Please Get This Song Out of My Head June 11, 2016

Back in August and September I was pretty much in work hell: long hours, a stressful project, lots of new things to learn. This particular work project also required spending my days in a small conference room with two to four other people at any given time, often for 10-12 hours in a row. At one point I taped a sign to the door that said, “Please do not discuss the outside world”. This, of course, was a tribute to The Simpsons (because everyone knows that’s what the sign says outside Grandpa Simpson’s retirement home.) Sadly, not many people understood my pop culture reference, nor did they think it was funny. I thought it was downright hilarious, but the conference room was in the middle of the environmental, health and safety department, and who knows what those people find funny. Dilbert cartoons about ergonomics?

Anyway, lack of contact with the outside world can certainly drive a person quite batty. I don’t know about you, but when I get to the appropriate level of battiness, my mind turns into a one-woman radio station for those with ADHD. I have no control over the genre or taste level on this station; the songs just pop into my head before I can do anything about it. Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism…or perhaps I am somewhere on the ADHD spectrum myself but never really got diagnosed? Not sure. But the results range from annoying to embarrassing to what-the-f*ck?

One particular day my mind was so active with songs that I actually started writing them down. Here’s what I came up with:

  • “Family Man” by Hall and Oates. It makes perfect sense that I would have this song in my head first thing in the morning. I am not a morning person and furthermore I’m an introvert, so the last thing I want to do when I get to work is join a room full of people. So “Leave me alone, I’m a fam-ily man” just seemed to stick, minus the whole family man thing.
  • “Let the Good Times Roll” by The Cars. Obviously I was going through a sarcastic phase here.
  • “Whooomp There It Is” by Tag Team. I think someone came in the room and said “I’m back again”, and then it all went from there, naturally.
  • “Special” by the Pretenders. I honestly don’t know how this song got in my head.
  • “I Gotta Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas. This was right after lunch when all I really wanted was a nap. But instead I had that incessant wedding celebration song in my head.
  • “Rocky Top Tennessee” by one of the kids from the classic Kenny Rogers movie “Six Pack”. Yes, I realize that this was probably sung by someone famous, but I never did know my country singers. Except for Kenny, Dolly, Loretty, and The Statler Brothers. (Do The Statlers count? I think they do.) Anyway, when I sing Rocky Top to myself, it’s always this calm, reflective version sung by this little redneck boy while Kenny Rogers the washed-up racecar driver is driving the RV. Granted that kid was a little sh*t the rest of the movie, but boy could he sing like an angel.
  • “Give Your Heart a Break” by Demi Lovato. Hmmm. I thought this was by Selena Gomez but I just Googled it and I was wrong. Anyway, it was played on the radio ALL. THE. TIME. and I could not get it out of my head.
  • “We Built This City” by Starship. One of the worst songs of all time, yet here’s an interesting fact: A few years ago I saw a concert with Lou Gramm, Eddie Money and Mickey Thomas from Starship, and Mickey was the only performer who could actually still sing and not sweat through his shirt in less than 30 seconds. You have to respect that.
  • “Man in the Mirror” by Michael Jackson. Somebody mentioned something about ‘making a change’, hence I started whispering that in my head and it morphed into this Michael Jackson song which so many people find inspirational. I don’t. If my mind’s radio station is going to give me some Michael, then it better be “PYT”.
  • “Walk Away” by The Eagles. Again I had to look this up because I though the song was called, “Seems to Me”. And I always get my 70’s bands confused, so no, I didn’t know it was The Eagles. Which is odd because growing up just about every washed-up 70’s band came to my hometown to play in a festival each summer. This was before I figured out how awesome “No Sugar Tonight” was. Ugh, doesn’t your teenage self just disgust you sometimes?
  • “Give Your Heart a Break” – again. Damnit, Sel – I mean Demi!!
  • “The Final Countdown” by Europe. At this point I must’ve seen some hope that we were wrapping up the long day, and this was the most appropriate song of course.
  • Get out of my head, Demi Lovato!!!

And the final song of the day…

  • “I Alone” by Live. Because what else captures the triumph of another long work day better than a song about placenta falling to the floor?


