Oil Pulling!

So, who’s seeing all the Oil Pulling blogs and Facebook posts? It’s apparently all the rage. In the last couple months I’ve nearly blinded myself with perfume and then pummeled my face into a pillar on my front porch. The intent of this blog isn’t to see what my body can handle, it’s just turning out that way… I’ve decided to test out this oil pulling thing and share the results with all of you. Aren’t you lucky?

According to the interwebs, and if it’s online, it must be true, the following are benefits of oil pulling:

Brighter, whiter teeth.

Now, I do have a slight OCD issue around my teeth. I like them to be just one shade shy of ‘Ross Geller’ so, whiter would be great. I also love chocolate, coffee and red wine. All white teeth killers. (And, if you don’t get the reference, we need to see other people.)

Healthier gums.

Sounds fine with me. My gums are healthy, but nothing wrong with healthier, yes?

Prevents bad breath.

I’m obsessed with mints and brushing my teeth. A guarantee of fresh breath - sign me up!  

Increased energy.

Um, who doesn’t want this?

Clearer mind.

Same thing, although pretty hard to quantify, I’d say.

Decreased headaches.

My headaches are generally self inflicted and the product of over indulgence in other areas of my life. SEE: Binge drinking.

Clearer sinuses.

I tend to get congested when I go to bed. This may be something that can be quantified.

Alleviated allergies.

I don’t have any.

Better sleep.

Sign me up! Sleep has alluded me lately.

Clearer skin.

I have a very strict skin regime thanks to a years-long acne problem. Everything is under control at this point.

Regulated menstrual cycles.

On the pill, they happen when they are supposed to.

Improved lymphatic system.

This is totally unquantifiable. But, it does sound fancy.

Improved PMS symptoms.

See above, not an issue for me.

General detoxification.

Something I’ve never done but is all the rage, so, what the hell?

A little background…

I prefer to ingest my coconut as the good Lord intended - surrounded by rum. But, I’m intrigued by this idea. And a few months ago I was complaining that I hate scraping my tongue when I brush my teeth and my hygenist friend said, “Oh, you should swish with coconut oil, it’ll clean your tongue.”

But, here’s the thing, other than surrounded by rum, I’m not a fan of coconut. This past Christmas season, I bit into what I thought was a chocolate covered peanut butter candy. Sadly, it was a homemade Mounds bar. My friend and a fellow mom, who can read my face with little effort, put her hand out. And, I, like a child, handed over what was left of the candy and choked down what was in my mouth. (This is an improvement - a few years ago I probably would have handed over what was in my mouth too!) So, this is going to be a challenge.

First hurdle - the oil isn’t really oil at all. I was expecting liquid. Like Olive Oil.  It is in fact more like crisco. Shit. From some online reading, I’ve been assured that the thick oil turns into liquid really quickly in your mouth. This is a lie.

Day 1:

Recommendations are to do this first thing in the morning. Well, my mornings are pretty hectic and having something in my mouth for 20 minutes means that there is 20 minutes not helping the kids get ready for the day. (READ: yelling). Nightime will have to work. 1 teaspoon, swish it around for 20 minutes.

I put it in my mouth. I gag. I choke. Eyes watering. Focused on better health, I keeping working on it. The husband, like most husbands is a 15 year old boy at heart. Everytime he looks at me, he giggles. He also says some things that I won’t repeat as they’d embarrass his mother, my mother and pretty much everyone else. I lasted 15 minutes. There a joke there too, but I’m going to let it go.

Day 2:

So, if by detox they mean everything inside you comes out angrily. Then, WINNING. If that’s not what detox means, there may be a problem.

Did slightly better - 17 minutes this time. Husband still holding in giggles.

Day 3:

Clearer skin? The giant zit on my chin begs to differ. I’m sure that the wad of oil inside my mouth has nothing to do with it…  

Made it the full 20 minutes. And, I’m going to give it to them - my tongue is nice and pink after three days. Woke up this morning at 3AM. So, better sleep hasn’t yet happened. This is a lot of work for a pink tongue. I’m probably being impatient.

