marriage is a courtroom

Mike and I are coming up on our third year wedding anniversary in two weeks. We dated for three years and then got married a week after finding out we were pregnant with Nathan.

Every year, Mike and I have more disagreements about how things really happened, especially during the early stages of our relationship. He contends that I courted him. Not true, I distinctly remember being asked to a No Doubt concert.

He argues that my first apartment was a complete trash fest with papers and laundry scattered everywhere. I remain firm that the clothing piles on the floor were merely obstacle courses and sometimes I needed some in-house bootcamp to get motivated.

Sometimes Mike will ask me a question and I’ll answer even if I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m talking about and he’ll quickly call me out with, “You don’t know what you’re talking about do you?” and I’ll retort, “I am educated and I made a guess. That is an educated guess. How was I supposed to know that Steely Dan is a band and not a metallic person?”

Other times, I’ll use what I know about Mike’s past and pretend like they were my memories like in the video above, even though these events occurred before my birth and I often bungle up the details.

We were watching some TV show about Harry Chapin and I told Mike that in 1975, some of my buddies and I went to a Harry Chapin concert and afterward hung out with him. “And Harry even gave us his harmonica and his stool sample.” I exclaimed.

“Wow, that’s really interesting because in 1975, Harry Chapin gave my friends and me his harmonica and instead of his stool sample, it was THE STOOL HE SAT ON.”

August 31, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 7 Comments

why I didn’t go to med school

We were at the pediatrician’s earlier this week because Nathan had the very early stages of pink eye coupled with an advanced case of an ear infection, which explained why he was waking up screaming every damn morning. It was especially unfortunate because his waking up usually coincided with my Javier Bardem-Colin Firth-man fantasy sequence.

While we were there, I showed the doctor a red pimple-like bump Nathan had on his shoulder. He examined it, prodded it with his thumb and index finger and looked at me. “It could be a pimple, an infected follicle, or it could be MRSA.”

“MRSA?” I replied, shocked that he would even mention a staph infection when I was certain it was just a buried pimple. “Don’t you mean, MENSA?”

“No, I said MRSA.”

“Yeah, I know you said that, but I only hear what I want to hear and right now I want to hear you say MENSA.”

The pediatrician didn’t cooperate but instead wrote a prescription for some antibiotics and gave me the number of the therapist who worked in the building.

Nathan’s doing much better. Can you tell?