Don't It Make My Black Eyes Green, Review, Supernatural 10x3, "Soul Survivor"

Irony of ironies, I had no time to write about last week's excellent episode, "Reichenbach".  We had Tiny Crazed Marine getting the shit beaten out of him, Crowley staring longingly at a hilarious picture of him and Dean wearing oversized cowboy hats, a great ending where Dean says Baby is "just a car".  So, was I ever pumped for this week's episode, "Soul Survivor." Especially the promos looked so great, and it was directed by Dean Winchester himself, Jensen Ackles.

DISCLAIMER: My husband, the all-time baseball fan, actually stopped watching Game 1 of the World Series so I could watch "Supernatural"!  Then he couldn't get it on the radio, didn't know how to live stream on his new laptop, nothing.  So he went slumping off to bed.  The only thing that would have helped my massive guilt was a kick-ass episode.

First, I have to address the CW PR folks:  YOU ARE EVIL. YOU LIE. I HATE YOU.  "The Year of The Deanmon"?  Three episodes, I don't give a shit if he has the Mark of Cain, that's he's all 'roided up and wants to kill, I want Dean to be a demon, goddammit!  If not, I wanted Sam to save him!  Not have Cas swoop in like a series regular ex machina and finish the job.  What a bummer.  Even Kevin Tran knew how to have a bucket of holy water over the door.  And the Winchesters had once fought off demons used lawn sprinklers full of holy water!  If only Sam had done something clever and unexpected, instead of expeditious.

Second, the Deadly Duo Bruckner and Leming wrote "Soul Survivor," and they retconned Sam's "monstrous" actions.  Accidentally selling a guy's soul and then the guy gets killed?  Sam, buddy, you have mowed down HOW many demons in human vessels? Triple digits?  You drank demon blood, killed a nurse, betrayed your brother more times than I can count--and that's only the beginning! "Who's the real monster"??  Sam should've said, "Go fuck yourself, Dean, you're a demon, case closed."

I was hoping for THIS:



AND THIS:


This is really incredibly scary and disturbing...me likey.

FOR AT LEAST MORE THAN THREE EPISODES!

NOW:  Sam looks hot.  There's "Dr. Sexy"!  He scores some pure nun's blood, because if he used his own, dollars to donuts Dean would have turned into Satan.


Priest doesn't find Sam attractive because he's over 12

Sam ties Dean to a chair and demonic handcuffs, so for once Sam isn't tied up.  I can't tell you how relieved I was.  Maybe it was an omen of the series trying out new things?

Oops.  Sam'll be back in the chair next week, I promise you.

“Your guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been MIA for quite some time now. But I’m loving the new model: Lean, mean Dean.” So do I, Demon Dean, so do I.  The abuse that Dean hurls at his brother is so old it's got chin hair.  You killed Mom. Dad was an asshole.  You're a pussy.  You're not my brother.


"Well, aren't you just too precious for this world, darlin'."

The Dean/Sam chase scene in the bunker would have been more exciting if I hadn't seen it in the promos more times than Sam has killed demons.  But even so, it was well done. My favorite part was when Sam locked down the bunker and everything was bathed in red light.  There was a Kubrick homage when Dean smashed down the door, hissing, "I like the disease".  Both Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki acted the hell out of their scenes together, including Sam's terror and unwillingness to kill his brother.

I'm a little distracted by Sam's hair.

Sam looooves Dean too much to kill him, then Cas grabs him from behind.  There's some nice contrasty vfx in their eye color (black and blue), Dean is tied down, and wakes up all "bzuh?"

This had better be a major fake-out, or else.

Sam's all happy and promptly leaves to buy Dean junk food, asking Cas to keep an eye on him.  Cas talks to Dean for a few minutes and then goes back to the angel in the car outside.