Day 4:

Nothing terrifically interesting to report. No sleep improvements. Made it the full 20 minutes.

Day 5:

Again, nothing significant to report. When I asked if I have nice smelling breath, the husband reports that I smell like coconut. All the time.

Day 6:

I slept really, really well. Now, that could be that I had slept terribly for a number of days and my body was just that exhausted. Time will tell. Husband reports teeth are noticeably whiter. He still can’t control his giggles and he doesn’t even try now.

Day 7:

I can report that I don’t feel like I have ‘morning breath’ when I wake up. No weird sleepy taste in my mouth. Other bloggers have reported that they are no longer flossing or brushing now that they are oil pulling. I don’t know how this is possible. After swishing for 20 minutes, I still have the need for flossing. And brushing with my sonicare. In general I love to brush my teeth, if I say the only thing I have to do before leaving the house is to brush my teeth, you better just make yourself comfortable. It’s going to be awhile.

I also haven’t noticed any congestion when I lie down to go to sleep. I’ll try to keep paying attention to that.

Side note: When I’m done with the oil, I spit it in a paper cup and throw it away. I know, I know… not very environmentally responsible. (and, let’s be honest, totally disgusting) But, oil down the drain is a problem too. Today though, there’s a little wrinkle. Dexter Dog swiped the cup and after the oil had re-hardened, he ate it. I’ll be more careful going forward. And, I’ll be checking him for whiter teeth, better skin and a bottle of rum buried in the backyard.

Day 8:

Swish. Swish. Swish. I’m not known for focusing and I’m most certainly ADD so I’m actually impressed that I’ve made it eight days. The whole 20 minutes. Getting super annoying when the husband asks me questions while my mouth is full of oil but now I just calmly text him the answer he’s looking for. Which is generally very important like: I want to watch Raising Hope. Or: Stop laughing you weirdo!

Days 9, 10, 11:

Nothing much to report here. No big changes.

Day 12:

Sleep is the same. Teeth do feel really clean and the tongue is nice and shiny pink. Still brushing and flossing. (I’m not an animal!) No congestion. Skin looks good but I also use special cleanser and moisturizer - hard to know if it’s the coconut oil or just my regular routine.

Day 13:

I’ll admit it. Skipped it!

Day 14:

Back on track. Nothing really new to report. The 20 minutes does seem to go quickly.

So, there you have it. Just an average girl trying out the ‘latest thing’ for a couple weeks. I’ll probably use up the oil that I have but unless I see some other big changes or stop doing it and my skin and teeth go to hell, I probably won’t buy another tub of it. I also wouldn’t haul it around on vacation or take it anywhere. At home, watching TV, not a problem. I don’t see myself as obsessed as other bloggers are. And, I don’t think it’s a cure-all for people. I’ll continue on and post an update at the 30 day mark. And, maybe 60. Unless I get bored. Or injured. Odds are it’s both.

The Carlo

The following post is s short story that I wrote a number of years ago and gave out with a CD of some of the songs that remind me of our family car and those years, first in Hay and then in Lewiston. And, when my friends are shocked at all the 70's tunes I know, I say, 'Hey, we had 8 track!'


In 1976 the Crow family took delivery of their brand new light blue metallic Landau Monte Carlo.  It was the number one selling car that year.  1976 brought out the second generation of Monte Carlo’s, this new version had a cross hatch grill and stacked rectangular headlights.  It certainly earned its position as the number 1 selling car of '76.  It was spectacular.  And huge.  Weighing in at almost 4,000 lbs and over 17 feet long the car was a force to be reckoned with.  With a sticker price of over 6,000.00 it was a major purchase that was well worth it.  For six grand you got air conditioning, a white vinyl top, an eight track stereo and a car that scared wild animals off the road.   

Style AND Character.

The Monte Carlo slogan that year was, ‘When a car makes you feel good about its looks, that’s style.  When it makes you feel good about yourself, that’s character.’  Style and character.  That definitely describes the Crow family. To a T.