P.S. If I had my way, I would have preferred a recently-discovered song from Pitbull’s Globalization station (don’t judge) on my satellite radio. It’s a nifty little number featuring Jennifer Lopez saying, “I done had a long week, now it’s time to celebrate. This drink’s for you.” Sure, Pitbull was dedicating the song to all the single ladies and single mothers out there (like his mom), but I think he could make an exception for the hardworking white ladies too, right?


The 6 Types of House Hunters September 21, 2015

Filed under: Humor,Pop Culture — aniederkorn @ 9:20 pm
Tags: , ,

I love watching HGTV’s House Hunters. In my opinion it’s one of the most reliable television shows out there; I can always be assured that no matter what other crap is on one of my 200 other channels, House Hunters will always be there to entertain me.

However, if you watch a show long enough, it’s bound to start annoying you with all its idiosyncrasies, and House Hunters is certainly no exception. Over the years I’ve noticed that the most annoying home buyers often fall into certain categories, which I have lovingly outlined for you below. You’re welcome.

The 6 Different Types of House Hunters (totally unofficial and stereotypical, but astoundingly accurate)

  • The Overly-Cautious Parents. These are the parents who are convinced that most houses are death traps waiting to harm their offspring. No matter how innocuous a house seems, the parents will find some reason to find an obscure and often ridiculous safety hazard. Common quotes include: “Well I know that in-ground pool with deck, waterslide and spectacular landscaping is pretty cool, but what if the kids sleepwalk and fall into it?” Or, “Hmmm the slant on that hill is a bit steep. Too much of a risk when the kids are running around.” And then there is the ever popular, “The master is on the first floor and the kids’ rooms are on the second floor?” (Note: at this point I think to myself, “Perfect!”) But then the parents say: “Yeah…that is way too far away. We need to be next to the kids at all times in case something happens.” Cue my husband and me, trying to make pretend helicopter noises.

On a related note, these parents are also most likely to be huge germophobes who ironically let their cats roam freely          across kitchen countertops. And speaking of pets…

  • The Ones Who Care Most About the Dogs. These episodes start innocently enough. The couple seems very likeable and normal, they have good taste, and they both agree on what they want. As the narrator explains the things they are looking for (i.e. open concept, a modern kitchen, a large master suite), the words I dread are then delivered: “They’re also looking for a large yard for their two German Shepherds.”

As the couple starts to look at houses, my opinion of them changes very quickly. These are not just dog people;                  these are crazy-ass dog people ready to go all Parker Posey in Best in Show on you at any given moment. Not                    surprisingly, the housing decision is primarily based on the yard space for the dogs, fencing for the dogs, the proper            environment to walk the dogs, and proximity of a park to run the dogs. After looking at every house, the hunters                    mutter something like this: “Well it’s in our budget and in our desired neighborhood. Plus it’s got those stainless steel           appliances and open concept we love. Basically everything is absolutely perfect for us except the yard is a little too               small for Buster and Roscoe.” I then want to stick a fork in my eye as the couple ends up buying a fixer upper with               mustard yellow appliances and knotty pine walls.  But at least the yard is big enough for the damn dogs.

  • The Wealthy Empty-Nesters Who Are “Downsizing”. Usually he’s some corporate executive or Wall Street maverick, and she’s never had a job outside the home. Now that all their kids are gone, they decide that maybe the 8000 square foot mansion in Westchester is a bit too large for just the two of them. Their plan is to “downsize” to 3500 square feet. As soon as they begin the hunt, she will continue to complain that the houses are way too small, and he will be overly concerned with the price even though they already own condos in Palm Beach and Aspen. They settle on something around 5000 square feet, “for when the kids come to visit.”
  • The Couple with Polar Opposite Tastes. This one can be summed up pretty quickly. For example: His tastes are modern and she loves Victorian style. You know from the start that dude can kiss his chances of a minimalist, neutral palette goodbye. It’s going to be toile and lace for that poor guy for the rest of his life. The closing shot is a quote from the dejected husband who tries his best to smile and say, “Well, it was most important that she was happy.”
  • The Couple Who Want a House “In Their Current Neighborhood”. This couple is also commonly found on HGTV’s Love It or List It. It’s usually a family who has outgrown its current home due to all the kids’ crap: i.e., the dining room has been overtaken by giant plastic puzzles pieces, a pretend kitchen set, a fort, and several makeshift tunnels. The wish list for their new home is impossibly long, but it most likely contains the following: 1) A bedroom for each child, 2) A playroom for the kids, 3) a craft area for Mom, 4) a Man Cave for Dad, and 5) the location absolutely must be in their same neighborhood.

