The Dark Side of the Gym Part 3

I figured it's about time for the backrow ballers to get back to embarrassing stories about themselves doing things that ladies and acclimated people without foreign parents do so naturally.  Mariam - if you think I'm including you in this call to blog again, you are correct.  Come re-join the sinking ship of blogging with me.

Yesterday I saw a sign for a coupon for a gym membership, which means yesterday I signed up for a gym membership.  As part of my ongoing effort to lose 300 pounds (to become negative 200 pounds... I set lofty goals and never use a scale), I thought the extra exercise would allow me to eat more delicious foods, such as the full size ice cream cake and four mini ice cream cakes currently in my freezer.  Mariam has previously discussed the darker aspects of gym membership (Part 1 and Part deux), but I learned about a new dark side - bootcamp.

I've always liked going to classes when I join a gym, since they make me do things I wouldn't normally do.  When I go to the gym without direction, I listen to this American Life on an elliptical and eventually stop moving to listen more closely when the story gets very happy or very sad.  When I go to the gym with the direction of the class, I am forced to do push whats, jump things, and squat ups.  I only briefly looked at the classes and saw there was a 7:30 pm class called body pump that fit into my schedule.  The class was described as "This class is for every level of fitness. A series of circuit exercises, designed to elevate the heart rate and cardiovascularly challenge the heart and lungs. Add some strength training to the bootcamp and you will have a complete full body workout." As somebody who has done light yoga for a month after not working out consistently (other than Just Dance) for 3 years, I thought this class was for me - I'm "every level of fitness" and I stopped reading there.  For some reason, despite the use of the word bootcamp at the front desk, I still thought I was going to body pump.  

When I arrived in the class, there was an instructor named David, 4 dudes (maybe better described as bros), and me.  I was clearly in some kind of terrible class, and I started to think about how to leave.  Then David came up to me and asked my name, and if I had ever done bootcamp before.  I told him I joined the gym yesterday, thinking the whole time what kind of insanity or P90X shit have I gotten myself into.  He said I could take the class at my own pace, so I decided to stay.  

It started with light jogging and then quickly progressed into some strange spiderman stretch that required more upper body strength than my arms could accommodate.  Eventually we did high knees into "burpies" with 45 second bursts of intensity.  During these clumsy burpies instead of checking out the bros in the class, I had to focus not to slip in my own sweat, truly embodying the Mindy Project at the gym.  Eventually we did circuit training which was okay, except for the kettlebell swing.  David said, "well everybody knows how to do a kettlebell swing."  He then looked at my face, and based on my expression knew instantly that I definitely did not know how to do a kettlebell swing.  He kindly demonstrated a building of momentum swinging the kettlebell between your legs, until you thrust your hips forward in the most overtly sexual thing I've seen at a gym throwing the kettlebell over your head just with the force of your hips.  When I got to that part of the circuit, David tried to give me pointers that a lady would understand, "think of Legally Blonde and the bend and snap" and "you might feel like you're being indecent if you're doing it right."  After the 3rd run through the circuit, he kept saying "good job Farrah" probably because he could see me dangerously approaching emesis.  

I did feel like I accomplished something after the workout was done, but I'll probably go to Zumba class next time.  The moral of this story is details matter, bootcamp is not body pump.

--By Farrah, who enjoyed a piece of ice cream cake for dinner  

Constant fear of murder

Like any single lady living in a big city, I live in constant fear of murder.  Please see conversations below for examples.

--By Farrah, who thought the autocorrect from right to tight worked out well here

The Question of the 2nd date hike: The Inaugural Survey of the Safety First Ladies Survey Train

I blogged previously about the tiresome world of internet dating (see post: Willing to find true love, but only with a coupon).  I didn't learn my own lessons, because history repeated itself as I just completed another 3 month run of internet dating (with a coupon) with no improvement in prospects.  But that's not the point of this blog, this blog is about the dates themselves.  Today, on the last day of my 3 month membership, I was set to go on a second date with somebody I met from the site.  The necessary back story to make sense of the ensuing events is that we had actually started texting a month earlier. I had joined the site prior to moving to my current city (pretty bold single lady move), which usually resulted in an awkward moment in my first e-mail where I confessed I didn't live in the city yet.

"A second date, how promising!" you might incorrectly presume... Our first date was a weeknight at a local pub where the conversation was pleasant, but not exceptional.  There wasn't a lot of chemistry at the first date, but in an effort to "put myself out there" I decided to give this person a second chance.  We arranged to meet for a second date - he asked "museum or a hike?"  I immediately thought, "hike with a person I just met, NO WAY," and picked the museum.  We arranged to meet at a museum the following weekend, until he canceled due to a vicious hangover.  I was less than impressed with this behavior, but a few days later he sent his apologies, so we arranged to go to the museum again today.  I figured everybody is allowed to have an off night.

Then this morning, he sent an early morning text, "Good Morning!  Soo I was thinking... it looks like a beautiful day today.  Would you like to do some light hiking instead?  The museum isn't going anywhere :) Up to u."  I abhor the use of the letter "u" for the word "you" but I'm working on pushing my boundaries and being open minded.  In this spirit of being open minded, I looked at the yelp reviews of the hiking destination, and it seemed quite popular.  It seemed like a crowded place, though I didn't know anybody who had ever been there before.  I agreed we could try the hike - he offered to drive, but it started to make me feel uneasy - I still didn't know this person well to let them drive me out of town 20-30 minutes for a hike.  This is when I harnessed the power of my lady friends to ask "is this safe?" in what I'm calling The Safety First Ladies Survey Train (TSFLST).

These are the responses I received within the hour:
- Michelle: It's likely going to be well populated given the weather.  But if you don't feel comfortable you can always suggest going to the park and walking around the local reservoir, or just tell him you've been looking forward to the museum.  Send his name and number (just in case!!)
- Betsy: I don't think it's a good idea kid... oh it's a second date?  I still don't know if it's a good idea kid.   He probably won't murder you, but if he does those are pretty high stakes.  Back out kid.  It he's a good guy, he will understand the change in plans.
- Abby: Approval
- Kat: hike vs stroll (I'm not sure what this means?)
- Katherine: it's sweet.
- Anna: Depends on the distance, if it is a paved vs isolated way.  Also is this your style? All sweaty?
- Carrie: Sounds like something you'd hear about on the news
- Julie: walk with a picnic would be good
- Sarah: Just you and him? ... send out a warning text if it starts getting sketchy.  A reservoir sounds like a good place to dump a body.  If he tries to murder you, poke his eyes out or kick him in the junk.... I'm nervous about this.  I'm also nervous about everything...  You've met him once? Maybe you should get to know him more! (nervous Sarah face)
- Samira (my sister):  I didn't really consider the murder aspect, but now that you brought it up, I don't think you should go to the woods with him.  That's weird that he asked you what you wanted to do, and then suggested changing to what he wanted to do.
- Suesie (my sister): I don't think it's a good idea.  Maybe if it was somewhere you were familiar with, but you don't know this place and he could lead you down any path and then just push you into the trees where he knows it's not crowded.  Back out, blame it on me.
- My mom: Are you crazy?