Traveling at over 100 miles per hour was no challenge for the 1976 Monte Carlo and heck with such safety features as an energy absorbing steering column and a padded dash there was no need to be nervous when traveling on winding country roads with your foot on the floor and your family in the back. It was also very efficient boasting 14 MPG in the city and 18 on the highway.  Good thing it held 22 gallons of gas.  Regular Leaded.

The Monte Carlo could comfortably seat three kids, two adults and a very large Saint Bernard.  It was no challenge to fill the trunk with luggage and still have room to throw in a dead pheasant that was killed on the trip – killed no doubt by that fancy cross hatch grill.

A ride so smooth, it lulls babies to sleep with ease.

Each Sunday we'd travel from the Orchards to downtown Lewiston for church. In the winter, the heat would finally be working about halfway there, our shivering would cease and at a stop light our mother would turn from the front seat and look down upon us.  We would sit there, paralyzed in fear as she licked her thumb and scrubbed one of our faces.  Thanks Mom, I feel much cleaner now that I’ve had Big Red flavored saliva wiped all over my face.

It’s funny how time challenges the memory. In my childhood memories, as mother careened around town in the Carlo, (Cruella DeVille style) she had a scotch and a cigarette in one hand and was flailing wildly with the other trying to make contact with one of us in the backseat all while threatening to ‘turn the car around’. That’s my memory at least. But, now that I think about it she didn’t smoke. The other parts are true though. Pretty sure.

We had many a fun family adventure in that huge car.  It outlasted numerous dogs, houses and husbands and was still chugging along when sold in the mid-nineties. The paint was faded, a few dents had been made in that fine Detroit steel and there was a bullet hole in the roof (Why yes, I do see a therapist!) but it still had spirit.

White vinyl. Nothing but the best!

I challenge you to take a trip through time.  Pop in the enclosed CD*, close your eyes.  Strain your arm to close the ‘extra long door’, feel the white hot vinyl blister your bare legs.  Take in a deep breath.  Can you smell it?  Hot vinyl, plastic, the slight smell of the aforementioned Saint Bernard and a whiff of Halston perfume.  You may be able to visualize Mom, dressed to the nines with large round sunglasses and blue eye shadow.  You are now home.

*Um, download and make a damn playlist. I wrote this like 10 years ago. Sadly, it won't sound like an 8 track.

Here You Come Again	Dolly Parton
Suspicious Minds	Elvis Presley
Kiss You All Over	Exile
Sundown	Gordon Lightfoot
Annie’s Song	John Denver
Funkytown	Lipps, Inc
Don’t Cry Out Loud	Melissa Manchester
Reunited	Peaches and Herb
Higher and Higher	Rita Coolidge
Just Another Woman in Love	Anne Murray
Can’t Smile Without You	Barry Manilo
Do That to Me One More Time	Captain and Tennille
Islands in the Stream	Dolly Parton with Kenny Rogers
Uptown Girl	Billy Joel
Ob-La-Di-Ob-La-Da	The Beatles
Carolina on my Mind	James Taylor
After the Lovin’	Engelbert Humperdinck
Woman in Love	Barbra Streisand
BONUS TRACK
Panama	Van Halen

Dad

It's been five years since I got the call. It was Fat Tuesday and I had made the kids pancakes for dinner. Just as we were getting ready to eat, my phone rang, it was my sister. It was two days before Madison's third birthday and I could picture her standing in a store, calling to check a size or color.

But, she wasn't in a store. At the sound of her voice, I knew there was a problem. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home, why?"

"Dad passed away today."

"What?" And I felt my knees buckle. I leaned against the wall. I always thought that was over dramatic in movies but it's true. I didn't pass out but I slid down and sat on the floor. I looked over at the table. Henley knew something was wrong but wasn't sure what. My emotion was enough to upset him and he started to cry. Madison sat there with her pancakes, smiling. Unaware of anything. Being almost three has some advantages.

He sat down to watch a John Wayne movie and he just died. The coroner had an explanation but if you knew my dad at all, you know he just went to meet John Wayne.

The next few hours were logistics. Calling in help. Telling friends. Talking to my boss. Packing.



