Blood bag

I donated blood today. For the first time.

It was a really fun experience. I've always been fascinated whenever getting blood work tested at the doctor's office but this was on a much grander scale. I got to watch the pint bag fill. It was awesome and, I might be sick for this, but I really wanted to hold the bag. I decided it better not to ask.

The phlebotomist spoke with a really thick French accent, I think he may have been from Haiti. He saw my name and told me it should be pronounced "gem" with a soft g ... kind of sounds like "ssshhhjjeemmm" because it is French (j'aime) for "I love." That it is. I could have hugged him. He's the first person outside of my parents and my high school French teacher to know that. Everyone else just assumes it's pronounced "Himay." That's California for you though.

The phlebotomist was also very impressed with my vein. Apparently mine is big and bulging and very easy to prick. I didn't even feel the needle go in my arm, even though I watched it. I said "you done good." and he responded in his thick French/Haitian accent "your big, beautiful vein makes my job easy." I didn't know whether to blush or say thank you. So I did both and laughed.

I was mesmerized by the long tube, filled with my blood. Even more amazed at how quickly my heart pumped my blood along and filled the bag. I had a pint stored away and sealed up in under 10 minutes.

It made me feel important and helpful. It was nice to know I am good at giving blood. Finally, something I can walk into a room and say "oh, don't worry. I've got this."

And the best part of this whole experience? Aside from the awesome employees and the sweet man that served me pineapple juice and snacks when I was done? In less than two months I'll have a donor card with my blood type on it.

I've been dying to know.

Full disclosure

I'm just putting this out there ... I've been irritable lately. If you find yourself asking "wow, you Jaime? That's so unlike you," then you'll soon find me asking "what planet have you been on? Obviously not Earth."

So yeah. If you haven't noticed my grumpiness then you don't pay enough attention to me. I'm not saying you should change that, I'm just stating it as a fact.

For those that have noticed, please know that I am sorry. I may be PMSing, but I really wouldn't know since I haven't had a lady cycle since I had my Implanon implant inserted. I use the cycle of the moon as my new gauge. It's probably not that accurate, but I need something to blame it on.

The grumpiness is probably also stemming from being poor, paying car insurance on three cars, and having a foster dog that gets rejected from every potential home before she can make her sweet impression on them. It's so frustrating and isn't helping my emotional stress levels. I know her new home is out there. I just wish it would come along soon so that she can spend her last years happy and secure in her own place with her own people. Although I'm sure we're suitable stand-ins for the time being. At least she puts a smile on our faces. The 3rd car and feeble bank account don't really do much for us.

Nap time. Gotta try to sleep off the grump.

Apparently ...

I don't normally hash out my spousal complaints in a blog because I don't want to come across as a woman who doesn't appreciate what she has in her mate. I know very well how good I've got it with Neil. But tonight I'm in a mood. And I'm allowed to have moments like this.

Apparently it is selfish of me to want to watch movies with my husband on a Saturday night. My crime? Two chick flicks in a row (the first of which he didn't even pay attention to, so how does that count as watching it with me?). I guess if I had suggested we watch Taxi Driver or Full Metal Jacket, he would have cuddled up next to me on the couch and all would be right with the his world.

As I leave to lock myself in our bedroom he says "you're not punishing me, you know."

Petty though it may be, some days I'm just not equipped to deal with this.

Anyway. At least now I can get some reading in.

P.S. I love blogs. The ventilation is great.

P.S.S. When locking yourself in a room in the house, make sure it's the one with the attached bathroom. That worked out well.

P.P.S.S. When locking yourself in the bedroom, make sure to take proper hydration with you. Drat!

A Quandry

So ... after all that talk about Neil's dad buying the Saab from us they decided they can't afford to have three cars right now and brought it back up for us to sell ourselves. Now we have three cars and we don't know which one to sell. Based on the following, which one would you keep?

• The Honda is cheaper to fix
• The Honda is more reliable most of the time but is definitely getting older and having issues
• The Saab is older and has issues too
• The Honda has more miles than the saab
• The Saab has a brand new suspension
• The Saab has brand new tires
• The Honda needs new tires
• The Saab is a lot safer and more comfortable than the Honda
• The Honda will get us about twice as much money if we sell it which we can keep in a savings  
  account for any repairs the Saab may need down the road.
• The Saab is easy to change the oil in and Neil can do it himself
• Neil loves the Saab so the Saturn would then be my car.
• If we kept the Saab, we would have two leather cars which means no more getting shocked on the
  fabric upholstery
• The Honda is a Honda.
• The Saab is a Saab.

Oh, the dilemma. 