Now that so many of my friends have depicted this date being a future episode of Dateline NBC mysteries, I had no choice but to change the plans.  I was probably overreacting, and the results were mixed, but TSFLST had spoken, this is not safe.

We had the following text conversation:
- Me: So would you like to do a city hike instead to one of the downtown gardens? Sorry to go back on accepting before, I'm just not sure I want to drive out of town on our 2nd date. :p
- Him:  Oh ya... I was actually talking to my friend just now and he said it was kind of a weird time for a second date.  Lol I don't know.  I don't think about those things.  Maybe we should reschedule?
(Side bar - totally inappropriate use of lol, this guys texting style always made me upset)
- Me: Ok, yeah, maybe the hike another time, are you still up for hanging out in the city today?
- Him: I don't know.  I feel put off and weird now that you think I'm sketchy after more than a month of talking and meeting up.  You also initially lied to me in the beginning about being here before you moved.  I've been nothing but honest to you... And yet you're unfairly judging me.  I'm going to hang out with my friend this afternoon instead.  Sorry.  There's always a ton of people at that park btw.  Especially on nice days like this.
- Me: Sorry about all the bother.  This just doesn't seem to be a match.  No worries, have a good afternoon.
- Him: You too and good luck.

Some TSFLST was contacted for follow up safety reports.
- Michele: Not worth your time.
- Sarah: He probably wasn't your future husband, good thing you got out while you could!
- Betsy: Insecure much?!
- Jennifer: Booooooo.  You're too good for him anyway!
- Anna: DONE!  Delete his number

The lessons I learned: trust your gut, no chemistry on the first date means no chemistry ever, consult the Ladies Safety First Survey Train before accepting an invitation, all my lady friends are amazing, internet dating is still not for me.  Also, I was wondering, what do you think, is this safe?  Did TSFLST overreact?

-- By Farrah, who has deactivated her internet dating profile for good... she hopes

Memories of Teddy, Teddifer, Theodore, Tugboat Jenkins

Seven and a half years ago, I was maladaptively dealing with a broken heart until I adopted Teddy.  His previous owners had to leave the country, and couldn't take him with them.  He was 2 years old, loved to put on sweaters, and rang a bell to go outside like a true gentleman.  My first week with him, he spent all day looking out the window waiting for his previous owners to return.  The picture was his first day with me, and he was looking out the window with extreme focus.  We kept each other company and slowly started to live our lives.  We went on daily walks, and got ourselves out into the sunshine.  He wagged his nub tail the minute I got home and jumped frantically with excitement.  Coming home to him made me happier, and living with him made me calmer.

It was not all sunshine.  Teddy pooped in my bed and my sister's bed (see post: Reasons to get a roommate besides Teddy).  He knocked a mocha into my car radio trying to sit on my lap while I was driving, causing the radio to make a horrible beeping noise for 2 hours until it stopped working altogether.  He bit my nephew Brayden when he was 3 years old, and I remember Brayden running round exclaiming, "Teddy bit mine finger in the kitchen."  His frequent ear infections unfortunately smelled like expired cottage cheese.  Despite all these things for which you can't really fault a dog, he was wonderful company.  He insisted on sitting as close as possible to you, and he would back his little doggy butt against you while he pushed your friend, or laptop, or boyfriend out of the way.  When I played guitar or piano, he sat underfoot and quietly listened seemingly soothed by the music.  When he slept on the bed, he somehow maneuvered himself until the bed ratio was 3:1 Teddy to me (see image).  If for any reason I was sad or crying, he managed to know and sat even closer.  While I was in medical school, he lived with my parents and younger sister for 2 years, and became a part of the family.

June of last year, Teddy developed elevated liver enzymes.  Already overwhelmed with the cost of treating his ear infections and possible doggy food allergies, I decided to wait to check them again until his next set of labs in December.  In September, he developed a sore by his nose.  After two courses of antibiotics from his regular vet, the lesion did not heal, new lesions appeared under his mouth, his paws were sore and cracked, and he was trembling regularly.  His labs showed further elevation in liver enzymes and anemia.  Through my penchant for diagnosing rare diseases, I did a literature search and became concerned about hepatocutanous syndrome.  I brought this up to my vet, and she dismissed the rare diagnosis which made me earn the nickname "Persian Fury."  I cannot recommend the Petsmart Banfield clinic to anybody after my experience.  After a referral to a specialist in November, the diagnosis was confirmed as Hepatocutatnous Syndrome - a rare and progressive liver disease with unknown etiology associated with painful skin lesions.  The vet told me that it was impossible to predict his life span, but I knew from aggressive googling and literature review that median survival after skin lesions develop was 5 months.  My friend was dying, my heart imploded, and I became frantic.

The only treatment was a permanent IV with weekly amino acid infusions, only palliative, not curative, and invasive.  I tried high protein diets, denosyl, vitamin E, carafate, iron supplements, antibiotics wipes, medicated shampoos, doggy shoes, and diaper cream to protect his sores without any improvement.  He didn't eat, or bark, or move from his chair.  I decided to finally get the amino acid infusions and in 3 weeks, the difference was amazing.  He was walking and playing, not as much as he could last Summer, but he would greet me at the door and wag his nub tail joyfully.  We tried to space out his treatments to every two weeks in late January with lousy results and return of his painful, cracked paws.  With weekly treatments, he improved again and I started to plan for his future, thinking he may even move to Boston with me.  Over the past month, I held my hopeful plans as I saw subtle deterioration with each passing week.  Every delicious snack I brought home would be tolerated for a day before it was dismissed.  He would limp after walking long distances, and lifted up his paws with discomfort.  I would carry him outside to use the bathroom because he was often reluctant to leave the sofa on his own.  Over the past week, he was breathing fast every night when he slept, developed a heart murmur at his last checkup, and started to refuse many varieties of food.  I knew our life together was becoming maladaptive again.  Over the weekend, I said goodbye to Teddy after a final trip to the park and ice cream treat.  It was one of the most difficult things I've every done.  I know loving Teddy was an important part of my life, but this is an impossibly sad experience.  If having a pet prolongs your life, going through the loss of a pet seems like it might shorten your life.  Anyway, I was terribly sad, so I thought I'd share this story.  I would like to thank my family and friends for helping me cope with my overwrought emotions with lovely stories about Teddy and notions of lovely meadows in pet heaven, and my internet readers (people who inadvertently end up here with a google image search gone wrong) for stopping here for a moment.

