yesterday, i headed down to china basin for another mri for my knee (lingering pain, be gone!). i arrived about 10 min. early for my 1pm appointment. i signed in and was attached with a plastic bracelet to identify i was indeed who i said i was. by 1:15, my name was called (while i had run to the restroom, mind you. i exited the bathroom with a slew of other mri-waiters saying, "rebecca! rebecca hirschbaum/vitz/stein, they called you!" which prompted me to 1) be slightly bugged that these 5 individuals knew my name and 2) have to explain to the young, humorless imaging tech dude that i was in the restroom and that i felt it prudent to go prior to being stuck in a loud, thumping tube for 40 min.). i was rushed back to the changing area, where the tech had me put on a pair of pants that had part of the front center missing (something about how the pants serve a variety of imaging needs and patients... j. crew, they were not.). i put the front in the back (it was genius, i tell you), and when i came out, he said they were running 15 min. behind, but that i should remove all my jewelry and anything metal. they'd come get me shortly.
i grabbed my library book, a cheesy yet slightly heartwarming chick-lit novel (it was either that or "O, the magazine" on the table next to me), and got comfy in one of the pastel chairs. over a few bus rides this week, i'd made it through half the book. it's pretty generic, featuring a girl who won't face the fact that she keeps dating men who resemble her alcoholic father, and not surprisingly, every time i picked it up, i felt expectationless. yes, the author has a knack for witty banter, but the story goes south when the girl realizes (duh!) that she's been in love with her best guy friend for years. i saw this coming at about page 17.
ten minutes into my backwards-hospital-pants party, i started to have even more feelings about what was going to happen in the story, even when there were uncanny, never-could-i-have-imagined-these-little-details moments. i had the biggest realization, though, another ten minutes in, and sadly, it's the second time this has happened to me in the past 6 months. yes, you guessed it. i've read this book before. i don't know when, and there are certainly parts i don't remember, but my 15 min. of waiting turned into over an hour, and there i was, stuck either with re-reading my semi-feel good book of love, lust, and losers, or giving up and discovering o's secrets for being happy, which may or may not include talking in a loud and bouncy alto voice whenever i enter a room or greet someone. i could picture it right there. in the middle of the night, i'll roll over, and say to todd, "heaeaeaeaeay, therrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre! you've just wohn a snuhhhhhhh-gahl!" with a deep, tiger-like roar in my throat.
looking back on it, maybe i should have gone with oprah instead of the library book, but at least i felt satisfied (that i finished it--twice), and i don't have tyra bank's oprahism disease. if i did, i'd be trying to give away free buicks on street corners and ripping my jeans off on the way to work. actually, that sounds like fun...