February 25, 2008
2. Moby Dick
3. A few good men
6. Soft and comfy
8. With cream and sugar
12. Mont Blanc
13. Rubbick’s cube
14. Las Vegas
15. Airbus 340
16. Maurice Leblanc
17. Pizza Hut
19. Polo Ralph laurent
20. I am sorry
February 21, 2008
February 20, 2008
February 17, 2008
We were looking for a Chinese table set complete with chopsticks and the likes. I am not a big fan of chopsticks, I tend to poke my eye with them while trying to insert rice, one grain at a time, into my open mouth. I mean, we got to Chinese restaurants for the food, and that food tastes just as good with a fork. But, she wanted chopsticks.
Chopsticks, for those of you who don’t know, come in many different variety. Disposable, cheap, expensive and exorbitant. She, being a woman, of course, wanted to buy the exorbitant ones. The ones she selected were made our of ivory. Not the synthetics, disgusting kind, but the real ivory that comes from elephants. They were the most beautiful chopsticks I have ever seen. Of course, ivory makes them extremely slippy and only useable by real Chinese or the cast of “friends”
Nevertheless, ignoring the total uselessness of these chopsticks to me as potential user, she decided to buy them. I refused. If we keep buying Ivory, more elephant will be killed.
She reminded me that those elephants were already dead and that if we did not buy them someone else would and she paid for the chopsticks.
She took the dead elephant remains to her place and called all her friends over for a Chinese dinner. I tried to get out of it knowing that she cooks Chinese food with an enthusiasm completely disproportionate to her skill level. The friends were nice interesting people. Bankers, stock brokers, financial analysts, the kind of people that are successful, associate themselves with successful people and have successful things to say to successful people. I felt right at home. Oozing and shmoozing from one group to the other with a lot of things to say to everyone and thoroughly enjoying myself.
Why am I telling you this story? I can’t remember?
Ah, yes, I was making a point about dead elephants. Do you think it is right to buy ivory just because the elephants are already dead?
She had cooked Kung Pao Chicken, sezuan beef and rice noodles. I still remember because I had never taste anything so disgusting in my life and have not again since.
So what is the point of this post? No point really. Just wanted to share how bad the food was. Have you ever tried to eat fried rice with super duper slippery chopsticks? You end up eating one rice at a time.
To be very honest, I couldn’t care less about the elephants, I just objected to the purchase because it was expensive and I am a cheap bastard. Of course, arguing and saying no once in a while, then reluctantly agreeing allowed me to score some brownie points with her. I was able to skip her piano recital the following week.
February 14, 2008
394 days ago, I woke up with an Itch!
Normally I would say that the itch was because she was not the type to take too many showers and God knows what type of insects she brought to bed with her. But that was a different kind of itch.
We had had great sex the night before. Amazing sex. Mind boggling, disturbingly good sex. It is amazing what phenomenal sex would do to the mind of an impressionable young man. It creates itches. That day the itch was to get married.
I spent the better part of two hours planning. Of course, I needed a ring, that one was easy, a quick visit to Tiffany’s would take care of it. Much more complicated was figuring out an original way to ask. It was my first time and it had to be perfect. None of the cheesy stuff like having violins or a mariachi band. I mean those damn mariachi only sing in spainishian and neither one of us speak a word of Spanian. Spanishan? Spainish? Spainian? Well what ever the damn language is, we don’t speak a word of it and I wasn’t about to have some random stranger with an Hercule Poirot moustache as her to marry me. As a man, there are things that you do yourself, in English.
So, I called our favorite restaurant and asked to speak to the chef. James came on the phone and I proceeded to explain to him that I wanted to insert my Tiffany’s ring into one of his world famous, delicious “fondant au chocolat”. That man, in his infinite wisdom asked me where I was planning to buy the ring from then proceeded to explain to me why inserting it in his signature desert was a bad idea:
1. Tiffany’s is a very expensive place and I could only afford the tiniest of rings. It would get swallowed. He then proceed to explain that the only way to recover my swallowed tiny Tiffany’s ring was to collect my exes shit for a week and search through it (Not the image I had in mind for a wedding proposal)
2. She could bite into it and loose a tooth. I didn’t want to spend my first post marriage proposal night at the dentist. I would have preferred another edition of the eye popping sex
3. It has been done before and it too cliché.
4. I couldn’t afford Tiffany gold and the silver doesn’t react well with the chocolate
As you can see, this guy turn the sea into hummus for me and made it almost impossible to proceed with the plan.
