I have married a nerd so I need a nerd handbook [OMB]

On My Beehalf:
How to understand nerds

This confirms that, yes, I have married a nerd. Behold hubby, my lovable encyclopedia-airport-airplane-travel-map-geography-royalty-history-economics-math-astronomy (but not really a computer) nerd.

So I've stumbled upon a nerd handbook which shed some light on his endearing geeky ways.  The handbook's author, Rands In Repose, has also written an interesting book entitled Being Geek, which seems to focus more on computer geeks.  Although hubby loves to travel (thank God!) and isn't much into computers, he's a certified nerd alright--just replace all computer-related terms with telescope-related terms, or terms from the areas of study and interests mentioned above, and expect all travel itineraries to include conversation about the history of those areas of interest as well.  If you're still not convinced that my hub's a nerd, well, get ready for this: who else on earth would animatedly talk about English royalty (we live in the Philippines), read a dusty encyclopedia while eating lunch (sometimes while I'm eating with him), and draw maps of countries (with corresponding division of provinces or states, quite accurately!!) as a relaxing hobby??

I'm reposting the Nerd Handbook below, so you too can figure out the darling nerds in your life.  (Words highlighted are mine to emphasize what struck me regarding my hub.)

The Nerd Handbook

A nerd needs a project because a nerd builds stuff. All the time. Those lulls in the conversation over dinner? That’s the nerd working on his project in his head.

It’s unlikely that this project is a nerd’s day job because his opinion regarding his job is, “Been there, done that”. We’ll explore the consequences of this seemingly short attention span in a bit, but for now this project is the other big thing your nerd is building and I’ve no idea what is, but you should.

At some point, you, the nerd’s companion, were the project. You were showered with the fire hose of attention because you were the bright and shiny new development in your nerd’s life. There is also a chance that you’re lucky and you are currently your nerd’s project. Congrats. Don’t get too comfortable because he’ll move on, and, when that happens, you’ll be wondering what happened to all the attention. This handbook might help.

Regarding gender: for this piece, my prototypical nerd is a he as a convenience. There are plenty of she nerds out there for which these observations equally apply.

Garlic. Icky hands. [DBHW]

Domestic Blunders to Household Wonders:
Garli-icky hands


Mmmmm garlic.  It smells great on a hot pan, but it's dizzyingly deadly when you smell it on someone's hands or breath.  And you wouldn't really want to get Edward Cullen unconscious, unless you have other plans--if you know what I mean, *wink*wink*. (If you don't, that's great! I'll have him all to myself.)

ANYWAY.  Since I use garlic quite often in my dishes, I had grown to like the garlicky smell on my fingers, because I'm weird and I drool over garlic.  But thank God my better senses took over and now, I'm just annoyed by the smell of garli-icky hands.

After washing my hands vigorously with soap and water, lo and behold, garlic smell was still there.  Two days have passed of washing hands and taking showers... Still there.  Water and soap for the gazillionth time will probably NOT even do it, and in any case, dry skin ain't cool, man.  Perfumed lotion, nope.  Nails cut, nope.  Rubbing alcohol didn't work either.  I didn't realize garlic smell was this stubborn!

Luckily, a couple of friends gave me a tip to use STAINLESS STEEL!  How ingenious is that?  Just rub your hands on anything made of stainless steel (spoon, ladle, pot, knife, whatever is handy) with some running water and a bit of salt should work too.

Did a bit of research, a.k.a. Google, and Martha Stewart has also given this tip.  To avoid having garli-icky hands altogether, you can get yourself some garlic gadget like a garlic mincer.  Yay!

The tale of the salty pasta [DBHW]

Domestic blunders to household wonders:
What to do with an exceptionally salty pasta


...More like a horribly, dreadfully salty, inedible pasta.

Well I wouldn't be writing this in the first place if I had more cooking experience, or if I had controlled my salt-sprinkling frenzy.  I initially tasted my sauce and felt that it lacked a bit of salt.  But since I was cooking a large portion for 10 people that night, I figured I needed to add around three spoonfuls more of salt. And then, um, maybe a little bit more.  The result: an extra salty pasta sauce nightmare-come-true.

All efforts failed as I tried to salvage the concoction on its deathbed.  I added some water, cream, sugar, more spices...  I did what I could.  But it was too late.

Since I didn't want that whole tub of pasta to go to waste, I still served it to my friends, despite my conscience begging, pleeeeading me not to.  As I placed the dish on the table, the aroma smelled wonderful and mouth-watering.  It looked like what I had intended it to be: yummy penne pasta with ground beef, sausage, and mushrooms in tomato sauce.  My friends were very excited to dig in, but I tried to warn them and said, "It's too salty!" But since it was their first time to try my cooking, my friends had better expectations of my skills and replied, "It couldn't be that bad." As I watch my friends take a bite in slow motion, I felt like an accomplice of a murderer in a horror movie scene, about to poison his victims.  I cried, "No, pasta, noooo!"

My friends' faces right before taking a bite: mouth open, lips curving upward, and eyes half-closed.

Their faces right after taking a bite: mouth closed, lips curving downward, and eyes wide open.

The its-so-salty-I'm-gonna-die moment was so traumatic for me, and probably more so for my friends, that it didn't matter to me that the other dishes I served were not bad at all.  They tried to console me by telling me it was delicious...except for the salty part.  Yeah, whatever.  This was unacceptably inedible.  The killer saline taste and the image of my friends' faces lingered vividly in my mind and sick stomach.

And so I was left with the same tub of pasta, barely touched.  Do I throw it all away?  What a waste, I thought.  So I kept it in the fridge.  I went to bed, tossing and turning, still disturbed by the whole incident.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a light bulb lit.  Ting!

The next morning, I poured lots of water and made it into soup.

I shall never be bothered by the salty pasta monster ever again.