Y&Ike > college?

Here's a sappy post, just in time for [a week and a half after] Valentine's Day:

A few months ago, Y and I drove to my hometown and stopped at our alma mater to use the restroom, since Y has a bladder the size of a walnut (this is according to his med school friends, and they're so trustworthy I can't help but assume they know what they're talking about).

As I walked through the student union, a wave of nostalgia nearly knocked me over. I passed the computer lab where my friends and I rushed to meet on room assignment day so we could all log in at the same time to trick the system into putting us in the same apartment sophomore year. I passed the place where, about 5 years ago, Y pretended I tripped him and fell moaning to the ground, screaming why would you do this to me?! as about 50 people watched (typical Y).

I walked out of the union feeling depressed and wondering why the world was so unfair and didn't just let us stay in college forever. Then I turned toward the campus parade ground and saw this, and before I could even think about it, a huge smile was plastered on my face and I forgot about college:

just our typical Sunday

A little mischief:

Sidenote: how sad does our little kitchen look? I'm repeating this mantra for the next year and a half. And then I'll probably keep repeating it for the next 3-4 years when we rent another house.

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:

What about you guys? Did anyone else learn anything good on Wikipedia this weekend?

long distance romance

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.

So, future generations, when a 2010 medical student leaves his wife and pitbull mix behind for 2 weeks to train, THESE are the pining gestures (I want you to read that as if Ryan Seacrest is saying "THIS is American Idol"):

"If you were here, you should have said hi!"

Okay Y, maybe our bathroom does occasionally look like this when I change the toilet paper roll:

But can't a girl get a little absence makes the heart grow fonder every once in awhile?

*Two Carrie Bradshaw references in one post? I am awesome.

much love monday: a furry heart {wbthirty day 5}

We're pretty sure that yesterday was Ike's second birfday. There are many things I've noticed since having Ike, like that all "th" sounds are now pronounced "f". Or that instances of saying "oh my goodness" have increased tenfold. Or that when your dog allows you to make him wear a pair of your glasses, you should capitalize on that and take as many pictures as possible, because it will probably never happen again.

The other day I started to wonder if Y was jealous of Ike. When I come home from work, Y gets an enthusiastic "Hi!" and maybe a kiss, if he's lucky.

But Ike... on Friday when I came home, I pulled Ike into my lap and spent ten minutes telling him how he is just the greatest little man on the face of the earth, and how impressed I was by how wide he opened his mouth when he yawned, and how squeezable his widdle belly rolls were.

I owe Y an apology. Y, your non existent belly rolls are squeezable too. But your mouth opening while yawning is not worthy of my praise.

just like the movies

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.

That totally happened to me the other morning. Sort of.

You see, I woke up to some incredibly passionate puppy kisses. But unlike every character that this has ever fictionally happened to, I knew it was Ike. So I started hitting* him repeatedly. It didn't stop. I started hitting him harder.

But nothing worked. The licking continued. And that, my friends, was the moment I realized I was beating up my husband.

don't mess with us.

*When I say "hitting", I don't mean in an animal cruelty type of way. I mean in a half asleep, shoving, attempt to get him off of me way. And anyway, as you would have seen had you made it to the end of the story, it doesn't matter anyway.

four score and seven years ago...

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:

Finding Y's doppleganger has been a little bit harder. My dad thinks he looks like Roger Sterling.

Any online avatar he makes ends up looking like Justin Timberlake:

I can kind of see it... I just don't think Y has the moves.

But yesterday, Y's friend and I glimpsed Y's shadow in profile... and it was obvious:

Obviously, I added the hat - well, maybe not obviously, you don't know our lives -- but can you see it?

don't judge a book by its texting/messaging skills

This post is Scholarly Ike approved.

Today a friend and fellow grammar nerd was telling me about a guy she met. Of all of his great qualities, she said the one that made him most dateable was that he used a semi-colon. Correctly. In a text.

I told her that he was definitely a keeper, but that you probably should judge a book by its texting/messaging. Y, for instance, is one of the smartest people I know, but I would not be surprised if I got a message from him one night after class that said hye just got dun studying about how to b a docter!

Not 5 minutes later, Y g-chatted me.

i ate a bunch of oragnes. and now a friut fly wont leave my beard alone.

life moves pretty fast.

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 have that experience about once a day.

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 swear there was a Batman lunch box. Smart guy, that Y, not allowing any photographic evidence of it.

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.

Does anyone else feel like just yesterday you were a kid playing with American Girl dolls; or maybe a naive college kid shopping at Forever 21 like it was going out of style?

Right. I actually was doing both of those things yesterday. But you know what I mean.

on gifts and (monocles)

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?")

I say this because it seems like every married blogger I follow is showing off their 1 year anniversary gifts. I wanted to play, too, but I felt like I needed that disclaimer. Unless of course, it's perfectly normal to receive a card shaped like Michael Jackson's white glove.

Not that the card isn't one of the top five gifts I've ever received (#1 being Samantha).

Sorry, Y, none of your gifts could top my velvet-hat wearing, pink coin purse toting, Victorian friend. (Just so you know, I wrote that sentence before I found the picture. I have Samantha's accessories memorized.)

The shiny glove's purpose was to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of not only our marriage, but the two weeks we spent driving around Ireland, unable to escape from the endless Michael Jackson tributes (the Irish took it much harder than we did).

We exchanged gifts at 2:30 a.m. after our anniversary, after we got home 4 hours later than expected from New York (thunderstorms in Dallas, 2; DandY travel plans, 0). Since I was practically delirious at that time, I'm not sure if I ever properly thanked Y for his gift, and would like to do so now in our favorite mode of communication.

As for my gift to Y, I made him letterhead...which he had actually asked me to do months ago. I guess it ruined the effect that my first anniversary gift was actually a long procrastinated favor.

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.

How funny that she said that, because we love to imagine Ike in that getup -- we're pretty sure that's his alter ego. In fact, when Ike was a puppy, Y even made this:

Y has yet to use his Manly Letterhead, and for his next guest post on this blog, I propose he tell me why via http://www.bureauofcommunication.com.

Samantha picture source: babble.com

In our house...

...this is what happens when you finish a big test:

Brown paper packages tied up with floss...

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.

This is why I should never write a food blog.

pretzel wars

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).

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

Me: Oh, this will be nice! I bet they will really get along.
Y: Who?

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.

like buttah

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:

A comedy set in the Midwest U.S., where an adopted girl discovers her talent for butter carving and finds herself pitted against an ambitious local woman in their town's annual contest.

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 celebrity stalking walk was successful. We got some exercise and our yogurt. The only reason I left work for an hour on a busy Wednesday to take a walk. Yep. Gotta have my midday yogurt.

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.


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...

...aren't enough, and he needs to add baking delicious, delicious bread products to his repertoire.


The Passive Aggressives

Y gets, in my opinion, unreasonably angry about many things. Maybe you've heard how much he hates the game Apples to Apples?

I guess usually my laid back attitude complements Y's, well, not laid back attitude. But yesterday, we had a bonding experience when something pissed us both off equally.

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.

Go team.

tips for a great marriage

Volume 1: Y's secret to Being Right

Y: have you seen the Sellotape?


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".