Then he proceeds to suggest that I insert it into a glass of champagne. Like THAT wasn’t cliché!!
So, I was in a bit of a conundrum (a big word specially researched for the benefit of Forsoothsayer), How would I ask her to marry me?
I went to Tiffany only to find out, to my dismay, that chef James was absolutely correct. I could only afford a ring so small that it would giver itches (her lack of showers didn’t really give her itches. After 27+ years of no showering except once a week, the skin adapts)
I paid for my tiny, itsy, bitty ring and went home. Called the ex and asked her to meet me at James’ restaurant. I got there early and asked James to be creative with the ring. He looked at it and asked if I wasn’t worried that she’s accidentally think it was a tiny earring. James think he is funny.
We sat at our favorite table, we drank our favorite wine, we had our favorite desert (fondant au chocolat) and after dinner, when everything was perfect, James came to the table to see if everything was ok and slipped the ring into my hand while whispering “Get on your knees”.
So, in front of James and the 200 people in the restaurant, I got on my knees, took her hand in mine and asked her, in my nicest voice, if she would marry me on her birthday the following week.
She said no.
February 13, 2008
I was sitting at the bar having a beer and checking out the women in the place. I was not making eye contact, just scanning the place in search of something interesting to focus on. I only had two nights at this hotel and didn’t know anyone in town. It was late; I’d had a long day and was just there for a beer. The last thing I wanted was to interact with another human being.
I was drinking Carlsberg. I used to always drink Carlsberg.
She came into the place with a man. I noticed her because she was taller than the man she was with. And, she was wearing heels. He was wearing a Tuxedo so I guessed that they had just come back from the theatre or the opera. I noticed that they had a reservation and that they knew the owner. They were ushered to their table in a corner where he sat with his back to me, letting me get a much better look at the girl.
The girl (or I should say woman) was very fit. I would see her shoulder muscles move under the dress. I guessed she was some sort of athlete or fitness freaks. They ordered a bottle of wine, but she only had coke. Not diet coke, regular coke. It had been ages since I had seen a woman drink regular coke. He ordered a salad and she ordered a steak. This woman was intriguing.
I left before they ordered desert, but I am quite sure that she ordered her favorite: “Fondant au chocolat”. She is simply this kind of woman.
That was the first time I ever saw her. We got together a few weeks later, but that is a story for another day. There will be plenty more stories. Some good (Our first kiss), some bad (our first kiss) and some hilarious (Our first kiss). No, there will be no stories about our first orgasm. Cause I can kiss and tell, but I don’t orgasm and tell. Or, simply because it only lasted about 90 seconds.
February 12, 2008
72 days, 11 hours and 57 minutes ago, I was happy.
I had a good job, I had enough money to afford the things I wanted and the wisdom to want what I could afford, I had health, humor and a house in my life.
I also had my ex.
We were having Dinner to celebrate our 3 years together. It was a nice dinner. I was having a Waldorf Salad (From the Waldorf hotel in NY), she was having Oysters. I was looking forward to the Chateaubriand that was coming up with the potato wedges and the second bottle of Chateau Durand. I was already salivating at the thought of the “Fondant au Chocolat” that I had ordered for desert and most importantly, I was still orgasmic about having just dropped her mother at the airport.
Life was a beautiful, zennish, harmonious flow. My Chi was in the right place and my inner self satisfied
Then she spoke.
“I slept with Hani”
Couldn’t she have waited until after the Chateaubriand and the fondant? I mean, come on, it was only 15 more minutes. Would it have killed her? But, that’s her; my ex; totally inconsiderate. Spitting out the weirdest of things and the most inappropriate moments.
Couldn’t she have waited until the waiter finished replenishing my glass of wine? Did she have to inform the waiter of my situation as a clueless idiot?
Some women have no sense of style of timing.