Below is what I said at the funeral. I've edited slightly with a clearer mind and the benefit of time.



I’m not here to talk about all the great things about my dad. I can’t. We’d be here for hours. He and I didn’t share any DNA. And, I didn’t meet him until I was 10. Oh, I’d heard about him for years. My mom had been in love with him since she was 14. Suffice it to say, Danny Larkin had been mentioned in our house a time or two.  

Yes, these two got us through our teenage years.

He was silly and funny. But, the dad that is silly and funny with 12 year old girls isn’t silly and funny when you’re 14 and by the time you’re 17, he’s deadly serious. The only thing that can explain how and why he ended up with three teenage girls in the house at the same time is that some how he lost a bet with God.  

He stood out in the rain at our track meets, soccer and football games.  Whether we played for 30 seconds or 30 minutes he was there cheering us on. The only game he missed happened to be when I earned my one and only red card. I was prepared to be killed when I got home. Murdered. Out in the yard so it wouldn't leave a mess in the house. But, he just paused, and sports guy that he was said, "Sometimes that happens in games." He wasn't nearly as forgiving with poor grades or missed curfews.  

He was the master of nicknames. Everyone had a nickname. Kelly Belly, Ordinary Kari, Pittle Hittle, Flame, Yodi, Doo Doo, Tinkerbell, My Little Buddy,  Gorgeous, Taz, Shawnserpoosoner,  Petey Bird. Seriously, everyone had a nickname. Except any boy that ever came into that house to take one of us on a date. They didn’t even have names. There was the ‘mouthy one’, the ‘short one’, ‘that one’. As in, “Is that one still hanging around?”

He was good at a lot of things but wasn’t particularly good at advice. In fact, a tip for any one with teenage girls, the ‘there are more fish in the sea’ speech isn’t helpful. At all.

Happy Grandpa, Happy Boy.

I’m not really here to talk about the dad he was but rather the grandpa he was. I recently read a study that indicated that grandparents are the happiest segment of the population. From my experience I believe that to be true. He loved being a grandpa. And he was amazing at it. He lit up at the sight of them. Last fall he chaperoned Henley’s school field trip to the Oregon Zoo. He was scheduled to be a chaperone on Cole’s trip to Washington DC this summer. He even mastered changing diapers. Whatever the grand kids needed, he was there.    

I’m sad that our dad is gone but I’m heartbroken that the kids have lost their grandpa. Any future children will never know him. Cole, Henley, Caroline, Madison and Victoria will have pictures and memories but their loss is in the future. He won't be at rainy sporting events or scaring the holy hell out of boys that are hanging around. He will never again parade them through the house doing the soldier chant from The Wizard of Oz. 


O-E-O...

Dad loved the Wizard of Oz and I want to wrap up with a quote from the movie.  It sums up what we are all thinking and feeling better than I ever could.

Wizard of Oz: As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.

Tin Woodsman: But I still want one.

Bruiser

The husband travels. A lot. It can be stressful for all of us. Generally the mornings are the worst. Get myself ready, get cranky tired children ready, get dogs together, feed everything and make it to work on time. This is a lot to do with two people and alone there can be very rough mornings. This one, was actually a good one.

Lunches are ready, back packs are on backs - we're headed out the door - on time even! I'm actually feeling cocky about it - we're all on time! My hands are full, often the case. I'm hurried, also often the case. In the crazy of everything, and trying to get the door locked, my snack, an orange, falls out of my hand and rolls across the front porch.

Walking toward the steps, I looked at it lying there on the floor. Tucked up against the pillar, I considered just leaving it there because, hey the hands are full and I've not got a minute to waste. (I'm on time!) But my obsession with not wasting food beat out my instinct to be lazy. And then everything got fuzzy.

In a hurry and not really paying attention, I bent down. And essentially knocked myself out. Now, I've got nothing to brag about. It's a fairly ordinary face, kind of long, pointy chin, odd really… but its my face nonetheless. I'd like to keep it in reasonable condition. No point in making it worse by hitting it with things. That's a job for sun damage and alcohol.

You sir are an asshole. Asshole!

