we're not mean. we just don't like hearing doors SUHLAMMING when we are trying to have a peace of QUIET! slamming doors makes hercules bark, which in turn then makes bella bark. for some reason small dogs have built in screeching loud barks which is about 100 times as annoying as a giant hercules bark. so... in an attempt to ensure the quiet friday night pj fest... we decided to payback our maneighbors.
by slamming each. and. every. door in the house. my bedroom door slammed so hard... DUST flew out. the sound was deafening. we get about 20 minutes of peace and then....
SUHlam!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
so teresa decides that every time a door slams she's going to slam a door. so she gets up and slams my bedroom door which we have now confirmed is the best and easiest door to slam in the house. the face is something comparable to "i'm going to kick your ass" pre-slam and then after... glee!!
i think somehow, someway, we have initiated a slam the door war. but they started it.
although... they did hang a noose on the front porch the other day and i flung it over the banister so it wouldn't hang down in my face when leaving for work. then the next day it was hanging down again so naturally it was flung right back over the railing. i mean really, it's kind of tempting to actually insert my head at the moment considering... but i fling it instead. take THAT suicide! mwahaha.
so we actually have a couple of wars going on.
i say it's high time for a prank fest!!!
Friday, October 24, 2008
the vicious circle
while i sit and wait for the tow truck (!!!) as patiently as one can wait for a tow truck (!!!) i figured i could relay a little recap of my morning. it started out well... good hair day, cute outfit, excited to meet the district manager. left for work on time.... crunch.
the vicious circle bites me in the ass again.
pictures to come later... but there is a stump in the "parking area" of our house. it's not really a parking area but it fits cars and it's closer to the door than walking down the big slippery hill to the actual parking lot. anyway, the stump is big enough to fall over (ask teresa), pop a tire, or get the front end of your car stuck. but not big enough to do any real damage. orrrrr so i thought.
it's a rainy morning. typical fall day. chilly, spitty, and dark as atlanta. i backed out and *thought* i backed out far enough to where i could turn, merrily miss the stump and drive to work and arrive early. nope. crunch, grind, twist... my car is stuck on the stump. it won't back up, it won't go forward, i put it in park and it made the sound equivalent of car vomit. in case you didn't know... grinding, crunching, squealing, screeching, etc... are all bad noises, especially when coming from your car. so i get out to inspect the front end thinking maybe i can see which way to turn to unhook my car from the yard. turn the wheel. gas. nope. now i have a cute little car with squiggling lines blinking on the dashboard. and grinding noises again after putting it in park. ok, says my brain. time to call the tow truck. and work. clearly arriving early is no longer on the friday agenda.
call work. "thank you for letting us know. we hope it all works out. call us when you are on your way" good deal.
call the FREE mazda roadside assistance. am told the driver must take my car to the mazda dealership to be checked out. well, that's no good because i sense a deep ass raping in my bank account's future. cancel truck.
"dear God, thank you for letting my roomie get a job at a car shop. amen." call teresa. another FREE tow truck is on the way. getting the car fixed (if need be) will now save my bank account from the trauma of a dealership mechanic.
however.
the district manager is coming in to the store today and i wanted to meet her so we could talk about the exciting happenings in january. said conversation may or may not take place due to the delay of the tow truck driver. apparently a lot of other people are having a freaky friday as well. he will be here in 15 minutes. seeing as how this all started around 7:19 this morning... 3 hours later... i am still sitting at home. checked my bank account to see if there was anyway to afford this... that's a big fat naw. insurance and cellular phones are expensive and have dragged my bank account into the land of crimson. hooray!
trying to be optimistic... i'm trying to add up the positive things...
1) this accident has forced me to clean out my car and rid myself of trash and water bottles.
2) we have quite the collection of new water bottles.
3) i found teresa's coffee mug.
4) cool! mittens!
5) i am forced to wear a black t-shirt to work due to the fact that my cute sweater is now soaking wet from the rain i was standing in to clean out the car and to assess damage. but i get to wear a t-shirt nonetheless.
6) i will not have to deal with the grumpy morning crowd at work.
7) i have time to take hercules out to go pee and possibly even get him to do his business!
8) i have another hilarious story in my arsenal of what not to do.
9) my hair still looks cute in spite of the rain.
10) my makeup is still on.