Crowley: bored in hell, finds Cas because he wants Cas to follow Dean.  Which Cas and Hannah were doing anyway.  However, Crowley scooped out a rogue angel's mojo, feeds it to Cas, and hoopla!  It's like Alka-Seltzer for bad hangover, Castiel is fine and ready to go to work.  Crowley, sitting in a dime store version of Hell's Throne Room (seriously, couldn't they have thrown a little more money to the designer for that set?) has demons pissed at him for...something.

"You should be grateful I'm a regular, because I'm the only lively thing in this sodding episode."

Castiel: dying, then not dying, telling Hannah not to get any ideas because they are on mission.

"What kind of stupid angel crap do you think the writers will come up with next?"
"I'd be fine with us banging each other."
"That would work."

She presumably waits in the car while Castiel grabs Dean before Dean puts a hammer in Sam's head.  Dean wakes up no longer a demon.  Cas leaves shortly thereafter.

Dean stares at old family photos.  I was so hoping he would tear them in half, but no, he sits there.

How's that for a wham-bam finish?

Oh, wait, there's a bit in Tulsa where a redhead who's not Abbadon sips Scotch and has pinned two dead guys on the ceiling.  As you do.

Next week: stuff.  God, I'm bored even typing it out. Thanks for the catharthis, gang.

Dean's Too Sexy For His Shirt: Review, Supernatural, S10 Ep 1, "Black"

Supernatural is back for a tenth season.  Holy crap.  As much as I hope they hang up the gloves after this season, I was still excited for the premiere, and it delivered.

“Black” kicks things off to a rip-roaring start. Written by Jeremy Carver and directed by Bob Singer, it interweaves several plot threads. Two are compelling and the third is...angels. Damn, and we were thisclose.

“The Road So Far” rocks out to “Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar: Gadreel, Kevin being killed, Metatron, monsters, Castiel’s stolen grace...need I go on?

“NOW” A comely female demon is trussed up for our first season’s taste of torture porn. A gaunt, furious Sam, his right arm in a sling, is slicing and dicing her for answers. He slashes her throat to “make the call” to Hell. I was hoping he’d gulp down the blood.  Instead, he grabs her face and yells:


 

"WHERE'S MY BROTHER?"


 Kick. Ass.



“Four weeks later”. Sam is back to being regular Sam, a massive disappointment, especially because he won’t be a BAMF for the rest of the episode. Come on, guys! After that scene? I want Sam kicking down doors and strangling people! Stabbing demons in the back! The good stuff! Not reading books on demonic possession (which Sam, of all people, should know about) and eating cereal. Dean has been gone for six months, as Crowley mentions later.  Sam doesn't know if Dean is even Dean any more.  Where that comes from, I have no idea.  It's lampshading, but unnecessary, because we already know Dean is a demon.

When Sam finds a clue, a guy who’s probably been possessed himself who was killed in a local Gas n' Sip, he calls Cas.

Castiel is starring in his own version of La Boheme as Mimi, the consumptive heroine, lying in a creaky iron bed in a garret, coughing.

 
Any minute now, Rodolfo and his friends are gonna bust in with wine and a baguette.

Cas wants to help out, but it’s obvious he needs to stay in bed wearing that yummy blue robe and exposing a nipple while talking to Sam. As Cas lies coughing out of a lung under a shot of an overhead fan, the disco sound of Right Said Fred kicks in--

Yeah, baby! It’s Karaoke Night at the Black Spur! Dean is mangling “I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt,” enjoying himself far more than the other patrons. Now THAT'S what I'm talking about!!  Dean really cannot sing.  I could have watched an entire episode of Dean gargling out bad 80s covers.


Everyone's ears are bleeding, and it's not because of angel radio.

Demon Dean is happy happy happy. He beds the waitress, when Crowley busts in. “That’s my bed!”  What, Dean and Crowley are staying together and they’re not in plusher digs? Although it might not be as much fun if they were in a luxury hotel and Dean was growling songs at a sophisticated dinner establishment. Then again...



"Care to join us, my Queen?"