I'd like to say that some attacker had come up on the porch, someone desperate for a clementine orange from Costco, and bashed me in the face. Sadly, I cannot say that. I can report that all the times I've said, 'they just don't make them like this anymore' when referencing my house are pretty much true. That pillar is over 100 years old and just as sturdy and stable and able to remove cheekbones as it was the day it was built.




As my dad would've said, it smarted. 










As I would say, HOLYHELLIMMAGONNABURNTHISMOTHERFUCKINGHOUSEDOWN!

I grabbed my cheek, very hot to the touch and throbbing. No blood. Keep going. We're on time! Stay on time. Stay on time.

Ah, poor face.

Here's the thing. The job. It's new. At the old job where I had known some of my coworkers for ten years or more they probably wouldn't be very shocked by anything I showed up with on my face or otherwise. As the day wore on I noticed some double takes around the office. I work with a lot of sporty people, there are surely injuries with some regularity. But injuries where you look like you've been punched in the face at 7 AM? Probably not as many of those. I found myself explaining it. Loudly. So all my cube neighbors would know the situation. One of the engineers said he thought I just looked tired. ...I'll be dealing with him later... I don't care if you are a socially inept nerd, you don't ever tell a woman she just looks tired. (Notice I didn't say lady, obviously.)

Fortunately for the husband his alibi is strong. He wasn't even on the continent at the time and really the story is just too stupid not to be real.  And anyone who knows either of us would just laugh hysterically at the thought of him hurting me. A) he wouldn't. B) should 'A' be incorrect, he'd be dead.

And so, to share my stupidity and at least have a little fun with it, I have to take a selfie and post it. What you can't see in the selfie is the dimension. The bruise sticks out, like an egg. It's out front. It's loud and proud. And, then, I notice how badly the eyebrows look - so overdue for a wax. And, holy shit... are those my pores? This shiner isn't looking so bad now compared to everything else. Maybe I should always have one to sort of distract from the rest. I'd go get a wax and a facial post haste but the thought of anyone touching the right side of my face makes me cringe.

A few days in and it's fading to a nice shade of green. I plan on glaring at that pillar for the rest of my life. Given it's sturdiness it's going to be around a lot longer than me. 

10 Years of the Boy

Last Wednesday the boy turned 10. Double digits. I’m constantly amazed at how quickly time passes.

In 2002, the baby bug hit. It hit hard. And it didn’t happen. And didn’t happen and didn’t happen. And there were tests and tests and tests. I was shocked because there are a lot of people around that look a lot like me. Fertility has never really been a family challenge. Apparently the cure for me was margaritas. That’s what it took. A big ‘ol margarita party and all the sudden 18 months of trying was over. Baby on the way!

It’s a boy. A big sturdy boy - just like I wished for. Right on the 22 week mark I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I obsessed. The nutritionist was shocked at my numbers - they were perfect every time. Mom mode starts much before there is actually a baby to hold onto.

There were weekly tests and then on his due date an induction. He was huge, my blood pressure was going up and he didn’t seem to be doing well. We checked into the hospital with all the excitement. The carseat was ready, the music, the birth plan. 12 hours in, the birthplan was out the window. He was struggling. Nothing was happening. Contractions were big and he was stuck. My first parental decision right there - paper work signed. Rushed down the hall. Surgery started.  

And then, out. My big sturdy boy. Almost nine pounds. And he cried for a second and then looked at me. More of a glance really, and a look of ‘you’ll do’.

Now we’re here. It’s 10 years later. There are days where I think no children would be a nice life. There are days where I make a momma bear look calm and tame. Most days, I’m overwhelmed. Overwhelmed at how I look into those blue eyes and realize that I love that little beast more than anything has ever loved anything. Even though now he doesn’t have much time for mom and he’s ‘checking his pits’ every day for hair and he’s got a definite boy smell.

There are still the occasional nights where he wants to be tucked in and get a snuggle. They are becoming less and less and I need to focus on taking full advantage of them. I’m not a perfect parent, there are days where I’m barely adequate. And, I screw up a lot. I expect therapy bills to come my way at some point. Don’t we all?