-By Farrah, who developed the term post-lacrimation emesis recently

Willing to find true love... but only with a coupon

Despite my embarrassment, I present for your entertainment the tale of my 3 month participation in internet dating.  Like many of my single lady resident friends without the time to meet new people outside of the hospital, I turned to the internet.  The marketing was excellent - commercials pan in on a single, confident woman running her own business and talking about how she was too busy to take time away from work, then it cuts to a scene of her wearing a giant engagement ring with a handsome fellow hugging her and smiling on a beach - because that's what people do and it looks so natural!  So after months of deliberation in my head, I finally signed up.  After signing into the site, I scoffed at the price.  Sixty dollars for one month!  That money would be much better spent on one third of a dress at Anthropologie. I let my profile sit unpaid for on the site for a few months, and the site started sending me increasingly desperate e-mails - 30 people have viewed your profile in the last 5 seconds! Your match could be in this e-mail!  Once you start paying, you can communicate with your matches and tell the world you're ready for love!  Finally, the site started sending me coupons (3 months for the price of 1), and much like an Anthopologie dress in the clearance section, I didn't wait any longer to make my purchase.  

I made a profile full of charm and charisma.  I put up pictures of me at a friend's wedding, whitewater rafting, and wearing a fake mustache.  Although I felt at the time it was an interesting profile, looking back it was pretty standard.  I somehow became this foil of myself with a diluted personality presented for others approval.  I found myself to be overly judgmental of what others put up for my approval.  I automatically disqualified any potential match that had taken their picture with a camera phone in front of a mirror.  I created these arbitrary rules mostly out of fear, hoping my instincts would prevent me from accidently meeting a kidnapper on the internet.  Strangely, I don't apply the same judgment when I meet somebody in a coffee shop or park - I guess I'm more willing to be kidnapped by somebody who likes the same coffee I do.  When a potential match finally made it past the initial screening process, we were forced to answer horrible dating game type questions to communicate.  For example: What is your idea of a romantic time with somebody you've dated for over a year? What is the worst date you've ever been on?  How would you describe your parents relationship?  The answers were often predictable and more often boring.  To be fair, I quickly discovered I was very bad at conveying my dynamic personality over e-mail with strangers. I asked banal and idiotic questions - what is your favorite movie? What kind of music do you like? I could just as well have asked - do you like cheese? Do you own a vacuum? 

At the end of 3 months, I had viewed thousands of profiles, sent and received hundreds of communication requests, e-mailed dozens of eligible partners, exchanged numbers with six men, and met three men for coffee (strangely all named Mike).  I had to turn down a few men rather awkwardly and got accused of playing the "Persian game" at one point.  Most of my matches lived in another town, and all the men I met had to drive between 40 minutes to 1.5 hours to meet up with me - not the easiest way to get to know somebody and keep it casual.  After the subscription finally ended and the e-mails stopped, I felt relief.  I did not find true love, even with the coupon.  I am happy to get back to my old methods of acting awesome with my good friends out on the town and then waiting for a stranger to notice - the most passive form of flirting (flirting is a skill I never practiced).  

Since I know what you really wanted from this internet dating story is embarrassing stories of first dates with creepy strangers I will leave you with a creepy excerpt from a creepy match that I quickly deleted.  This particular fellow looked like Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite, and describes what he wants "In his own words": 

Any woman who bring smile on my face.  Who is good companion sensuous and love having intimate moments and share happiness of life.  With whom I feel as if I am on top of the world who love to have sex and know what she is doing. 

Reading that really makes me wonder if I need to give this internet dating thing another chance!

--By Farrah, who often can't watch the show New Girl because it reminds her of herself in a way that is awkward to watch

Southern Hospitality... NOT

It's time for another blog post - that makes 2 this year, I'm on a roll!

Today in clinic a patient came in with his home health nurse.  I went in the exam room to get his pillow for his wheel chair, and his nurse followed me to gather the rest of his belongings.  My attending was still in the other room talking to the patient's mother, and the elderly female nurse stood in front of me staring at my ID badge.  "I recognized your name, and I was wondering if you were planning on continuing your work here or going back overseas," she stated with an eerily calm demeanor.  At first, I thought she meant she recognized my name from the hospital and her other visits with this patient.  Then, I realized with a crushing blow of racism that she recognized me as a foreigner.  Was it my yankee English that made her suspicious? Did I inadvertently slip into my mom's accent? Was she just screening every vaguely foreign person she met (even if they did look like an innocuous pediatrician in a cardigan) for suspicious behavior to report to Homeland Security? Are my eyebrows significantly bushier than usual today? I responded that I was born and raised in Colorado, and she seemed confused.  I was confused too because I don't encounter this stuff much... maybe out of willful ignorance.

--By Farrah, who was asked by an attending physician once if her favorite movie was Aladdin because she looked like Jasmine.  She didn't know if she should be flattered or offended, so she just nodded.  

Reasons to get a roommate besides Teddy

This morning at 3:14 am, my alarm started its mighty wail. I leaped out of bed, unaware of the time or the implications of the alarm going off. I went straight to the wall and turned off the alarm as if I had walked in the door from the garage and nothing was wrong. I finally took in the alarm's unfamiliar phrase as I typed in my code - back door open back door open back door open. I looked at the back door, and it was OPEN. Teddy was hiding under my bed shaking - a very useful watch dog. My phone started to ring as I stepped toward the back door. The alarm company called to verify I was still alive. Talking to the security guy on the phone, I verified my safety code without really considering if I was safe or not. Security guy asked if I need the police. I replied, "I don't think so, nobody's here. I just wonder why the door is open." He said obviously, "maybe you didn't close it all the way." Uh, thanks dude for your insight. I closed the back door, and set the alarm again. Teddy and I sat in my room revved up and wondered what the next step should be. It was very windy and a little rainy outside. It was probably the wind, plus teddy is afraid of rainy weather which explains his persistent shaking. But then I thought, what if an intruder had intimidated Teddy into this fearful behavior. I decided if I ever wanted to sleep, I would have to search the house for intruders. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find. I sleuthed through every room like a detective from Law and Order, my back against the wall sneaking to the doors, then busting though each door knife pointed forward. I was reassured after my search, and I settled back in bed with the knife on the nightstand. I let Teddy climb into bed to help calm him down. Teddy promptly pooped in the bed - parasympathetic rebound is the pathophysiology, an hour long clean up was the result. Now, needless to say, I cannot sleep - though my bed is now in perfect condition to prevent SIDS - no bedding or pillows, just a warm outfit on firm mattress. The washing machine is producing the noise of a large unbalanced centrifuge unaccustomed to the weight of a duvet and pillows. I may just have to invest in a new bedroom set.

