Bathtub Brewer

DJ has a friend from high school that we spent about five hours with last summer in Seattle. He's that dude we all know, who graduated from college, has great social skills, and still lives like he's 21. And still chases girls that are 19, even though he's 32. We all know some version of this guy.

And you know what? I love this guy. We immediately clicked. He's a good guy at heart, and is just still stuck in an extended version of the mid-20's guy funk. And when he figured out that he really couldn't make it to our wedding, I was genuinely bummed.

As a wedding gift, he sent DJ a new favorite toy. A beer brewing kit. DJ has mentioned for about a year that he'd like to give it a whirl, and if there was ever a home project meant for an engineer, it's beer brewing. Oh the spreadsheets!

So last weekend, DJ spent Saturday brewing the first batch. We now have a plastic tub in our guest bathroom that slowly is emitting the smell of a stale burp. The kind you let go of at noon on a Sunday while hanging out on the Multi sofa after the last AGR party and watching everyone trickle in from shacking up. It's vaguely beery, but mostly very, very rich... like the burger you had for dinner last night.

Sorry, that was overly descriptive.

DJ's enthusiasm for home brewing has the makings of an obsession excellent hobby. On Tuesday night, I walked upstairs to find him in the guest bathroom with his tub of beer, counting the bubbles that come up into the percalator thingy. I asked him if he'd like a stopwatch to time the contractions; he raised his phone and told me he was all set. Excellent. My husband is counting the digestion of a giant tub of hops, barley, malt, I think there is some vodka in there, and yeast.

Which leads me to the sleepwalking part. Last night, DJ rolled over, patted me on the bum and did as follows:

DJ (patting the bum): "mumble mumble mumble".

CK (still not totally asleep, stirs, realizes that he's sleep walking. Remembers that he gets mad if she wakes him up while sleepwalking. Decides to let this one roll and see where it goes).

DJ (rolls back over): "mumble mumble, second tub, mumble mumble yeast."

Silence and quiet for a moment.

DJ (sits up, like a prarie dog popping out of it's hole): "mumble  MUMBLE!"

(reaches out and turns on the light, jumps out of bed and faces it, and then proceeds to move arms wildly at about waist level, as if stirring something. Or transferring it to another container).

(finally comes to, realizes what he's doing, and snaps off the light. Then proceeds to walk around the bed to the bathroom, his usual "I wasn't sleepwalking, I had to pee" cover.)

(gets back into bed)

CK: "Busted, beer man."