11) discounted car repair is always, always, always positive.
but alas, 2008 strikes again. i'm going to go try #7 and then i'm going to pray really really hard that my car is fine and is just grinding because it's mad that it's stuck on the stump. the small but not small enough stump.
*sigh*
the vicious circle bites me in the ass again.
pictures to come later... but there is a stump in the "parking area" of our house. it's not really a parking area but it fits cars and it's closer to the door than walking down the big slippery hill to the actual parking lot. anyway, the stump is big enough to fall over (ask teresa), pop a tire, or get the front end of your car stuck. but not big enough to do any real damage. orrrrr so i thought.
it's a rainy morning. typical fall day. chilly, spitty, and dark as atlanta. i backed out and *thought* i backed out far enough to where i could turn, merrily miss the stump and drive to work and arrive early. nope. crunch, grind, twist... my car is stuck on the stump. it won't back up, it won't go forward, i put it in park and it made the sound equivalent of car vomit. in case you didn't know... grinding, crunching, squealing, screeching, etc... are all bad noises, especially when coming from your car. so i get out to inspect the front end thinking maybe i can see which way to turn to unhook my car from the yard. turn the wheel. gas. nope. now i have a cute little car with squiggling lines blinking on the dashboard. and grinding noises again after putting it in park. ok, says my brain. time to call the tow truck. and work. clearly arriving early is no longer on the friday agenda.
call work. "thank you for letting us know. we hope it all works out. call us when you are on your way" good deal.
call the FREE mazda roadside assistance. am told the driver must take my car to the mazda dealership to be checked out. well, that's no good because i sense a deep ass raping in my bank account's future. cancel truck.
"dear God, thank you for letting my roomie get a job at a car shop. amen." call teresa. another FREE tow truck is on the way. getting the car fixed (if need be) will now save my bank account from the trauma of a dealership mechanic.
however.
the district manager is coming in to the store today and i wanted to meet her so we could talk about the exciting happenings in january. said conversation may or may not take place due to the delay of the tow truck driver. apparently a lot of other people are having a freaky friday as well. he will be here in 15 minutes. seeing as how this all started around 7:19 this morning... 3 hours later... i am still sitting at home. checked my bank account to see if there was anyway to afford this... that's a big fat naw. insurance and cellular phones are expensive and have dragged my bank account into the land of crimson. hooray!
trying to be optimistic... i'm trying to add up the positive things...
1) this accident has forced me to clean out my car and rid myself of trash and water bottles.
2) we have quite the collection of new water bottles.
3) i found teresa's coffee mug.
4) cool! mittens!
5) i am forced to wear a black t-shirt to work due to the fact that my cute sweater is now soaking wet from the rain i was standing in to clean out the car and to assess damage. but i get to wear a t-shirt nonetheless.
6) i will not have to deal with the grumpy morning crowd at work.
7) i have time to take hercules out to go pee and possibly even get him to do his business!
8) i have another hilarious story in my arsenal of what not to do.
9) my hair still looks cute in spite of the rain.
10) my makeup is still on.
11) discounted car repair is always, always, always positive.
but alas, 2008 strikes again. i'm going to go try #7 and then i'm going to pray really really hard that my car is fine and is just grinding because it's mad that it's stuck on the stump. the small but not small enough stump.
*sigh*
Sunday, October 19, 2008
it's squeaking?
so... you know when you fart kind of loud? but you're on a wooden chair or plastic bench and you're wearing really tight jeans? or when you REALLY have to poo and you waited until you got home because you knew it would be offensively loud? well, our toilet seat is making that loud screeching squeaky farty sound all by itself now! i cleaned the bathroom today because we only have one and i think it's gross to have the semi-public bathroom looking like a haunted mansion. so i scrubbed the tub and sink and floors and the toilet. apparently i upset the toilet hinge because it's complaining kind of loudly. i wouldn't be surprised if the downstairs occupants didn't hear it. it's like the toilet is now announcing our arrivals and departures. "NOW ARRIVING IN GATE POO!"
i'm an avid believer in closing the toilet lid. for one, i used to have a cat that liked to drink out of the toilet and while the sight of a cat with it's brains in the toilet and tail straight out for balance is quite hysterical... it's also scary if you have a twisted mind like i do. i always imagined her accidentally falling in face first and getting stuck in the poo hole at the bottom. that would be horrifying. so i close the lid. and two, sometimes your poo scrapes up against the side of the bowl which (obviously) requires a second flush to rid the bowl of the offensive streak, sort of like a courtesy flush, but after the attack. i personally close the lid before the initial flush because i don't like the idea of john particles all over my toothbrush. (i saw it on TLC once and got freaked out ok?) but i always check after the flush just in case something may have... streaked. while i used to be able to do this in private... our toilet now announces my every move.