Is it just me, or isn’t it hard enough to simply find a house you love within your budget? What are the chances that                house is going to be in your same neighborhood?

“Little to none, you completely unreasonable hoarders”, I want to tell them.  As is the case with Love It or List It, once            a decorator bulldozes all their crap into a nearby storage unit, the couple realizes they are going to stay in their same          house.

  • The “Mystery Money” Couple. The intro goes something like this: Robin and Josh are twenty-something newlyweds looking for a starter home. Robin is a social worker while Josh is finishing up his graduate degree in Russian Literature. They both want a colonial within easy commuting distance to the university, while still staying within their budget of $450,000.

        Say what?

         In other words, mommy and daddy are fitting the bill, therefore delaying the couple’s entry in the “real world” until they          are well into their mid-thirties, if not longer.

At this point I usually turn the channel in disgust. The Simpsons have got to be on somewhere.


Dear John Hughes: Sentimental Fun for Gen-Xers March 8, 2015

Let’s face it: getting through Wisconsin winters is pretty rough. Most days I come home from work in the dark and cold and am in my pajamas by 6:00 sharp. That is, if I don’t lie down for a “little nap” first. I find my lottery ticket purchases skyrocketing, and I watch way too many episodes of House Hunters: Bargain Beachfront Bargain Hunt.

So when I saw that Dear John Hughes, a musical celebrating (what else?) the incredible music featured in John Hughes’ teen flicks of the mid 80’s was coming to Chicago, I jumped online and ordered tickets. What better way to pull me out of my winter funk than listening to the soothing sounds of Psychedelic Furs, Oingo Boingo and The Smiths? Truth be told, I had no idea if there was even a plot to this show, but it also starred Rumer Willis…and if there’s one thing I am, it’s a celebrity whore. Sold! (At about a hundred bucks a ticket – ouch!)

My fellow celebrity whore/pop culture-loving friend Becky and I took the train to Chicago, scarfed down a quick lunch, then high-tailed it to the Broadway Playhouse at Water Tower Place. Despite the 2:00 pm start time, the crowd was already enjoying some pre-entertainment beers, which is always a good sign.

I immediately loved the pre-show music selection, featuring lots of new-wave and lesser-known 80’s music, along with some songs clearly from Hughes’ movies but not featured in the performance. So far so good.

So now – on to the details.

The set was simple: several risers with compartments/room for the live band, with one single “framework” piece along the top for different characters to pose in front of (for the whole silhouette effect). This particular theater also had two very high balconies on both side of the stage and two little mini platforms as well, which were well-used by the cast. Cast members also often used the aisles in the theater, which made it extra exciting when Rumor Willis was nearby (sorry – the whole celebrity whore thing again).

So basically the show is divided into five chapters: The Princess and the Athlete, A Criminal and a Basket Case, The Geek, Prom, and Detention.  Each chapter uses lines and characters from Hughes’ most-loved teenage films:  Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty in Pink, Some Kind of Wonderful, and Weird Science. (The latter is used the very least.) In order to maximize the use of the most classic Hughes’ movie lines, the themes may use a Sixteen Candles line one moment and then a Pretty in Pink line the next. I’ll admit it took a little getting used to, but in the end it just worked…largely because Hughes distinctly understood the different personas of the teenage world, and these movies all had recurring character types. You’ll see just how easily these characters could cross into each other’s worlds.

