Gllen has been really excited about a new hoodie arriving in the mail this week. It's his "Grinding Sweater" as he calls it. He likes to put up his hood and zone out on code. As of yesterday, it still hadn't arrived... Then, this afternoon, I got this IM:
gllen: got my hoodie
it's awesome
but wish it was not so hot
me: I am not going to be convinced to turn on the air conditioner because you want to wear a hoodie in the summer.
Gllen: You are going to have to fend for yourself for dinner tonight.
Me: Ok... Why? I'm curious.
Gllen: I bought a steak yesterday. (Rubs his stomach absentmindedly) There was a sale. (Looks at me innocently) Can't pass up a steak sale.
The other day, I was driving Gllen's van and picked him up from the house to go on some random errand or another. As I was backing out of the driveway, Gllen in tow in the passenger seat, I accidentally shifted the van one gear too far (into D2 which I don't even know how to use). As I shifted back into regular drive, Gllen noticed and asked, "Are you driving in TWO??"
"No," I replied calmly, "I accidentally shifted too far."
After a moment of contemplation he said, "Don't Two my damn car!"
We are in serious tropical heat wave right now. Walking outside is like wading through soup. It's been downright miserable.
Unless you're Gllen...
A few weeks ago, on a balmy 75 degree night, Gllen decided he was hot and wanted to turn the AC on. A gentle breeze was drifting through the house and I told him that I didn't think we needed to, and I would rather save money and have it off.
He stormed off in a huff.
A few moments later, I noticed that Gllen was walking back and forth from his office to the kitchen a lot. I got up to investigate and almost ran into him as he came out of his office carrying a bunch of computer equipment, sweat dripping from his brow and a snarl upon his lips.
I sidestepped quickly and he moved past me with the brevity of the enraged. He was carrying all of his office down to the basement.
I didn't comment, and in fact, stayed out of his way until he was completed and had finally stopped shuffling around down in his new lair. Finally, I dared to set a toe into his territory.
As I rounded the corner to view his new set-up, he grinned at me and cheerfully said, "Hi, Gerf!"
So, he's been happily abiding in the basement for the summer, and probably through the winter. He's completely oblivious to the outside temperature, wears a sweatshirt every day and I've even caught him blowing warm air into his hands occasionally.
I see less of him, but, he's a lot happier when I do catch him. It's amazing to remember the old apartment and the dance of the air conditioners, servers and power surges.
The other night, we had a severe thunderstorm that took down the power in our neighborhood for at least three hours. It happened around midnight on a Saturday night, so Gllen and I were still up - he was working in his office and I was camped out in the living room. After a few flickers and wobbly attempts to stay on, the power went out and I heard an expletive coming from the office.
Two minutes later, Gllen wanders through the dark to the living room to sit on the sofa next to me. We sat in silence for a minute. He stared at me, every flash of lightning illuminating the blank stare turned my way. It was as if the power went out in Gllen as well.
After five minutes of feebly attempted conversation, Gllen is still sitting next to me, immobile. He tells me, "I've thought of at least 8 things to do, and all of them require electricity."
I tried to engage him on that topic... but he just countered with more silence.
Finally, he asked me, "Should we eat our ice cream?"
I'm sure he could hear the laughter in my voice. "No... It's fine. Just don't open the freezer door and it will stay cold enough in there."
We lapsed into silence again. I decided to light some candles and try to read a book. Gllen sat.
After I settled myself in and was about to crack open my book, Gllen asked about the ice cream again. "It's been a long time! I should dish up the ice cream so it doesn't go to waste."
"It's fine!" I told him. "Don't worry about it!"
An hour passed.
We finally decided to go to bed, but even that was futile. Gllen wasn't tired enough to sleep, so instead, he laid there, occasionally shaking his fists into the air and chanting, "Power, power, power. POOOOOWWWWEEER!!!"
After a while, I told him, "You know - you would never survive an apocalypse."
He scoffed at me through the tomb-like darkness of the room. "Yeah I would."
I rolled my eyes to myself. He added, "When the apocalypse happens, I know exactly what to do. You eat all the ice cream. And that way, it's like a celebration."
Yesterday, I don't know how it happened, but I stepped right on top of a giant rock and fell to the ground in the middle of the street. I scraped my knee and my hand. Gllen was right there next to me and didn't even lift a hand when he saw me tumbling over.
In fact, he stood there laughing at me as I picked myself off the ground and checked my damaged knee. I shot him an evil look, and he laughed harder. I whimpered and frowned. Gllen chuckled more and said, "What is wrong witih you? You fall all the time!" and then burst into a new round of laughter.
"You know," I admonished, "a good boyfriend would at least help his girlfriend up or ACT concerned. You're such a jerk."
Still sputtering with laughter, he looked me in the eye and replied, "Girlfriend... What don't you understand about comedy?"
I spent the rest of the day trying to trip him.
My grandfather was in town and wanted to see our new house, so we invited him over for dinner. I tasked Gllen with creating the feast, but did a little research beforehand. I asked my grandfather, "What do you like to eat?"
"Oh, I like pretty much what your dad likes." He responded. I figured we'd be in the clear then, because my dad likes just about anything. But to be safe, I asked him what kinds of cheeses he likes. You don't want to serve a blue cheese to someone who's scared of visible cheese mold. He said, "Oh, no I don't eat cheese. The doctor doesn't let me." Ummmm... good to know.
I decided to cover my bases further by calling my dad and asking him what kinds of things Grandpa would like. He filled me in further, "He can't eat a lot of sugar. If it's sugar free, he'll eat it. And he doesn't like any exotic foods. Don't get too fancy. Meat and potatoes, that kind of thing. Oh, and he can't eat any lettuces except iceberg." Oooookaaaaay. Good thing I checked.
So, I told Gllen the requirements and we came up with a menu that any midwesterner would approve of: Prime Rib with Horseradish Cream Sauce, Mashed Potatoes and Cucumbers in a Sour Cream Dill Dressing.
As we sat down to eat, Grandpa dished himself up a tiny little nibble of the cucumber salad. Come to find out, he doesn't like cucumbers! But he was being nice and trying it, so as not to hurt our feelings.
Three seconds later, he was dishing up a healthy scoop of the cucumber salad. "Wow!" He said, "I never knew cucumbers were so good!"
Having had success with the cucumbers, he decided to try the Horseradish Cream Sauce. We learn that he's never had horseradish because "It sounds gross." A little daub of it on his prime rib and he was in heaven! He ate several helpings of the food that he claimed to dislike. In fact, when I offered him more cucumbers he said, "I'm sure Bea (his recently deceased wife) is rolling over in her grave right now." He took a bite cucumber. "I'm so sorry Bea!" He at more, still apologizing to the ghost of his wife.
We feasted and feasted. Grandpa ate more helpings and said, "I'm going to pig out, this is just too good! Mark you are very talented!"
Later, with full bellies, we retired to the living room to wind down the evening. At one point, I asked Grandpa a question and he didn't hear me, he was staring at the wall. Someone got his attention and he said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I was reminiscing about the meal I just had." I chuckled at that. We hadn't even finished eating five minutes before and he was already thinking back fondly on Gllen's cooking. "My whole life," he continued "I've never eaten a cucumber, and now I'm wishing I had started sooner!" At 87 years old, stubborn about everything, he was converted by Gllen.
As he got ready to leave, he shook Gllen's hand and told him how wonderful he thought the food was. He told me he was very proud of our house and all the work we had done. Then he gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, "You hold on to that one!"
