I've been entirely delinquent in my posting due to a paper that has been due. I feel like if I'm going to be writing, I need to be focusing my efforts on that paper (you know, for school - and a grade), and not updating you on my life. This has been a great source of frustration for me, however, because I actually watched Survivor last week IN REAL TIME and WITH A FRIEND and I haven't yet blogged about it. It's coming. I swear.
Also, just wanna give a shout-out to my girl Britney, for finally taking the plunge (again... and again... and again) and entering rehab. They say 3rd time's a charm, so with any luck, we'll all have a lot less Spears drama in our lives in the coming months and years ahead (and her kids will have a mom who isn't insane... we can hope, anyway).
Anyway, my post title isn't really about Britney. It's about the ordeal I just went through. You see, I had an appointment today with a woman who was coming to my house to get urine and blood samples (go figure, that's actually a real job). Anyway, I was told not to eat or drink for 4 hours before the appointment, and being the good rule-follower that I am, I didn't.
She shows up and sets up and asks if I've ever had trouble giving blood before.
"No, not yet!" I say cheerfully.
Why did I have to say that?
Because she proceeds to attempt to take blood not one, not two, but THREE times - one of them in my hand - all of them unsuccessful.
I can't wait to see the bruises as they develop, as I am already in pain when I try to bend my arm or wiggle my fingers (and yes, hand and arm are two separate sides of the body - she was an equal opportunity pain-inflicter).
I am SO grumpy, and still have this damn paper to write, so I will sign off for now, and just say that I can't wait to update you all on more fun, happy, and exciting things like Survivor and how cool dueling piano bars are and the like.