This is not the first time Teddy has soiled a bed. Back in our Boulder days, Teddy soiled my sister Sami's bed when he wasn't feeling well. Sami was in Denver that weekend, so I started to clean everything with the hope she wouldn't find out. In another battle of washing machine vs. duvet, her bedding ripped and the washing machine flooded. I started to sew everything together, hoping I could still salvage the situation. The rip was right in the center after repair, and I went to the fabric store looking for something to help. I bought her name in iron on letters and ironed them over the sewn up tear. She got home shortly, and I told her I had a surprise for her. She went up to her room and emerged with an extremely confused look asking why I had labeled her comforter. I hurriedly replied, "Teddy pooped in your bed, your comforter ripped in the clean up, there's a small flood in the bathroom, and I have to go to work now. I'm really sorry! byyyeeee."

--By Farrah, who's sleeeeeepppyy

Stories from Thanksgiving

Our blog has recently been distracted by the long hours of residency and most of our posts are about the woes of internship. I hope this blog will take us back to our blog roots, funny stories about growing up with foreign parents. Recently, I hosted my very first friendsgiving. The night was a rousing success with plenty of food, and traditional board game fun. The party went off without a hitch, especially since I removed the extra bag of entrails I accidentally left in the roasting turkey before most of the guests arrived. It was during this evening I discovered I am turning into my mother by participating in her favorite past time - embarrassing people. I made everybody go around the table and state what they were most thankful for - since we have all only known each other for a few months, it was admittedly awkward. My fellow intern Sarah, who hates awkward situations, went last and was simply thankful that the awkward moment was about to end. However, I did not pull out my mom's awkward and embarrassing piece de resistance, which brings us to the heart of this thanksgiving story. Every year at the thanksgiving dinner table, my mom makes my little sister (by little I mean 1 and 1/2 years younger than me) sing a song with the chorus line "shaniqua don't live here no more.". You may be thinking, "I've never heard of that song, it is clearly made up." The song does exist, and awesomely, my mom thinks it is a hilarious song. A hit in the year 2001, the hip hop duo of Little T and One Track Mike hit it big with their one hit wonder "Shaniqua." Enjoy it yourself below:

Yes, the experience was surreal for us all at the first thanksgiving my mother demanded the song at the dinner table. Even more surreal for my brother-in-law's run of the mill american parents who were spending their first thanksgiving with us. Now it's a regular event, despite my younger sister's insistence every year that she does not remember the words to the song until she eventually gives in and busts a rhyme.

--By Farrah, who wishes you a very happy thanksgiving tomorrow

Things in the movie Babies not recommended by the average pediatrician

Once again a blog brought to you by the random and obscure shit available on Netflix instant watch. Here are some things not recommended when providing infant appropriate anticipatory guidance.

1) Riding a motorcycle while holding your babies

2) Co-sleeping

3) Letting your toddler hold your infant

4) Letting your baby suck on a piece of chicken

5) Letting your baby crawl through a field of cows

6) Giving your baby coca-cola

Overall, a very adorable movie, but there exists a point of adorable overload - this point was reached during the viewing of this film.

--By Farrah, who sees adorable kids all day everyday so her standard for cuteness is unattainable by the average child

Vampire Weeknights

I've started to work the night shift in the emergency department, and I can tell you right now that I would make a horrible vampire doctor (or Dr. Acula). I do not look elegantly disheveled with perfectly tousled hair after sleeping all day like the vampires all the tweens are into these days. I certainly don't have the patience to stare intensely at anybody like that dude from the Twilight movie. I usually describe myself as a night person, but this schedule is really messing with my flow. I perpetually live in sweats transitioning from scrubs to PJs to workout clothes then back to scrubs. The workout clothes are simply prophylactic to encourage me to work out, lest my regular pants not fit after my month of elastic waistbands is over. I could conceivably get out of the house in the afternoon when I wake up, but it doesn't feel right. I feel like I'm living in a dream world where work at night doesn't really count, but I have to work all night, so my days are not terribly productive. I sit around waiting to work all night, and then I work all night. Sleeping during the day is not great either, light always manages to seep through the seams of my blackout curtains and Teddy often barks at the stupid birds chirping outside. This experience brings my complaints about residency up to two:

1) Night Shift
2) Residents who complain about residency

On to the topic of complaints, I know that everybody needs somebody to vent to about the crap you have to deal with during residency, but seriously every resident gets over worked with crap - stop complaining about it! Just get a little attitude adjustment and before you know it your month of torture will be replaced with different month with possibly less torture. I'm a little peeved at myself right now just for complaining about the complaints. But seriously, this is my conversation with any intern in almost any specialty - I have had this interaction on multiple occasions from 3rd year of med school till now.

Me: how was your night?
Other intern (OI): *extreme exacerbation* I had to see (insert any number from 1 to 100) patients last night, and I still have to finish (insert any number from 1 to 100) notes! *prolonged sigh*
Me: Oh, I'm sorry, did you at least get to see anything interesting?
OI: Not really. *lets out loud involuntary groan as something on computer doesn't work*
Me: Well, you at least you get to go home soon?
OI: I'm so tired I can't even function right now *falls asleep in chair*

This is how the interaction should go:

OI: how was your night?
Me: TOTALLY AWESOME!

Ok, so maybe that's a little hypomanic reaction, but when you're sleep deprived you have an excuse to act a little loopy every once in a while (as long as there is no alcohol involved). I will admit Surgery gets worked harder than say Pediatrics, but if you picked Surgery, it's your own fault you're so busy (sorry Abby - I still heart you). At least the night shift slows down around 3 am and affords some free moments for blogging - live from the ED!

