All-Nighter

Gllen pulled an all-nighter last night. Instead of going to bed at 7am, when I was getting ready for work, I found him relaxing in the living room.

"OH," I accused, "When I'm finally getting up and ready for work is when you decide to relax? What's up with that?"

He shook his head. "I'm not relaxing."

I stared at him, taking in how he was laying on the couch, snuggled in a blanket and watching a recording of Poker After Dark. I raised my eyebrows at him. "You don't call this relaxing!?"

The Other Side of the Story

Some of you may have read Gllen's blog and seen some of his his food creations. This is the place where he proudly displays the meats and other random things he has cooked. And it's all very nice. Except, I wanted to share with you MY side of the story, and give you an image of what I see:

Three plates for one meal. For one person. For Gllen. And these plates are likely to still be sitting on the kitchen table when I get home. Because Gllen is very industrious about cleaning the kitchen BEFORE he cooks, but rarely afterwards. Probably because he is so saturated with meat that the most he can do is move sloth-like to the couch, and, with great effort, hold a remote control.

Thwarted

Gllen was in a crabby mood today.

He went out this morning to get some money and hunt for his lunch. As he left, he still wasn't sure which fast food place he wanted to go to.

Fast forward to when I heard him come home. He had a bag of beef jerky. No lunch. He saw me enter the room and fled to his office. I followed, puzzled. As I sat down to talk to him, he started making monster noises that indicated that he was mad. No words were spoken, but plenty of growls and hisses and a solitary burp.

After much coaxing, I got him to tell me what was wrong: He was mad because he didn't get lunch. "Well, why didn't you get some?" I asked.

He growled again but finally told me, "I went to Baja Sol and the parking lot was full. So I went to D'Amico and that parking lot was full. So then I decided to go to Chipotle, but as I passed Baja Sol again, I noticed some parking spaces were open. But by the time I turned around, the lot was full again. So I just went home."

"Well," I pondered, trying to figure out a way to make him happy, "I could heat up some of the soup your dad sent you home with."

He curled back his lips and shook his head. "Now I'm too full of beef jerky."

I just stared at him and then left the room. Some causes are just lost.

Home-Ownership

Yesterday, I wistfully mentioned to Gllen how awesome it would be to own a house.

Gllen immediately said "No... we don't want to take care of a yard."

I was thinking of Mike and how he loves yard work, and, a little envious of Kate, I commented "It wouldn't hurt you to do a little yard work".

"Yeah it would!" he scoffed. "I'd have back pain, blisters, probably bleed a few times. Maybe get my arm chopped off in a lawn mower. And other stuff too. My shoes would get wet from shoveling snow."

Oh, the horror! We'll probably never own a house.

PS - Kate, you have no idea how lucky you are.

Babies

So, a couple of weekends ago, Gllen got to see Jesse's new baby, Elliot, for the first time. We were over at Shane's house for a party, which I later found out was actually a HOUSE WARMING party, though Gllen always neglects to tell me these things. It was hard to tell anyway, since the major event at the party was a giant magic tournament... more on that later, I promise.

Anyway, I spent a good chunk of time holding Elliot and doing what any 30 year old childless woman does, complete with high-pitched voice and lots of nonsensical words. Eventually, the family had to leave, and Jesse packed up his little one in the car-seat, swaddled in blankets against the cold. He brought this cute little package over to where Gllen and I were sitting, offering us a chance to say our goodbyes. This is where my heart almost stopped beating - Gllen leaned over and peered at the tiny baby in its nest and let out a distinct "Awwwww!" In the split second after he made that sound, two things happened:

• My jaw dropped. Gllen's only reaction to babies up to this point has been to take a few steps backward to suddenly be very busy with something that would normally never interest him.
• I ovulated.

But of course, Gllen's next comment put everything back in place. Two seconds after uttering his sounds of awe, he states, in a jealous way, "That looks so comfortable!"

Yes. He wants a Gllen-sized car-seat for himself.