SQUH-WEEEEEK! (potty noises) SQUH-WEEEEEK! (flush noises) squeak.squeak. (those are the peeking noises) i wish i had a sound clip of the noise because from the living room it really does sound like someone is relieving themselves of some serious mexican in the bathroom when really they're just trying to take an innocent pee. when you're actually IN the bathroom it's kind of like an echoing screeching noise... like train breaks.
i love old houses for their charm and for their strange noises. for example... the last three steps climbing up to the apartment creak. it was one of the first things i fell in love with when we walked in. after that it was the fact that some doors NEED to be slammed in order to shut properly... including but not limited to... my closet door, the kitchen door, and often the front door. isn't that awesome!? "why are you slamming the door!?" "i had to! it won't shut unless i slam it!" tee hee! my fan is new but it's also trying to fit in with the cool crowd and announces its on position by making a sound comparable to a hand mixer. the bottom door in the bathroom storage area refuses to stay closed and houses a very large hole for the cats to utilize their new favorite hiding place... the crawl space! which is really nothing more than the cats just climbing through the walls, meowing til we can't find them and give up and then they appear out of absolutely nowhere. for a while they crawled through the hole in the office but that has since been boarded up after our washer and dryer debacle (which btw has yet to be resolved). they gave up on that adventure and now i think they're just messing with our heads. the outlets need 2 prong adapters to plug in anything with 3 prongs and because it's us, almost everything we own has a three prong plug. needless to say lowe's has become our new haven. paint and supplies, plug adapters, fan cords, space heaters, light bulbs, etc. lowe's loves us.
so now that our toilet has started squawking to fit in with the rest of the broken house, i think it's officially time to say that we must be absolutely nuts to love this place but we do nonetheless. it's house-tabulous. i love that our toilet lid is squeaking, it gives meaning to the phrase "squeaky clean." although now i may burst out into random laughter at inappropriate times anytime anyone uses the bathroom... it's still a cute little quirk. it could be worse. i can't say i've ever heard of something squeaking AFTER it's been cleaned but like i said... i think our new stuff is trying to fit in with the old to please our sick love of all things antique and is therefore breaking for no other reason than to squeak, rattle, and drive me into a straight jacket.
squeak.squeak.
i'm an avid believer in closing the toilet lid. for one, i used to have a cat that liked to drink out of the toilet and while the sight of a cat with it's brains in the toilet and tail straight out for balance is quite hysterical... it's also scary if you have a twisted mind like i do. i always imagined her accidentally falling in face first and getting stuck in the poo hole at the bottom. that would be horrifying. so i close the lid. and two, sometimes your poo scrapes up against the side of the bowl which (obviously) requires a second flush to rid the bowl of the offensive streak, sort of like a courtesy flush, but after the attack. i personally close the lid before the initial flush because i don't like the idea of john particles all over my toothbrush. (i saw it on TLC once and got freaked out ok?) but i always check after the flush just in case something may have... streaked. while i used to be able to do this in private... our toilet now announces my every move.
SQUH-WEEEEEK! (potty noises) SQUH-WEEEEEK! (flush noises) squeak.squeak. (those are the peeking noises) i wish i had a sound clip of the noise because from the living room it really does sound like someone is relieving themselves of some serious mexican in the bathroom when really they're just trying to take an innocent pee. when you're actually IN the bathroom it's kind of like an echoing screeching noise... like train breaks.
