Wednesday Mental Chex Mix

  • Nerd watch 2009: I actually used the word "effectuate" in a random conversation.  It just slipped out.  I didn't mean it. 
  • It's sad, I think, that I was looked at askance for saying "effectuate," but if I'd said "suck it bitches," nobody would have thought anything was wrong.
  • I'm pretty libertarian about things.  I don't believe it's the government's job to micromanage every facet of my life.
  • That said, there should be harsh governmental restrictions on hackneyed phrases in fiction.  I was reading a novel yesterday, and I swear the author used three–THREE–cliches in one sentence.  For example, "Frank knew which side his bread was buttered on–this wasn't his first rodeo, after all–and he was definitely going to dance with the one what brung him.
  • I love the expression, "Dance with the one whut brung ya." It's a Southern thing, I think–at least when it's written that way.  It's as Southern as Moon Pies and RC Cola, and catching fireflies among the magnolia blossoms.
  • Once, many years ago, my friend Kimmie the Promotions Hippie and I were riding back from a sports bar gig, and we were talking about some inanity.  I said, "Well, as they say, you ought to dance with the one what brung ya." She looked at me and giggled.  "WHAT?" "Dance with the one what brung ya.  It means–" More laughter.  "I thought you said, `Dance with the one-hoofed brunion.'" We spent the rest of the drive laughing, trying to figure out what the hell a brunion would be, and why it only had one hoof. 
  • In fact, we were going to write a children's book about the one-hoofed brunion.  We'd have made millions in book sales, plus millions more from film rights and plush toy licensing.
  • Kimmie the Promotions Hippie was what we used to call "a stoner." I was what we used to call "drunk most nights." The book was never written. 
  • It's hard to write children's books in bars. 
  • Feel free to use the idea, "Dance with the one-hoofed brunion" to write your own children's book, and thus reap untold fortunes.
  • All I ask is that you thank "tom and Kimmie the Promotions Hippie" in your acknowledgments section.
  • And a couple of one-hoofed brunion plush toys.
  • OH! I saved three lives today!
  • I would have saved three lives yesterday, but Jennifer the Blood Lady wouldn't let me.  I'm speaking, of course, about donating blood.  We had a big blood drive at work.  We were allowed to take company time and go to where the benevolent vampires of Florida Blood Services were collecting blood. 
  • That sounds weird, now that I think about it.  Just two weeks ago, we were collecting Toys for Tots in our workplace.  People brought in new, unwrapped toys, and put them in a donation box.  It would be rather creepy if there were a donation box, and my coworkers and I tossed in pint bags of our blood. 
  • Jennifer the Blood Lady wouldn't let me donate yesterday, because I had a low-grade fever (99.6).  Apparently, with the amount of mayonnaise I eat, the recipient of my blood would contract some sort of megasalmonella and perish.
  • Actually, some people tend to run fevers when they are sick, and they don't want sick blood.  Jennifer the Blood Lady asked if I was feeling ill because of my temperature.  I told her I felt fine; I was just ovulating.
  • Thank God she laughed.
  • Anyway, the blood drive continued today, and I was back to an optimal 98.6.  This cleared the way for me to have a small, cute Thai girl named Akila drain a pint of blood from my left arm.  A year ago, when I was in the hospital, I had a PICC line, which is a sort of two-headed hydra that sticks out of your upper arm.  In the hospital, they used it to take blood for tests, and to hook up my IV's.
  • Come to think of it, a PICC line is sort of like a USB port for your circulatory system, only it's non-electric and it snakes through your veins to just above your heart. 
  • Anyway, since I no longer have my PICC line, they had to jab me with a giant needle.  It really didn't hurt. 
  • Anyway, again, I sat there in the donation chair, which was like one of those chaise lounges  you see poolside, and I'd forgotten to bring my book.  Damn.  So, I read the Blood People's literature.  A pint of blood can help save three lives! Holy crap! It didn't say how.  I don't know if they're stingy with it, just doling out a cup here and a cup there, or whether they sell it for $30, and feed a bunch of starving people.  It doesn't matter, of course.  I felt somewhat good that I was helping save three people's lives.
  • I felt better about it since it got me away from work for a half hour.
  • Even better, because I was able to snag enough replenishing snacks and bottled water for Ann Marie and me to have lunch.
  • Best of all, for donating, I got a nifty stainless steel travel mug AND a coupon good for a free pound of Dunkin Donuts coffee.
  • Props to Dunkin Donuts for their donations.  Honestly, I didn't even know I'd get anything except a band-aid for donating, but that was very cool of them, especially in this economy.
  • PICC, btw, is for "Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter." They're used a lot in chemo patients, and those poor saps like me requiring lots of IV's.  They are truly godsends, making blood draws and med giving far simpler.  It was a little weird having this hydra sticking three inches out of my arm, knowing it ran through a couple feet of vein to my heart.  Just a little creepy. (non-gross diagram here)
  • Years ago, I wanted to give blood, but I was afraid, not of the needles or pain, but of what they would find.  I was scared my liver enzymes would show up through the ceiling.  Moreover, there was the risk of my blood catching fire back then.  Now, I know my bloodwork is clean. My liver is back to normal (miraculously), and a pint of my blood no longer requires a proof label and use only in those 21 and older with valid ID.
  • Also, after last year, I think more about stuff like this.  I didn't require any blood while I was in the hospital, but if I had, it would have been there because somebody bothered to donate.  I'm grateful to be here, and if a pint of my supercharged A-negative tom juice can help someone who needs it, it seems like the least I can do. 
  • Plus, I know the one-hoofed brunion would be proud of me, and that I'll effectuate the bo-shit out of some Dunkin Donuts coffee tomorrow morning.

