Wednesday, August 27, 2008

A+

Being the kind of person that I am, it comes as no surprise that my blood type is A+. Coming from a girl who's self esteem is so wrapped up performance, I'd really expect nothing less of myself. Or my blood.

I didn't know my blood type until last week--when I decided to give blood for the first time in 6 years.

"Oh, it's been a while," said the nurse at the blood mobile.
"Yes, yes it has," I replied.
"Well, with such a drought between donations, this will be like your first time all over again."

She smiled sweetly and began gathering her supplies: needles, latex gloves, some tubing.

"You didn't faint did you?"
"Oh, God. No. I was fine. A little woozy. But nothing major."
"That's good. This mobile is too small to have people falling over."
(So much for the supposed sympathy that comes with being a first timer.)
"I don't think it should be a problem," I offered.

She smiled again and asked if my arm was comfortable.

I nodded yes, took a deep breath, and relaxed into the chair she'd prepared for me. As I did so, I noticed my arm would be more comfortable if it moved ever-so-slightly to the right. So I moved it. The nurse's back was turned. And it didn't seem like a big deal. Plus, I was giving my blood. I figured I should be as comfortable as possible.

With eyes in the back of her head and a sixth sense for any kind of limb activity, she turned around as if someone had spilled an entire IV of platelets.

"What are you doing?" she barked.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I'd be more comfortable like this."
(Why was I apologizing?)
"You can't just move your arm. Now I have to start over."
Start over?, I thought. But nothing's begun.

She then jammed me with a plastic needle cover. 

"What was that?" I cried.
"I have to do that so I know where your vein is," she said--defensively.
"I don't understand," I said, shaking my head. "Can't you see where my vein is? It's the blue thing underneath my impossibly white skin."
(OK. So I didn't actually say that. But that's what I thought.)

Eventually we got the kinks worked out, and she started to draw blood. 

I'll have you know that I was done donating in under 5 minutes. That's right. 1 pint in less than 300 seconds, despite the abuse from the RN on the mobile. Thank you very much. 

A+ is right. 

Thursday, August 14, 2008

A Recipe for Bad Dreams

  1. Falling asleep to the Olympics
  2. Watching too many Olympic events
  3. Chicken fingers and french fries for dinner at 9 pm
  4. Eating frozen yogurt before your fatty dinner

Allow me to elaborate.

A few nights ago, I had the most ridiculous dream of my entire life.

I was in China at a McDonald's with my friends Beth and Wendy--and few athletes. (This is no surprise considering it's one of my goals to get Beth and Michael Phelps together.)

Well, we'd finished our Big Macs and it was time to start packing up. I grabbed my tray and headed for the trashcan. But as I turned around, I saw Beth and Wendy get into a white, unmarked van and speed off with the athletes, effectively stranding me in the Chinese McDonald's.

To make matters worse, everyone left a bunch of their crap on the table--purses, wallets, dog collars (??!!)--and so, being the good Samaritan that I am, I figured I'd at least put the stuff in my bag to give to them later.

But, everyone in the restaurant started to give me the stink eye. And hide their personal effects.

I had a stunning revelation: They thought I was stealing.

I went over to one of the patrons.

"I'm not stealing, you know," I defended. "I'm cleaning up after my friends."

She didn't understand what I was saying--and clearly spoke no English. Muttering something in Mandarin, she knelt down and handed over her wallet.

Great, I thought. Now they really think I'm a thief.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, an enourmous Chinese man with two rottweilers came over to us. I thought he was going to release the hounds, but he merely asked for the dog collars that had been left on the table. Not remembering who the collars belonged to in the first place--and thanking God I was not the victim of a canine attack--I handed them over immediately.

I decided it was time to try and get back to my hotel, so I gave the crouching lady her wallet back and headed for the door. Only to run into my Uncle Joey and his partner Antonio on the sidewalk. I was saved!

I started to tell them my sad, sad story--but then Antonio picked a fight with a local.

"You're in the way," said the local. "I'm trying to cross the street."

"Figure it out," Antonio said smugly.

The local reached into his pocket. I could tell it was going to get ugly.

And then I woke up.

Monday, August 11, 2008

I, Idiot

Reasons why I know, deep down, I'm smart:
  1. I have two degrees.
  2. I graduated from one of the top-rated UC schools in the system.
  3. I can work with and understand Excel.
  4. I regularly watch the Nightly News with Brian Williams.
  5. I never voted for George W. Bush.
  6. I married someone who makes me laugh.
And yet.

