This isn't (Eerie) Indiana

So, once again, something strange happened yesterday.

First off, the dead guy turned out to be from around Hometown, just not exactly Hometown. I don't know him, but my dad does. The guy's family was contacted, and that was the end of that bizarre incident.

On to strange incident number two:
Yesterday afternoon, we received a phone call asking for my brother (they said his full name).
Mom said he wasn't in the country, then the lady on the other end said
"Well, can I talk to Ivana Dos Santos*?"
Mom: I think you have the wrong number...
Lady: Is she not in?
Mom: No... no Ivana lives here...
Lady: But this is the number I was given...
Mom: No Ivana lives here... my son's name is Brother*, but there's no Ivana living here.
Lady: Well, this is the number I get for the address they left...

So the lady gets my mom to tell her our address (so dumb... well, at least, I think it's dumb to do so over the phone).
The lady agrees that it's not the address given to her.
She then tells Mom about Ivana and Brother's* three month old son that has undergone medical tests and how one of them came out suspicious, so they need to bring the boy back for further testing.
Mom: Well, that sucks... but I don't know who you're talking about... you have the wrong person.

So we leave it at that.
Later on in the afternoon, however, we get the mail.
One of the letters came from a doctor's office... psychiatry department, I think.
It was intended for:
The Parents of Baby Boy Dos Santos*
Ivana and Brother* Dos Santos*

???

While I know mistakes happen quite fucking often...
This is really pissing me off....
Brother better not have gone off and had some random ass kid without us knowing...
(I'm kidding, I'm not THAT paranoid... but shit, they need to quit calling... and what kind of fucking parents give the wrong personal information at a hospital?!? And what parent hasn't given their 3 month old child a name?!)

* Not actual name, obviously

P.S. In happier, more normal news: I'm now the very happy owner of the first season of Flight of the Conchords.
Meeeeeeeeeeemorieeeeeeeeeees! (Hey, since all I got myself from London was a stupid keychain--I take that back, it's not stupid, since it's Manchester United's crest-- I can at least remember those couple of hours I spent at my brother's flat, where I kept zoning in and out of consciousness only to laugh at some of those songs that Bret and Jemaine would bust in to)