i love old houses for their charm and for their strange noises. for example... the last three steps climbing up to the apartment creak. it was one of the first things i fell in love with when we walked in. after that it was the fact that some doors NEED to be slammed in order to shut properly... including but not limited to... my closet door, the kitchen door, and often the front door. isn't that awesome!? "why are you slamming the door!?" "i had to! it won't shut unless i slam it!" tee hee! my fan is new but it's also trying to fit in with the cool crowd and announces its on position by making a sound comparable to a hand mixer. the bottom door in the bathroom storage area refuses to stay closed and houses a very large hole for the cats to utilize their new favorite hiding place... the crawl space! which is really nothing more than the cats just climbing through the walls, meowing til we can't find them and give up and then they appear out of absolutely nowhere. for a while they crawled through the hole in the office but that has since been boarded up after our washer and dryer debacle (which btw has yet to be resolved). they gave up on that adventure and now i think they're just messing with our heads. the outlets need 2 prong adapters to plug in anything with 3 prongs and because it's us, almost everything we own has a three prong plug. needless to say lowe's has become our new haven. paint and supplies, plug adapters, fan cords, space heaters, light bulbs, etc. lowe's loves us.
so now that our toilet has started squawking to fit in with the rest of the broken house, i think it's officially time to say that we must be absolutely nuts to love this place but we do nonetheless. it's house-tabulous. i love that our toilet lid is squeaking, it gives meaning to the phrase "squeaky clean." although now i may burst out into random laughter at inappropriate times anytime anyone uses the bathroom... it's still a cute little quirk. it could be worse. i can't say i've ever heard of something squeaking AFTER it's been cleaned but like i said... i think our new stuff is trying to fit in with the old to please our sick love of all things antique and is therefore breaking for no other reason than to squeak, rattle, and drive me into a straight jacket.
squeak.squeak.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
the green plastic chairs....
don't worry... i was all kinds of james bond when taking this picture... i should mention that you shouldn't get too excited about the pepsi machine. it's out of order. there's another next to it though. that one's out of order too. don't you hate it when people dash your dreams like that? the pepsi machine would have come in handy with that whole not being able to pee situation in plasma donation day one. oh well.
teresa also has an unfortunate display of purpley goodness on the inside crease of her arm from plasma part deux. it's kind of gross but here's the picture anyway...
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
you might be poor if....
yes, it's true. the opportunity of money is currently like sand between my fingers. bills keep coming as the calendar keeps marching on. stupid time. the necessities of life are harder to fulfill. and my dog wants food. so what do i do? what any other slightly insane person might do.... i donated plasma.
yep! i subjected myself to 4 hours of a long line of questions, finger pricks, urine tests, and the reflex hammer. then i let them stick a very large needle in my right arm, take my blood, process it (one cup at a time) and then return my red blood cells happily to their veins for 45 minutes. then they gave me $40. *cha-ching*
happy days....
teresa and i collected our books, our lease (which is our only proof of address), and identification proving that, yes... this plasma is MINE and i am Kallay A. ****. we cheerfully drive to ABC Plasma and see that the parking lot is something of a sight. not that i am egotistical or have a superiority complex, but i do have to say that if you are ever having a bad day.... go donate plasma. the crowd will make you suddenly optimistic about your situation. i might be poor but i have all my teeth, have access to a full pressure shower head, and while i might feel kind of crazy, i am, in fact, sane in comparison.
we sign in to the long list of NEW DONORS ONLY and carefully choose a seat on the light seafoam green hard plastic chairs. so there we were. sitting. and waiting. and giggling like we're 5. finally my name is called and i am asked for ID, proof of address, and my social security card... now go sit down you minion. teresa is next and provides the same. we walk outside to enjoy a smokey treat and i read her a chapter of my hilarious book. at this point we both have to pee. badly. 40 cups of coffee will generally have this effect so we enter the toilets of doom. upon entering we encounter this....
i proceed next door and leave teresa to the task. i determine that this bathroom is indeed a squatter and try really hard not to let my cheeks touch the seat. and then i giggle, laugh, and full blown guffaw. maybe flushing twice wouldn't have been so bad. reaching for the toilet paper... i discovered this...
mmmm hm. welcome to plasma donation. the sign said "women's bathroom" so one would only assume that... well, you know. i shudder, pull down my skirt, adjust my shirt and walk out of my stall completely grossed the fuck out. i'm supposed to believe that this place is sterile and that my chances of contracting some sort of strange STD are slim to none? yeah, ok. i take one look at the sink and decide that my hands are cleaner now than if i "washed" my hands in it. teresa and i walk to the lobby in a fit of silent laughter and take our seats one again on the dreaded green chairs. we are called up to another counter, asked about our piercings and tattoos and are told to go waste away. an hour later they call me back into an office to take my picture (i didn't smile), poke my finger and take my blood... of course i am freezing so the bleeding continues for the entire time i am in there. they have their a/c set at arctic freeze... probably to test you. someone in back is secretly hoping some of these people will leave due to frostbite.