--By Farrah, who's nickname in the ED has been declared to be "Fawcett head"

NOVA special provides terrifying glimpse of the future

I did not buy cable when I moved for residency. So now instead of watching episodes of the Jersey Shore, I am forced to watch the random and obscure shows available on Netflix instant watch. I stumbled on a NOVA special called "Doctors' Diaries" that profiled 7 doctors starting in their first year of medical school at Harvard in 1987. I watched it mostly out of boredom, but also for a glimpse of what school was like for my attendings. The answer was anticlimactic - school was exactly the same for my attendings, except there was a higher incidence of women with shoulder pads and perms. They struggled through the first two years of medical school reading about the basics with little to no connection to clinical work. They arrived in the second half of medical school knowing nothing while they were pimped. One student was aggressively pimped during his neurology rotation, and he replied with "I don't know because it's only my second day of neurology" followed by a nervous chuckle - a response I used in almost every rotation in medical school.

Not only was school the same, the students were the same even inside the ivy-covered, prestigious walls of Haaahrvaard. There was a slightly creepy mustachioed non-traditional student, a few brainy book nerds, a no-nonsense tough girl, and an emotional do-gooder. Every student on the documentary was a foil of a student in my class. Their lives in medical school were pretty boring and simply told me the story of my past 4 years. The second half of the special, about life beyond the first day of internship to the year 2007, is where their stories went from boring to terrifying.

All of the men on the special were divorced at some point - the mustachioed man managed to squeeze in three divorces. Two of the doctors actually mentioned that treating their spouse like an intern led to problems in their marriage. I can't imagine the poor wives given scut work at home, and admonished when it wasn't done correctly. The book nerds went into academics and seemed to genuinely love their jobs (anesthesiology, ophthalmology), but felt bad about spending time away from their families. Dr. Moustache became overweight, started smoking, got asked to leave his job in the emergency department, and grew a new hairstyle to become Dr. Braided Pony-Tail and Beard. I couldn't really see what element of their lives as doctors was so difficult and was starting to get depressed.

Two of the women no longer worked as clinicians. The no-nonsense young woman became a cardiologist and then a research scientist for a pharmaceutical company. She stated she didn't want to worry about her lifestyle doing heart caths until the age of 70, and she was definitely not worried as she pulled her fancy Audi into the driveway of her massive California home. Another woman, the only pediatrician, delayed intern year to work for a non-profit and get her PhD, and eventually ended up running the same non-profit instead of working as a clinician. The overly emotional girl from medical school became the only female clinician, and was my favorite doctor on the documentary. She worked as an internal medicine doctor for an urban population, she focused on public health, and she seemed to be the only doctor that didn't flaunt the fact that she went to Harvard. The only downside to her story is that she didn't get married until age 40, and even though she's now happily married with children, it does seem kinda late.

After watching these stories, I was left with an image of the future with my family left behind unless I left medicine - it's not terribly encouraging. I hope that I don't become as tired and cynical as these doctors that trained before me. I'm not sure if you can win with this career I've chosen, but I'm guessing I will need a supernatural ability to balance the elements of my life. I think I better take up tightrope walking to practice.

--By Farrah, who was recently told by Mariam to be less sarcastic, pretty good, right?

The Five Stages of Accepting Your Pager

I had a pager in medical school, but it rarely made any noise. The nurses, residents, and fellows were far too busy to page a lowly medical student to see a procedure, and so the pager's only assigned tasks were to devour AAA batteries and to beep when it required fresh meat. Now my new residency pager not only devours AA batters (bigger is better), it's buzzer goes off with responsibility. The nurses need to page me for tasks at 3 am like "the patient in room 807 is gassy and could you please order some gas drops." I don't mind getting paged and checking in on the patients, but it did take a few weeks to get to this state of acceptance. I present to you my model: The Five Stages of Accepting Your Pager.

Stage 1: Brief Elation

July 1st is just a blurry memory overcast by my nervousness. There were not only butterflies in my stomach, there were angry giant pterodactyls. I was hyperaware of the weight of my pager on my hip, but with it's first buzz I was kinda excited. A page! For ME! I could now pick up the phone, dial the number, and say "Hi, this is Dr. R. I was paged." (I said Farrah, but still- I could've said Doctor if I wanted to). The cherry on top was they needed me, not the resident above me, not the fellow, not the attending, ME! It's nice to feel needed.

Stage 2: Denial

What is that buzzing noise? ... ... ... hmm, somebody's pager must be going off ... ... ... Oh CRAP! It's my pager.

Stage 3: Anger

At this stage, you start visibly cringing when you feel the first vibration, and your eyes narrow as you lift up the pager to see who needs you now. You start to recognize certain series of numbers and hold grudges against those numbers. For me it was 2811, which meant I had to go to a delivery. I can tell you right now neonatal resuscitation protocol is not enough training to let you handle what goes down in a delivery.

Stage 4: Bargaining

I'll take 500 pages in the next 5 minutes if I just don't get paged between the hours of 1 and 5 am.

Stage 5: Acceptance

At this point, I knew enough to handle simple problems I was paged with - "why yes I will write for some gas drops." I also knew how to reach somebody above me if I needed them. I could better understand the paperwork and how to write most orders. I knew the patients better by this time too so I knew which ones needed to be checked on before I even went to bed. The initial terror and nerves of residency were on longer operating at 100%, they were toned down to maybe 75% of capacity. I know now that no matter who pages me, I have backup and it's going to be okay.

--By Farrah, who's finds herself inadvertently slipping into a Southern accent several dozen times per day

Fixing the Finale of Lost

Lost left a lot to be desired in the series finale. Mariam invested 6 years watching the show and tried to convince me that the ending was touching and appropriate. I only invested 6 months in the show and hated that the last season was about the death of only one character who I didn't even like that much! Maybe I am more cavalier about dismissing the show entirely because I didn't invest 6 years in it, but still it was about 120 hours of television. I could have gone to the gym instead and burnt at least 120,000 calories! I know the writers want to leave the ending open to interpretation, but it is poor form to end a show about a lot of interesting mysteries and character interactions on an island completely removed from the island and its mysteries. I suppose the lost writers and die hard fans can keep their lame ending, but for people who just want straightforward resolution they should include a highlight reel of character events after Jack's death, much like the end of any teenager coming of age movie. Imagine the song Don't You (forget about me) by Simple Minds playing as screenshots come forward with a few sentences updating us on how things turned out. Here's how I picture things turning out.