Unlike some reviewers, I don’t think Demon Dean is hiding reservoirs of pain. He doesn’t give a shit about anything. Crowley has finally landed the man of his dreams (well, the other man of his dreams, if last season was anything to go by). They’re living up to the long-promised idea that Crowley is bisexual.  By implication Dean is his occasional sex partner (“We’ve done extraordinary things to triplets,” Crowley mentions). Dean shrugs his shoulders at being in Crowley’s bed. “Bitch,” he says. “Jerk,” Crowley responds. I giggle.  Fandom goes into screaming outrage mode.

Sam visits the police station in the little town and watches surveillance footage of a guy killing another guy in a Gas-n’-Sip.  The police officer refers to the killer as "Porn Guy."  We see the guy quietly reading Busty Asian Beauties.  Then the second guy approaches “Porn Guy” with a knife.  Oops. Idiot gets himself carved up with the First Blade, after which "Porn Guy" picks up the magazine, dusts it off and leaves.  Sam recognizes Dean, and freaks when he sees Dean has black eyes.



"Shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit"

After the commercial break, we have the well-worn trope of some crazed guy doing a crazed workout, plenty of muscles on display. Unfortunately for all of us, it’s not Sam, it’s some tiny ex-Marine who has a gazillion weapons. He’s after Dean, for reasons so far unknown. And frankly, I don’t care. Crazed Marines are sort of...over. And Travis Aaron Wade is an inch shorter than Mark Sheppard, for God's sake!  AT 5'9", he's almost a foot shorter than Jared Padalecki.

There is a hilarious scene in the Gas n’ Sip where Sam interviews Mickey the Convenience Store Guy (Zachary Gulka) , whose re-enactment of the murder can’t be topped. “Say my name! Say my name! Say! My! Name!” the kid yells gleefully. Great “Breaking Bad” reference.

 
Give this guy a spin-off!

Mickey gives Sam the dead guy's phone.  Sam calls Crowley.  When Crowley realizes that it’s Sam, he wonders, “It took you long enough. Your brother and I were beginning to wonder if you’d hit another dog.” Oh, snap! He informs Sam that Dean is not possessed, that the only twisted soul is Dean’s own.


"You're good.  But I'm Crowley."

“He’s my best friend, my partner in crime,” Crowley says with relish. “They’ll write songs about us, graphic novels: The Misadventures of Crowley and Squirrel. Dean Winchester completes me. And that’s what makes you lose your chickens.” Oh, Crowley, I love you.  Never change.

Problem is, Dean is digging the never-ending road trip. And he doesn’t care if Crowley takes off without him. Crowley has been sending Abbadon loyalists after Dean to keep the Mark of Cain sated.  Crowley is pissed.  He nursed Dean back to "health" and has been trailing along after his mancrush, waiting to get down to business, making Hell Hell again.  Dean radiates "fuck off, lil' dude".

One distraction:  Crowley keeps standing directly in front of Dean.  Who has shown his deftness with the First Blade.  What if Dean decides, on a whim, to off the King of Hell?

Hannah shows up on Cas’s garret doorstep. Coughing and looking like shit, he agrees to accompany her to capture two rogue angels who are refusing to go to Heaven. Haven’t we seen this enough? Wasn’t Castiel the first rogue angel? Not only that, Hannah tells him that Heaven is holding meetings, reorganizing, and reconciling. So what do they need a dying Cas for?

   
Cas is righteously pissed when he discovers it's not Dean who was knocking.

Long story short, rogue angels, philosophizing about freedom, blah blah, angel killing, Hannah and Cas talk about free will.  There, that's out of the way.

Back in Sleazy Town, Dean is drunk, slurring his way through “Imaginary Lovers”. (Goof alert: when he punches out the bouncer, the screen shows “I’m Too Sexy".) He ends up back at the motel with the waitress. He calls her a skank. GOD, did I want Ellen Harvelle to come in and kick his ass from here to next week!