Under Attack

I have a habit of leaving my socks laying around on the bedroom floor after I take them off. Gllen particularly hates the nylon knee-highs I have been wearing all winter. He calls them "land mines" because he will step on them and they will stick to his bare feet (he really should exfoliate more). So this morning, as Gllen was shuffling out of bed, I noticed that he unknowingly stepped on one of these socks and it was attached to his heel.

Trying to get his attention as he meandered off, I called out "Bomb! Bomb!" because I couldn't remember the term "land mine". This message took a while to get to him and he was already down the hall entering the kitchen before it caught up to his sleep-clogged ears. I couldn't see him anymore, but I could hear him freaking out: "Aaah! What the...Aaah!" (scuffle, scuffle, scuffle)

I followed the commotion and found the sock lying in a wilted heap on the floor and Gllen standing a few feet away staring at it in shock. He glanced up at me and accused "I thought you were shouting 'BUG!' and I thought some giant bug was attacking me!"

I looked at the murdered sock and said, "No, I was telling you that you stepped on a bomb."

"It's called a land mine." He growled. He sidestepped the sock and went to his office. I picked up the sock and brought it back to the bedroom, absentmindedly dropping it back on the floor.

Not Super Hero Material

I decided that I needed to create some shelves for a little nook in our back hallway. Because I had built our entertainment center (for our new and fabulous TV) with my dad, I had some scrap wood sitting around and it was perfect for this project. A week ago, Gllen and I headed over to my parents house to for dinner and we cut the wood for these shelves. Now, my father is a perfectionist when it comes to woodworking. I'll say, "Hey, I need some crappy shelves and I don't care what they look like." By the end of the day we have perfectly square shelves, sanded and the edges have been embellished and rounded.

Of course, my dad wanted these shelves hung properly and insisted I take his air nail gun home with me.

Two nights ago, I was ready to hang the shelves. Gllen stood with his fists in his pockets, watching as I started unpacking the air pump, hose and nailer. "This looks dangerous." He says.

As I started to plug things in, he suddenly cries out, "I want nothing to do with this!" and he RAN AWAY! He high-tailed it to his office, put on his headphones and started to work with serious intent.

I eventually cajoled him back to make sure that I wasn't going to seriously injure myself, but after the first nail went in, he verified that I wasn't bleeding and took off back to the office.

I can't believe what a frightened little rabbit he is! Or perhaps, he isn't afraid of power tools at all - he's just scared of being sucked into a little bit of manual labor.

Dexterity

I accidentally ended up at the Circuit City liquidation sale yesterday and on impulse got all the necessities for Guitar Hero. Actually, I'm pretty pleased that the game and two guitar controllers only cost me $44.00. That's leet. Anyway - Gllen and I got it all hooked up and started to play the game. Literally, after 1 SONG his hand started cramping up. Let me point out that Gllen sits in front of computer all day has developed some serious carpal tunnel syndrome. So, the motion of playing the guitar buttons was really causing some pain in his pinkie finger.

I wanted to play the game, so I had to devise a solution: I grabbed two q-tips and a bandaid. Cut the bandaid in half. Created a splint on Gllen's pinkie finger with the q-tips secured by the two pieces of bandaid.

Gllen experimentally wiggled his finger and grinned. We played a song and afterward Gllen exclaims "It worked!"

Two minutes later he started complaining about his thumb hurting. I'll probably have to start giving him hydrocortisone injections in order to get him to play this game.

The List Goes On...

I've had a sinus infection for the last week, and today, Gllen started noticing that he was starting to feel a little sick. As the day progressed, he started to feel worse and worse and he began complaining more and more. I was trying to enjoy a nice afternoon being lazy in front of our TV, but I kept getting distracted by the stream of complaints issuing from my boyfriend. He was sitting next to me playing poker online, but he was able to multi-task the grousing and donking. To give you an example of what I endured, here's a quote:

"(Sigh) I'm sick. Running bad. Watching stupid movies. Don't have candy. My blanket's tangled."

et cetera ad nauseam