Somehow I managed to grossly misread my confirmation email for the Nike Women's Marathon this October. Turns out, I'm actually running the half, not the full.

This is infinitely better than the other way around.

And yet.

I've been training and mentally preparing myself to run 26.2 miles.

Am I ready? Absolutely not. Am I disappointed? Ever so slightly.

Better to find out now than the day of, I suppose. That would be a post for the ages.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Why The Office is Reality TV

I know what you're thinking.

Oh, great. Another comparison to a television show I haven't watched in months...

But this latest comparison is a gift I feel compelled to share.

I just received an email:

This Friday August 8th 2008 marks the beginning of the Beijing Olympics. A time when the world comes together regardless of color, language and race to celebrate the Olympic spirit of Unity, Friendship, Progress, Harmony, Participation and Dreams.

To celebrate the spirit of the games, we are holding an Olympics of our very own.
Join us on Wednesday August 20th for a series of competitions starting at 1 PM. Gold, Silver and Bronze prizes will be awarded at the end of the games! More information coming soon!!!

Games include:
0 Golf putting challenge
0 Wiffle ball toss
0 Treasure chest grab
0 Paper airplane throw
0 Ping pong ball toss

"The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."
It might not be flonkerton, but it's close.
Wanna see how close?
Here's an article from wikipedia.

Quarter Life Crisis

Nobody warns you that your mid-to-late 20s/30s are as difficult as they are. And really, they are difficult.

Why are we so afraid to admit that?


It totally makes sense. There's a lot of life to live during these 10 years--what with graduating college (and/or grad school); trying to find a first, second, or third career; searching for a partner and a place to settle down; breaking away from your family of origin; surviving your first layoff; moving every other year (or at least it feels that way); the list could go on.

No wonder so many of us struggle with depression, anxiety, and delayed adolescence. Who in their right mind would ever want to be an adult and enter the real world with all its responsibilities and stress?


So far, I've found few things I truly enjoy about adulthood. They are numbered here, in no particular order:

  1. Getting married to my best friend
  2. Ice cream for dinner
  3. Bed time is any time
  4. Super Mario Brothers 3 = the best video game. Ever.
  5. Non-school reading
  6. Wine
  7. Eating out with friends
  8. Weekends

In the end, I think change is always at the root of crisis--whether it's emotional, professional, or ecological. And the funny thing about change is that as it's taking place, it feels constant and overwhelming. Perhaps that's why these years are so hard. Instead of transitioning from one grade to another, we're moving into the rest of our lives. Which can be likened to losing baby teeth, learning to walk, and taking the BAR all at the same time. Add this to being denied loans from the bank of Mom & Dad, and I'd say crisis is the perfect way to describe it.

But here's the other funny thing about change: It can also bring hope--thank you Barack Obama.

So, to all my fellow Quarter Life Crisis Managers out there, I salute you. This sucks and it's hard. But it's temporary.

Friday, August 1, 2008

OK. This is weird, right?

Some back story
I'm training for a marathon. I know. I know.

"Why are you doing that?!" you cry.

The truth is I meant to sign up for a half marathon. But this particular race is so popular, that your participation is determined via raffle.

Yes, raffle.

And because I'm running in a group (Yay for Jennie and her mom!), the all-knowing powers of the Nike race put me in the same race as them. Even though I requested to be in the half.

Thus, I'm training for this because if I don't, I'll hurt myself and potentially die. Not to mention be out a $100 if I decide to bail.

The real story
My training schedule told me to run 8 miles yesterday, so that's what I did: 4 miles out, 4 miles back. And I was really enjoying myself--I was pleased with my pace; the sun was setting, making my surroundings beautiful; and the people I passed on my way seemed genuinely happy with their evenings.

That is, until I saw this one guy, who was kind of a creeper. Allow me to explain.

I'm running along and I see him standing in his driveway. He's maybe 40. Maybe. Nice looking. Salt and pepper hair. Wearing jeans and a button-down striped shirt--like most men in San Diego who are about to go out. But he's just standing there. Not on the phone. Not with anybody. Just alone in his driveway.

As I approach, he looks right at me and says, "I love that."

Completely baffled I smile, laugh, and turn my face down.

And as I run past, he says, "Thank you."

What?