i'll miss you... house

One of the first weeks we lived here, Y was already in the midst of nonstop studying and I had no job and no friends. I was having an ongoing pity party for myself -- here I was, alone in our new house, the only one home on my entire street except for the 16 neighborhood cats. I was acutely aware of the fact that I was not contributing to society while my husband was off with his 120 new friends learning how to do Super Important Things.

One day I was doing the dishes on a creepy, rainy day. It was eerily quiet in my house (we didn't have Ike yet) and, like I said, I was mid-pity party. I was scrubbing a dish, gazing mindlessly out the window, when -- out of nowhere - a cat flew through the air and landed, stomach first, on our window directly in front of me.

If you recall, I have a dire and tragic condition called Jumping Frenchmen of Maine Syndrome. I'm also not a fan of cats. I screamed, fell to the dated tile kitchen floor, and burst into tears. How had I ended up in a place with ugly tile and flying cats, my two worst nightmares?

But then I got a job,  found a guard dog and gained the cats' respect, and eventually, made some friends. And suddenly, my house was my favorite place in the world. The perfect place for a game night, a royal wedding tea party (side note: can you believe it's been a year?), or watching the first three seasons of 30 Rock in bed while eating Mickey Mouse shaped pasta. (best. day. ever.)

I'll miss you... archive:

what is it?

roundabout

coffeeshop where everybody knows your name

crape myrtle

corn

movie moments

antique stores

nice people

lunch date 

Counter Culture

Baton Rouge
local radio
New Orleans
mall
Louisiana
book club

about me

A few weeks ago I did something that still makes me cringe.


I had a job interview via video chat. (Above, I'm making my I hope this isn't too awkward face/admiring the awesome thing I somehow managed to make my hair do.)


The first thing I was asked: Tell me a little about yourself.


The first thing I said -- and this is the cringey part -- Well, my husband is in medical school.


That was the first thing I said. About myself.


Anything would have been better than that, right? I sometimes call my dog Stinkerton McDoodleface.. I learned how to burp on command when I was 11. I eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich every day for lunch. My dream karaoke song is "Kiss From a Rose". I have a birthmark on my knee and one directly behind it on the back of my knee, and when I was little I thought it had bled through. 


We live in a city that feels smaller than it really is. The city is saturated with people in the medical field, and when anyone I meet hears that I'm married to a medical student, they want to know more. They want to know everything about him and usually nothing about me, except for the occasional Why aren't you in med school? 


I've gotten used to it. Apparently so used to it that I've decided to give in and just skip the small talk about myself and get right to the "good" stuff. 


To be fair to myself, when I led with that tidbit about Y, I was trying to explain why I would be in Minneapolis in the first place. But the fact that I brought it up in that way is so telling, and a great reminder of why I'm excited for a change - a chance to go somewhere where medicine doesn't suffocate me, where I can make friends who have absolutely nothing to do with medicine whatsoever.




My faux pas couldn't have been that bad though, considering I got the job! It must have been the awesome thing I somehow managed to make my hair do.  

on body image and confidence (sort of)

These pictures of Britney Spears in her prime are taped to the mirror in my childhood bedroom. I was a pretty optimistic teenager. Pictures of unrealistic, beautiful celebrities didn't make me feel bad about my chubby, freckly self. I was sure that one day -- with a little hard work and her trainer's secrets clipped from Seventeen magazine -- I would look just as good as Britney Spears.


I was in this bedroom this weekend, and I thought a lot about poor, naive, Teenage D. I laughed to myself that I thought I would ever look as good as Britney.


And then I had an epiphany. At some point, it had happened. There was a time when I looked, dare I say, better than Britney.  


And it took a lot of effort on my part.

I think Teenage D was wise beyond her years.

weekend lessons

01. Instagramming a picture of a Polaroid does not, in fact, cause the world to implode with awesomeness.

02. On a related note, if you want to be the most popular person in any given location, bring a Polaroid camera. 

03. If someone tells you your bangs look like Zooey Deschanel's, you should pretend they told you everything about you is like Zooey Deschanel and carry a false sense of confidence the entire night.

04. On a related note, singing the best kind of girl is a quirky girl while on public transportation is frowned upon.

05. Starships were meant to fly. If you're still confused, the Goldmine Saloon will be happy to remind you 437565 times. 

06. If you are officially in your late 20s and feeling slightly not okay with that, a great temporary cure is to stand in the middle of a bar belting out "We Are Young" by Fun at the top of your lungs with five of your friends. You're welcome.

What did you learn this weekend?

come on down to Minnesota

When I found out that we were moving, I decided to treat this news -- like I do all things in life -- as if it were  part of The Price is Right. 


