Blood Bitch

I'm waiting for K to come home from class so we can go over to my grandmother's and weed her garden. It's a beautiful day, and I'm looking forward to getting outside, although I'm a little tired now. I went for my quarterly bloodletting this morning at the Red Cross. I warned the plebotomist that my veins are hard to find well, because, I like to be helpful and I like to avoid unnecessary resticking.

"I don't think they're hard to find," she grumbled, pressing on the crook of my elbow. "They're just deep, and some people don't like to go in and find the deep veins."

I mistakingly took her cockiness for ambition and was glad she was up to the challenge. A moment later, she stuck the needle in, and I felt the most excruciating pain ever. Determined not to scare the other donors off, I made a face and softly whispered "ouch."

"Your vein rolled," she observed, digging around in my arm with the needle and causing me even greater distress. "You tensed up and the vein moved."

Well, gee, I'm sorry if I didn't sit like a freaking stone during the worst stick of my life. And the nerve of her to blame it on me. Unfortunately, these sort of know-it-all plebotomists are in no short supply at my donor center. Once I watched someone mess up a guy's stick so bad he couldn't donate at all that day. And then she blamed her poor stick on him. He vowed never to come back, and I don't blame him.

Of course, I will go back, because we all have are pet causes, and blood happens to be one of mine. Next time, I will be on the lookout for scowling, cocky blood bitches. And if they stick me so cavalierly again, I will howl loud enough to scare the entire waiting room away.

I went on the Avenue afterward and got a few birthday cards and a new pair of running shoes. I usually buy last year's New Balance model on sale at JCPenney or whatever, but this time I wanted to buy an actual pair of running shoes because I've stuck with it for a year and now I can call myself a "runner" without feeling like a phony. Apparently part of this prize is the priviledge of plunking down $100 for a pair of shoes that probably will feel the same a pair of crosstrainers. Remember the old running shoes, the Tigers that Phil Knight used to sell before he started Nike? They looked like a banana peel with shoelaces. How on earth did those stave off shin splints?

I finally downloaded last year's release by Sonic Youth, Sonic Nurse. I'd kind of weaned myself off of them, particularly since the period of suckiness spanning Experimental Jet Set through NYC. Sonic Nurse sounds like the child of 2003's surprisingly mellow Murray Street and the low-key Sister. In other words, it's okay in my book.

Tonight we have to put up our deck lights for the party next week. I'm really looking forward to it, but I'm nervous we'll run out of food or alcohol or that there'll be too many people for everyone to relax comfortably. Plus, since I'll turn 34 next week, another half hour will inexplicably be shaved from my bedtime and I'll begin to feel tired to 9:30 instead of the incredibly early 10:00 pm. Pretty soon I'll be going to bed the same time as my grandmother, at 8:00!