PEOPLE WHO WERE ALREADY DEAD

Jack: Enough about Jack, no update needed.

Juliet: She goes on to marry Sawyer in afterlife part 2. She runs into Jacob one night at a Sushi restaurant. After some saki bombs, he reveals he wouldn't let woman have babies on the island because his own mother died after childbirth. Juliet slaps him.

Locke: Locke opens a walkabout company in afterlife part 2. Nightly boar feast and luau included in cost of package if you buy right now!

Sun and Jin: Live together in afterlife part 2 where they never speak Korean again. They sell oxygen tanks for submarines specifically designed for unconscious people.

Sayid: Lives a slightly fulfilling life with Shannon. They live in the suburbs of afterlife part 2 and join a really WASPy country club.

Charlie: Afterlife 2 treats him well. He has 4 kids with Claire, and teaches music classes.

Shannon: Eventually dies of an asthma attack and ends up in afterlife part 3.

Boone: Wanders around awkwardly, smiling and giving everybody hugs. Sometimes he sleeps with Shannon.

Alex: Stays in afterlife part 2 until she eventually finds Karl. They date for a while, but grow apart after she leaves for college at Brown. She eventually meets Detective Miles and totally hits that.

Rousseau: Marries Dr. Linus and cooks him french food in afterlife part 1. They have adopt a baby named Pierre. They abandon him after Rousseau and Alex remember the island and they move on to afterlife part 2.

Daniel Faraday: Wins over Charlotte with his super awesome muzak.

PEOPLE WHO MAYBE NEVER EXISTED

David (Jack and Juliet's son): Gets abandoned by his dad and mom mysteriously one day after his grandfathers funeral. He has a lot of issues about it until he crashes on a strange island with a group of strangers (including Sayid's niece and nephew!).

PEOPLE WHO DIED IN THE FUTURE

Kate: Escapes on the Ajira jet, and helps Claire raise Aaron. Dies in a tragic run away ferris wheel accident.

Sawyer: Starts a blog called Nickname. It is epically successful for its one liner wit.

Miles: Finds a bag of diamonds in his pocket after landing on the Ajira flight. He becomes CEO of Oceanic airlines, but is removed after a duct tape repair scandal.

Claire: Runs a decorating company specializing in goth themed baby furniture in Beverly Hills.

Desmond: Escapes successfully from the Hugo-run island after Hugo decides to install a Star Trek-like transporter with his island magic. Lives happily with Penny and his son.

Richard: Sells eyeliner for men.

Lapidus: Works in Vegas as a Kenny Loggins impersonator, and writes a weekly conspiracy theory newsletter.

Walt: Uses his angst from his parents absence to start very promising acting career as a vampire on the CW. His strange magic powers that scared his stepdad in the first season really help him in his role.

Aaron: The dire warnings about him not being raised by his mother turn out to be wrong. He becomes a very successful marine biologist and is rumored to be dating Walt from the CW.

Ji Yeon: She channels her angst over her parents death into becoming the first female leader of the Korean mob. Think O-Ren Ishii in Kill Bill, Part 1.

Ben: Makes a lot of number 2 jokes with Hugo, especially after finding out from Desmond that the island is just a big clogged toilet.

Hugo: Hugo acts as the island protector until 2537. He is eventually replaced by Jar Jar Binks in an even more upsetting finale.

--By Farrah, who is 26 tomorrow

TV Doctors never write Medical Notes

There are only two doctor shows I can stand to watch on TV - House and Scrubs. Both of these shows were better in their earlier seasons, but after getting involved in the character stories I just watch out of inertia. Scrubs is probably more realistic, but House tends to have more interesting cases with entertaining Sherlock Holmes-type medical mysteries. The most annoying unrealistic thing about House is that the multiple overqualified MDs are in a never ending internship disguised as a fellowship for a specialty which does not exist. These docs can run any test in the hospital - MRI scans, cardiac catheterization, exploratory laparotomy, neurosurgery, genetic assays, autopsies, bacterial culture, breaking and entering. Every mundane test is run with the personal attention of doctors in perfectly tailored white coats without the help of any nurses or techs. The only mundane task these doctors are almost never seen, even miming, is the act of writing a medical note. Since my last month of medical school is flex time, I spend my time painting, playing guitar, and watching TV online. As I watched an episode of House in a feeble effort to exercise my already atrophying medical knowledge, I started to wonder what the medical chart would even look for an episode of house. In an exercise of pure boredom, here is what the chart would look like for the House episode "Brave Heart."

History & Physical

History: 39 year old male presenting with trauma, fell 30 feet from building

Family: Father, paternal grandfather, paternal great grandfather - death in 4os from heart disease

Social: Detective, Reckless because he thinks he's gonna die at age 40 like his relatives, unmarried, no children

Physical: 2 broken bones, severe concussion, collapsed lung

Assessment: Trauma stabilized, but unknown cardiac condition warrants an inpatient work up. Differential Diagnosis includes familial hypercholesterolemia, marfan syndrome, brugada syndrome, idiopathic

Plan: Admit to diagnostic medicine service, EKG, cardiac catheterization, genetic testing, routine labs

Progress Note

Tests: Negative

Assessment: Um... still probably genetic

Plan: Will get consent to exhume bodies of relatives (would insurance EVER cover this, put it on credit card, he's gonna die at 40 anyway!)

Progress Note

Interim History: Patient's ex-girlfriend presented to hospital revealing patient has a son.

Pathology on relatives bodies: Negative

Assessment: Um... still probably genetic

Plan: Get fresh pure squeaky clean bone marrow biopsy for genetic analysis (a little painful, but what's the pain of a child compared to cinching a farfetched diagnosis!)

Progress Note

Son's Bone Marrow Biopsy: normal

Assessment: Probably faking it = idiopathic, Will give patient imaginary diagnosis of Ortoli Syndrome, a rare cardiac disease treated with pills

Plan: Give patient sugar pills, discharge home

Autopsy Note

History: Patient collapsed 4 hours after discharge. Found in laundry room of apartment building by landlord. Pronounced dead on arrival by EMTs

Procedure: Post-mortem incision at midline of sternum revealed active bleeding. Patient comes back to life coughing and screaming in distress

Assessment: Not dead yet. Extreme Bradycardia. Differential Diagnosis includes sick sinus syndrome, metabolic disease, isolated anti-ro antibody

Plan: Transfer to ICU, start steroid treatment

Progress Note

Interim History: Jaw and tooth pain, patient pulled out own tooth with forceps from cart in room. Dentist analysis of tooth revealed normal tooth

Assessment: Source of pain could be bone cancer with paraneoplastic syndrome. Li fraumeni syndrome

Plan: Gamma survey to look for tumors

Progress Note

Gamma survey: normal

Assessment: Source of pain could be related to nervous system - hereditary sensory autonomic neuropathy type 1

Plan: Carbamazepine

Progress Note

Interim history: patient with continued pain and urinary incontinence

Assessment: Wilson's disease (is there a single episode where this isn't in the differential? seriously writers, it's just like Lost's obsession with dural sac rupture)

Plan: Penicillamine (why diagnose? just start treatment!)