But some day, I hope he looks back and thinks, ‘my mom was pretty awesome’. Hopefully that will outweigh the, ‘when my mom yells, the house shakes’. Not sure how that happens. Pretty sure it involves buying the love. And, I’m OK with that.

Valentine's Day!

In February 2007 (might have been 2006, but I'm not really sure and its not super important to the story, so what the hell...) a lunch date was made. Tracey, Vikki and I would go out for lunch on Valentine's Day. I'm not sure what even started the conversation although I can assume that some where a husband was in trouble. After lunch we'd go to that new place, St Cupcake. Because, cupcakes were all the rage.

I can't remember where we ate lunch but we walked over to St. Cupcake after. To the location on 'the other side of 405'. In the rain. Well, I'm pretty sure it was raining. Either way, the story is better if it's raining. So, in the rain. The line to get into St Cupcake was around the block. People desperate for cupcakes on Valentine's Day. And then, at some point while we stood there pathetically in the rain, the baker came outside and said, 'we've got less than a dozen cupcakes left'. The crowd groaned. We looked at each other and started to walk away. But, still, we wanted a damn cupcake.

And so, we walked. On our morning coffee runs we'd noticed that Starbucks had cupcakes - that'll work! A cupcake is a cupcake after all!

To Starbucks we went! And then the next Starbucks and then the next. I'm going to go with twenty. We went to twenty different Starbucks. Finally, we had success! Red Velvet cupcakes all around! And, we were happy. And so started a tradition. Sort of.

On Valentine's Day 2008, I was on bed rest. The little girl inside me was pissed off. I don't know why, I'm pretty fun - you'd think she'd be pretty happy hanging out with me all the time. But, she wasn't. And so, she and I stayed in bed that day. And the next several days.

I followed Vikki and Tracey to work at Multnomah County in 2008, shortly after that pissed off baby girl was born. Every eight weeks at Multnomah County there is a blood drive. The email would go out, I'd read it, I'd not donate blood. But, I knew I should. I could use the points, so to speak. It's not that I'm a murderer or anything but I'm also not super awesome. My main problem is that I just don't really care. So, this blood thing. It could help me out. It's like giving and everything. Sort of like being nice. Whatever that is.

Some how Tracey and I talked each other into donating blood.  With ID in hand we headed into the blood donation room. We dutifully read the documents, we signed the forms, we were up on the beds - we were donating blood! Slowly. Oh, my God. So slowly. The whole process is painful. Painful! It's waiting and questions and then waiting again. And then your blood drains slowly out of you. And if you close your eyes just out of boredom, they think you've passed out and they FREAK out.

But, we carried on. We learned through experience that if you drank a gallon of water the day before, you could give blood in less than five minutes. NOTE: The Red Cross does not think its funny when you race to the fill the pint the fastest. In fact, I'd say its generally frowned upon. But, oh so fun.

In 2009 we picked up our Valentine's tradition. Vikki, Tracey and I off to lunch and cupcakes for Valentines day. I don't remember much about that particular lunch date but I'm going to assume that it was epic.

And the years ticked by and we added a new friend to our annual lunch dates. We got Becca! And we still got our cupcakes and now there were a lot of cupcake shops so getting our Valentine cupcakes wasn't such a challenge.

The blood drives continued, we made it almost every time. We answered the questions. No, we do not have sex with men who have sex with men. No, we do not trade drugs or money for sex. No, we have not lived in Mexico for more than three years between 1972 and 1986. No, we have not had a positive HIV test. And we'd race.

The county started to schedule a blood drive on Valentine's Day. Well, heck. Doing something nice and we get our lunch date and cupcake. Win. Win. 2013. Blood donation. Fun lunch. Cupcake. Check. Check. Check.

And then. Well, and then. I went ahead and fucked everything up. I resigned. In December 2013. But, before that, in October, I gave blood. In the bloodmobile in downtown. With my loyal blood donating friend. We gave blood.

