happy wife, happy life


Are you ready for my unsolicited relationship advice?

Communication is key.

Last night during dinner, Y dropped his knife. Since he is a grown man, I figured he could take care of it and didn't think too much about it.

This morning I realized it was still on the floor. I did the best thing I knew to do in this situation -- sent Yoni this text:


A few hours later, I found this in my inbox:


See? Issue resolved, and we didn't even have to talk to each other.

back to the boys

Y is getting a little frustrated that he and Ike haven't been featured on the blog recently. Or maybe he's frustrated that when he is featured, it's usually not very... loving, let's say.

Blog + nag = Blag

So, I thought I should take this time to talk about Y's positive traits. He's incredibly smart. Case in point:

Not only is he about halfway to becoming an MD, look at that outfit! He's doing SO well in my class on how to basically be Joseph Gordon Levitt in the movie 500 Days of Summer. And for that, I am so proud of him.

Good job, honey. Remember rule number one: You can never have too many sweater vests.

Anyway, in more important news, Ike is a beast.



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.


dandy math skillz

Have you seen what they're planning to do to Monopoly?



Blasphemy.

I remember when the current electronic banking version of Monopoly came out, Y and I rolled our eyes and said something the effect of, No cash? No math? These kids are going to grow up without the math skills of our generation.

Well. Let me tell you a little story.

A few weeks ago, we decided to play Monopoly - the old geezer version. I crushed Y, ending the game with thousands of dollars. He had to give me Boardwalk, mortgage all of his properties, and ended up with maybe $2. All this because I owned both of the utilities.

"If both utilities are owned, rent is 10 times amount shown on dice."


This isn't fair, Y whined as he forked over $1200 after rolling a 12. And again, after having to pay $500 after rolling a 5. The game lasted about 15 minutes. It was amazing because a) I have NEVER won monopoly and b) I've never seen anyone win so FAST. I was pretty sure I had uncovered some kind of secret real estate strategist talent and needed to change careers asap.

Fast forward to maybe a week later. Ask Y, I constantly have random thoughts that come out of nowhere that I verbalize to him. Anyone else would think I was crazy, Y tolerates them for some reason. That day's random thought:

Me: "Um. Y... what's 10 x 12?"
Y: "120. Why?"
Me: ....
Y....
Me:....
Y: ARE YOU F@!*ing KIDDING ME!? I KNEW I WASN'T THAT BAD AT MONOPOLY!!

Apparently, having the manual version of Monopoly does nothing for your math skills, and we formally retract our statements directed toward Monopoly 2.0.

house tour, stop 1: the bathroom / nature observatory

Since, for some unknown reason, none of my family wants to come visit fabulous Shreveport (ahem, DAD, ahem) I feel like some house pictures are necessary. Oddly enough, I feel like I'll be able to supplement them all with an entertaining (to me) story like this one:

I used to hate the pink tile on our bathroom floor, until about 10 minutes ago, when I realized it was a thing. I mean, it has a name, Mamie Pink -- named after first lady Mamie Eisenhower. There's even a blog about it. Who knew, right? Our eyesore was suddenly a vintage treasure. I showed Y.

Y: let's take a picture of the bathroom and send it to the blog! Clean the bathroom!

Me: Psh... you just want me to clean the bathroom.

Y: NUH UH. I'm just saying, we probably should pick up the branch on the bathroom floor before we send a picture into a blog.

Me: Um... branch?

Y: Yeah. Duh. The branch on the bathroom floor.

Me: Why is there a branch on the bathroom floor?

Y: I dunno. It's been there for about a week.

Me: Soo... you've been noticing this branch for a week, and you didn't think to pick it up?

Y: ...

And, that concludes another episode of When Med School Eats Your Brain.

The rest of these bathroom pictures are for my sister, who can't believe any bathroom of mine would exist without trash and empty shampoo bottles everywhere. I've moved on, sister, apparently to branches.



A blog about nothing.

The most noteworthy thing that happened to me today:

Y is sitting next to me, playing Tecmo Superbowl, a video game that looks like it might be from 1983. I, being the mature married lady I am, pluck one of Ike's hairs from Y's shirt and stick it up his nose, making Y miss whatever 1980s play he's trying to make*. Y kicks my shin and calls me every name he can think of.

Oh, and there were cupcakes.



I mean... wouldn't you start a blog, too? The people want to hear this stuff.


*I am told it was 3rd and long and from 1991. I still don't think I deserved to be kicked.