Dear Samsung,

I’ve been reading online reviews of your “Magnet” phone. Apparently, you guys are very proud of this phone because it has a qwerty keyboard. Well let me just say congratulations, you made a phone with a qwerty keyboard… FOR CARNIES.

What follows is a text message conversation. The two texters are in their mid to late 20s (meaning they don’t typically TyP3 lYk3 d1S) and have had their phones for about a year and send at least ten text messages a day. Oh, and one of the texters is me, and I am confident enough in my typing skills to know that this is not normal.

The scene: Dog swallows a chicken bone.

It wuz delicious, guyz.

I call Y and ask what he thinks I should do, we agree I should call a vet. And the texts begin.

y: my friend josh says it may r may not be vas [bad]. wing or leg?

me: thigh. ive called tree vets. boarding place im waiing on.
y: ricr
me: vet says i should induce vomiting
y: you cab try
y: if you cant, theb bring hi. In.
me: 60 dollars later, no chicken bone. she disnot sound too wirried.
y: great. now what
me: watch his oop.
y: what? happens i there is blod

me: bring him in. surg?

Did you get all that? Because I sure didn’t. Neither did my husband. Y spent his day wondering why i would call a tree vet when our dog was the issue. And he did a great job of watching Ike’s oop, but later admitted he had no idea what he was looking at all afternoon. And I
still have no clue what “ricr” means.

Later, Y needed to know what time he was picking me up from class so he could start making dinner.

Y: Wheb am i getting you. nt goig to cook till yuo get hurr.

Samsung, you may be wondering why I’m writing you this letter. First of all, it’s to tell you that the keyboard on my Magnet is IMPOSSIBLE to type on. Finally, I would like to thank you for getting “Hot in Hurr” stuck in my (and probably, now, all of my readers’) head.

Not A Carnie.

Ike the Cartographer — By Y

If you have ever read this blog you have probably met our dog, Ike.


Ike is pretty cool–he even has a freaking heart on his freaking back.

freaking cool, amirite?

Well, as it turns out, Ike is turning into quite the illustrated dog. Last night I noticed he has a map on his snout. That’s right, a map. Basically what I’m saying is that if Kevin Costner’s worst fears come true, we have got him covered.

really? an obscure waterworld reference?

Ike has a map of Western Europe on his snout. Not just a rough outline either–a detailed map, England and all. Full disclosure–he is missing parts of Scandinavia, but I’m pretty sure that’s becuase Ike has some serious issues with the 1814 Treaty of Kiel

you can even see Calais!

For those of you who went to public school, here is an actual map of Europe:

Here it is for those of you who went to public school in the south:

much like Russia, I took some liberties with the eastern bloc.


t-shirt years

Well here’s a sign I’m getting old. (Other than the fact that while watching The Real World: New Orleans, I said to Y, I‘m an entire kindergartener older than these people!)

Everyone has their favorite t-shirt, right? One that’s so old and threadbare that it practically feels like silk; has so many holes it absolutely cannot, under any circumstances be worn in public. One that any “vintage” shirt from Hollister/American Eagle/Old Navy wishes it could feel like. (You don’t even mind if it starts to fade — that only makes it nicer still.)

My go-to comfy t-shirt is a treasure I found in my mom’s closet. It’s from San Francisco, and since I’ve never been to San Fransisco and my parents rarely traveled without me, I’m going to assume it’s over 26 years old.

Y’s favorite soft, threadbare shirt? Another vintage classic: my high school senior class shirt. 8 years old.

weekly wrap up (or, things that don’t belong anywhere else)

These are the books I’ve read since May — they all match. Completely unintentional. My mom, whose motto might as well have been “If you are wearing denim pants, you wear denim shoes and a blue shirt”, would be so proud of me.

In New York, I bought this painting from an artist outside of the Met. On a scale of 1 to fanny pack, how touristy is that?

I don’t think Ike likes our early morning photoshoots.

My Fourth of July was annoyingly festive. Even the laundry.


I thought Ike was so smart. I really did.

I thought he knew “walk”. Wanna go for a walk?

I thought he knew “car ride”. Wanna go for a car ride?

I thought he knew “run”. Wanna go for a run?

