International House of Cool

We had a very nice weekend over at the International House of Cool (IHC), as I'm pretty sure our apartment should now be called. On Saturday, Torsten and I brought Yohan to have lunch with my sister at a Salvadoran place she likes. Yohan had never even had Mexican food before, so it was eye-opening for him--he had a chimichanga and devoured the whole thing. His plate was wiped clean before I was even halfway done with my food. It was kind of amazing. More amazing, however, was our table--Yohan and I were speaking in French, my sister and I were speaking in English, my sister was talking to the waitress in Spanish, and Torsten's mother called in the middle so they were speaking in German. We were a quadrilingual group. Technically, this didn't take place at our apartment, but I still think the apartment qualifies as the IHC.

Though I have to say that the weekend did not start out in a very relaxing fashion--at 4:30 on Saturday morning, our smoke alarm emitted three very loud, sharp beeps in a row, then fell silent, then did it again. The beeps woke all of us up, and actually, our responses to the situation were extremely indicative of why we're such a good match. Torsten asked me if I'd heard the beeping and I, half-asleep, responded that yes, but I was sure it was nothing. (Apparently, that sort of dismissive reaction is commonplace for me. This is why it's good that I have Torsten--he'll keep me from trying to go back to sleep in the middle of a fire, tornado, or similar.)

Torsten disagreed about it being nothing, yelping that we must have left the stove on (similarly unreasonable, let me point out, given that it was the smoke alarm and gas from the stove would not create smoke, and also given that the smoke alarm was not beeping incessantly the way it would if there were actual smoke). So, he leapt out of bed naked and ran to make sure our apartment wasn't on fire. As he was about to open our bedroom door and head into the hallway (a mere five or ten feet from where our no-doubt-wide-awake guest was in bed), I woke up enough to suggest to him that he put on some clothes before he left the bedroom.

The response I got, however, was an incredibly shocked look and a cry of, "CLOTHES? Why would I put on CLOTHES?" This was delivered in such a disdainful voice that he totally deserved what happened next, which was that, after staring at me like I had proposed that he apply full makeup before checking out the smoke alarm, he charged out of our bedroom butt naked. The best part, although I didn't realize this until later, is that he was so out of it and yet worried about the smoke alarm that he stood underneath it, everything on full display to Yohan, reaching up and trying to fix it for the course of several minutes. I was still in bed, half asleep, when Torsten came rushing back in the room, being all, "I think he saw me naked."

No DUH. That is all.

Oh, and the other thing is that I took Yohan shopping on Saturday, because he brought over 1,000 Euros with him to spend, and his money has been burning a hole in his pocket ever since he arrived. So he bought the iPod Touch, and there's been no talking to him since--he's just so excited about the WiFi and the mini Web browser that he's perma-glued to the iPod. Last night after the Red Sox beat the Indians (thank GOD), Yohan went to the bathroom, where he remained for at least ten minutes. Five minutes in, an email from him popped up in my inbox--"Victoire pour les Red Sox!" That's right, he emailed me from the toilet. Apparently this was "Get to Know Each Other Far Too Intimately" Weekend over at the IHC.