It was also difficult when a particular actor would deliver a line with a totally different inflection than the original Hughes’ movie actor. Let’s face it: When you’ve seen Sixteen Candles as many times as I have, you’re expecting Farmer Ted’s lines to be delivered just exactly like Anthony Michael Hall. One actor had the unenviable task of doing Stef from Pretty in Pink…and didn’t come close. But honestly, it’s pretty hard to top James Spader’s brilliant rich kid smarminess…because Spader is just so good.  The one notable exception to this was Ruby Lewis, who could do a very convincing Edie McClurg as Grace (“They think he’s a righteous dude”) as well as Annie Potts as Iona (“Applause. Applause. APPLAUSE.”) Lewis probably had the strongest voice in the bunch, but Michael Thomas Grant was a close second when he really did a fantastic Ducky singing Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness.

As for Rumer Willis, I was pleasantly surprised that the girl can sing…and I liked her impressions of both Watts and Ally Sheedy’s “Basket Case” as well as Jeannie from Ferris Bueller. In fact, her biggest song of the show, Turn to the Sky by The March Violets, was one of my favorite moments. (By the way, this show just made me love the music of Some Kind of Wonderful even more – not to mention this movie was highly underrated and must be seen by more people. Please. Just do it. You won’t regret it.)

The show keeps a good balance of feel-good songs that everyone knows (Twist and Shout) along with some lesser-known ones that resonate with die-hard Hughes fans. I was particularly happy to hear Left of Center by Suzanne Vega, Young Americans by David Bowie, Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths, and We Are Not Alone by Nik Kershaw. If You Were Here by The Thompson Twins is also one of my all-time favorites (although there is another version of the song by Cary Brothers that just blows me away).

Overall, the show was fun and sentimental-packed. You’ll wish it was 1985 again and you were popping in that VHS tape of Breakfast Club that just came out. I know I am.


Hot Times in Palm Springs June 21, 2013

It’s the first day of summer! That means vacation time! In honor of this special day, I would like to share one of my most memorable summer vacation stories.


The time: Summer, circa 2003


The place: Palm Springs


The vibe: Hotter than shit


The participants: Me and my kick-ass mom


The (approximate) conversation, as we are checking into the “bungalow” at our hotel:


Mom: Oh, how quaint. We’re in the “Lana Turner” suite!


Me: Yeah, this place supposedly has a lot of Old Hollywood history.


Mom: Hmmm. That’s kind of odd. There’s a framed photo of Edward Scissorhands  on the wall.


Me: Great. That should lull me into some sweet nightmares tonight.


Mom: There’s also a picture of Sarah Jessica Parker.


Me: And Princess Diana.


Mom: (now in the bathroom) And here’s a male ballet dancer.


Me: Interesting choice of photography for a hotel room.


Mom and Me: Hmmm.


We then go about our business of sunbathing, eating, shopping and generally sweating for the next few days until we check out.


Mom: Oh. My. God.


Me: What?


Mom: Look at that sign. Didn’t we see that when we checked in? (Sign: Home of Palm Springs’ first gay and lesbian condo community.)


Me: Apparently not. So that explains the pictures in our room.


Mom: How?


Me: Those are all gay icons. The gays love their SJP.


Mom: So this entire week the staff here probably thought that I was your older lesbian lover?


Me: I’m afraid so, Mom.


Mom: Now THAT is funny.


Once Bitten: The Tale of My Sadistic Orthodontist April 26, 2013

When I was younger I had some pretty jacked-up teeth. I wasn’t quite worthy of The Big Book of British Smiles (featured on The Simpsons), but things were bad enough that I definitely needed braces.


Enter my orthodontist, who basically had a monopoly on the entire snaggle-toothed population in the immediate area. The only other orthodontist available was some guy who was fighting tax evasion charges, so I guess the safer bet was to go with the guy who’d be able to finish the job. The last thing I wanted was for the IRS to storm in and shut the joint down while I’ve still got wires sticking out of my mouth.


This was all very unfortunate because my orthodontist’s office was nothing more than a money-making house of horrors.


Let’s discuss.


For starters, back in my day there was no such thing as “comfort” at the orthodontist. Asking for comfort at the orthodontist was like asking for a chaser with your Saganaki; it simply was not done. (Because we all know that nobody in their right mind would ever mask the glorious taste which is flaming Greek cheese. Period.)


