August 10, 2010
Dating Aloysius is like dating a retarded toddler. Okay, well maybe not retarded because his vocabulary is quite extensive. Maybe more like a gifted toddler. I know. I teach gifted kids and they come up with some truly off the wall stuff. A gifted student once asked me “how does this work” in reference to a stapler. When I responded in a duh tone of voice that “it staples things”, he looked at me with a mix of incredulity and embarassment, remarking “well of course I know that.” Oh yes, of course. So yeah, I’ll say a gifted toddler though now I can’t ever let Aloysius read this because that sort of skewed insult within a compliment will go straight to his head.
Anyhow, I say all of this after a conversation the other day regarding home safety. Sitting on the couch watching TV, Aloysius inquired how I would defend my apartment if an intruder were to burst through the door. If this were to actually ever happen I would likely stick to my tried and true response of covering my face with my hands and then curling into the fetal position, hyperventilating. I startled easily and so Aloysius has seen my plan in action, which works like a charm if my threat is limited to, say, a swarm of good intentioned butterflies.
It amazes me that how, as a species, we’ve managed to evolve, or devolve as it may be, into easily startled, allergic to the sun, cant digest the protein our teeth were made to chew beings, all thanks to a modern lifestyle. Nevertheless I fit a few of these categories of devolution and so needless to say I would likely need outside help in the event of an attack. Aloysius did show me a martial arts choke once, but it really only works if my attacker is running at me backwards and is of my approximate same height and build. I thought I would get it use it once on a man backing out of an alley who I’m sure was carrying a gun or some sort of shanking device, but he turned out to only be carrying flowers, and all that happened was that I dug nail marks into my friends arm. Aloysius has a few defense tricks up his sleeve, being well versed in jiu jitsu and owning a healthy measure of guns, so he’s set.
As I was processing his question and trying to come up with an answer that didn’t make me sound pathetic, his face lit up as he exclaimed “I know, we can be bean bag chairs”, and then proceeded to flop his body atop me and loll his tongue out as though a dehydrated puppy. “You pretend too!”
“Honey, I’m not gonna…”
::sigh:: “fine….I’m a bean bag chair” I said, as I assumed the position.
“See, cause then the attacker will come in and be like, oh, just a bunch of bean bags”
And this is when I was pretty well forced to say “Honey, I don’t want to be bean bag chairs.”
In the end we just started keeping a firearm at my place. (Oh pipe down this is Texas, you’re lucky I don’t ride a horse to work).
It should be noted that Aloysius continued to “be bean bag chairs” throughout the evening, including when I asked him to take down the trash and he quickly flopped over mumbling “can’t…bean bag chair”.
A. Bean bag chairs don’t talk
1. I’m so glad our home safety plan can multi-task.
November 11, 2009
Aloysius is a master of arguments. Should he ever commit a crime and is taken into the station to be grilled by the police as to his whereabouts and alibi, his tactic is to simply deny everything vehemently. I imagine the conversation would go something like this:
“Mr. Cornhusker, were you at the shopping mall on Beach and Western Center on the evening of the 20th?”
“No I was not”
“So you did not enter the blockbuster at this intersection at around 11?”
“No I did not”
“Well that’s interesting because we have video footage of you robbing the store”
“It wasn’t me”
“You left behind fingerprints”
“They aren’t mine”
“And you said ‘I’m Aloysius Cornhusker and this is a stick up’ while looking directly into the security camera”
“You must be mistaken”
Though concerning different topics, he often employs the same stubborn-headed tactics in our arguments, knowing that eventually I’ll get frustrated or bored or tired and he’ll win by forfeit.
Most recently, we were arguing over how many types of cheese there are. It all started when we saw a pizza commercial advertising a six cheese pizza. Aloysius was appalled, announcing there were not 6 types of cheeses. This all from the man who considers himself a cheese connoisseur of sorts, buying various cheese platters to eat as midnight snacks. He is fully aware there are more than 6 types of cheeses. Nevertheless I entered this argument knowing full well I was setting myself up for failure and began rattling of the six cheeses that were likely present in the pizza. Aloysius interrupts me and definitively states “There are only three kinds of cheese. Cows cheese, goats cheese, and pigs cheese”, to which I reply “There’s no such this as pigs cheese!” His retort? “Sure there is, it’s made from pilk.”
::Sigh:: “Honey, no one drinks pilk.”
Pilk is Aloysius’s made up term for “pigs milk”, which yes, he’s used before. How he finds instances where it becomes appropriate in conversations is truly an art.
October 12, 2009
Aloysius likes to roughhouse and I’m a bit of a pansy. Okay, alot of a pansy. I often gripe and tell him he doesn’t know his own strength but only get the reply “it’s good for you, it toughens you up.” It is in these moments that I’m sent straight back into every dealing with my father throughout my childhood, but this blog is about Aloysius and I, and not my ridiculous family. Anywho, Aloysius had recently listened to the Patton Oswalt graduation speech, which if you too have heard will make this sound a fraction less crazy but I am under the assumption that my readership is not aware of such things. This all being said, I was suffering my usual dose of abuse, all the while being sure to wail and flop about wildly in hoping to frighten the neighbors, when Aloysius yet again read me the same speech about being a wimp. It was then that he gave me a knowing look, and sensing what was coming next I bellowed “OH GIVE IT A REST THERE IS NO BONE STORM!”
The neighbors probably think we’re satanists.
September 15, 2009
Aloysius’s predilection for unusual expressions of affection continues, I’m happy to report. The most recent occurrence involved us enjoying a quiet evening in on the couch, he laying with his feet draped across me, watching the television, the both of us enjoying a moment to just sit after a hectic few weeks back to school. The time represented quality time together we rarely get, as most of the time I’m busy with graduate school and he’s busy with video games. All was going most splendidly until I had to…HAD TO interrupt our lovely evening with the words “Please don’t put your toes in my eye”, and a moment later “or in my nose”, and later still “or in my mouth.”