So, in December... we went to donate again. And Tracey couldn't. Her iron was too low. It was odd and you can be sure that I gave her a hard time about it. But, I went ahead and did my donation. In a record 4 minutes, 38 seconds. And then we went for coffee. We didn't even wait the recommended time in 'The Canteen'. We're pros.

Before I left the county, our Valentine's lunch was already scheduled and on the calendar. There was no way that I was going to miss our lunch date just because I sit in a different office in a different town.
But, when to donate blood. We'd gotten good at our scheduling. First thing in the morning is best. Come in a few minutes early so if someone doesn't show up, you can get in even sooner. And with our impressive donation times, we're going to keep this up - no problem!

There was a flurry of scheduling texts in mid-January. The county blood drive wasn't the 14th this year. It was the 13th. Damn, neither of us could to the 13th. And, a long lunch two days in a row? Too much. We'd either have to skip it or find another way.

The Red Cross Donation Center! We could donate at 11:15, be at lunch with Vikki and Becca by 12:15 and then get our cupcakes! WINNING! And, surely the donation center would be a fast place to go. This is what they do. It's no pop up blood drive. It's a building built for blood donation.

And so at on Valentines Day, Tracey and I met at the blood donation center. A 300 year old man taught me how to use the mouse on the laptop so I could check myself in. And I did! We got our numbers and sat down to wait. It should be noted that the donation center isn't in a neighborhood I regularly frequent. And, I'll never be accused of not being a snob but my focus was on doing my nice thing and not to judge. But, the man across from us did look like a hobo. And I had a sudden urge to wash my hands until the skin came off.

And we waited and waited. We chatted, we caught up. And waited. 11:15 came and went. Then 11:30. Through the years, I've learned some things about my friend. A) don't be late and/or make her late. 2) don't let her get hungry. We're on a slippery slope here. And, we're risking our lunch time with Becca and Vikki. Finally we were escorted into our separate interview rooms. Questions were answered. Still not trading sex for drugs or money. Still not taking medications on the list. And I still haven't taken that trip to a foreign land between 1972 and 1986. My blood pressure was a little higher than normal, oddly enough.

I exited the room triumphant! 11:50. Goal now: be done by 12:05. Slide into the restaurant a couple minutes late at the most. Have our awesome Valentine lunch - still winning!

There was Tracey. Sitting in the waiting room. Unable to donate. And right there in front of the old people and the hobo, louder than I meant, 'What the fuck? Again?'

I was escorted to the back room with all the other people to donate. The bonus being that my friend could come too! So, I got situated and she sat down and we went right back to our conversation. All while checking the time.

And then complaining about the time.

And then rolling our eyes about the time. Seriously. We had appointments. For an hour ago.

And then listening to them complain about my vein on my left arm. Sadly, the right arm couldn't be used because I'd had a life insurance physical a few days before and my arm was bruised from the blood draw.

So, they brought over a woman who has worked there for 17 years. She can get blood out of any one. Allegedly.


Note to self: never tell the Red Cross staff you're in a hurry. Ever. They will somehow all in unison begin to move much, much slower.

They'll start to misplace everything they need. They'll complain that their hair gets caught in their glasses. That you moved your arm. And then, well, then... they'll stab the holy shit out of you. Now, I'm pretty tough. But OHMYGODTHISISNOTOK.

Tracey and I made eye contact. She mouthed, 'There is no blood.' followed quickly by, 'Where is the blood?'.

I looked down. Well, the blood.. it wasn't where it was supposed to be. It wasn't so much inside the needle as outside. You know. Running down my arm. SONOFABITCH.

You should never look down at a 19 gauge needle being manipulated in your arm. She was pinching my skin trying to wrestle the vein to where she wanted. All while saying, 'It's right there, I just can't get it quite right.'

Hmm. Well, OK. We're done here.

Tracey is texting Vikki and Becca. We'll be a couple minutes late. Can they order for us?

Just get through this. 'Ms. 17 Years Here' bandaged me up and reminded me that since no blood hit the bag, I'd be eligible to come tomorrow to try again. UMGEENOTHANKS.

I just want my Valentine's lunch! And, I'm done trying to be nice!