lady is the sea.”

Seriously.

Plush laughed and complimented his singing.  This was generous of her because Plush…well, suffice to say that Plush can sing.  Then I told the Italian that he should sing the theme song from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (one of his favorite things to do).  He asked her to sing along.  Did I mention that Plush was at the gym and on the ab machine?  Yeah.  So I pointed my handy Treo at the phone and recorded it as they both sang the entire song…The Italian while driving and Plush while doing crunches.

These two must never meet.  Complete chaos would ensue.  However, it is hopeless to wish some things never to come to pass because the Italian is coming to Chicago to visit this summer and I know he will not rest until he has a dose of Plush.

Prepare thyself, Random.

1. I told a friend today I was going to hell. His response? “Upgrade to first class so we can sit next to each other.”

2. If a girl shows you the massive bug bite on her swollen, red thumb, you should say, “Whoa, that looks painful! Does it hurt?”

You should not say, “Might as well get that cut off now. Spare yourself the agony of watching it rot off.”

That is what you should not do.

3. I had lunch with Instigator today. I paid. You know why? Because she was wearing a skirt and put on lipstick. I’m a simple creature. I believe there will be a party at Instigator’s place in August. Getting invited is like scoring an invite to the Oscars. I asked if there would be a swag bag. She said yes, we’d have to bring one in order to get into the party.

4. I mis-text a lot. Please tell me I’m not alone. I’ll send a text message and then realize I sent it to the completely wrong person. It isn’t entirely my fault. It’s how my phone stores text messages. But…yeah, not so smooth.

5. I had the chance of meeting Ms. Single Mama last night but circumstances prevented it. Circumstances being United Airlines. Which sucks.