bloodletting

We are blog neglectors we know it. Bah.

So anyway, I was at Carle this morning getting my blood drawn. I have to get it done all the time, but that isn't why I'm writing. I wanted to tell you what happened afterwards. I hate it when they put that little gauze pad on my arm and tape it down with that white tape. I hate seeing people in the Schnucks after they have given blood sporting their gauze pad like a bronze metal in the category of pokable veins. I just don't like it at all. It only makes of think of blood, and other people’s blood is the one thing that is grosser than my own blood.

So anyway, I told the lady I didn't need a gauze pad, "see, no more blood." She said, "fine," and I was out the door. On my way out I ran into an old drinkin' buddy from way back when I was underage and hanging out at the Office. I guess his occupation has evolved over the years 'cause he was sporting a phlebotomy outfit and not an Office t-shirt. I talk to him for about 20 seconds and I was ready to jet out the door (you know if you park less than 30 minutes at Carle it's free!). I did a pivot towards the door, took one glance at my arm at stopped dead in my tracks. There was blood ALL over my arm. I guess I really did need that lame ass gauze pad. I didn’t even feel it. It looked like the vein had popped open and the blood was spewing forth. It was awesome. Not really. I even got it on my shorts.

Grody. I had to go back in and get a bandage.