Which obviously means that I just won the Minnesota Showcase Showdown! And Y has agreed that we can purchase all of these things! That's a lie!

poster:  Minneapolis neighborhood poster by Ork
blanket: Pendleton
shoes: Minnetonka mocassins
lotion: J.R. Watkins apothecary (which I didn't know was a Minnesota company until I came face to face with a wall full of it at the Mall of America)
dvds: don't think I don't have a whole blog post planned entitled "we're going to make it after all", with the main focus being a picture of me throwing my hat in the air. 
earmuffs: I decided I should buy some kind of ear protection, since people seem to think it's cold in Minnesota for some reason.
bike: in case you weren't aware, Minneapolis recently surpassed Portland as the #1 biking city in the United States. 
Twins shirt: Yes, I'm almost 28. Yes, I still sometimes wear Pink clothing. I also like to pretend my life is a cheesy old game show, and I think that's way weirder. 

Fun with packing

I know most people hate packing.


But in our house, saying "can you wrap Abraham Lincoln?" leads to ten minutes of rapping about our 16th president.


So I think the whole process is kind of fun.

I'll miss you... book club

I'll miss you, book club. 

Whether we're discussing the book,

                 

              

reading our favorite passages aloud ("dickey-bird", Gabriel Garcia Marquez? GROSS.),

trying on each other's glasses and laughing hysterically,

eating New York themed food (like frozen hot chocolate and black and white cookies the size of my face),

or wearing flowers in our hair like true senoritas.

photos from To Kill a Mockingbird, If You Have To Cry Go Outside, and Love in the Time of Cholera.

Laura and I weren't sure we would get any responses when we suggested a book club, let alone 8! I'm definitely going to miss our get togethers, and no one will ever truly replace these girls, but at least now I know more people like to read than I thought.


 We're discussing MWF Seeking BFF next week (with the author Rachel Bertsche joining us via Skype) and I can't wait to share!


Other posts about book club: The Help, The Great Gatsby & Black Heels to Tractor Wheels, Pride and Prejudice.

I'll miss you... archive:

what is it?

roundabout

coffeeshop where everybody knows your name

crape myrtle

corn

movie moments

antique stores

nice people

lunch date 

Counter Culture

Baton Rouge
local radio
New Orleans
mall
Louisiana

Step 1 flashback, Part 2

The second part of my little Step 1 flashback details Y's imaginary conversations, and why medical school is JUST like high school.


Although... While Y was studying for Step 1, I was taking a 4 hour solo road trip to see a Taylor Swift concert. While driving, I learned the words to every song (Hey Stephen was my favorite), and was prepared -- daiquiri in hand, best friends in tow -- to sing along at the top of my lungs. 


And I'm making fun of his life for being like high school.


Click here to read about the parallels of med school and high school and further proof that Step 1 makes you crazy. And click here to read about my night with T-Swizzle. 

Step 1 of the medical boards (from a med school wife's perspective)

This is my blog, and I reserve the right to be lazy.

For the next three days, I'm going to link you to some of my posts from 2010. Step 1, the first part of the medical boards, is coming up and I know a lot of med students are starting to study. Wives of med students are starting to freak out about the excessive amounts of studying.

Y took Step 1 two years ago (before a lot of you found me), and I'll let you in on a little secret: it wasn't that bad. For me, at least. I'm pretty sure Y started going crazy. Here's the proof, in 3 parts:

Part 1: Discussing Flashcards with the Dog, and Other Studying Secrets

Why I deserve a pedicure

If you ask me how I got any of my scars, you'll find my stories sound like excuses from a Lifetime Original Movie. Ran into an open drawer, fell up a flight of two steps, dropped a can of beans on myself. Yesterday as I looked through my closet, a pair of shoes fell off of my shoe rack, their pointy heels scraping my leg as they tumbled to the ground. Tonight I stepped on a metal bookend and sliced open my foot.

You guys, I'm a spaz.

But most of those things happen in the comfort of my own home. The injury pictured above happened in public, and is probably the most embarrassing of all of them. 

It was in the middle of yoga, in a quiet, dimmed room. I was jumping from downward dog to seated, and as my feet whizzed by my arms, I felt a sharp pain in my wrist.

The teacher must have seen me wince, because she stopped teaching and stepped over to my mat. "Are you okay?" she practically screamed. She was trying to be quiet, but it's hard to be quiet in a room where you can hear every time someone's hip joint pops. 

"I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"I... cut my wrist with my toenail." 

"Oh my gosh." I thought it was funny; the teacher looked worried for my life (or possibly disgusted at the mention of a toenail). "Do you need a band aid? We have plenty!"

"I'm fine." 

The next time I looked at my wrist, it was dripping blood. I guess I should have taken her up on that offer. As I reached for my towel to wipe it off, my foot cramped in such a way that I thought it might be deformed forever. I had to sit down to catch my breath. It was a rough few minutes.

