Blood Transfusions for Grandpa

So, my step-mother told me today just as I was hopping into my car from the community college that my grandpa Wayne was in the hospital.

Apparently he is super anemic and has to get blood transfusions over the next few days. My dad and Sharon went to go visit my grandpa and grandma in the hospital. I would have gone except I had a yoga final (that I totally rocked). So I am going on Friday, which is actually today about twenty-five minutes ago.

I went to the hospital once for a sick person visit, and that was for my mom when she got a viral and bacterial infection plus one or two bouts of pneumonia. It was a little scary because no one knew what was wrong with her, and the CDC still sends her letters asking if she has had any changes in her life because of her unknown illness, but she is still young, so I knew she was going to be fine after some serious medication.

My grandpa, though, will be eighty-nine on December thirteenth. He isn't someone I expect to bounce back from everything and anything. And considering how hospitals are basically Peatri Dishes for every single kind of medication resistant bacteria and virus, I don't want him hanging out there for four days.

I am just left waiting until he gets better though, which is the worst feeling in the world. I know I am usually more upbeat about things/life in general. Especially since the holidays are coming up. But this has kind of just put a giant downer on my mood. I am worried about him. He is just the most awesome person in the world. I don't want to think about the "what ifs," but anyone who knows me personally knows that I am literally going over every situation that could possibly happen in my head, good and bad.

I don't want to be depressing or anything though, for the world or for myself. So I am going to start seriously exercising again so I can make fake happiness with all those crazy exercise endorphins.

At least Sharon, who is in the medical field, can understand more of what the doctors are saying. She is keeping me in the loop. As of right now, my grandpa is feeling better after his first transfusion, and even ate all of his dinner. The doctors don't know what caused him to be so anemic though, so they are going to be running more tests on him. I hope that everything turns out okay, because I love Grandpa Wayne more than I can explain.

Maybe I will see about giving blood when I visit. I figure even if I am not a match for Grandpa, there is someone out there with their own Grandpa Wayne who needs it.

High Pitched Carolers Standing Behind Me with a Flute

Okay, I am literally, at this very moment, sitting in the lunchroom on my community college campus trying to read some other blogs that I enjoy greatly, and instead I am being horribly distracted.

Distracted by what, you ask?

These crazy ass people sitting behind me with a flute.

But let me begin the story from a half hour previous to this moment.

I went to get my usual lunch of a wrap filled with meat and cheese and mayo and a Simply Orange Juice. Then I made my was to an empty alcove filled with empty chairs. I felt safe in my empty haven, and happy I wouldn't have to make conversations with people I didn't know, and would certainly not be friending on Facebook later.

It all seemed well, as I was able to eat half my wrap and peruse the internet to my liking.

That was until this girl came out of nowhere with a guitar. And then two big black guys came over and started to play it and alternately serenade her, and then me. I smiled like the polite person I was, but I hoped they would just move to the alcove one space behind me and continue their love songs.

Instead, six other people came over, with one guy playing hackie-sack with a little skinny girl that dropped her phone four times. And then her friend in scrubs came over, which made the skinny girl with the butter fingers jump up and down and squeal loudly.

I tried to ignore them. And then some guy came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"Sorry about all this," he said smiling. I waved a hand in the air, like Don't worry, it's normal for people to collect around me in large, loud masses and serenade each other whilst playing hackie-sack and dropping their phones.

Because all of these things are totally normal.

Well after a few minutes of Butter-Fingers talking to Scrubs, everyone suddenly got up and stood behind me and thus began the guitar playing, flute blowing, high male voiced edition of christmas song caroling.

Which, once the guitar wielding girl left, has now become a mash-up of Aladdin songs, Carrie Underwood, and "Silent Night."

And they are making up their own lyrics to the "Twelve Days of Christmas."

It goes a little like this:

"Seven dudes rapping, six boxes of condoms, FIVE BAGS OF WEED, four BMW's, three dirty hoes, two fat bitches, and a blunt lit up for me!" 

Sung all by boys, in ridiculously high pitched voices. I guess I can't complain though. They don't actually sound all that bad.