so remember how i said i peed? in the scary potty with the strange signs? well, i was unaware of the urine test at the time and right about now is when the nurse comes over and tells me to fill this plastic dixie cup half full. i told her i would try my best. so back into the freaky toilet i go and manage a 1/4 cup. she seems pleased so i don't stress and continue on my donation journey. a 1/4 of a clock later i am sitting in a room being asked a barrage of questions... have i had sex with a male who has had sex with another male since 1977? (no, at least i hope not! i don't typically try to sleep with gay men.. just saying) have i had sex with anyone that has traveled to or lived in BFE, east jesus nowhere, and/or ghana? (hm... nope!) have i ever injected an illegal drug? have i ever colored with a hunter green crayon? have i slept with anyone who has colored with a hunter green crayon? do i like long walks on the beach? what's my sign? i'm starting to feel like i might not be donating blood but perhaps applying for a position in the porn industry. no lady, i don't have AIDS or any other VD of any kind. i am healthy and happy and able oh my. she takes out a flashcard presentation on a giant spiral and begins to read to me. what is plasma.... what is it used for? don't smoke for 30 minutes after your donation. (eff word!) you might wanna barf halfway through your donation and or feel faint. good thing i'm laying down! air in your bloodstream is bad in large quantities... bad, very bad. (this is an important sentence to keep in mind for later) do i understand? do i still want to donate my plasma? yes and yes, thankyouverymuch.
and off we go to the room with trash bags on the windows. i assume it's for privacy but it feels a little like there might be fluids flying since it's plastic and not paper. woo. scary. so she hits my knee, looks in my ears and my eyes, listens to me breath (wheeze lol j/k), listens to my heart thump thump thumping away, pushes on my liver and my gallbladder, and we live happily ever after. time to donate some plasma y'all!!!
WOO HOO!!!!!
i am led into a room full of strange people, teresa isn't here yet and i am beginning to think that she didn't pass the iron test since the girl doesn't eat a ton of meat and we're too poor for salad. :) don't be jealous.... eat your damn veggies. everywhere i go i have a purple sign attached to my chart that says NEW DONOR! they even hang a cute little sign on my anticoagulant pouch that says WELCOME NEW DONOR! i'm surprised my needle didn't say... FOR NEW DONORS ONLY! i'd be ok with not announcing this fact as it seems that everyone else is a donation veteran. so the nice nurse hooks me up to my giant needle and 7 bags of something or other and my donation begins. did you know that plasma is yellow? 1/4 of the way through and teresa enters donation land. she begins her donation and i am happily giggling to myself that she has a NEW DONOR sign also. tee hee and in true teresa and kallay style... we entertain the room. our side of the room is laughing and happily donating their plasma. the lady next to teresa donates 1/4 bottle of green plasma and starts to drink sprite. not sure what the hell was going on there, but she sure was grumpy. guess she doesn't get her $40 today. better luck next time cruella.
t and i are happily chatting away about food and dane cook when all of a sudden i start beeping. LOUD! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEPY BEEEP BEEEPER BEEEEEP i'm alarmed. no, i'm scared shitless. i lean up on my chair as far as i can without showing my no no place (note to self: do not wear a skirt to donate plasma) and look at my screen and yeah... there's air in my line. oh fuck i'm gonna die!!! so i start harrassing the boy nurse patrick. "patrick!!!! i'm beeping!!!! hello patrick!!!??? what do i do??" as i consider ripping out my line the machine stops beeping and clams down to a quiet buzzing noise but all donation has been halted. patrick saunters over and says that the machine automatically shuts down if there is air in the line and removes the air. well thank the lord. and donation begins again with patrick happily pushing my button.
whew. dodged a bullet. who's afraid of air anyway? (ME!)