After class, the teacher placed her hand on my back as I rolled up my mat. She was sympathetic and soothing, free of judgment. Just like a yoga teacher should be."Are you feeling better?" she asked.

As if I had been out for a week with the flu. As if she were visiting me at the hospital. Not as if I had briefly cut my wrist with my jagged toenail and then gotten an ill-timed foot cramp. 

I'm pretty sure Emily Post would agree that the appropriate greeting after a toenail injury is "Holy shit woman, get a pedicure immediately."

babies have all the fun

When I interact with a baby, my initial reaction isn't -- like so many girls my age -- to want to have a baby. My first reaction to hanging out with a baby is that I want to be a baby. 

I told some friends this recently. According to them, it's weird. 


But I stand by my statement. Babies are passed around at parties from person to person, each of whom has just one mission: make the baby laugh. Who wouldn't want that life?

Similarly, it's so easy for a baby to make someone smile. All the baby has to do is point and say "doggie!" to get a few giggles. There's no timing involved, no perfectly placed picture on a blog, no potty humor or other extremes utilized merely for a laugh. 

At a gathering, if someone isn't trying to make the baby laugh, they're trying to hug him, cuddle him, or have him blow a kiss. So much love. The adult alternatives are having to explain 16 times what you do for work and wondering how far away you have to be from someone before you can start gossiping about them. 

I think Y is on my side. A few years ago we went to Disneyland and as we were leaving, we saw a little boy, Mickey Mouse ears atop his head, falling asleep on his dad's shoulders. He was clutching the remains of one of those giant, swirled lollipops. Y stopped and pointed. "I want to be that kid."

I agreed. I mean, I left Disneyland in a much worse state than that little boy - tired and cranky, with nothing but a few blisters and this awful picture:

What do you think: am I crazy? Or - come on, admit it -- do I maybe have a point?

we hear it's cold in Minnesota

disclaimer: I'm aware that these videos are no longer funny. However, I feel like there is no better way to get my point across.

Have you ever wondered what people say when you tell them you're moving to Minnesota?


You're in luck -- there happens to be a video to answer that exact question. I present you with Stuff People Say When You Tell Them You're Moving to Minneapolis: 

 I've heard each of these things at least twice, usually accompanied by a horrible look of disgust, often from a stranger. The climate is usually phrased as a question, as if the person asking has secret meteorological intelligence of which we're not aware. People are incredibly concerned that we're moving somewhere cold, as if we have secret plans to hold them hostage in our luggage and drop them off naked in an igloo somewhere. 


I've been reminded about getting a coat more times than I can count.


At Match Day, plenty of people matched at places that wouldn't necessarily be my top choice. But it's not me who's moving there, and my responses were something like:


"Mississippi? Great! Now you can use your fiance's grandparents' land that they gave you!"
"Congratulations on Arkansas! Didn't your wife just get into law school there?"
"Congratulations on matching in Houston! Don't you have family there?"


instead of:


"Mississippi? You know that place is 50th in the nation in, oh, everything?!"
"Arkansas?! And you're excited? You'll probably live next door to a meth lab and be involved in some sort of chemical explosion. Hope you have a fire extinguisher!"
"I'm sweating just thinking about summer in Houston. Good luck with that! Hope you love traffic!"


I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have gone over well. 


Yes, Minnesota is cold. But it isn't the South Pole- millions of people live in that climate all winter long! We chose to be a little adventurous, and frankly, it makes me sad that the general public is so anti-adventure. 


I'm glad they're all pro-coat, though. The world needs more pro-winterwear people. 

Happy Easter/Passover/Weekend!

Passover is a lovely holiday that almost always involves a conversation about constipation. 

But you know what? I don't think that's the reason I enjoy it so much. 

I think it's because we got engaged on the first night of Passover in 2008, and I have this priceless piece of art to remember that night:

In case you couldn't tell, that's Y celebrating his engagement to THE CLAW while THE CLAW ponders when bushy eyebrows will be in again and why she chose to spend her life with a mate with such large ears and no chin to speak of. Both Y and THE CLAW probably ate too much matzah and are constipated. It happens.

Y's little brother painted this when he was ten based on a picture we took at the Passover seder.

It was a pretty good night. Before I mauled everyone with my claw.

an illustration of fourth year

Fourth year is known for being the most laid back year of medical school. Allow me to illustrate:


Q: What does the first, second, or third year medical student do when he realizes that the hair product he bought for his beard has an ugly label?


A: Trick question. The first, second, or third year medical student has no time for personal hygiene! The fact that he has no time to maintain his beard is ironic (in an Alanis Morisette kind of way, not in a literary kind of way), because he also has no time to prevent it from growing.


on the flip side..


Q. What does the fourth year medical student do when he realizes that the hair product he bought for his beard has an ugly label?


