I still hate Fred Durst.

Dear Dr. Atkins:

I fear that I have failed you yet again. I ate some pretzels.

All apologies,
Tricia

P.S. It wasn't my fault!

We had our semi-annual blood drive at work today and I usually always donate because a) it gets me off the phone for like a good half-hour... b) you usually get some free tickets to something ...and c) saving lives and whatnot. My dad practically lived on transfused blood through most of the 80s so I feel as though it's my karmic duty to pay a little back.

Well I went in there to do the interview thing where they ask you 5 million questions about whether or not you've even been to Mexico or fucked a prostitute or had sex with a man who had sex with another man. (no, no, yes, respectively. kidding...kinda.) Anywho the lady was like "you qualify to donate red blood cells, we would love for you to do that if you have a little extra time." For some reason, this came across to me like I just won some grand award or something. Extra time off the phone? Yes please.

Of course, I didn't know she meant TWO FREAKING HOURS. It wouldn't have really taken that long but the dude on the machine before me was what the lady lovingly called a "slow bleeder" so I had to wait around for a brick of time. Luckily for me, my daily aspirin makes me a "good bleeder" so if there's ever a contest over who can bleed to death the fastest, I got that shit in the bag. THE BODY BAG, that is! See what I did there? eh eh?

My boss kept coming in there like doing that thing people do where they look at their wrist like they're wearing some imaginary watch and saying "still??" Jesus lady, I'm bleeding as fast as I can!

Anyway, the process is like they take 2 pints, then put some saline or some junk in there and then the machine separates your red blood cells then gives you back your useless stinkin' blood. I didn't mind doing it, but I felt super weird the rest of the day. Like anytime I would stand up, I'd have a wicked head rush. My boss was like "you look pale, you should eat some cookies." I was all "no sir, no carbies!" Then I started to get the major woozies so I compromised and had a baggie of pretzels. 23g of carbs, so not TERRIBLE...but still. I forgive myself cause it's better than fainting and getting clowned at work.

So yeah, usually they give us like some pretty good show tickets for doing this jazz. This time they gave us a freaking tshirt and a certificate for a dang cookie. A COOKIE?? C'mon! I mean, I love cookies, don't get me wrong, but I'd rather have those Penn & Teller tickets they were giving out LAST month. Oh well.

Plus the shirt was like an XL...yeah right...how 'bout you add about 5 more Xs on there and we can talk? I stuffed my wide body in there like ground pork into a sausage casing so I could show you guys. Is that love or WHAT?

Yeah, that's Jeff's bathroom, and yes, he had just got off the toilet. Before you even ax. I don't care, I literally have no shame.

So that was my day. Now tell me about yours!

ALSO...you know, my work has like some of the comment boxes disabled and since I do most of my blog reading at work, sometimes I never get to comment some of you peeps. I dunno what the application is that's making it block or else I'd ask you all to kindly remove it. I just don't want you cats thinkin' I'm some stuck up bitch who thinks she's too cool to comment. So...yeah.