 
"What the fuck did you just call her, boy?"

Is it just me, or did the misogyny in this show dial up to 11 after Sera Gamble left?  The waitress whimpers, “part of me feels I deserved that.”  She should have shoved a shot glass up Dean's ass.

Sam’s car stalls on a dark road. In a moment of sheer (if convenient) OOC stupidity, he lets a short guy in combat boots offer to help.  It's Tiny Crazed Marine,  who punches Sam unconscious. I was amazed TCM could reach that high. Tiny Crazed Marine looks at the massive man lying on the ground and grins, “I guess you’re a rightie.”  And I guess you were standing on a box.

Sam wakes up in a barn for the first of this season’s Sam-Tied-Up scenes. The fans love this, everyone except me.  It's getting to be as old as crazed muscle men working out.  When TCM tells Sam that Dean is his prey, “I suggest you turn around and run right back to the army recruiting poster that spit you out,” Sam snarks.


Tiny Crazed Marine stands on a box and threatens Sam.

TCM calls Dean with Sam’s phone. Dean is driving.  He answers and says, “I left an open bar tab. Knock yourself out.” Tiny Crazed Marine tells him that he is going to kill Sam.

Dean shrugs. Whatever’s going on, it’s Sam’s problem. “There’s no trade. There’s no meet-up, no nothing except the 100 percent guarantee that somewhere down the road I will find you and I will kill you.”

Tiny Crazed Marine holds the phone in confusion, Sam tied up nearby. Dean drives through the night rain, no expression on his face. He really doesn’t give a shit.  Hoo-boy!

That's it 'til next week, kidlets!  When we find out why Tiny Crazed Marine wants to kill Dean (I think), Dean and Sam meet (I think), and stuff.

P.S. Metatron is still in Heaven's prison.  At some point, shenanigans will ensue.

OH MY GOD IT'S A CAT VIDEO!

This is much better than most!  I remember it from years ago, when vids could be longer than 38 seconds. This must be shared!  This is also my cat Cleo's preferred method.




by Simon's Cat

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCH6vXjt-BA7QHl0KnfL-7RQ?sub_confirmation=1Subscribe!

Okay, I've posted a cat video.  Now I have to go flog myself.

What'd I Say - A House MD Fanfiction

For a long time, I wrote silly little House MD fanfictions, mostly post-episode but also a number of House/Wilson fics.  It's been over a year since I wrote one.  But this idea banged around in my head and finally wrote it down.  Whether you like it or not?  HEY MOTHERFUCKERS, I DON'T PLAY THE PIANO!  Ahem.  What I meant to say, was, I spent a lot of time on Youtube piano tutorials.  I don't think you're motherfuckers at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was like a dozen bars they’d walked into over the past three months.  Small, grungy, neon lights advertising Bud Light, ancient framed ads for Schlitz and Schaeffer.  Old photos pinned to the wall behind the bar. Boring.  The patrons were boring.  The smell was boring.  But off to one side was a banged-up upright piano.

“Here we go, Wilson.  Get us a couple of beers.” 

To make their journey more interesting, since House couldn’t teach Wilson medicine, House decided to teach Wilson piano.  This despite the fact that Wilson had less rhythm that a panic-stricken teen at his first dance.  Teaching Wilson twelve-bar blues had taken fifty bars over two states. 

Often, after the lessons, House played the piano and took requests, for tips.  He flat-out refused to play “Let It Go.”  The song was bad enough. Listening to it being mangled by some drunken bar babe was more than House could take.  Sometimes there would be other musicians, and he could jam.  Not often enough.  So he took on the colossal task of teaching his tempo-challenged friend to play the piano. 

Wilson slid onto the piano bench next to his friend. “So, what’s on the curriculum tonight?  You going to make me play ‘Kitchen Man’ again?”

“No.”  House gave a slight, condescending node.  “Tonight, we’re going to learn three simple blues chords for the left hand.  Simple for anyone but you.”

