I’d love to come to dinner…

I'm not sure what it is about me that screams, “INVITE ME TO DINNER!!” I'm not sure if it’s the deprived look I always have on my face, my formerly emaciated frame, or the complete lack of confidence that people have in me to provide for myself. Whatever it is, I wish I could grow it, harvest it, freeze dry it, package it and ship it to starving people everywhere. It’s honestly something that’s served me well since I sipped Diet Pepsis at OB’s house in high school. It’s gotten me delicacies like fish stew (with the entire fish just thrown in), cow tripe, and countless other foods that I’ve apparently blocked from my memory but that I know where disgusting when I ate them. However, these invitations have also brought me things like delicious missionary taco dinners, the Jeffs’ Manicotti, and several pasta bakes at Greg and Nat’s. So while it’s definitely a blessing and a curse… the blessings outweigh the curses.

Currently, my landlord who, in addition to being one of the most gregarious people that I’ve ever met, is kind enough to occasionally invite me to dinner with him and his wife. Not only does he take me to Milwaukee staples like Elsa’s, McGinn’s and Mamma Mia’s, but they also have me over to their house every once in a while. The only thing I like more than having dinner with this particular family is the conversations that we have over dinner (and yes, I know those two things are the same).

Some of my favorite topics of conversation with this particular family include:

1) When my landlord was going to rent one of his apartments to the missionaries, he invited the missionaries over to dinner and had me come along (I'm a good Mormon buffer apparently). After dinner the conversation turned to Glocks, and I affirmed my desire to both keep and bear arms. Now my landlord can’t see me without audibly wondering whether or not I'm armed… and for some reasons the missionaries aren't nearly as pushy in their search for member referrals (at least from me).

2) Anytime we get to talk about my dating life (which, for my fault or theirs, is pretty much every time we get together). It always gives me the chance to answer questions like, “Who was that Suzy Cream Cheese we saw you with?” To which I get to say outrageous things like, “Which night are you talking about? Because that would help me to narrow it down.” I love these conversations because I love to say outrageous things, and because I had no idea that the moniker Suzy Cream Cheese even existed or that there are people who actually use it in conversation… I guess you learn something new every day.

3) Anytime we discuss the Singles Ward, because then I get to use the phrase, “The Island of Misfit Toys.” They love that nickname and laugh every time I bring it up. Then they say things like, “What are the chances that you’ll match here.” They go out of their way to imply that they’ll miss me, which certainly makes me feel good. It also means I leave with a well fed stomach and a well fed ego, and I don’t have even have to make up a new joke.

For all of those pros, I can’t really think of any cons to these meals. Unless you count the fact that every time we get together, I'm reminded that my time is Milwaukee is ending. While I won’t miss the winters here, it will certainly be tough to give up the current free dinner circuit that I’ve developed.

Can I just go to the library and read?...

Sometimes I ask certain questions… when I really have other questions on my mind. This happened to me yesterday at work. I am currently doing a transfusion medicine rotation, which is more like transfusion chart reviews. I say that because there is very little medicine involved, and by very little I mean about as much as you’d see doing your taxes or playing video games. Literally, there have been several days where the entire work day consisted of 20-25 minutes of looking over already filled out documents and verifying that they’re right. Because redundancy annoys me, this rotation is like reading about where all the money from the stimulus package is going (i.e. it gets worse the further into it you get).

Having said all that, there are good days. These days are the ones that make the bad days bearable. Like yesterday for instance, I went into work at 9:30 AM and waited to begin the charade… Because I knew it would be a long hard day, I brought a book. I spent 2 hours trying to work through 1800’s British slang to learn about Pip’s crazy adventures in Great Expectations. At 11:30 AM… We (me and the other student) got a call from our attending. She said, “I am so sorry but things have gotten really busy in the hospital. So I'm not going to make it over to the office to go over the paperwork. So… ummm…” At this point, she clearly wants to send us home because we aren’t going to be doing anything. However, she knows that I'm actually paying to be there and doesn’t want to disappoint me with her lack of devotion to my education. So I preempt her guilt with the medical student’s best friend, “Can I just to the library and read about transfusions?” (The implication being that even though there aren’t any learning activities on the agenda, I'm still going to learn something.) She of course answers in the affirmative, and I get to go to the “library.”

The real question on my mind was, “Are you freaking kidding?” although “Why did you even make me come into the hospital in the first place?” was a close second. I keep these questions to myself and file them under the category of questions I wish I could ask. They’re right next to, “How old are you,” “Are you going to eat that?,” “Is that a birthmark?,” or “Are you gaining weight? or do you just buy clothes that are too small?”

Ummm.... Did you drop something?

I recently became a member of the West Suburban YMCA. I love going to the gym, so this is a great way to kill 2 hours a day (I don’t actually workout that strenuously, but I include my post-gym shower in my workout time… it makes me sound tougher).

