Monday, January 23, 2006

The Next Everyday ...

Saturday, continued.

Home later, we embarked on the ongoing picture-hanging project, begun the week earlier at Home Depot (well, actually, begun long before that), only to discover we needed more wall anchors.

There are Ace Hardwares in Chicago in the oddest places. The one that was still open and reasonably near G's place is at 680 N. Lake Shore Drive. So over we walked, just as it was closing (the Web site gives incorrect hours; the cashier didn't seem to care). We got what we needed, though, and headed off in search of dinner, which took us to an Armenian restaurant I hadn't been to in years and years.

The food was edible, nothing more. "Well, there's another place I just can't wait to go back to," G said when we left. Smartass.

Back home (since I didn't feel like going out for live music anywhere and since it was too late to start drilling in the wall), we picked a movie. I've seen most of the ones he has DVRd, so he picked "Godsend" because I couldn't remember a thing about it. Until the opening credits rolled. Right. There was a reason I didn't see it. But OK, let's see just how bad it is.

Oh, it's pretty bad. Not unwatchable, but really, what the hell was Robert DeNiro thinking when he took that role? Roger Ebert (who gave the flick 2 stars) wrote, "... as for De Niro, there are times when he seems positively embarrassed to be seen as that character, saying those things. His final conversation with Kinnear must be the most absurd scene he has ever been asked to play seriously." Here, here, Rog.

The next morning, I woke up with a headache. Don't you hate that? I went in the living room to drink lots of water and finish reading, "A Girl Named Zippy." Later, G sat down next to me, clearly still sleepy, and asked why I was up.

"I have a headache," I said.

"Poor Beth." Usually, "Poor Beth" is said sarcastically, but sometimes he actually means it. "Do you want coffee?"

"No thanks."

"Coffee is good for a headache," he said.

"I know. Caffeine," I said, leaning against him.

He got up and made me coffee, added just the right amount of coffee goo, and brought it back to me on the couch.

I told him he should go back to bed. So he did.

Later, I went back in the bedroom and he was propped up on his elbows.

"That's not a good position for sleeping," I said.

We planned the day, which included him going to get his hair cut with JD, my hair guy, then stopping at Whole Foods to pick up stuff for brunch. I got ready while he was out, and we cooked together when he got home.

I made an omelette. He made French toast out of the bread I bake, which I've never used for French toast, which is a damn shame, because it's fantastic.

He thought a nap might be a good idea. With all those carbs coursing through his system? You betcha.

Later later, he tried drilling, and met with great resistance. Something metal. Best not to go on. So we put our heads together and started devising an alternate picture-mounting plan.

"Want to go for a walk?" he asked, which turned into a couple of hours of walking to many stores as the plan evolved.

But with everything in hand, we went home, made dinner, and proceeded to start building our brilliant idea.

We had to move my car out of the lot it was in, to a meter, and as we walked to said lot, I was way too cold, so G fell behind and wrapped his arms around me as we walked, which worked surprisingly well.

After we found the meter, as we started to walk back to his place, I whined, sarcastically, "I'm cold!" He put his arms around me again. "Don't I get a 'Poor Beth'?" I asked.

"Not for that. Maybe you get a Slightly Poor Beth," he said.

And I started cracking up. I mean, I couldn't stop. As in, I was laughing so hard, I couldn't walk. And G started laughing, not because what he said was funny, but because I was just so ridiculous. And it was like that the whole way back to his place. I'd regain my composure, walk a few steps, and be wracked with gales of laughter all over again. Waiting for the elevator, I was stricken with another fit. We got on with another couple, who got off somewhere in the 30s, and G said, "They were anti-social," and I said, "They probably think I'm insane."

We continued on with the picture project. Sometime after 11 p.m., I commented that his downstairs neighbor probably wasn't a fan of the hammering at that hour. So we stopped.

This morning, after the alarm went off but before either of us had any inclination to move, I chuckled. A "Slightly Poor Beth" aftershock, as it were.

He got ready for work and headed out the door. Something came up as he was leaving, a Poor Beth moment, and I stuck my head out the door and called down the hallway, "Oh, come on, say it."

He didn't turn. He just kept walking. "No."

I shut the door and started laughing anyway.


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