Here's a sappy post, just in time for [a week and a half after] Valentine's Day:
A little light reading:
Correction: I was doing a little light reading. I thought Y was too, until I looked over and noticed The Longest Word Ever:
It seems like when everyone I know wants to feel better about their lives,they watch Teen Mom. I apparently read WWII novels. Seriously, I've read 4 in the past month or so, all randomly recommended to me by different people.
One of the best things about these books is reading the correspondence between the people at war and their lovahs. Of course, since these are novels, all the letters are well-written and inspiring and tear-jerking and all kinds of other nauseating things. But I imagine the real letters from the past -- and not just between wartime spouses, but between anyone separated by distance -- were just as beautiful.
I began to wonder* how future generations would describe such correspondence between couples in 2010. At the time I was reading these books, Y was preparing to leave for part of his OB-GYN rotation, which was across the state (dramatic, much? It was two hours away). I, being stuck in WWII-Novel-Land, expected romantic and pining messages -- even if they were via text.
*Two Carrie Bradshaw references in one post? I am awesome.
You know that cliche, oh-so-hilarious moment that happens in just about every movie ever; where someone is sleeping and is lured awake by a dog licking them? And while it's happening, of course the lickee thinks that their lovaaa is the one licking them? Hilarious.
But nothing worked. The licking continued. And that, my friends, was the moment I realized I was beating up my husband.
You guys, I got the best compliment a while ago.
I've been told I look like a few random celebrities, none of which I agree with. In fact, in high school, my health teacher who I'm pretty sure was some sort of drug addict (yay public school!) told me I looked like Blair Underwood. Do you know who Blair Underwood is? If you're a Sex and the City fan you might remember him as the Knicks' doctor who dated Miranda and gave her a cookie cake that said "I love you".
Not ringing a bell? Well, he is a large black man.
Recently someone told me I look like the cutest, most well dressed celebrity around, and I will take it as my official celebrity doppleganger:
But yesterday, Y's friend and I glimpsed Y's shadow in profile... and it was obvious:
Is it just me, or does everyone have that moment where you sit up suddenly -- mouth open Macauley Culkin style -- and think "Holy crap. That quote, from Ferris Bueller? The one that everyone has listed under 'favorite quote' on their Facebook page? IT'S TRUE."
I can't believe we've already lived here over two years and Y is already halfway through with school. It can't possibly have been that long since he stood on our front porch, Batman lunchbox in hand, ready to take on his first day of class.
I also can't believe we're feeding Ike adult food. When I look at him I still see this:
And to top it all off, Bob outgrew his Anthropologie costume.
People think Y and I are odd. For starters, we enjoy driving across the country. We bake our own pizza dough. We carry reusable bags to the grocery store, which has attracted the attention of every employee at SuperTarget and pretty much made us ST celebrities. We don't celebrate Valentine's Day. (Or Christmas, for that matter, and if I had a nickel for every person that's said to me, "Wait- since you're Jewish, does that mean you don't celebrate CHRISTMAS?")
When I showed some friends my design to get some opinions on my "manly letterhead" (FYI: Googling "manly letterhead" for stationery inspiration doesn't work), one said she could imagine Y sitting in a big leather chair, smoking a cigar and writing a letter on his letterhead with a quill while Ike sat at his feet wearing a monocle and a top hat.
...this is what happens when you finish a big test:
1. You get a gift that doubles as a passive aggressive commentary on your flossing habits. Not that Y doesn't floss -- sometimes I kind of wish he didn't -- but he tosses his floss wherever he feels like when he's done. And yes, I have found it on me before. And before you tell me how immature and ineffective my tactic is, I would like you to know that I haven't seen floss in any place it's not supposed to be since. Hmmmph.
2. You get a [really, really, ugly] cake.
Well, it's official. Y and I have run out of things to talk about. Since he's been studying for his boards, we both spend our days locked in closet sized rooms with no windows. He could tell me about why practice question X was unfair or too hard, but I try to discourage that since I don't speak medicalese. And I could tell him how many times we change one little sentence in something we're editing at work, but well, that's boring.
So when we meet for lunch outside of the med school where I work and he studies, the conversation is pretty much nonexistent. The other day I was checking my Nalgene bottle for leaks while he was reading the back of his bag of pretzels. "Snyders of Hanover," he read, "Not to be confused with Snyders of Berlin. I wonder why they need to put that on the bag." I shrugged. "Probably some tragic, pretzel-based Romeo and Juliet." We spent the next 15 minutes discussing theories of why Snyders of Hanover didn't want to be associated with Snyders of Berlin. And then we went back to our caves.
