I was going to have some more recaps for ya, but TLC had different ideas. As I’ve noted before, TLC’s schedule is apparently created by someone with both OCD and ADHD. So I again did not manage to catch new episodes of either of the two oh-so-awesome shows I’m covering. This is partly because TLC is so in love with their new show “Secret Sex Lives” which is totally different from “Sex sent me to the ER” and “Strange Addictions” and “My Crazy Obsession” and “Strange Sex”. Like, they moved the words around, duh!
So I figured, my brain is so far gone by now, why not? I turned on “Secret Sex Lives”. And who do I see first but my old pal Nathaniel from “Strange Addictions”! Hey, TLC, that’s cheating! Not only that, you’re not even branching out and trying to rip off other networks. You’re ripping YOURSELF off now. I’m on to you!
In case you don’t remember Nathaniel, he’s better known as “Car Sex Guy”. It was pretty horrifying to see this guy the first time. But TLC shows him again anyway, cause it’s a “sex life” that’s “secret” because it’s “disturbed”. And they don’t even get new footage – not that I could have stood any more footage of Nat licking his steering wheel and whispering sweet nothings to the upholstery. But still, come ON, TLC. Have you really run out of morons so quickly that you have to repeat old morons on new shows? Shame, TLC, shame.
So I figured, why don’t I branch out and look at whatever idiot thing TLC happens to be covering when I’m watching TV long after my lunch has fully digested. And since we’re like 3 months from June, why not a wedding show?
Friday has a marathon of “Say Yes to the Dress”. I discussed this show briefly while feverish and doped up during my bout with Pneumonia. The show is no better when you’re well. I was actually looking about for some more drugs, even though I’m not “technically” sick right now.
I really hate this show. All the tension rests on what horribly overpriced dress some stupid girl is going to choose for her wedding. Keep in mind that a wedding lasts a few hours at most. You’re not even going to wear the dress the entire day. And you’ll never wear it again, even when you marry moron number 2, because who wants to get married in the same dress you used with the first jerk?
Yet the dress shop owners act as if this is an “investment in their future.” What? Unless the bride-to-be is planning on becoming Miss Haversham and wearing the dress all day long while collecting dust and raising young girls to hate all men, then, no, this really isn’t an investment in her future, at least not a future past the next month or so. It’s actually nauseating what these people will spend on a single outfit. 10,000 is usually considered their “bottom-line dress.” Choose that garbage bag, and you’re sure to get a “no way girlfriend” shake of the head from one of those snobby twits at the shop.
And if they don’t turn their noses up at the girls, then be sure someone in the family will. Why, I ask, would you bring that many family members to help you choose a dress? How stupid is that? They aren’t going to wear it. I could see bringing your mother if you happen to like her, or a friend, but your entire extended family? Even Grandma who thinks any dress with less than a turtleneck collar, long sleeves, and a skirt that covers the ankles is slut city?
Of course, I have a feeling many of these women are not paying for the dresses themselves, hence at least having the parents there to approve the choice. Here’s the thing, though – if you can’t afford your own dress, are you ready to be out on your own? Get a job, save some money, then get a dress for a couple hundred at most, and put the 10 grand (or more) that some misguided person gave you on a freaking HOUSE, mmkay? That’s a good girl.
If “Say Yes to the Dress” followed the natural progression of things, it would take the same couple through a number of other shows. First the happy couple who spent everything on a dress go to their new trailer house in “Welcome to Myrtle Manor”, then have “Strange Sex” followed immediately by “Sex Sent Me to the ER” which leads to “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” resulting in “Quints by surprise!” leading to “Extreme Couponing” and devolving into “Cake Boss” and “My 600 lb life”. But, alas, no, all we get is the stupid dress. Whoop-te-shit. This isn’t even the only wedding show on TLC. You’ve also got “Friday Bride Day”, “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding” (I see what you did there TLC), “Four Weddings” (God help me), “I found the gown” (Did you use coupons?), “Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta” (these are like CSI shows), and “Say Yes to the Dress Bridesmaids.” That’s too many shows about brides.
By the end of an episode of “Say Yes to the Dress”, I’m almost ready to watch Nathaniel and his car. At least they aren’t spending a lavish amount of money on a wedding. Please say they aren’t.
So there you go. No light up boobs, not even a light up dress. Sad. But still, there’s a post! Yay.