Wilson started to rise from the piano bench.  “I don’t have to take this, House.  There’s got to be a woman in here without herpes.”

“Sit down and put your left hand on the piano.  E to B-B to D to E. Play that twice.”

Wilson did as he was told, frowning. “Where do my fingers go?”  In exasperation, House showed him, thumb to little finger.  “We’ve been over this, Wilson.”

“I’m trying, House.”

A long, thin man wearing a trucker’s cap and a bad case of rosacea walked up to the other side of the piano.  “Mister, you two better be leaving.”

“You better stop drinking before your nose gets any veiny-er.  We’re not together, you retarded tinhorn.  I’m giving this guy piano lessons.”

“Best not do it here.”

Wilson whispered, “House, we should--“

House’s eyes did not leave the other man’s face. “Don’t force me to play Mozart.”

“We sleep in separate rooms!” Wilson burst out.  “Really!  We’re as straight as any of you!”

“Straighter, from what I can see,” House added.  “You wouldn’t hit a cripple, would you?”  He lifted his cane, with just the tiniest hint of menace.

“No, I--“

“Then fuck off.  I’ve got to teach a musk ox how to tickle the ivories.”

Flummoxed, the man went back to the bar.  He said a few words to the bartender, who gave House a look that was supposed to be intimidating.  Didn’t work.

“Musk ox?”

“Okay, chimpanzee. Where were we?  Try again.  E-B-B-D-E, E-B-B-D-E, A-E-E-G-A, A-E-E-G-A.  Again.  Again.  Now, B-F sharp-A-A-B, back to A-B-G-A.  Again.  Jesus, Wilson, put a little soul into it.”

“You’ve already made it clear I have no soul.”

“Again.”

Wilson frowned as he picked out the notes on the yellowed keys.  “This sounds familiar.”

“Keep playing.”  As Wilson played the bass line over and over, House’s right hand went to the keys and played the same rhythm with flourishes.  Wilson stopped.

“I know this song!”  He chuckled.  “It’s by Ray Charles!”  He looked at House.  “You’re going to tell me it was first done by Blind Schlomo Rutabaga, aren’t you?” Wilson rested his hand on the keys.  “My parents took Danny and me to summer camp, we’d always stop in this old-fashioned luncheonette with ice cream sodas and tiny little hamburgers.  It had a jukebox.  We’d beg Dad to play this song.  We had no idea what it was about, especially the moaning part at the end.  Danny thought it was funny.”  His smile turned introspective.  “Danny thought it was funny.  What’s it called?”

“What’d I Say.  One of the great songs of our lifetime, even if you little putzes couldn’t appreciate it.  Okay, play the chords, I’ll come in with the right hand, B-D-E chord.  You keep playing the same bass line through the song, thank God.  For the intro, you play a few times, then I come in and demonstrate how lousy you are.”

After  a few tries, Wilson had it down.  House played the upper part with his right hand.  Several bar patrons had stopped talking and listened to the two men play.

“Faster,” House demanded.  Wilson did as best he could.  Blissful, House went along, his hands deftly flying through the right-hand part, his left hand beating rhythm on the top of the piano.  He started singing.

“Hey mama, don’t you treat me wrong, come love your daddy all night long

All right now, hey hey, all right--

See the girl with the diamond ring, she knows how to shake that thing

All right, now now, all right, all right--“

Wilson grinned like an idiot, so proud of keeping up.  The other people in the bar were now all listening.  Two even clapped along.  The bartender leaned on the bar, the intimidating look gone.

“Tell your ma, tell your pa, I’m gonna send you back to Arkansas

Hey hey, you don’t do right, you don’t right, yeah

Well, tell me what'd I say, yeah

Tell me what'd I say right now

Tell me what'd I say yeah

“I’m not bad,” Wilson said proudly.

“Not good enough to use two hands yet,” House replied.

