OMG MRIs are OOC

Happy Wednesday!!!
I know hump day isn’t usually happy (unless you’re humpin!), but this is my last day in the office for over a week, and I’m on cloud 9. Well, maybe cloud 7, seeing as I’m running on 5.5 hours of sleep.

Who has two thumbs and is dumb enough to schedule an MRI at 10:30pm? THIS BLACKTRESS!!!

By the time I got to the Radiology lab, I was ready to go to bed. Add to that the fact that I was wearing the equivalent of winter pajamas, and I thought I was in for an HMO-sponsored nap. I was given a brochure with a list of satellite-radio stations I could choose to listen to during the test. Because I love directing anxiety toward fake problems instead of dealing with the issue at hand, I deliberated for about 10 minutes. One of the comedy stations might be good, since I’m a bit tense, I thought. But if I have to stay still, maybe I shouldn’t listen to something that’ll make me laugh. Show tunes could be fun, but it all depends on the show, and then I’ll be stuck listening to the soundtrack to South Pacific.

Southern Gospel station might be the way to go—if there was ever a time I needed to get He Who Cannot Be Named on my side, it’s now. But if I really just want to be relaxed, maybe the vocal trills and belts of a woman who owes her life to the lord won’t be the way to go.
I continued to create a mountain out of a non-existent structure.

Canadian News & Information—that’ll be pretty boring. Keep that as your safety station.

I finally settled on 2000’s Pop Hits and felt a bit calmer having made a decision.

When I was called down to the MRI area (I’m not sure what to call it. After half an hour of sitting in an empty waiting room that reminded me of The Malkovich, I was directed to an elevator by a wild-haired woman. It only went one flight below street level.) The night-shift radiologist was anything but pleasant. He was small and bored and didn’t even engage when I tried to crack a little jokey joke.

I don’t get how people who have chosen to enter a field in which they interact with sick and suffering humans think that it’s okay to have no personal skills. You’re dealing with people you’ll likely never see again at a time when they’re at their most vulnerable. If that’s not a call for compassion and warmth, I don’t know what is.

Okay, rant about human indecency is over.

I got into the pod and was told to “be completely still for 20 minutes.” He put a pair of big headphones that pressed right up against the part of my head that was hurting. Before I could wince, he caged me in and fired up the ol’ MRI.
“If you need something, kick your legs,” he said as he walked away.
Um…..

Don’t you want to know which radio station I’d like?????

Apparently, he’d already made the decision for me: house music remixed with sounds of a fire alarm and heat coming through rusty pipes.
It must have been some Euro-pop B-side. Wait, no—that was THE MACHINE.

I knew there’d be noises, but I had no idea they’d be so heinous. How can someone stay completely still when their ears are being bombarded with craziness? At worst, it sounded like the machine was breaking and about to cave in on me; at best, it sounded like I kept making the wrong choice on Family Feud or just stole something from a WalMart.

I probably won’t get the results until Monday. Til then, I’m going to go to a Midwestern wedding and try not to feel inferior to my fancy grown-up bride-to-be friend and the blondtourage I have somehow been invited to hang out with. I’ve gotten invited to drinks every night—and a couple of mornings—for the next 4 days. I really hope I don’t do a sober-girl cry in the bathroom—it’s just such bad form.

House Guests - A Rant.

I'm currently holed up in my room, watching Private Practice.
I have five house guests, three of whom are 18-year-old girls.

I am not pleased.

These are members of the Detroit Crew. I think you all know, from previous posts, my feelings on my Detroit fam. These guests aren't even blood relatives, and I don't speak to them regularly. How do you just rock up in someone's home, rolling 5-deep, and think that's acceptable?

Sorry, let me backtrack.

So, my aunt's best friend has three daughters. The oldest is the same age as me and my cousin, so during my summers in Detroit, we were a trio. Her middle daughter was a few years younger, so she mostly rolled with us in the capacity of any younger sister (flunky, tattle-tale, etc.). The youngest girl is 8 years below us, so we were never close. Once she stopped letting us dress her up, we all sort of lost interest, you know?