A: Easy! He uses his vast amounts of free time to design and print his own label!

Q: The first, second, or third year medical student's father mentions that he's had to use the "world's smallest violin" cliche often at work. What does the student do in response?


A: What? He was supposed to be listening to someone tell a story? The only people the first, second, or third year medical student pays any attention to are his cadaver and Goljan.


 and the fourth year?


Q: The fourth year medical student's father mentions that he's had to use the "world's smallest violin" cliche often at work. What does the student do in response?


A: Easy! The student uses his aforementioned free time to create an exhibit for his father's desk!

Anything else you'd like to know about the mysterious and crafty fourth year medical student?

toothbrush musings

It's toothbrush week at Just Dandy!


Okay, not really. I just happened to have two toothbrush-related thoughts to share two days in a row. 


Would you be surprised if Toothbrush Week was a thing, though? Everything has a day. Monday was National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day. I'm pretty sure today was national Let Your Dog Steal Your Used Q-Tip Day (at least, it was in our house). But I digress.


This post is actually about how time flies. About how I distinctly remember scribbling John Mayer lyrics in a notebook after Y brought his toothbrush to my apartment for the first time. She keeps a toothbrush at my place... as if I have the extra space.

Six years later we practically share a toothbrush. (We share the base of a Sonicare toothbrush. It's not gross.) Sometimes, when we both finish flossing at the same time, we box each other out to achieve the greatest of victories: the first to use the toothbrush.

We've also become fluent in each other's Toothbrush Language. Y has a bad habit of asking me questions while I'm brushing my teeth, and I have a bad habit of trying to answer him. Our biggest accomplishment happened this week, when Y understood my entire half of a long conversation composed of only mmm-mmms and exaggerated eyebrow movement. 


He'll come in handy as my interpreter on National Bring Your Toothbrush To Work Day. (April 29th! Mark your calendars!)

I'll miss you... Louisiana

In one of my grad school classes, a fellow student from St. Lucia told us that the only access her family had to clean water was a 20 minute walk away from her house.

"Well, I feel lazy," I said out loud, half joking, half trying to prove a point. "I complain when I'm brushing my teeth, my electric toothbrush runs out of batteries, and I have to walk to the other room to get the spare." I expected other classmates to nod in agreement and share their own Lazy American stories.  But everyone just stared at me. An awkward turtle would have been appropriate. Or, even better, a giant firstworldproblems hashtag, projected on the wall over my head. 

I'm generally not a lazy person, but I will admit to end of the night toothbrush laziness. I'll also admit to having complained, on several occasions, about this impending problem: After we move, when I have to select my state from a dropdown menu, there will be choices. I won't just be able to select "L" and hit enter. I'll have to scroll down through five states after typing "M". 

And to think I've taken this for granted all these years. Residents of Delaware, Georgia, Florida, Hawaii, Louisiana, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and Utah -- as well as those of you who live in the first state alphabetically under each letter -- take a few moments the next time you're selecting your state from a dropdown menu and appreciate the ease. 

When you're done, I'll probably still be scrolling through Maryland. 

I'll miss you... archive:

what is it?

roundabout

coffeeshop where everybody knows your name

crape myrtle

corn

movie moments

antique stores

nice people

lunch date 

Counter Culture

Baton Rouge
local radio
New Orleans
mall

adventures in hats and homeowner's insurance

Recently an insurance company, who shall remain nameless but may or may not have a reptile as a spokesperson, refused to give us a quote for homeowner's insurance. Why?

We can neither confirm nor deny that our dog has pitbull in him. 


I just want to have an insurance agent spend the day with Ike. Maybe this would help them to understand that Ike doesn't deal in ripping people's faces off, he deals in snuggling their face off. 

This dog is just not agressive. I mean, the poor creature is scared of hats. Literally. When I want Ike to get away from me, I hold my hand over his head and ask him if he wants a hat. He's across the house before I can clarify whether I mean a top hat, sombrero, or just a simple baseball cap. 


The curious thing about this particular fear is that he seems to be more afraid of the word "hat" than he is actual hats. I can place something on Ike's head without issue. But as soon as I inform him that what is on his head is, in fact, a hat - he bolts. 

This amuses Y and me. What could have possibly happened in his three weeks of life before we met him to create such an aversion to the word "hat"? Was he part of some kind of dog fighting ring with the stagename Hat? Does he think I'm saying "cat"? Cats are pretty scary. 


I could ponder this all day. Y would rather make animated gifs on the topic.

There's one thing we can  both agree on: we will certainly not be using the insurance company who may or may not have a reptile for a spokesperson for our homeowner's insurance. Their loss -  I have a feeling Flo, the dad from Juno, or even Mayhem are cool with our snuggly, hat-fearing mutt.  


(PS Ike is also inexplicably scared of Cameron Diaz)