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24 Responses to “Wednesday Mental Chex Mix”

  1. Years ago, I wanted to give blood, but I was afraid, not of the needles
    or pain, but of what they would find. I was scared my liver enzymes
    would show up through the ceiling. Moreover, there was the risk of my
    blood catching fire back then. Now, I know my bloodwork is clean. My
    liver is back to normal (miraculously), and a pint of my blood no
    longer requires a proof label and use only in those 21 and older with
    valid ID.Ha! Years ago I wanted to give blood, but was told I couldn't because I was taking prozac at the time. I said to the bloodmobile lady that if someone else got my blood, they'd never be depressed. She wasn't amused.I wonder if everyone who responds to this post shouldn't also announce his or her blood type, like in those anime fanzines. (Like anime characters have blood….I know, it's a Japanese thing.) Mine is A positive. And yes, I gave at the office last spring.

  2. Basically, if it didn't go into my veins in a needle, they didn't care what meds I took, other than a short list of weird things. So if you're A-positive, and I'm A-negative, that means our blood would disappear if it ever touched, right? And I was going to send you some. πŸ˜‰

  3. Awwww. I love you and the one-hoofed Brunion! I am quite sure that he and the Yeti are quite lonely …probably the last of their kind. (Read "Lamb" by Chris Moore. Your platelets save lives….your packed red blood cells save lives….and your plasma saves lives….that's 3….there may be more but I don't know 'em.Hey! A neg….that's a good one to donate! I have three kids…one is A pos, one is B pos and one is AB pos. I really should have had a fourth….O pos…but, I couldn't stand a fourth pregnancy. The nurses thought I was nuts when I ran down my youngest son's chart and found he was AB pos and did a "happy dance".My B pos daughter donates blood a lot. She's awesome! OY! If I don't get to bed soon I am going to be a One-hoofed Brunion at work tomorrow. Oy! Wish me luck! ::D

  4. My dad is AB negative. The blood bank calls him a few times a year. B-positive is a great blood type, for it's a complete sentence. A+ and A- are just phrases: "What A POSITIVE attitude, in A NEGATIVE world." The PICC line was teh ossm, because they could take blood and change IV's when I was asleep. Technically, anyway. And there was just the one prolonged owie when they installed them. Look out for brunion tracks in the snow, and have a great day slinging poo and playing with the centrifuge in your e-vil laboratory. (I used to get to centrfuge chicken blood to get the serum. YAY!)

  5. I do so love chex mix. Thanks, tom! And thanks for giving blood. They won't take mine, the bastages. I think my blood must be exceptionally fierce but they don't look at it that way.Don't they sell brunions at Outback Steakhouse?

  6. I'm sure your blood is exceptionally fierce, but it's also extraordinarily concentrated: just a few drops would suffice.