This is a stark contrast to the orthodontist offices of today. I started realizing this when I brought my stepdaughter in for one of her very first visits.


It all started when the super friendly lady-helper cheerfully asked my stepdaughter what flavor she wanted for the mold/model of her mouth.


“Whoa whoa whoa,” I said. “You mean to tell me you people have flavors now?”


“Oh yes!” she cheerfully tells me. “We can do mint or strawberry or even bubble gum!”


I sighed and shook my head. Unreal. I only had one flavor for my mouth mold, and that flavor was CEMENT.


Next up, the ambience. My stepdaughter’s ortho office had cool retro album covers on the walls and pictures or puzzles you could stare at on the ceiling while you were reclined and getting your braces tightened. Plus they played a rock station. My ortho office featured easy-listening and absolutely no cool artwork of any kind, unless you count all the threatening pictures of kids’ messed-up mouths. These were meant as warnings to us if we didn’t wear our headgear or forgot to floss. It kind of gave a whole new meaning to Scared Straight.


And then there is the orthodontist swag. So apparently nowadays if you do what you’re told (avoid taffy, skillfully pick the food out of your braces, etc.) you get cool prizes like certificates for pizza. My “prize” was a crummy white tee shirt with an illustrated stick-figure brace-face girl. It said something like “Brace Yourself!” on it in big letters. Something I’d wear along with my headgear if my name was Joan Cusack and I was headed to the dance with Samantha Baker and Long Duck Dong.


And let’s talk about technology. My stepdaughter’s extremely personable orthodontist took the time to show this super high-tech mini movie about how her teeth would get fixed and put into their proper place. It was freaking amazing. I had to stop myself from asking him to “Play it again!” Needless to say, my doctor never showed me anything on the office Apple IIe except for maybe the outstanding balance on my hefty bill.


But I was tough back in the 80’s; I could handle all these inconveniences, and I never really mentioned them. But one thing I regularly complained about was the sheer PAIN.


Apparently my doctor subscribed to the crank methodology of orthodontics. He could barely contain his pleasure as he cranked and pulled and yanked on my teeth as hard as he possibly could. I never found out what was behind that one locked door, but my guess was it was a gym so that Doc could stay in fine prison shape and beat on all those mouths.


To add insult to injury, my orthodontist didn’t even fix my teeth right. Sure I look great compared to those cleft palate kids in the back of magazines. But then look a little closer and you’ll see that my bottom teeth all overlap each other. And it sure as hell wasn’t because I didn’t wear my retainer afterwards – I wore that thing religiously. (And don’t get me started on Retainers Now vs. Retainers Then. As you can tell, technology really pisses me off sometimes, especially when I see how easy it makes life for others while I had to suffer.)


Apparently my overbite was not fixed properly, so when I bite down, my front teeth cover my bottom teeth. They bump into each other, and my lower teeth get all moved around. So all that money and time and pain and my mouth is still messed up.


But at least…at least…I have this brief shining moment of revenge.


At one particular appointment, my orthodontist kept asking me to bite down on this piece of plastic he kept shoving into my mouth. This went on for quite a while. Insert, bite down. Insert, bite down. After a while it became rather rhythmic, and he didn’t even have to tell me to bite down. I just did. And then, instead of inserting the long orange plastic thing, he inserted his finger. And I bit down. Boy did I bite down.


While it’s true it was an accident, I felt pure joy. The rest of the patients around me heard the demonic doctor cry out in pain, and they all looked at me in a mixture of awe, gratefulness and worship. I was like that brave orphan who had stomped on Ms. Hannigan’s foot. If they hadn’t been strapped down, they probably would have started to clap. But then again that would have been pretty risky; come time for their own brace tightening, our sadistic doctor could easily go into full throttle crank mode, much like the life-sucking device used on Westley in The Princess Bride.


No, we would have to take this small victory for what it was: a small step for the young tortured mangled-mouth souls, who would soon lead the way toward a more peaceful, kinder orthodontic experience.


You’re welcome, kids.




