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)