“Keep ‘er goin’!” yelled the skinny man who had been ready to beat them up a short time before.  The crowd called out similar things.  House nodded to Wilson.   Laughing, he struck up the bass line. 

And I wanna know

Baby I wanna know right now

And-a I wanna know

And I wanna know right now yeah

And-a I wanna know

Said I wanna know yeah

“Now for the part your parents thought was so funny,” House said.  “Hey,” he sang.  “Now you repeat it.  Hey--“

“Hey”

“Ho”

“Ho” Wilson resolutely sang the repeat with no innuendo whatsoever.

“Hey-“

“Hey-“

“Ho-“

“Ho”

Yeah, baby, what’d I say, baby what’d I say, baby what’d I say,

baby what’d I say right now!”

House turned to their new audience.  “Call and response time, people!”  He turned back to Wilson.  “You too.”

“Baby one more time--“ House swiveled around to the audience and nodded.

“One more time!”

“You too, Wilson.”

“One more time!”

“Just one more time!”

“Just one more time!”  House made a distinctly sexual groan - “Huh,”

Even though the other bar patrons echoed him, Wilson stopped playing.  “I can’t do this, House.”

“It’s what all the cool kids are doing.”

Wilson lowered his voice.  “I don’t moan in public.”

“You moaned plenty when you were doing that pediatric nurse in the laundry closet.  Don’t worry, it isn’t insta-gay.”

“But--okay.”

“Huh”

“Huh

“Hunh”

“Hunh”

House stopped playing.  He and Wilson stared at each other for what seemed a very long time.  Then Wilson seemed to realize where they were, dropped his head, resuming the bass line.  He looked up, and his eyes locked with House’s.  House moaned with what could only be called a lot of feeling.

“Hu-nh...”

“Hu-nh..”

“Oooh”

“Oooh”

“Anh”“Anh”“Hyuh”“Hyuh”“Oh”“Oh”“Hyuh”“Hyuh”

“Yeah! Baby, it’s all right, baby it’s all right, baby it’s all right”

Wilson, cheeks fiery red, sang along with House, who grinned from ear to ear.

“Make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right...”

House was wrong.  It was insta-gay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's the song, in case you've never heard it, or you just want to feel good:

The DeCarlo Family Reunion, July 4th Weekend!

I've been meaning to write about the DeCarlo family reunion, which took place over the July 4th weekend, in Pittsburgh, where both sides of my family are from.  I hadn't been to Pittsburgh since I was 9 years old.  So I met roughly 50 relatives for the first time.  GACK.  They were all friendly, warm people.  These posts will be image heavy!  The first is the reunion itself, which took place in a pavilion in the park (don't ask me which one).



The pavilion with 70 DeCarlo descendants eating themselves sick. A longstanding family tradition.

 
The reunion cake, with a picture of my grandparents, in 1916.

Historical documents of various kinds.  Including my grandmother described as "a winsome lass."


"All The Gingers" lined up!  Who knew there were so many?  This was the color of my dad's hair when he was a boy. Later it became a spectacular strawberry blond.

Cousins lined up by age, oldest to youngest.  My brother Dean is the tallest one, behind my cousin Kathy. He is also the LAST male DeCarlo.  It seems the family gave birth to mostly girls.

 
Ah, yes, the roast suckling pig, the centerpiece of any good Italian meal!

15 Years Ago I Was Forced Into Detox...

15 years ago today, I was ordered into outpatient detox by my therapist.  It was that or lose my health insurance.  I haven't had a drink since June 27, 1999!  WOO-HOO!


Jon Stewart says, "Hey now!"

My first week of detox, I ended up in the St. Vincent's psych ward in New York's West Village.  My second night there, I thought, "I can never drink again."  There were mandatory AA meetings upstairs in the violent ward (!) where every door was locked, the way you see in the movies.

The day I was discharged, the wonderful woman who ran the meetings spoke to me for a long time.  I don't know what she said, but it somehow cemented my resolve not to relapse.