Shameless Secrets from my Phone’s Text Log April 12, 2013

Filed under: Humor,Pop Culture — aniederkorn @ 1:32 pm
Tags: , , ,

Now that I have a fancy schmancy phone and two teenage stepkids, I have been forced to text. This was not an easy transition for me, much like when Steve Carrell left The Office, or when skinny jeans came into style.

Thankfully I have not turned into one of those people who hold marathon conversations over texting, because that is just asinine. If I wanted to talk to you for that long I’d just call you or show up unexpectedly at your front door when your house is a mess. Come to think of it, I’m not much into long conversations at all, unless I’m bitching about something, or you’re telling me the secret recipe for skinny thighs. Comfortable silence can be a good thing, people. And sometimes I’m reading my Us Weekly and just want to be left the hell alone. I can’t drink my  Trader Joe’s Lambrusco, kick everyone’s ass at Wheel of Fortune, read stupid crap on Yahoo! News and text you all at the same time. Something’s gotta give, and it’s not going to be my penchant for cheap wine.

Texting is just a lot of work for me, probably because I use proper spelling, grammar and punctuation for ALL my texts. And it’s a lot harder to get to that exclamation point and comma when they are on a totally different screen, damnit. Plus I am not  up on all the texting abbreviations out there. I feel like a schmuck if I even utter an “LOL”. But even though my texts are grammatically perfect and spell-checked, this doesn’t exactly make them remotely “classy”, if you will.

No, most of my texts involve my stepkids’ comings and goings and who is picking them up and where the hell they are, and what are they doing. But lest you think that my texting life is boring, I invite you to read some of these gems.  They basically come in three fun-size categories: Random, Disappointing and Strange/Shameless.

(Author’s Note: All texting parties will be referred to as “texter”. You never know when one of these people is going to run for office someday.)

Favorite Random Texts I’ve Received

Texter: Hey I got my period.

Texter: Remind me to tell you about going to the lesbo bar for a meat raffle.

Texter: Potty training loads of fun. He brought me a poop more than once. Put it in my hands!! Good times!!!!!

Texter (gay male friend in his 30’s): Just left One Direction World in Times Square.

Me: Who’s you’re favorite? (Author’s note: damn that punctuation is a bitch.)

Texter: Harry.

Me: Well OF COURSE he is!

Texts That Have Disappointed Me:

Me: Frankenweenie tonight?

Texter: I’m going over to Taylor’s.

Me: Ok

(Author’s Note: Frankenweenie rocked, by the way.)

Texter: I have musical practice till 5 and yes I would like to go to the basketball game.

Me: Why r u texting during school? (Author’s note: This is about as fancy as I get with abbreviations. Why yes I DID use the shortened versions of ‘are’ and ‘you’.)

Texter: It’s free time

Me: Sounds fishy.

Texter: (No response).

Texter: Hey I left my basketball shoes at ur house…can you bring them to the middle school during ur lunch brake?

Me: No but I can bring them during my lunch BREAK. (Author’s note: I warned you I was anal.)

Me: Wow what a fantastic concert! Very impressive!

Texter: (No response.)

Me: Please text when you get to P’s.

Texter: (No response.)

Me: Did u take my bike?

Texter: (No response.)

Me: Please shovel when you get home.

Texter: (No response.)

(Author’s note: One guess on how THAT all turned out.)

Me: Please have your friend Lindsey remove that pic of u on Facebook. Not really appropriate. Thanks.

Texter: (No response.)

Me: Did you take my $10 from living room?

Texter: (No response.)

(Author’s Note: Sigh.)

Strange (and Shameless) Random Texts I’ve Sent

Me: We are watching The Middle. Jealous much?

Me: I put some female supplies on your desk.

Me: My mom’s ringtone for me should be “Coal Miner’s Daughter”. DUH.

And Finally…

Me: Ungawa girl powra! (Author’s note: Understanding this one requires a fine appreciation for Jock Jams Volume 2, circa 1998.)


Worst. Gyno. Visit. Ever. February 26, 2013

Glad I got your attention, ladies. And for you men who dared to read further, congratulations. Glad you could join us. We’re going to be talking about lady bits.

So I’ve been a little stuck lately in the writing department. My novel and article writing are going great, but nothing was inspiring me for this blog (i.e. nothing that I could make fun of or complain about).

