wooooooooo

I love how the universal "I gave blood" recovery snack is... Nutter Butters! I never eat these things, but they sure are good after losing a pint(?) of your life juice.

As I was sitting there being bled, the lady kept asking me "are you ok? are you SURE you're ok? want me to get you some juice?" etc. I must have looked scared. So now it's caprisun fruit punch, fig newtons and nutter butters, along with chills and not so good typing. Good for me. One more thing to try and keep myself out of hell. Isn't it weird how caprisun juice sacs look just like those bags they take your blood in? And they come with a straw you have to poke in? It's just a little weird.

Just had little chat with two ladies about who we're going to vote for tomorrow. I picked... well, I picked one. One lady, a security guard here, wants Hillary because she likes Hillary's hair style. I don't think that's really a good enough reason, but she also mentioned wanting us out of Iraq. So that's pretty good I think.

So last week was pretty rough, career questions dog me, bored, angry, lonely while Al's always at swim practice, lady hits me in my new car, masonry contractor promises an estimate and never comes back, new VCR quits working, stress leads to monster zit on my face that has now scabbed up which the blood donation people point at and whisper about. I'm hoping this week will be better.

We did go see Cloverfield on Saturday. There's nothing like an apocalyptic-everybody dies monster movie to cheer me up. After we had Thai food at the place with the one of the most beautiful waitresses you will ever see (Royal Thai at Midtown art plaza. Wow.). So yeah, feel good = monster movie and curry. And sex. Which isn't really any of your business, but is also a great cheering up exercise. Also not with the beautiful Thai waitress.

I did manage a full load of training comeback last week, so that was a plus. Three swimming sessions and a couple of ... swings? ... I don't know it's like an ellipitcal but not. It's like that machine the guy with the pony tail and ball cap hawks on TV, kinda like cross country skiing, but you're more just swinging your legs back and forth. Not very masculine. But that's what I get to do for the next several weeks for running-type exercise and really, as a married mid-30s college administration drone, who am I trying to impress?

Does not really giving a crap about the Super Bowl make me less of an American? We felt like traitors last night trying to go out to eat. All the restaurants in our neighborhood were closed if they did not have TV. "It's Super Bowl Sunday!" they said. We ate pasta at Grant Central because they have a TV in their bar area.

Apologies for the rant. Loss of blood, you know. They gave me a t-shirt. Yay me.