I spent the next year in outpatient rehab.  I was a "high risk" patient, so I had to take Antabuse* and other pills in front of a counselor.  There was also random drug testing, where a counselor watched me pee into a cup with the bathroom stall door open.

I'm writing this because I'm not anonymous as an alcoholic, far from it.  That's a story for another time! My sobriety has gotten easier over time.  I used to say in meetings, "my mental illness is kicking my ass much more than drinking".   I haven't gone to regular AA meetings in 5 1/2 years (burn-out) but I've been dropping in at some this week to celebrate.  I'm still an atheist, and I have the most lackadaisical sponsor in the world.

 
Dean and Sam are ecstatic as long as I don't ask Dean to stop drinking

The biggest incentive is that when someone who had been sober "goes out," all of their previous sobriety counts for nothing, so they have to say, "I'm ___ and I've had five days back."  I vowed NEVER to have to say "I'm Elisa and I have three days back."

So far, so good.  


*Antabuse makes you deathly ill if you drink, smell booze, anything.  I have a bottle in my box o' meds just in case.

Is Exercising Too Much To Ask? Apparently The Answer Is Yes

Despite being plus size and proud, the effects of aging have started me questioning just how plus size I can be.  I.E., high blood pressure and a right knee that hurts like a bitch. (Luxating patella, if you must know. It's a condition that Yorkshire Terriers and other small dogs are prone to.  Yay me.) 

I decided to stop putting off exercise and go swimming at the Y my husband belongs to.  I bundled swimsuit, shampoo/conditioner and body wash, and headed out and realized: fuck. I don't have a padlock. 

Into the hardware store for a padlock with keys.  

I get to the Y, go to the elevators--the pools and Aquatic office are on the 2nd floor.  The 2nd floor is mostly other non-profits, so I ask several people where the Aquatic office is.  I find it, and am sat down until the guy is found.  I'm in the wrong place; the women's dressing room has been moved to the 3rd floor.  I get on the elevator, and find the 3rd floor button is covered up. 

So I go to the 4th floor, which is the gym proper, and wander around asking people how to get to the third floor. Because no one on that floor is in their offices.  Nobody knows.  Finally one guy says to take the elevator on the left.  I do, but the button doesn't light, and I end up on the 2nd floor again. I am righteously pissed.  After procrastinating for months, I finally get my shit together, and I CAN'T get to the damn pool!  

So, back in the elevator up to the 4th floor.  I walked down stairs to the 3rd floor, no entry, knocked repeatedly.  Crickets.  So I go back up and find another flight of stairs.  No entry.  I pound on the door as hard as I can.  Crickets.  I am starting to think this was a seriously bad decision.  

What chlorinated hell is this?

 I go back up, scout the floor, and find a stairs that don't look like fire stairs!  They're steps to the third floor!  Yay! THE THIRD FLOOR MEN'S DRESSING ROOM. 

As old guys scuttle to cover up, a security person escorts me out.  I'm almost in tears, telling him I am just trying to get to the goddamn womens' dressing room.  First I go to the towel desk, get two fresh towels, find a locker, etc.  But I can't open the package the lock is in. 

Back to the towel desk, ask for a pair of scissors, cut open the package, go down, get everything arranged, in my bathing suit and two towels, find the door to the pool-!  

Go to the pool to see a sign that you have to wear a bathing cap.  Shit.  There are these blue elastic headthings, but for some reason the one I pick doesn't fit, and I look and it says: Shoe Covers. 

Back to the towel desk, ask can I buy a swim cap.  I have to go to the 1st floor membership desk.  

Back to locker, put pants and shoes on, down to the desk, buy a swim cap, but not before the guy asks to see my guest pass. "This is all you've got?" he asks, but he drops it because he can see the murder in my eyes. 

Finally, I get myself, towels and tote bag to the pool, and get in the water. 

And everything is okay again.