Bank Accounts and Nasty Males

Proof number 348 that I am freakishly OCD:
Xtian and I finally got around to getting him an ATM card to our newly-joint bank account (formerly known as my bank account). Now all paychecks go into that one account, all bills are paid out of the same account and there is much rejoicing. Up to now, Xtian had been cashing his checks, handing me the cash, and then I would deposit the money in my bank account, since I had all the household bills in my name, and set up to E-Biller. Sounds complicated and lengthy, no?
Add to this that Xtian felt, understandably, weird about asking for cash when he needed it. Whenever he needed to buy something, I'd hand him my ATM card, then be without money all day. Not very efficient, convenient or safe.
So, after a couple months of round-and-round with the bank, Xtian has his shiny card, new PIN and is off and rolling.
How does this prove I am obsessive beyond all belief?
Because now, I log into my online bank 15 times a day (in the 8 or so hours I'm at work) to see what he's spending money on. $21.75?!?!?! What for?
And in my head, it's obviously part of his long running plan to slowly accumulate enough money to leave me and find a nice, quiet stripper to settle down with.

I'm completely nuts.

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In other news, I got an awesome phone call from a friend today. I shall give you the transcipt:

Me: Hello?
Her: Hi Coley, it's me. When was your last annual exam?
(What an AWESOME conversation starter, I can't even think of anything better, except for perhaps "How's your vagina?")
Me: Ummmm, February 2005
Her: Oh good, so AFTER you slept with M. Right?
Me: Yeeeeeeeees.
Her: Oh good, because someone else who slept with him picked up a little chlamydia.
Me; Amazing. M's an asshole.

That's friendship right there. Anyone who will call you at 2:50 pm on a Thursday to check on your gynecological health is someone you don't want to be without. Ever.