all of a sudden... i'm done. donation complete. i'm unhooked from the tubes and am told to hold about 50 gauze pads on my teeny hole. so i do. but then everyone starts giving advice. these fucking donation vets. know it alls. don't bend my arm. raise it above my head. walk around like a window licker. no no no!!! i will just fold a gauze pad in a little square, throw my band aid on and collect my $40. or not. patrick informs me that i may only wear the band aid out of the center. i cannot pass go or collect my $40 until the bleeding stops. i explain to patrick that it is freezing cold and therefore i could very well bleed to death if i continue to sit in this freezing cold room. my teeth are chattering you shit dumb. afraid of the plasma police. i obey and wait for my hole to clot. a few minutes later i am bandaided and ready for my payday.
this turns out to be the easiest part of the process! i'm given a piece of paper. told to go to the ATM, type in my 4 # password, enter my birth date and BOOM baby... here comes $40... in cash. real money! YAAAY! off to the car to wait for teresa. and 30 minutes later i am happily smoking away with an iodine stain and a band aid on my arm.
then we came home to this...
the little assholes. i love my dog but he gets mad at me sometimes. after 4 hours of crazy people, needles, and getting hit in the knee... i didn't want to clean up trash that i had already thrown away. what a couple of meanies.
.JPG)
they say the next time we donate it won't take as long... we'll see. no guarantees regarding the dog trash attack though.
yep! i subjected myself to 4 hours of a long line of questions, finger pricks, urine tests, and the reflex hammer. then i let them stick a very large needle in my right arm, take my blood, process it (one cup at a time) and then return my red blood cells happily to their veins for 45 minutes. then they gave me $40. *cha-ching*
happy days....
teresa and i collected our books, our lease (which is our only proof of address), and identification proving that, yes... this plasma is MINE and i am Kallay A. ****. we cheerfully drive to ABC Plasma and see that the parking lot is something of a sight. not that i am egotistical or have a superiority complex, but i do have to say that if you are ever having a bad day.... go donate plasma. the crowd will make you suddenly optimistic about your situation. i might be poor but i have all my teeth, have access to a full pressure shower head, and while i might feel kind of crazy, i am, in fact, sane in comparison.
we sign in to the long list of NEW DONORS ONLY and carefully choose a seat on the light seafoam green hard plastic chairs. so there we were. sitting. and waiting. and giggling like we're 5. finally my name is called and i am asked for ID, proof of address, and my social security card... now go sit down you minion. teresa is next and provides the same. we walk outside to enjoy a smokey treat and i read her a chapter of my hilarious book. at this point we both have to pee. badly. 40 cups of coffee will generally have this effect so we enter the toilets of doom. upon entering we encounter this....
i proceed next door and leave teresa to the task. i determine that this bathroom is indeed a squatter and try really hard not to let my cheeks touch the seat. and then i giggle, laugh, and full blown guffaw. maybe flushing twice wouldn't have been so bad. reaching for the toilet paper... i discovered this...
mmmm hm. welcome to plasma donation. the sign said "women's bathroom" so one would only assume that... well, you know. i shudder, pull down my skirt, adjust my shirt and walk out of my stall completely grossed the fuck out. i'm supposed to believe that this place is sterile and that my chances of contracting some sort of strange STD are slim to none? yeah, ok. i take one look at the sink and decide that my hands are cleaner now than if i "washed" my hands in it. teresa and i walk to the lobby in a fit of silent laughter and take our seats one again on the dreaded green chairs. we are called up to another counter, asked about our piercings and tattoos and are told to go waste away. an hour later they call me back into an office to take my picture (i didn't smile), poke my finger and take my blood... of course i am freezing so the bleeding continues for the entire time i am in there. they have their a/c set at arctic freeze... probably to test you. someone in back is secretly hoping some of these people will leave due to frostbite.
so remember how i said i peed? in the scary potty with the strange signs? well, i was unaware of the urine test at the time and right about now is when the nurse comes over and tells me to fill this plastic dixie cup half full. i told her i would try my best. so back into the freaky toilet i go and manage a 1/4 cup. she seems pleased so i don't stress and continue on my donation journey. a 1/4 of a clock later i am sitting in a room being asked a barrage of questions... have i had sex with a male who has had sex with another male since 1977? (no, at least i hope not! i don't typically try to sleep with gay men.. just saying) have i had sex with anyone that has traveled to or lived in BFE, east jesus nowhere, and/or ghana? (hm... nope!) have i ever injected an illegal drug? have i ever colored with a hunter green crayon? have i slept with anyone who has colored with a hunter green crayon? do i like long walks on the beach? what's my sign? i'm starting to feel like i might not be donating blood but perhaps applying for a position in the porn industry. no lady, i don't have AIDS or any other VD of any kind. i am healthy and happy and able oh my. she takes out a flashcard presentation on a giant spiral and begins to read to me. what is plasma.... what is it used for? don't smoke for 30 minutes after your donation. (eff word!) you might wanna barf halfway through your donation and or feel faint. good thing i'm laying down! air in your bloodstream is bad in large quantities... bad, very bad. (this is an important sentence to keep in mind for later) do i understand? do i still want to donate my plasma? yes and yes, thankyouverymuch.
