the good husband

The other day, after I had cleaned out our refrigerator, Yoni informed me that I had put the yogurt in the wrong place: in the door shelf. You should probably put it towards the back of the refrigerator where it's colder. How sweet, right? He was making sure our yogurt didn't go bad and we didn't get sick. The perfect, neurotic husband.

The next time I looked in the refrigerator, Yoni had moved all of his yogurts to the back of the fridge...

...and left mine to rot in the door. THANKS.

does that make me crazy, part 2

Poor Y. An inevitable side effect of being a med student is that they start to imagine they have the symptoms of each disease they study. Usually after a few days, they realize their chronic fatigue is probably a result of excessive studying not cancer, and they can move on.

Well this phenomenon finally happened to Y. Sort of. He experienced a symptom, we blew it off, he started studying psychiatry, and now his study tools are urging him to get help.

See, after Y revealed his conversation with The Situation and we all had a good laugh about it, he texted me about another conversation with a celebrity. I'm guessing they, too, discussed their plans for GTL :

Just had a conversation with King George III

Or not.

A few hours later, Y showed me this screencap of part of a practice Boards question. Hint: the answer was schizophrenia.


Edited to add: Y just informed me he was wrong; the answer was that the guy was on LSD. So not only is excessive studying making him crazy, he's not even getting the answers right.

the oatmeal fairy


Y and I have developed a really mature way of dealing with each other's habit of leaving stuff out on the counter.

The first time it happened -- okay, this was probably the 800th time it had happened, but the first time it bothered Y enough to confront me -- he yelled into the other room, "What, do you think the OATMEAL FAIRY is going to come by tonight and put away your oatmeal?"

Since then, here are a few conversations that have been heard around our house:

Me: Oh, I didn't realize we were having guests over today!
Y: What? Who?
Me: THE KETCHUP FAIRY AND THE MILK FAIRY.

Me: Ooh, I can't wait to meet this one. I bet she's hot.
Y: Uh, who?
Me: THE COFFEE FAIRY.

Me: Oh, this will be nice! I bet they will really get along.
Y: Who?
Me: THE PEANUT BUTTER FAIRY AND THE JELLY FAIRY.

Me: Did you leave the door unlocked?
Y: What? Why?
Me: How else is the SPLENDA PACKET FAIRY going to get inside?

I bet he is so sorry he started this.

does that make me crazy?

Not too much has been going on in the Dandy household lately -- just your basic high school med school activities like prom 2nd Year Ball. Now I sort of joke about how med school seems like high school to me - they see the same people everyday, and there are even cliques -- but I can admit that I exaggerate. But a BACKDROP at your formal? Come on. Now you're just asking for it.

Once prom was over, it was time to start studying for SATs Step I, which from what I understand is pretty much the most important test ever. This is the first part of the boards, and 2nd year med students get six weeks off to study for it. And when I say 6 weeks off, I mean, Y locks himself in a room in the library and studies from 7 am to 5 pm, 7 days a week -- and sometimes after he gets home, too. Some people even spend thousands of dollars and go to what I think of as Study Camp, and what sounds like a Kaplan or Princeton Review course for 8 hours/day, 7 days/week for at least a month.

It's times like these I feel really lucky that I never had any desire to go to med school. I'm pretty positive I would go crazy having to study that much. Apparently... Y's the same way. As proof, I'll leave you with this text message conversation:

Y: I just had an imaginary argument.
Me: With who?
Y: The Situation.
Me: Um... about what?
Y: He made fun of me for not being ripped, so I told him he was a waste of space. Then he said I was lame for studying all the time*.

*To be fair, I have imaginary conversations all the time -- but in a "things I should have said" sort of way, not a "Tuesdays with The Situation" kind of way.

mrs. misanthrope

I have a problem: I hate everyone.

People annoy me for no good reason. For instance, I know someone who repeats the last two words of every sentence spoken to them and acts like he was already in the middle of saying the same thing, trying to sound smart. I can't handle it. Even worse are the people around this person who don't realize that he is full of crap.

Tonight, while gritting my teeth listening to this person speak, I had an epiphany. All of a sudden I knew why this whole situation irritated me so much: I have an impeccable bullshit detector. And you know how I got it?

Who has two thumbs and is full of BS??


That's right -- my husband has his PhD in bullshitting and one of the many many many gifts of our relationship has been my growing ability to pick up on any and all bs - in my house and out of it. All those definitions Yoni claimed to know, all the dinnertime wikipedia editing (which, by the way, has not been changed back... remember that next time you rely on good old wiki for ANYTHING) have led me to detect every teeny tiny embellishment anyone spews out and judge everyone around them for not picking up on it.