Mr. Einstein

My mother and I went on a "Writing Retreat." This basically entailed renting a Kia Soul, driving to southern Missouri, and staying in a wonderful little wood cabin with a stone fireplace. We had three bottles of wine, a Rum-Runner bag of Honey Whiskey, several flavors of Kahlua, and our laptops. It was a remote enough location that there wasn't any internet or phone service to distract us.

But we did have one distraction, and that would be the bartender: Mr. Einstein.

His name was probably not Einstein, but he looked like him. And maybe a little Mark Twain-ish too. Like Mark Twain and Einstein had a baby that was really good at pouring wine and beer.

He was pretty awesome, forgetting what he had talked to us about, coming over to make conversation about books and writing. This was probably brought on because the man who owned the cabin-resort made sure that his whole family that was also staying in several different cabins knew we were there to write our asses off.

Knowing that we were trying to complete the National Novel Writing Month challenge didn't stop Mr. Einstein though.

On Friday, (the day after Thanksgiving), he came over to me while I was reading a book after feeling drained from the five thousand or so words I written earlier, and started telling me about he was so glad he was retired.

"The best thing about getting old is this, little lady," he began, tending the fire, "You can stay up all night reading a good book."

"Well, I am certainly not retired," I said, continuing the conversation, "But having responsibilities has never stopped me from staying up all night."

"Ah, well. You never had to work on the farm!"

"No, I didn't," I said, holding The Windup Girl in my lap.

"I am just telling you, it is just great how I can stay up all night reading a book. Most nights I am up until six o'clock in the morning, and then I am asleep until two in the afternoon!"

"Sounds like you are a college kid," I said with a laugh.

"Ah, well. Let me know if you girls need anything. I am the bartender you know!" I nodded and smiled. Mom was in the other room typing away, so she didn't even know about this conversation.

When Saturday night rolled around, and Mom and I decided to take another break from writing, we headed down to the dining hall and pulled out the Scrabble board to play a game. Mom was kicking my ass super hard when Mr. Einstein came over to chat some more.

"I have got to tell you," he began, "I just finished a book this morning. Stayed up until the sun came up, then retired for bed!"

"No way! Did you start it last night?" Mom gave me one of her What the fuck? smiles.

"That's right! But like I said, once you pick up a good book, you can't put it down. And the sunrise was just beautiful!" He smile and nodded, and Mom smiled back, giving me worried glances. "Anyways, I don't want to be too much of a bother. Can I bring you girls something?"

"Oh, I think I am good," I said, knowing dinner was in thirty minutes or so.

"I'm doing all right, too," Mom said. Mr. Einstein nodded, patted me on the shoulder and headed into the other room to see if anyone else needed anything. "What was that about?" Mom whispered loudly.

"Oh, we were talking last night," I said, not explaining anything, instead concentrating on the Scrabble board and my letters. I had five I's, a blank, an R, T and N.

"We didn't talk to him about books!"

"No, no. I talked to him." She looked horribly confused as I waved my hand around flippantly. "He came over last night and I chatted with him..."

"When?" It was her turn, but I was hoping to be ready for when she played. I shuffled my letters then answered her.

"After you went into the dining room so you could get internet?" I was confused about why she was so confused.

"Ooooooooooh. I thought he was going senile. I mean we had the same conversation with him twice, and then he starts up a conversation with you that doesn't make any sense. At least to me."

I laughed, "No, I knew what he was talking about." I explained about the retirement and staying up until sunrise.

"I guess we can still call him Mr. Einstein since he hasn't totally lost his marbles," Mom said, placing the coup d'etat of words on the board: HAZE going down on a triple word score, off a vertically placed ET. Fifty-five points that easily secured her winning in two more turns by a one hundred point lead.

She always has to beat me.

Some BIG Accomplishments

Okay, this post is going to be extra super short.

Firstly, I am fully committed to my new YouTube channel which now has three videos in my "Rules of Life" series!

Secondly, I broke 1000 page views yesterday! Mostly thanks to my wonderful mother and her magical powers of Tweeting. Never mind that she is the number one sex blogger in St. Louis and thus has many, many followers. (About 10% of them hit me up yesterday!)

Thirdly, I also broke 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo early this morning, (around 12:06 AM)!!!!!