The other day we realized he only knows one word.


I am Chuck.

Today Y starts his first day of third year, which means he starts to actually see patients instead of sitting in the library all day studying. That’s exciting and all, but why would I talk about what this experience means for him, when I could talk about the implications this will have on my life? Is med school not all about me?

Med school, as I’ve said, is a lot like high school — the lockers, the cliques, and especially the gossip. When school is in session, things get a little…awkward for me. Since I work in the building, I often end up on the elevator, in the coffee line, or on the parking lot shuttle with one or more med students. Generally, I’ve never spoken to these people and they have no idea who I am, so we stand next to each other and don’t make eye contact. A totally normal interaction between a group of strangers… unless you’re me.

Have you ever seen the TV show Chuck? Chuck somehow (it’s a long story) ends up with a file of the government’s secrets embedded in his brain, and every time he encounters something related to anything in the file — let’s say, he sees someone whose picture is in the file for being a criminal– he has a momentary “flash” where the file in his brain becomes activated and everything related to the criminal plays through his brain.

Well, this is not just a science fiction phenomenon, people. For me, the government’s secret files are Facebook and the ridiculous amounts of gossip, which end up in my head not by some crazy turn of events but by my broken memory that can easily remember random facts about people (but not what I learned in class last night). The “flash” is what happens when I am standing next to one of these strangers on the elevator.

Observing match day… or absorbing secrets?

So I left off earlier in the middle of a “normal” interaction between a group of strangers on an elevator, right? Here’s what’s going through my head in a split second:

About the guy in front of me: Wow, heavy on the cologne this morning, eh? Are you seeing that girl you like today? I hear you latch on to her like a puppy only to be stuck in the friend zone for months at a time. That must suck.

About the guy behind me: Hey, he shaved his head. Wonder what he does now, since his nervous tick was to run his fingers through his hair while he studied.

About the girl to my right: She’s okay I guess, but not “way out of her fiance’s league”.

About the girl to my left: I hear she wears slutty outfits to see patients, this particular one seems more appropriate. I wonder if someone talked to her. I wonder if her fiance still works out only his biceps for hours at a time at the gym. Did she eat eggbeaters for breakfast? At one point she only ate eggbeaters for breakfast. She dots her I’s with hearts when she’s happy, and dots when she’s sad. I wonder which she’d use right this minute. She does look a little sad – maybe her fiance told her she looked fat this morning? He did used to tell her that all the time in college.

Creepy? Maybe. But that’s what happens when you leave your “25 Facts” meme public.

Enjoying med school prom… or absorbing secrets?

It gets even worse when there are more med students around, like when I’m on a crowded shuttle bus from the parking lot. The tidbits start to roar in my head and drown out any other thoughts I could possibly have. Pregnant! Possible alcoholic! Having fight with her boyfriend! Not doing so well in school! Can’t control anger when drinking! Asks too many questions in class! Had to stop partying because grades were suffering! Perfect wingman! Smells funny! Needs next loan check asap! Lets his wife control him!

Playing “Where’s Y?” at White Coat Ceremony… or absorbing secrets?

It’s exhausting being me. Meanwhile, I just heard from Y that his day included seeing several patients, writing notes on them for the patient’s record, and attending lecture after lecture. He wishes he had the intellectual stimulation I have.

Mr. McGee

Since a year ago today we were on our honeymoon in Ireland, I feel like I should do a reminiscent post. I could go on and on about the views, the food, and the nonstop Michael Jackson tributes; but I would rather tell you about our “Frank and Beans”.

Just like Pam and Jim made some friends on their honeymoon, so did we. Our friend was in the audience at a pub where the band put us on the spot for being on our honeymoon.

Okay… that’s not quite true. We never actually met our friend. We also don’t remember seeing him in person. But once we looked through our pictures, oh, he was there. And he was really, really, really happy to see us.

Luckily we were able to figure out his name named him: Smiley McGee. Smiley McGee is an often discussed subject in our house, and has even appeared in a birthday card. He also has a voice — which, now that I think about it, sounds suspiciously like Ike’s inner monologue – that we use to say his catch phrase. Which, appropriately if not creatively, is “I’M SMILEY MCGEE!”