Progress Note

Interim History: Dr. House heard the word "button" triggering the concept of heart attack button leading to the obvious next diagnosis of intracranial berry aneurysm pressing on brainstem

Assessment: Intracranial Berry Aneurysm

Plan: Neurosurgery for both father and son, then heartfelt reunion!

Good lord this show is stupid laid out like this! But inertia is terribly powerful so I will likely keep watching.

--By Farrah, who spent the last 5 days babysitting her 2 year old nephew and who never knew she could pull off the unkempt mom look so well, several people told her to have a happy mother's day

Childhood STOLEN by American Girl Store

I recently went on a trip to Colorado with Abby. We spent a week dog sledding, skiing, and gazing at the magestic beauty of the Rocky Mountains. We did not decide to spend our last day outside in the refreshing barely-oxygenated mile-high air, and instead decided to spend it in the retail air of Park Meadows Mall where an American Girl Store had just opened!

Like all little girls, I begged my mom for an American Girl doll on a regular basis. My mom was a big fan of her daughters reading, so she happily purchased the six books of every series for me and my younger sister Sami. My favorite books were about Samantha Parkington. I read Meet Samantha, Samantha Learns a Lesson, Samantha's Surprise, Happy Birthday Samantha!, Samantha Saves the Day, and Changes for Samantha hundreds of times each. At the back of each book was a small, harmless-looking postcard that you could send away for the American Girls Catalogue which sold dolls based on the series. My mom didn't appreciate the series as much after the arrival of the catalogue.

Sami and I would spend days lovingly turning the pages of the catalogue (Sami focused on Molly because they both wore glasses). They were the greatest dolls you could EVER own. Not only could you have the doll, but you could get everything the doll had in all of the books! You could get Samantha's pretty pink dress from Happy Birthday Samantha! along with a tiny ice cream maker and a tiny wicker set of table and chairs. You could even get a matching outfit for yourself! However, the dolls cost around $85 just for a starter kit - doll, book, and maybe a brush. My mom dismissed our whiney begging, stating that she would get us the dolls when they went on sale. Sami and I knew, they would never go on sale. My mom eventually got us similar looking porcelain dolls at a lower cost that partially filled the massive void in our American Girl hearts.

When we saw the American Girl store had opened just a week earlier in Colorado, we decided to go. I have to admit that even at age 25, I was excited to see a Samantha doll in person - a little sad, I know. We arrived at the magical store, where glass covered perfect displays of all the dolls just like in the catalogues. There were a few new dolls that I didn't recognize - Josefina? Ruthie? Rebecca? LANIE? Who the f*** cares? Where is Samantha?!? I rushed through all the displays, but she couldn't be found.

Abby, Sami, and I aggressively elbowed children out of the way to talk to one of the salesclerks.

"Excuse me miss, where are the Samantha dolls?" Sami asked as we all backed the clerk into a corner.

"I'm sorry, Samantha has been retired. It actually happened a few years ago," she politely replied.

"WHAT!?!" we responded in unison.

She's only 10 years old, I thought, how could she retire?

"I was going to pass one on to my daughter!" I said loudly to the sales clerk, realizing in the same moment that - 1) I don't have a daughter and 2) to pass something on to a daughter you have to own it yourself first. I could have cried (don't worry, I held it together - a future pediatrician should not openly sob in a doll store), and we left the store sad and dejected.

Samantha now costs around $300 on e-bay - a little too much for me to handle. I'm guessing she's going to come out of "retirement" at some point to give a little sales boost to the doll makers - much like the Disney vault which gives you a periodic one month window to get a limited edition Beauty and the Beast before it goes back in the vault. I may get my sister a Molly doll for her graduation so she never has to face the horrible realization that she can't pass it on to her imaginary daughter.

--By Farrah, who is house hunting and considered applying for those HGTV shows about "My first home" but didn't want to look too Liz Lemon-y looking for a house to live in by herself

How to tell a residency program "I want to go to there"

When I was applying for medical school, I turned to the internet for help. For those frequent readers of this blog, we know how that turned out from Traumarama: Cake does not get you off the waitlist. However, I made it through, and now almost four years later, I am ready to take my next step of training by applying to residency. After the personal statement, the CV, and the interviews, I find my self agonizing over what to put in a simple thank you note. How personal should it be? Hand-written or e-mail? Who do I send it to? The program director? The program coordinator? The chair? My interviewers? I turned to the internet once again for help, and returned to the dreaded Student Doctor Network forums to find what the average gunner was doing these days. I then stumbled upon the following advice designed for the international medical graduate. It's actually pretty standard advice, but it does contain language that although entirely English, still distinctly reads as foreign. I've highlighted my favorite parts.

Writing effective Thank You Letter

You may wish to thank the program coordinator before you leave for the well organized trip. It is a very good idea to remind about yourself with a thank you letter sent to everyone you interviewed with. It is going to be much easier if you write your thank you letter right after the interview while everything is fresh. Touch the subjects you talked about, that will make it more personal and your interest more genuine. Use the forms you completed to refresh your memories. It is also a good idea to ask about a possibility of a "second look" interview.

A sample Thank You Letter

Dear Dr. XYZ:

Thank you for the courtesies extended to me during my interview yesterday. Your program's atmosphere was inviting and warm, despite of unusually cold weather. I appreciate the way you made me feel at ease with informal conversation about the program as well as lifestyle in ZZZZZ. A site of the state capitol has impressed me.

I especially enjoyed learning about research opportunities at the program.

I liked a lot rounds with ward team directed by Dr. YYYYY. Her non-pressing style lets residents think and express their thoughts freely.

I was particularly impressed by the satisfaction of the current residents with the program. I feel like I definitely can fit into the team.