Well, she's now celebrating her 18th birthday and her mom thought she'd combine her conference in NYC with her daughter's birthday present, so guess who now has her and two of her friends for the next three days?
YAY FOR ME!

The mother emails me and asks if she and her Jamaican lover can also stay the night, as the place they're crashing the rest of the weekend won't be free til Friday. I have no choice but to oblige.
Quick question, guys: Why can't a 50-something-year-old attorney get a hotel for the night so that she and her lover can have privacy and a personal bathroom? I know it's a recession, but if you can't swing it, don't bring it!

So, a mere 15 minutes before Jim and Pam's wedding on "The Office," they arrive. There's the one I knew growing up, who has really matured in the last few years. Although I haven't seen her, I've heard that she's had a bout of chlamydia, and was briefly in a relationship with a 25-year-old woman. Then, she introduced me to her best friend. It went something like this:
Bitchy 18-year-old I Don't Want here: [pointing to her friend] This is my best friend, (pointing to me)and this is my cousin.*
Me: Hello. I'm Sojourner.
The Best Friend: Hi.
She does not say her name. I have never met her before and she plans on staying in my home and yet does not think it's sensible to state her name and perhaps say "thanks for letting me stay." This is yet another reason why black people can't have nice things--children lack home training.

This girl immediately breaks out her cell and starts chatting with folks. Apparently, there's no need for me to say, "make yourself comfortable."

The girl I know asks if her older sister is coming.
"What?" I ask. "I'm clearly uninformed."
Moments later my cell phone rings. It's the sis. She goes to grad school in DC and is apparently coming down.
"Hey, Sojo, can I come stay?! I got off Monday, so I'll just kick it til y'all kick me out."


Um, okay, people. I'm at least somewhat friends with the sis, she's my age, we grew up together. If the whole damn rest of her family, including her mother's illegal immigrant lover, are going to stay, there's no way I can tell her no. However, this now brings our total to 6. We don't have the beds, or the food, and I quite frankly don't have the patience.

House Guests are a lot of work. Having to be chipper, tend to people's needs, and generally make sure 18-year-olds don't cause a ruckus means that for the next 3-5 days, my home is not my own. And when the people staying seem to lack courtesy and kindness, there's little incentive to put on the act.


Through the phone call with the older sis, the mother and her Jamaican lover are sprawled out on the couch. When I explain that I'll leave the girls directions and get them on the subway, the mother looks at me with a passive aggressive expression, I guess thinking that I'd be taking them around.
Um, what? Me with three legal adults in tow? I don't think so. See, I have a few rules in life:
- Ass, gas, or grass--nobody rides for free.
- John Krasinski is my future husband.
- If you're old enough to get chlamydia and test your sexuality, you're old enough to take the subway alone.
Am I right?

Playing tourist in a city I live in isn't on my to-do list. I'm not "re-discovering," I'm simply navigating my way through throngs of tourists in densely populated areas. Besides, I did this last week with a Danish pal, even taking her to the bar from the film "Coyote Ugly" (it's her favorite movie. I kid you not.). Hanging out with teens isn't my idea of fun. I hate teenagers. Especially ones who are only interested in boys and clothes. I was never that teen, so those with lack of drive (college? what college?) or interests simply confuse me. They don't read books, they don't watch television shows; there are no common denominators to aid small talk, and even if there were, they certainly wouldn't last us 8-10 hours of gallivanting around Manhattan.

It's now 10:30am (some time has lapsed. Too busy tending, I wasn't able to return to this post til the next morning). I hear music blasting down the hall. I'm going try to shuttle these bitches out, maybe direct them to IHop for breakfast, cause I sure as hell ain't cooking.

What can I do to get through this? Any suggestions?


*Note: we are not related at all. She knows this.