Thurs. Afternoon (cue that Law and Order ding-ding)
I arrive at La Resorta de Enferma (years of Spanish classes at your service here) at around noon. My husband drops me off at Registration while he attempts to find a parking place. There is a short line. I notice an old lady with a walker. She tries to cut the line. Yeah, I don’t think so Grandma. I assert my place, and give her a look that says “I will trip you, lady.” She backs off.
Next it’s time for paperwork. Mostly it’s signatures on stuff I don’t read but I’m pretty sure it says something along the lines of “patient will not sue if maimed or killed in our care”. They make sure I have a driver’s license and insurance card, and make copies. I guess this is in case I flee to Mexico without paying. Then I get the royal treatment – a wheelchair ride into the elevator and up to my floor. No one wants to ride with us for some reason, so the elevator is all mine. Wheee.
There are tiny accommodations, but I don’t have to share, so I’m happy. They give me my uniform that snaps on the sides and opens in the back. At one time this might have embarrassed me, but I’ve given birth twice now. There are few people that haven’t seen me, you know, “there”, so I don’t care. I get more paperwork! They ask if I want to fill out a living will. You know. Just because. No real reason.
I am hooked up to an I.V. by a nurse who does not use the vein I’m complimented on so often, but another further down the arm that apparently takes some digging around to get just right. They put a bag of fluid into the I.V. This insures that the patient will have to go to the bathroom every half hour, yet be unable to do so, because she is chained to an I.V. pole. I’m not sure if there’s a purpose to it. I think the doctors just do it because it’s kind of funny to pretend they don’t hear you when you push the nurse’s button needing to go potty. I swear they hung up on me a couple of times.
Well, at least the IV will mean they won’t have to keep sticking me. Oh, but wait. Yes they will. You see, they only use the IV to stick stuff in you, not to take it out. And they must take your blood out at certain times, like midnight when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then they must take out so much that even the nurse comments that she has no idea why they want so much. I think they’re conducting Nazi experiments, but I could be wrong. Should you see a familiar looking Alice clone walking around sometime, you will know what happened.
But La Resorta has some advantages. There is a bed that adjusts up and down. Sometimes all by itself. At first I thought the bed was possessed, but the nurse informed me that it’s a smart bed, which should be a warning right there. The bed is designed to adjust by itself to keep you from getting bed sores, but mostly it just annoys the patients. Nice to know.
There is also room service. I am not on restricted diet, so I order something that claims to be a chicken pot pie, but it is no Stouffers, let me tell you. The cake is excellent, though. They also bring me drinks when I ask, and all my meds, right to my bed. This is much better service than I find at home. Home service mostly consists of getting dumped in the back bedroom and totally forgotten about. This might be partly my annoyed perception of events. I am a good caretaker, and I expect the same, like a little bell I can ring for service. Or a button to push. One where the people on the other end, I repeat, do not hang up on you. (Yes La Resorta nurses, I am looking at you.)
Finally, there is entertainment. There’s a large T.V. in the corner of the room, and an actual real remote, which is a real improvement over the remote at the last hospital I visited years before. That one only went up or down through about sixty channels, several of which were either Spanish, religious, or religious Spanish. Or sports.
Shockingly, there is still nothing on T.V. TLC has decided to air a marathon of “Say Yes To the Dress”, except no, it’s not a marathon, there are just half a dozen shows on this station about weddings. Why. Just why? On “Say Yes to the Dress” the tension hinges on whether the bride will select this dress or that dress. Or possibly another dress. All costing more than my first house. But that’s okay, because you get so much wear out of these kinds of dresses.
There’s another show where women visit each others’ weddings and rate which one is the best. And they act like catty jerks while doing their evaluations, because as you know everyone’s wedding sucks but yours. They get annoyed that a Catholic wedding ceremony is like, so long, and that priest guy was totally dressed femmy and all. Also, the enormous ballroom is bo-ring, and the silverware totally doesn’t match the flowers, or something else stupid. I hate this show worse than the one where people catcall the girl trying on dresses with such endearments as “That makes you look like a tramp!” And that one was from Grandma.
My parents are in Vegas at this time. Yeah, I know, my parents have way more fun than I do. Anyway, my dh has to leave to take care of children because apparently someone is supposed to be with them and I am left by myself at the hospital. Because I am big and strong I start getting a little scared and weepy and the nurses figure out there’s nothing physically wrong with me (besides the obvious Pneumonia crap) so they ease on out of there. Only the janitor stops picking up trash to hug and bless me. That was weird, but nice. So thank you janitor lady, wherever you are
Stay tuned for Part Two . . . it’s more exciting than TLC