I strongly believe that I would be an excellent trainee. I really think that the program may benefit from my experience. Even though I had an interruption in practicing medicine, my current position helped to bring my skills up to speed. Whatever I could have missed prior to that, I will catch up by hard work.

I hope to successfully match with your program. Since it was my first interview I can definitely say that I rank your program as number one. But seriously, I will give you an update on my ranking in January. I am sure that the program will be at the top of my list.

Sincerely,

AAAA BBBBBB, M.D.

My very favorite part is the joke in the last paragraph. I had to read it several times before I realized it was a joke. Anyway, I finally settled on a nice hand written note on Crane & Company stationary sent to the program director and my interviewers. After the thank you note is still a mystery for me. I think there is some sort of program director calling program director protocol, but I don't know if I'm ready for that step yet.

--By Farrah, who is in Mariam's home town, which is smaller than you can possibly imagine and contains an abandoned gas station converted into a Jesus figurine and fruit stand.

Hospital on a Hill

There are many reasons that I think a hospital on a hill is a bad idea. Here are my top 5:

1) Sick people don't have the strength to climb hills

2) Parking

3) Ambulances are not the best vehicles to speed up winding steep roads

4) Earthquakes + Gravity

5) When the fog settles around the hill, and a patient unfortunately has end-stage disease, they may look out their window and have a terrible existential moment. Am I already in Heaven? Is Hell this hospital room where I have to see the same residents everyday, much like Sartre's play No Exit? No joke, the following is a picture from the hospital on a hill.

--By Farrah, who is now giving bonus points to non-hill hospitals when comparing her residency choices

Well Portland Oregon and sloe gin fizz, if that ain't love then tell me what is

I am currently doing my fourth month-long away elective in Portland. I now realize that while I know I don't want to stay in Ohio for residency, getting out of Ohio for 4 whole months probably wasn't the best plan. I was exposed to H1N1 in multiple hospitals. I lived in environments that involved sharing bathrooms down the hall with french scientists, hippie medical students, and occasionally a lizard. I had to buy both warmer and cooler clothing depending on my location and inappropriate packing (how could I predict what I would need for the next 4 months when I left Toledo?). I had to shop in weird unfamiliar grocery store chains. Today, I felt homesick and trekked down a steep hill to get some Chipotle like they have back in good old Colorado. I got back to the co-op where I am currently staying and settled down to watch yesterday's episode of 30 Rock. As I watched Liz Lemon substitute a scented candle for deodorant, I saw myself in her character.

(There was a video here before the NBC nazis took it down: it was Liz Lemon smelling her armpit and then rubbing a scented candle on it)

Later when she went to Georgia, I was reminded of how uncomfortable I am in the unfamiliarity of each new location I visit.

(There was also a video here: it had Liz Lemon sick with Jack handing her a bottle of medicine. She then says, "What is this? Peppy Bismilk? Why is everything a little different here? I HATE IT!")

I feel unkempt, and less organized in general in all these new locations. While I really enjoy visiting lots of new locations, I am afraid I may have tired myself out too much before interview season. Here are a few things I learned about each of the cities I visited. This information does not include any opinions about any of the residency programs because it's interview season and I'm not stupid.

San Francisco: Expensive city. Don't go into the woods in golden gate park after dark, and also before dark. I don't like Ethiopian food. I really like "hot chocolate" brownie desserts.

Tucson: Really hot. Lot's of different desert wildlife: snakes, lizards, scorpions, coyotes. The desert museum is not actually a museum - it's a zoo. A cactus can be pretty. Also, when I said there were scorpions, I want to emphasize that they were IN the house, yuck.

Denver: Best city ever. I love being home.

Portland: I've only been here for a week. I live right next door to the hospital so I don't really get a chance to explore. I am excited to see what the city is like this weekend. So far I only know that it is wet, the fall trees are really pretty, and there is a pretty high chance that there are bed bugs based on the bites on my legs and arms. :( Also, there are a LOT of hippies here, and that's saying something from a girl who went to college in Boulder.

--By Farrah, who never thought she would admit that she misses Toledo. Also, bonus points to anybody who recognizes the lyrics in the title.

Meet Farrah

Several people commented that it may not be politically correct to critically analyze the drawings of children, so in an effort to make things fair, I present a series of my own drawings. I am doing an independent study in pathology, studying for the USMLE in the library of my childhood home, surrounded by many hardcover books. In a cabinet underneath one of the many shelves, you will find some soft cover books written by and pictures drawn by me and my little sister. Since any distraction from Crush Step 2 is welcome, I browsed through this cabinet and found out a few things about myself. This project was a self portrait with a short biography at the bottom. It hung on the wall of my elementary school in September 1992.

"September 15, 1992

My Best friend is Victoria. My favorite book is Little me mo's Pizzra. When I grow up I want to be a doctor. I'll never forget when I went to Iran for the first time. The hardest thing to do for me is math. I feel happy when I am at home. If I could go anywhere in the world I'd go to Orlando, Florida. I like to read."

This biography is somewhat accurate. The thing that surprised me the most is that I said I wanted to be a doctor when I grow up. I was almost positive that I made that choice my sophomore year of college. I guess I have always wanted to be a doctor. I really wish I could use this stuff for my personal statement. In terms of the artwork, my critical analysis found that the nose holes look extra weird, and there is some sort of hemifacial hypertrophy. Anyway, if I wrote the same type of biography today, it would look like this:

"August 10, 2009

I have a super awesome friend named Tor. The Harry Potter books are some of my favorites. When I grow up, I want to be a pediatrician. I forgot most of what happened when I went to Iran for the first time. The hardest thing for me to do is statistics, but I used to be really good at calculus. I feel happy when I am at home. If I could go anywhere in the world, I'd go to Venezuela and see Victoria falls. I like to read."

Hmm... not much has changed.

--By Farrah, who's got more childhood drawing and hospital tiles to critically analyze!

Critical Analysis of Drawings on Tile: Bonus Link and Video!

Sadly, there is no tile in this post, though we do have more tiles to offer at a later date. I was talking to one of my friends who reminded me of a website from my undergrad days that abrasively made fun of kids rather than critically analyzed their work in order to improve their art skills. Anyway, it reminded me of us, and it's from the humble guy who runs thebestpageintheuniverse.net.

When I was searching for the site, I was brought to another favorite undergrad website - Homestar runner. This clip is way more awesome than the link above, and it's highly recommended from this backrow baller. Enjoy!

--By Farrah, who just moved back to her sister's house where her 2 year old nephew now knows enough words to say "Teddy pooped" when the dog farts, aww!