and off we go to the room with trash bags on the windows. i assume it's for privacy but it feels a little like there might be fluids flying since it's plastic and not paper. woo. scary. so she hits my knee, looks in my ears and my eyes, listens to me breath (wheeze lol j/k), listens to my heart thump thump thumping away, pushes on my liver and my gallbladder, and we live happily ever after. time to donate some plasma y'all!!!
WOO HOO!!!!!
i am led into a room full of strange people, teresa isn't here yet and i am beginning to think that she didn't pass the iron test since the girl doesn't eat a ton of meat and we're too poor for salad. :) don't be jealous.... eat your damn veggies. everywhere i go i have a purple sign attached to my chart that says NEW DONOR! they even hang a cute little sign on my anticoagulant pouch that says WELCOME NEW DONOR! i'm surprised my needle didn't say... FOR NEW DONORS ONLY! i'd be ok with not announcing this fact as it seems that everyone else is a donation veteran. so the nice nurse hooks me up to my giant needle and 7 bags of something or other and my donation begins. did you know that plasma is yellow? 1/4 of the way through and teresa enters donation land. she begins her donation and i am happily giggling to myself that she has a NEW DONOR sign also. tee hee and in true teresa and kallay style... we entertain the room. our side of the room is laughing and happily donating their plasma. the lady next to teresa donates 1/4 bottle of green plasma and starts to drink sprite. not sure what the hell was going on there, but she sure was grumpy. guess she doesn't get her $40 today. better luck next time cruella.
t and i are happily chatting away about food and dane cook when all of a sudden i start beeping. LOUD! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEPY BEEEP BEEEPER BEEEEEP i'm alarmed. no, i'm scared shitless. i lean up on my chair as far as i can without showing my no no place (note to self: do not wear a skirt to donate plasma) and look at my screen and yeah... there's air in my line. oh fuck i'm gonna die!!! so i start harrassing the boy nurse patrick. "patrick!!!! i'm beeping!!!! hello patrick!!!??? what do i do??" as i consider ripping out my line the machine stops beeping and clams down to a quiet buzzing noise but all donation has been halted. patrick saunters over and says that the machine automatically shuts down if there is air in the line and removes the air. well thank the lord. and donation begins again with patrick happily pushing my button.
whew. dodged a bullet. who's afraid of air anyway? (ME!)
all of a sudden... i'm done. donation complete. i'm unhooked from the tubes and am told to hold about 50 gauze pads on my teeny hole. so i do. but then everyone starts giving advice. these fucking donation vets. know it alls. don't bend my arm. raise it above my head. walk around like a window licker. no no no!!! i will just fold a gauze pad in a little square, throw my band aid on and collect my $40. or not. patrick informs me that i may only wear the band aid out of the center. i cannot pass go or collect my $40 until the bleeding stops. i explain to patrick that it is freezing cold and therefore i could very well bleed to death if i continue to sit in this freezing cold room. my teeth are chattering you shit dumb. afraid of the plasma police. i obey and wait for my hole to clot. a few minutes later i am bandaided and ready for my payday.
this turns out to be the easiest part of the process! i'm given a piece of paper. told to go to the ATM, type in my 4 # password, enter my birth date and BOOM baby... here comes $40... in cash. real money! YAAAY! off to the car to wait for teresa. and 30 minutes later i am happily smoking away with an iodine stain and a band aid on my arm.
then we came home to this...
the little assholes. i love my dog but he gets mad at me sometimes. after 4 hours of crazy people, needles, and getting hit in the knee... i didn't want to clean up trash that i had already thrown away. what a couple of meanies.
.JPG)
they say the next time we donate it won't take as long... we'll see. no guarantees regarding the dog trash attack though.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
