an awkward day







Today I accidentally locked Y outside in the rain for 20 minutes, only to get stuck in the rain myself and end up like a drowned rat on my doorstep, ruined suede shoes in hand. Karma, right? This awkward, wet day brought out the worst in both of us: my utter pathetic-ness… and Y’s, um, awesome spelling.

My tale of awkwardness revolves around this guy:

the giant poisonous snake that escaped from the Bronx Zoo



You see, today was one of those days where I left my windowless closet of an office maybe once and spoke to a total of ONE person the entire day. So when I got home and Y asked me how my day was, I had nothing to talk about… except my new twitter friend.



I literally must have told 5 different stories about the stupid snake’s tweets. I had to tell Y about how it went on a Sex and the City tour and declared itself a “SSSSSSamantha”. And how it went to the Seinfeld restaurant. After going on about the snake for a few minutes, I stopped, thought about the conversation, and realized how incredibly alone in the world I am.

Y’s tale of awkwardness occurred while writing the first draft of his personal statement, which is necessary for applying to residency programs. It really needs no explanation:








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his & hers 1: reading material

Sometimes the contrast between Y and myself makes itself obvious in the most interesting ways. Take, for example, our bedtime reading material.
An excerpt from my reading material: “Perhaps there is some sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers.” & “Ardisia maxi dress: $228”.


An excerpt from Y’s reading material: “boggy waterlogged sponge consistency of prostate”.

arts and crafts time

Somewhere along the line, all of my friends really stepped it up in the crafts department and left me behind to spray paint pumpkins. For example, A. sews her own clothes and makes statement art for her house.




Imagine how embarrassed I was when I proudly handed her a meticulously decoupaged birthday card for her 27th birthday. She handled it gracefully; I think she’s going to be a great mom someday.




One of the first friends I made when we moved here for medical school does the following: metalworking, jewelry-making, painting, children’s book illustrating, and cake decorating. Usually on the same day. Oh, and she’s an aspiring radiologist. I know, right? It took all the energy I had to decoupage one 4×6 birthday card.


I think I’m most impressed with my friend Diane, though. She’s the first person I know who’s decided to capitalize on her talent. Although she could have easily started a store selling light fixtures like the one she made for her kitchen… or reupholstered chairs like the many I’ve seen around her house… or her homemade Christmas stockings… I was pretty excited when she started selling her handmade clutches. And she even gave herself a brand name: Coventry Lane. (Which she claims is the first street she lived on, but I’m preeeetty sure is just the second part of her porn star name.)












Your homework: 1) Check out the rest of Coventry Lane’s clutches and 2) impress me with your secret crafty talents. Is anyone else on the kindergarten-decoupaging couch with me?

perspective

The past few weeks have been about perspective; realizing your problems just might not be so bad after all. Clearly, the biggest tragedy lately has been the fact that my submission to White Whine was not chosen:

{screencap taken the morning the U.S. woke up and realized there had been an earthquake in Japan}

yogurt snobs





My greatest victory in this house was convincing Y that Greek yogurt is delicious. (Y would say his greatest victory is convincing me “Sebastian” is a bad name for a dog.) For four years, Y wrinkled his nose in disgust when I opened a container of Fage or Chobani. Now between the two of us, we eat three containers per day.



You think med school debt is bad? Try fancy yogurt debt.



It wasn’t quite as difficult to convince Ike, the puppy formerly known as Sebastian:






deep. breaths.

Hi, and welcome to the first day of my yearlong panic attack.



Today, the class of 2011 found out where they would be spending the next 4 years continuing their medical education as residents. Here’s how it works:

1. 4th year medical students go on interviews for residency at hospitals across the country.

2. After the interviews, they rank their top choices

3. Once the choices from every graduating medical student across the country are in, some fancy computer program matches the students’ ranks to the feedback from the residency programs.

4. Students wait impatiently, hoping the system matched one of their top choices with a spot at a program.

5. Match Day is the third Thursday in March. On the Monday before Match Day, the students find out whether or not they matched. They don’t, however, find out where. AS IF THE SUSPENSE WASN’T BAD ENOUGH.

6. If a student doesn’t match, he has to “scramble” to find an open spot in any program across the country

7. On Match Day, all of the graduating fourth years, their families, and pretty much anyone who feels like watching, gathers to watch these poor souls find out in front of everyone where they matched.




8. Someone draws the name of a student from a hat. That person gets to stand up in front of everyone and open The Envelope.




9. And so on, and so forth. As each student’s name is called, they drop five dollars in a jar. The $500 or so collected by the end goes to the last student whose name is called.


I’m already nervous about next year’s match day, where Y will find out where he matched and where we’ll be living for the next 3-4 years. Call me crazy, but there’s something about not finding out a slightly important detail of your life until the very last minute… in front of everyone. Obviously it’s stressful for everyone involved — more for Y than myself, I’m sure — but I think I’m struggling with the control issue. The issue being that I have none. It might make me feel a tad better if I could dress up as Y and do the interviews for him.


Or, uh, scratch that, because here’s a story for you: Recently my boss and I visited a gastroenterologist’s office. The doctor showed us a video from a PillCam (a pill with a camera, in case that wasn’t clear) and I may or may not have said out loud, “It’s just like the Magic School Bus!” (But seriously. It was.)






P.S. If you don’t know a lot about the Match process and want to, Match Day by Brian Eule is helpful. Admittedly it’s not exactly on my top 10… or top 100 books of all time, but it did kind of help decode the process.

Kiss me, I once spent two weeks in Ireland





I’ll take pretty much any excuse to whip out pictures from Ireland. I swear the scenery looks greener every time I revisit them, and for a second everything just feels as fresh as it did there in July of 2009.













I hope we can celebrate St. Patrick’s Day this weekend with some of the food we lived on in Ireland: Bailey’s porridge, Banoffee pie, Bailey’s ice cream, and of course, Bailey’s. Who am I kidding, the likely scenario is that Y will have a glass of Bailey’s at 7 pm and fall asleep for the night. Slainte!