All in all, a successful lunch break. Join us next time as we debate whether PBJs should be cut into rectangles or triangles (triangles).
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.
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.
Because of a tax break for the film industry, movies have started filming in our little half medical, half redneck paradise (Sidenote: It is rare to visit any restaurant or store that doesn't have at least one person wearing scrubs, one person in a white coat, and one fat guy wearing overalls). Yesterday, there was a shoot happening around the corner from our house. Plan Make Ike Famous part B (my callout to the Today show fell flat) was in full effect. During our lunch break Yoni, Ike and I took a little walk to get some yogurt and -- ohmigosh what is this a movie set, right on our route? What are the chances? And I just happen to have my camera?!
There have been claims that none of the movies filmed here have been of decent quality (The Year One, Mad Money, W). Well this movie, the one whose set has now been graced with Ike's urine, is out to change that reputation:
How could a movie about butter carving be anything but amazing? I just hope Paula Deen has a cameo.
Anyway, as Yoni and I started on our walk we plotted ways to get Ike in with the celebrities. Jennifer Garner stars in Butter, so our first thought was obviously that little Violet and Seraphina would be hanging around on set, and want to play with our little doggy, which would surely end up on Perez Hilton.But what if Jennifer Garner wasn't around? Alicia Silverstone is in the movie too -huge PETA advocate. We set up a hypothetical scene should she be there that involved us kicking Ike. She would have to intervene. Ike wouldn't mind taking one for the team.
Hugh Jackman could have been there. To attract his attention, we quickly choreographed an Oscars-worthy dance with Ike as the lead.
The other male lead, Rob Corrdry, is known (by us) for his Daily Show correspondence and awesome bangs:Guys with beards have a special bond; why not guys with bangs? Other cast members include Ty Burrell (my FAVORITE character from Modern Family), Kristen Schaal (another Daily Show correspondent), Ashley Greene (who was in some movie about vampires or something?) and Olivia Wilde, who I, oops, forget to tell Yoni about because I'm pretty sure she's on his list. We didn't come up with a plan for them; we were SO sure the play date with Jennifer Garner's girls would work out.
As we turned the corner, we spotted our first celebrity:The fat neighborhood cat we call Wilford Brimley.
And the rest of the journey was just as eventful. We did spot a prop, though.
All in all I'd say our
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?
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.
Another year, another Passover ends. I've never actually liked giving up bread for Passover, but it becomes especially difficult when my husband has decided that his many hobbies --dissecting brains, memorizing the periodic table, building bikes, herding sheep...
Y gets, in my opinion, unreasonably angry about many things. Maybe you've heard how much he hates the game Apples to Apples?
We were standing by the gate to enter a set of two tennis courts, one of which was occupied by a group of pastel clad women playing doubles. As we waited for them to take a break so we could walk behind them to get to our court, one woman adjusted her diamond tennis bracelet and snapped at us, "You need to use the other gate." We didn't realize there was another gate, so we probably gave her a look like this:
She looked at us like "our kind" was the downfall of her beloved tennis court. "You're going to cross our court while we're in the middle of a point," she pre-accused us snootily. This made us angry.
As if we were so dumb that we were going to just walk in the middle of their court as they were playing?? Please. Look lady, my tennis outfit may just be a pair of random leggings and a men's Hane's v-neck-- and that's only because my tennis skirt was in the dryer, but even if I had been wearing my tennis skirt, it has two holes in it and it's from high school 10 years ago and my high school was --gasp-- public, and there was a stabbing outside of my homeroom and people were busted for drugs 2 streets over and my husband might be wearing my dad's polo shirt from the 70s and is in dire need of a haircut and our tennis rackets might be from Wal Mart but THAT DOESN'T MEAN WE DON'T HAVE BASIC COMMON SENSE.
That's what was running through my mind. Y told me his was brimming with all kinds of really clever insults: "I hear that being a raging bitch is the leading cause of early menopause." Not quite as well spoken as his Apples to Apples rant, but I would have loved to hear him shout that across the court. And then ran and hid.
So what did the dynamic duo to retaliate when our intelligence was questioned? We used the other gate. And went on with our match. And passive agressively ran really fast to grab our stray balls, heaven forbid they cross the other court in the middle of a point. And in Yoni's case, made up really awesome insults that would, sadly, never see the light of day.
Volume 1: Y's secret to Being Right
Y: have you seen the Sellotape?
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".