Safety First

You may find yourself asking why have I begun baby proofing my kitchen. You may stare with curiosity at the plastic bubbles adorning the knobs on my gas oven.

Could it be? Could the impossible have happened? Could a little England be on the way?
All signs point to "it seems so."

As it turns out, we're not expecting a bundle of "joy" because it's already here, in the form of a 3-year-old Great Dane. A pretty big puppy with an apparent penchant for arson.

I came home from a long day of work one day to find the kitchen about 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the house. How odd. Why? Is the a.c. vent clogged?

No. The gas burner was on. High.

Who knows how long that 5-inch flame was threatening the lives of my animals and the structural integrity of my house. It had to have been on a while since the tea kettle on the next burner over had hot water in it and the underside of the cabinets were too hot to touch.

But I saw that flame, rushed to turn it off, and promptly fell on the floor in tears. Horrible thoughts running through my head: "What if something had been on the stove that day?" "What if the burner hadn't lit and gas had filled the house, waiting for the refrigerator compressor to kick on."

Life is full of what-ifs. So I'm going to give credit where credit is due and thank God for saving my house, my animals and my life. And I'm going to enjoy these safety knobs on my oven that keep my pyromaniac dog at bay. Now, if I could just keep her away from the bananas on the counter.

New blog design

and I'm not sure if I like it. May have to look for another if it doesn't grow on me soon.

edit:
Ok, I hated the formatting of the new one way too much, so I opted to stick with the same structure and switch out the background. Plus, this one has peonies on it, and I l-o-v-e peonies.

Free falling apart

It's official. I've started the aging process. Here's how I know:

1. A wrinkle in time: About a week ago I noticed my first wrinkle — a crease around one side of my mouth. Neil called it a "laugh line." I didn't find it funny.
 
2. Aches and pains: My hip now hurts after prolonged sleep. Which means I may be one of those early-rising golden girls sooner than desired.

3. Creepy crawlies: Yesterday, while inspecting the spider veins that have slowly begun creeping up my legs, I happened to look behind the back of my knees (for apparently the first time ever.) I almost screamed. The veins are dark, puffy and atrocious and I'm sure they'll go vericose on me in the next 5-10 years. Thanks, Dad. I asked Neil "have you ever noticed the back of my knees before?" He says "oh, you mean the veins?" Uh, yeah. By the way, I have several size 6-8 shorts and skirts I will now be giving away, if anyone is interested.

Still, this is surprising. I think it's because I don't feel accomplished. Making pennies at my job and no kid. Age isn't supposed to set in until those things are taken care of.

Wait.

It doesn't work that way?

Crap.

.....................................................................................................................
I just hope I can somehow manage to handle aging with grace. I look at my old foster basset with pity, but in her I see my eminent future. And there is nothing graceful about an old basset hound. So I guess I have no choice but to keep working on those "laugh lines."

Perfect is subjective

On the Rachael Ray show there was a woman talking about the needs of her upcoming wedding, despite being $10k over budget. "I want it to be elegant. I want what I want. I only get one wedding and I've been dreaming of this day my entire life."

Why do women put so much emphasis on one single day in the rest of their lives? I see so many brides planning their weddings while on the verge of vomiting from the stress. A friend of mine actually spent the week after her wedding in a sleep coma because her body couldn't handle the burden being lifted after its yearlong stay on her shoulders.

Not to mention, all this emphasis on the details of the wedding ... the material things ... takes the focus from the true reason for the day: you, and the person standing across from you at the altar/podium/arch/whatever. The second you put more importance on the color of the table linens, you've established your investment in the relationship you're committing to. Some may think this statement is a bit overboard on my part, but I find the wedding day to be a metaphor to the future.

The way you react to your wedding and the expectations you have of it reveal your true character. We had a small wedding of 60 people. About an hour shy of the end of the reception, our DJ's primary job had a crisis he had to attend to so he packed up. We saw this as an opportunity to call the reception quits early so we could get out to Bonaventure cemetery before it closed at 5pm. Yes, I went to a cemetery on my wedding day. I wanted a chance to visit my grandma at the family plot. We even took along two of the white kalanchoes in silver buckets that had graced the tables of the reception. The second we walked out the door of the reception, the rain started pouring (as it tends to do in the South). But we headed out to the cemetery and left the plants with Grandma ... at a cemetery ... in the pouring rain ... in my white dress ... and it couldn't have been more perfect. To me.

Flexibility, compromise, adaptation ... all of these are necessary in a marriage. Which is why I cringe when I hear a bride say "I want my day to be perfect." Because nothing is perfect, and accepting that is crucial to a happy life.