But then I visited the gynecologist today, and just like that my problem was solved.

Let me begin by saying that I have had several horrible gyno visits in my lifetime, so it shouldn’t surprise me that this one was terrible as well. But usually the bad part only happens when my feet are in the stirrups. This time the frustration started right when I walked in the door.

I was at a new office, and I knew I had to visit Suite 2030. I headed to the elevator, thinking that it was on the second floor. I stepped into the elevator slightly, looking over at the buttons to see if there was a directory. But then before I could figure anything out, some old lady who works in “hospitality” comes up behind me, flat out PUSHES me into the elevator and says, “PLEASE STEP INSIDE.”

Now I can see if you are escorting a bleeding body on a gurney, you’d want me to get the hell out of the way. However, as far as I could tell this lady was only going to the lower level to get herself a bowl of Metamucil from the cafeteria. I understand the importance of fiber, but this was ridiculous.

I exchanged a look with another lady in the elevator.

My look clearly conveyed, “Oh no she di’int…”

Her look conveyed something like, “Oh, what a crazy, spunky old lady! Isn’t she fun?”

If this were Say Anything, she would have been the kind and caring Diane Court and I would have been the insensitive, ageist Lloyd Dobbler who tried to show Cocoon to all the senior citizens.

Clearly I was not as forgiving.

Old woman: Well it looks like we’re all going to the lower level.

Me: Actually I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.

Old woman: Well where are you trying to go?

Me: 2030.

Old woman: (cranky tone) 2030? What does that mean?”

Me: Suite 2030.

Old woman: (crankier tone) WHICH. DOCTOR.

Me: Dr. C- (name is hidden to protect the innocent)

Old woman: Oh well you didn’t need to get on the elevator! You need to go back to where you were. Just press one and it will take you back there.

She says this last part in a patronizing voice, and you can tell she truly believes that she has been the most helpful hospital employee that ever lived.

Me: Gee, thanks for that advice on how the elevator works. I never would have figured out how to get back to the first floor. And by the way, I never would have had to take this f*cking elevator ride in the first place if you hadn’t PUSHED ME IN before I even knew where I was going.


Okay, I really didn’t say that last part. But that’s how it happens in my fantasy.

So I find Suite 2030 and sit down. For 55 minutes.

This is not entirely bad because I have my lovely SmartPhone and I can clean up my gmail account which is overflowing with offers from all the flash sale websites I belong to. Let’s just say it’s gotten a little out of hand, but I refuse to unsubscribe from any of them because I may miss out on the greatest designer sale ever. But in the meantime it’s either a whole lot of “Save 50% on Photo-to-Canvas Prints”, or else I’m about a day too late and all the good stuff is already sold to people who don’t have day jobs.

Oh, and did I mention that I was having an ultrasound done? (No, I am not pregnant.)

An ultrasound requires one to have a full bladder.

Yes, I sat there for 55 minutes while having to pee.

So about 30 minutes in I decide to whine on Facebook. A friend suggests that I do Kegel exercises to help pass the time.

I want to tell her, “Honey, I am on the verge of peeing myself right now. Believe me, I am the definition of Kegel exercises right now.”

When I am finally called into the ultrasound room, I then I have to endure a large probe jutting into my abdomen. While I still have to pee.

I am then allowed to relieve myself, but then I have to go back for the vaginal ultrasound which is basically the longest and most uncomfortable photo shoot ever. Kind of like when Lindsey Lohan arrives to the photo studio hung over and two hours late and everyone has to scramble to make up time, and the photographer has a really hard time getting the right shot and some incompetent stylist assistant did not get the right goddamn jewelry from Cartier.

Except in my case there was a crazy-long hunt/probe/expedition for my left ovary who thought it would be funny to hide. I was not amused.

After this, more peeing and then another fun procedure. I won’t even get into the details of this, but it involved a catheter and then more exploratory action.

I finally get out of there nearly three hours later. To use a quote from the musical Chicago, “I’m really irritated, and I’m looking for a little sympathy.”

And that, my friends, is why I’m having this second glass of wine right now.