My new found membership has come with its pros and cons. On the pro side, I'm able to relieve stress and lose those three pounds that plague me and Regina George. It’s close to my house, and the facilities are clean and contain a television in front of a treadmill. Basically, everything I'm looking for in a gym.

In fact, I love the gym so much that it’s taken me a while to find a con (and as much as I enjoy complaining about everything that is no small feat on the part of the YMCA). However, today I found one… So I get a 3 hour break at work (which is another debacle in and of itself), and I decide that I'm going to head to the gym. Run on the treadmill for an hour and be back in time for noon conference. The entire thing was uneventful, I went to the gym, changed, ran, and went to the showers (and no it’s not what you’re thinking… well it might be, but that depends on how your mind works). I finish washing up and begin my 10 minute rinse (or as my dad calls it “water wasting”). As I'm minding my own business looking straight ahead at a very nondescript tan tile at eye level, I notice something moving rapidly just 2 showers down to my right. Well my number one rule of showering in a public place is NEVER, NEVER, NEVER under any circumstances let someone get the drop on you in the shower. So I instinctively turn my head toward the disturbance. Imagine how shocked I was when I saw a guy about my age, doing toe touches in the shower. Seriously, he was my age… (not an old guy who could use senility or lack of social inhibitions as an excuse). I didn’t know what to do… I panicked and yelled “FIRE!!!” Not really, but can you imagine a fireman who wouldn’t have been on my side if I explained to him why I caused a panic which led to the trampling of some decrepit octogenarian? I can’t… and honestly that feeling of helplessness to stop the situation, hurts more than the mental pictures burned into my brain of the naked-stretcher! (and that's saying something!)

What check?

So I have a friend from high school, she now teaches high school (confusing I know). She teaches a class for students interested in health professions. So she asked me to come and speak to her class. I love speaking to high school kids, mostly because I feel like I'm doing penance for the 3 years that I spent leaving school. Don't get me wrong, I had an awesome time leaving high school, but I feel like I owe something to myself for the creating an abyss in my mind where my high school education was supposed to go (hence my affinity for reading books that I should've read in high school).

Back to the story... She asked me to speak to her kids about what medical school is like. I had actually spoken to her class in the past, so I told her I would. Well what started out at a 30 minute presentation to her class, quickly turned into 2-1hour presentations to all the students at her school. This called for a more laborious approach to the presentation. I spent a few hours throwing together some powerpoint slides and notes, and showed up ready to roll. I spoke for about an hour each time without any problem... unless you consider putting half the kids to sleep a problem (I don't!). After the presentation was over, I had the following exchange with my friend:

Me: Friend, thanks for having me over
Friend: Yeah, thanks for coming
Me: No problem, I never knew anyone in medicine prior to med school so I'm glad to help. Hopefully, the kids thought it was beneficial.
Friend: Yeah, I think it was really good, and it seemed liked they really enjoyed it...
Me: Bull#%&#, but thanks anyway...
Friend: Yeah and if you give me your address, I can send you your check.
Me:....
Friend: Yeah, we have money in our budget for speakers.
Me:.... Ummm, for this?
Friend: Yeah, you did a really good job. And by the way, when you type this up, please don't start all of my sentences with "yeah." I think it makes me sound stupid.
Me: Wouldn't dream of it...

So not only did I have fun chatting with the high schoolers, but apparently there's a major award associated with it. I couldn't be happier... So I guess what I learned is that money can buy happiness.

Making a Match List

So I have been debating for some time about whether or not to even start a blog. I have always liked writing, but rarely write for other people to see. Then I tried to make a match list...

I did interviews at 13 different residency programs during the last month and a half, and now I have the unenviable task of ranking them from 1 to 13. I say unenviable because it seems like an impossible task. At most I spent 2 days with any one program. During the interview each program put on their very best face and accentuate the positive aspects of their program while minimizing the negative aspects. Basically, it's like quickly walking through the a Russian orphanage, and then after leaving being asked to rank the kids from 1 to 13. How? I don't know which ones throw tantrums, wet the bed, or are lactose intolerant... and believe me even if the kid can't be in the same room as ice cream there's no way he's going to tell me. He's not going to tell me this stuff for several reasons. First, he's worried about whether or not I'll take him home. Second, he's also worried that I'll tell all my other infertile friends that the kid requires a special diet. He keeps this from me, not because he's bad person. I mean it's not like I walked through with a screen printed t-shirt that says, "Asthmatic with a Short Temper." It's a dance my friends... and a complex one. It just ends with a very awkward decision about which kid to take home.

So what does that have to do with blogging? Well this insurmountable task requires a new level of procrastination. It's not enough to simply peruse ESPN's website, my favorite Yankee-related blogs, and the blogs of my family and friends. It requires me to really stretch myself in the realm of procrastination, and for me that's definitely saying something. I mean, I have basically spent the last four years overloading a single ESPN server by myself. So it occurred to me... I should start my own blog. Hopefully, it will not only consume a lot of my spare, but it will force me to put off more important things to write regular updates. And that's the type of procrastination you can believe in!