I stabbed myself.

Uh oh, the cat's out of the bag, My neighbors have figured out that I'm in medical school, which wouldn't normally be an issue if I wasn't convinced that the house next to mine was a brothel/dance club/coffee shop hybrid (and I don't mean 'coffee shop' like Starbucks, I mean 'coffee shop' as in, "We went to the coffee shops in Amsterdam and bought/smoked a ton of pot") . Seriously, the three 50 year old guys that live next door work the night shift and spend all day long partying with a wide array of characters that obviously share a similar fondness for fermented beverages (and God knows what else). Anyway, now that they've figured out that I may be able to dish out medical advice, they don't feel the need to go to a real doctor, which is bad news for many reasons (especially since there's probably a 30% chance that one of these people will accidentally light themselves on fire during their lifetime). On Friday, a woman with a hand wrapped in gauze stopped me while I was walking the beast and said that she heard I was in medical school. I don't know how she found out, but it's not much of a secret when you have a School of Medicine sticker on the back of your car...

"I'm glad I ran into you, could you look at my hand?"

"Um, sure, what's up?"

"I stabbed myself."

Right. You stabbed yourself. Totally normal. I've stabbed myself tons of times. Anyway, this woman's hand was infected, and she wanted to know if she needed to go back to the emergency room or could wait until next week when she had a follow up. The entire time I gave advice, my dog was feverishly trying to get at her discharge covered bandages like they were pork chops. She actually got one of them too, and I had to dive down and scoop them up before she gobbled down this woman's pus. Gross. 

Either way, I don't think she listened to my opinion ("you should probably go back to the doctor"), because she promptly thanked me and declared that she wouldn't be going back to the doctor. Fantastic. At least she didn't come over to my house with a piece of beer bottle halfway through her palm and ask me to stitch her up (which hasn't happened yet... YET). 

Note: I don't feel this way about all my neighbors. The family that lives on the other side of my house are my favorite people ever. The husband drives a cab, details cars, and (for some reason) loves us. Not only do our cars mysteriously get washed while sitting in our shared driveway, but we have a go-to ride home from the bars (which we almost never go to now that we've become completely and totally lame). Sweeeet.