So there you have it, Yoni - you are the reason why I would rather spend time with the dog than with other people. When I get to the point where I have no friends and over 500 pictures of the dog, it will be all because of you. You know... if that ever happens. Not that it will be anytime soon.


Picture 474... taken January 20. 2009.

tips for a great marriage

Volume 1: Y's secret to Being Right

Y: have you seen the Sellotape?

HUH??



Me:
Sellotape??? What in the world is sellotape.

Y (dumbfounded): SELL-O-TAPE. Tape. Cellophane tape.

Me: I mean, I figured that's what you were talking about, but... sellotape? Who says that?

Y: Um. Everyone?! It's like Scotch tape. Here, let me repeat my question in a way you'll understand - (puts on his best redneck voice) Daci, have you seen that there sticky stuff?

Me (furiously googling "sellotape"): Wikipedia says it's a British tape brand.

Y (triumphantly): See!

Me: See?! What are you talking about? We don't live in England!

Y: So? Everyone knows that brand! (Sits down at computer innocently.)

Me: Everyone in your house knows that brand**. I get why you called it Sellotape now, but you are not allowed to get mad at me for now knowing what it is!

Y: Oh really?? Why don't you read the Wikipedia page... again.

Many Americans refer to Scotch tape as Sellotape, becuase [sic] the brand is universally recognized as a pseudonym for clear tape.

That's right, people. Y changed Wikipedia to win an argument. I think that is a testament to how awesome I am at being right. And, by the way, Wikipedia hasn't changed the entry back yet, so if you'd like to try this little trick at home, it might just work for you too.

**Y's dad is British - other fun phrases I've had to get used to include "having a lie down", "film pod", "sweeps", and "riding my footcycle".

D 1, Y 0

They say the first year of marriage is the hardest. I don't know why this is true for other people, but for us, it's because of all the very important fights we have.

The other night we were watching Olympic short track skating and we were at each other's throats by the end of this conversation.

Me: Speed skaters have huge thighs.
Y: This isn't speed skating.
Me: What is this?
Y: Short track skating.
Me: Are they not skating fast? It's speed skating!
Y: No. It's short track.
Me: Fine. Is this slow skating? Medium skating?
Y: It's just called short track! Speed skating is entirely different.
Announcer: Welcome back to Olympic Short track speed skating!
Y: FINE.

Or take this past weekend's blowout, when Y told me that the song I made up about Ike while we were washing dishes didn't make sense.

It takes two to make an Ike go right...

What about that doesn't make sense?! This led to a heated discussion about whether or not the original song even made sense. It was intense. And yes, we (okay, I) sing songs about our dog while we do chores. Deal with it. And just try not to get Puppyrazzi stuck in your head. Just try.

I could go on for days. There was the time Y laughed in my face when I told him I was trying out for American Idol the next time they came to Shreveport. Or the time I woke him up in the middle of the night because I was having an especially vivid dream that the fan above us was about to crash into my head and he whined for months about the 30 seconds of beauty sleep I had cost him.

Or what about the fact that Y constantly speaks ill of my childhood dog because he peed on Y ONCE.

Cinnamon was a saint, Y. A saint.


It's gotten so bad that I couldn't write this post without getting into a fight with Y. For some reason, he was trying to explain the "Christmas tree" method of filling out a scantron to a friend, and made this image:

I glanced over and, out of the kindness of my heart, commented {rightly so, don't you think?} that his picture looked nothing like a Christmas tree. We are no longer speaking.


the odd couple


Some girls say it's hard for them to deal with their new husbands' sloppiness. I have to say, I didn't have that problem.


Before you ask, I have no clue why I have a picture of my messy
room circa 2005. I guess I knew I would need it for my future blog?

I think I've done a pretty good job reforming myself since then, and Y and I are the perfect cleaning team. When he cleans, he goes for the germs. When I clean, I make sure everything looks pretty. (See previous entry about the branch in the bathroom. Y probably scrubbed that branch with disinfectant and then put it back on the floor, whereas I might have put the branch in the trash, fluffed the towels and left the residue from a used q-tip on the sink.)


I prefer my motto: What? Salmonella? But look how nicely those jars are lined up!



far more than Y's motto: Yay! A germ free bathroom floor!





that would be his underwear... 5 minutes before we had people over.