August 31, 2009
I’ve mentioned before Aloysius’s distaste for normal expressions of affection, and so to appease my need for normal human physical interaction, he has taken to coming up with interesting alternatives. Let’s just say I’m not quite as fond of his offerings, as I would be to, say, a simple kiss. Most recently he has tried to assure me that his new methods are accepted in other cultures and that I should embrace them. And so, after repeated “testing” in more private settings, Aloysius decided his novel displays needed to be debuted, which left us sitting at our local beer house when he looked over and gave me a knowing glance. Guessing what he was thinking, I said aloud “No, I do not want to touch tongues with you.” Our friends, knowing us well, simply looked on.
It should be noted that touching tongues doesn’t resemble any sort of sensual kissing. He simply wishes me to “poke my little tongue out”, so that he may touch it briefly with his own.
It feels like worms.
August 23, 2009
Those of you who remember such classics as “Grape Man” will be relieved to know Aloysius’s habit of embarrassing me in the grocery store continues. The scenario played out in a similar manner: post-gym, in need of groeries, Wal-Mart nearby, only this time instead of grapes Aloysius was holding a can of bartlett pears as though receiving them from the heavens and bellowing “I’m the Wizard of Pears!” After I’d already tried walking several paces ahead and pretending we weren’t there together, I gave into defeat and walked along side him pleading, “Could you please stop being the Wizard of Pears?” Sure enough, as those words escaped my lips his former boss pulled his cart up along side of us. Aloysius promises his old boss understands him well enough, and did not find the interaction strange, but I have my doubts, he looked uncomfortable.
I’m unsure why Aloysius seems to prefer embarassing me with produce. He’s never been Senor Steak, or Good Sir Potato Chip. Perhaps his prediliction stems from my requests to help carry the few items we pick up. Perhaps from now on I’ll be the lady with the cart holding only a single quart of milk so that the wizard, or sorcerer, or superhero of dairy doesn’t make an appearance.
August 19, 2009
Aloysius and I are both teachers in the same school district, so when we go out after school or on the weekends we like to play the “who will see more students” game. Typically he wins, because apparently middle schoolers frequent places such as Target and Wal-Mart more often than high schoolers, who are much too cool to be seen hanging out in the breakfast cereal aisle. Secretly, I don’t mind losing because I get uncomfortable seeing students outside of my classroom, especially when these interactions involve me in a mini-skirt or fresh from the gym in tiny shorts. It doesn’t help that Aloysius does everything in his power to embarrass me when we’re in public together. I must admit I fear I would be a supremely boring person without him, but he revels in the act, sometimes racing himself, timing how long it takes me to blush. This all being said, a while back we were leaving the gym, tiny shorts and all, me at the peak of my in-front-of-students embarrassment potential when I realized I needed a few things from the grocery store. The Wal-Mart is relatively close by and after prolonged begging he agreed to stop in with me. Once we entered the doors the game began and just to up the ante he decided to take the two bags of grapes I asked him to carry, hold them out at his sides at arms length, and bellow “I”M GRAPE MAN” while chasing me wildly down the aisles. Murphy’s Law kicked in right about then as several of my students spotted his antics. I immediately turned bright red, slapping him in the arm and yelling “This is why I can’t take you anywhere!”. My students just stood there looking on, slightly dumbfounded and freightened, so in an attempt to explain I turned to them and calmly said “I’m sorry about that, he was being grape man.”
August 17, 2009
Aloysius wants a kitten, so lately we’ve been frequenting the local animal shelters in search of one which suits his requirements. He doesn’t want just any kitten, he wants one which looks as though it has been hit in the nose with a cast iron skillet, or perhaps fell victim to the strong man hammer challenge prevalent at local carnivals. I call them Persians, though admittedly not all Persians look this way, and not all kittens with flat faces are Persians (think: the “all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares” conundrum). He calls them “stupid kitties”, which he unfailingly says in an uncharacteristically high pitched and giddy voice. To be clear, he doesn’t think these cats are actually stupid, just stupid looking. I’ve picked up on his terminology, as I often do, which has left me in front of many an SPCA worker, holding a kitten by the scruff and asking “Is this kitty stupid enough?”. No doubt the SPCA worker is left wondering why we would prefer an unintelligent pet.
In case you’re wondering, no, we haven’t found a sufficiently stupid one yet.
August 16, 2009
Aloysius (name changed to spare the guilty) doesn’t like affection in the usual, normal sense. For instance, he abhors holding hands in public, and will only kiss me goodbye out of the privacy of my apartment when absolutely necessary to keep the peace. Since physical touch is necessary for a healthy relationship and psyche, he has made up for his lack of common expressions of affection in some supremely interesting ways. For instance yesterday Aloysius and I were on the way to the barber shop so he could get a beard trim, when he reached over and began touching me in that special way, prompting me to ask “Could you please not stroke my trachea to the beat of the music,” wherein he replied “You gotta give me props though, I was in time.”
August 16, 2009
My boyfriend and I have always known that our relationship was unique, thanks to his intermittent yet truly eccentric behaviors, and my despondent, defeated reactions. After reading and thoroughly enjoying the popular thingsmygirlfriendandIfightabout.com, we began reflecting on our own relationship’s hilarity, and decided together that the things he does end up making me sound insane. Taken in context, some of the phrases that escape my mouth are perfectly reasonable, however when trying to regale our friends with the story at a later point in time, I end up coming across as one worthy of a straight-jacket and a white padded room.
So I started this blog. To entertain others and possibly, hopefully, justify my end of the conversation.