  7. Thank you. I need two pints of blood a couple years ago, to keep from going into a coma – it's people like you who keep people like me alive. πŸ™‚

  8. I'm pretty sure this dude I work with, Ted, is a one-hoofed brunion. I'm not positive, but I'll look into it.
    I don't know my blood type. Is that weird? I guess someone knows it, though, cuz I know I had to be given blood during my back surgery. Hope I got the right type…

  9. I love reading your Chex Mix posts! You are hilarious! And, I commend you for donating blood. Not everyone is comfortable with doing that. I've done it in the past, but have not in a while. I just may check it out soon.

  10. I'm just going to ignore the fun of the Mental Chex Mix and grouse about the fact that I'm not allowed to give blood. I was all set to donate platelets, but NO, because I lived in England in the 80's I'm too much of a Mad Cow risk. BAH!Enjoy your DD coffee whilst I wallow in my personal bitterness.

  11. Arrrrrh!I just spent 3.5 hours of a 2-hour meeting, discussing BLOOD – tubes for the drawing of, number of ml. needed (51) for analyses wanted done (many) and for storage in biobank (also many)… fractions stored – plasma, serum, cells for DNA extraction… what size tubes, what kinda caps on them – with o-rings? for better sealing?, what sorta labels and barcodes… how to get the BLOOD from somebody's arm through the centrifuge into all the different tubes and get them sorted and stored in a freezer – can be done in 2 hours… but requires lotsa attention… This was…. exhausting… I get home fire up the 'puter for some relaxing vox reads… and there's my favorite chex mix… but what's that??? OOOOOH no… more BLOOD!My name is Drude, I'm A pos (you really can't tell today) I don't donate anymore… not sure I've had any to spare since the cancer… I had a port-a-cath – very similar to your thingy, just mine was all under the skin so I still got punched holes in, but still, it spares the veins and you can plug things in for long periods.Your one-hoofed brunions remind me of an animal from the Alps… it's called the Dahu – at least in the region where I lived. The thing that's special about the Dahus is that they are truly adapted to the mountainous region where they live, so they have shorter legs on one side than on the other… which also means they can only go one way around a mountain… there are obviously two subspecies… the clockwise and the counterclockwise… There are books and learned articles on the topic… though they don't all agree on very much else than the difference in length of legs of the beast.

  12. Whoa, sounds like a looooong meeting. I hate hate hate meetings!Lol about the Dahu! It's not much stranger than any of the millions of awesome species the really have adapted to live in incredible places!

  13. oh dear… I write too much boring drivel when I'm tired… sorry about that peeps…

  14. Oh for cryin' out loud! There was nothing boring OR drivelly about any of what you wrote! It was chock full of interesting and relevant information! πŸ˜€

  15. Ya know what I read recently that really annoyed me? This line "It was colder than the coldest thing anyone could ever imagine."What a cop-out of a line.Pffffft.

  16. If you ever need some, and you suddenly start speaking in non sequitars and fart jokes, you might have gotten some of mine. πŸ˜‰

  17. The first time I donated blood (12th grade (actually, that's the only other time)), they gave me a card with my type: A-. This time, they didn't even ask. I think they now run so many tests on blood before it goes into the supply that that's where they type it. Check your friend's shoes: see if one has a hoof shape.

  18. When I was at FSU, there were places you could sell plasma for $15. My roommate did it a few times, and said it was mostly winos. I never quite got to that level. Good luck with your walks. Keep it up! πŸ™‚

  19. They did ask lots of questions about other countries, especially the UK and France. They also asked if I'd traded sex for drugs or money in the last year, or actually purchased sex with drugs or money. I kept cracking up, especially when they juxtaposed the risky sex questions with "Have you ever had a blood transfusion in France."

  20. The port-a-cath is pretty amazing, too. I guess they need it there because of the bigger vein? I don't know. Whatever the reason, it beats having them jab a vein every time they have to give you a new course of meds. I'm sorry I chose this particular post to write about blood donation. I forgot to check your agenda before I wrote it. lol

  21. awesome species Like the amazing jackalope. πŸ˜‰

  22. They leave the port-a-cath in for half to several years in chemo-patients… give in a round of chemo one week and then no use for two weeks – repeat. I imagine it would be riskier to have an open system directly into a vein for that long in a person with compromised immune system. My port was their prime suspect when I got sick.

  23. A friend of mine was just diagnosed with cancer, and one of the first things they did was put in a port for chemo. I'm glad you're my neighbor, Drude. You class up the joint. Thanks for sharing.

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