I am feeling so incredibly accomplished right now. Like I am bathed in sunshiny glory. Even though it is dark outside and the only light in my apartment is coming from my Mac.

Still, I am feeling like a freaking king.

Here is a link to my YouTube channel!

Watch and enjoy my videotaped neuroticism!

And I also wanted to show this off!

My Impressive Badge!!!

The Evil Little Monster

My kitty, who I love, is an evil little monster. Not because she is actually an evil cat like I think most cats are, but she did bring evil into my studio. I don't mean she brought in a ghost, or bad karma, (taking her in from the harsh wilderness probably gave me good karma...). No... the evil little monster brought in worms.

Now I know animals are always licking their asses, but when she started licking her her ass like every ten minutes, I was a little grossed out.

"Cat," I said, even though she has a real name, "What are you doing with your butt?"

And she turned around to look at me like, I don't know! What am I doing with my butt?

"Cat!" I yelped at her, noticing something white and wiggly in her mouth. "What the hell is that!"

I don't know, human food bringer! What is it! She looked positively alarmed.

"Spit it out!" I squealed, jumping up on my bed as she padded towards me.

I can't! She telepathed, It is something good to eat!

And she slurped it into her little triangular head like a piece of spaghetti. Only it wasn't spaghetti; and it certainly wasn't like the iconic scene from "Lady and the Tramp."

I grabbed my phone and called the Humane Society, asking for an appointment to get her dewormed for the second time.

"Well," the lady on the phone said, "You can just bring in her stool and we can test it if you think she has worms."

"Uh... she has worms," I deadpanned. "She just slurped one up like a wiggling spaghetti noodle."

"Oh... well you still need to bring in the stool so that we can make sure you get the right dewormer."

"I can't just get an all-around kills-everything dewormer?" I felt panicked thinking about her belly all gross and distended and packed full of creepy-crawly-wigglers.

"Nope." I think at that point I stared angrily at my phone. Damned cat. I put down some fresh food for the cat, knowing she liked to eat and then poop. I watched her like a hawk, and she looked worried.

Finally, after an hour, she went and made a stinking gross poop that I scooped into a ziplock bag. I pulled on my shoes and left for the Humane Society and handed them the bag for "testing."

After going to school and coming back home, I waited by the phone for a call saying I could pick up her dewormer. The next morning at around eight, I got the blessed call. They were giving me two syringes full of yellow, banana smelling dewormer. I drove back into the city to pick it up, paid the nineteen dollars, and came home.

I coaxed the kitty to hop up in the counter with some tasty treats.

"Good kitty," I said, scratching under her chin like she likes. She did a full happy stretch up, and I pried her mouth open, shooting the yellow goop at the back of her throat and clamping her jaws shut. "Swallow it!" I growled, not allowing her to spit it out at like she did at the vet's office. She finally did, and then scampered off the counter and under the futon.

She tried to get back in my good graces, but I was still grossed out by her. When she tried brushing up against my legs I scooted around her like a poisonous cobra. I vacuumed everywhere, and scared her away from my bed. By the second week, I was slowly warming up to the little infested creature, petting her but constantly washing my hands, and almost every surface she touched. The litter box was cleaned almost as soon as she used it.

I patiently waited the two weeks until I could inoculate her again, and by that time I had won back her trust fully. I told her to get on the counter again, which had been scrubbed with bleach water and lysol almost every day. She looked so happy until I shot more banana goo in her mouth.

She didn't scamper off under the futon the second time though, instead giving me a mean look as she sauntered past the washing machine.

"Don't go eating dead things full of worms, you ninny," I said, trying to explain how disgusting that was.

I can't help myself, she seemed to say, flicking her tail at me.

Well, at least it was too cold for her to want to go outside for a while. She couldn't get worms if I kept her away from all the dead animals and fed her non-wormy food. I would be okay for a least a season.

Old Asian Dude

So, I went to Shesha's Halloween party on Wednesday night. And I was looking pretty damn fine if I do say so myself. Because I was. Mom had lent me one of her lace up corsets, that Ambria laced very tight, and this double skirt tutu. I also donned a wonderful little ballerina bun. So, yeah I pretty much thought I was looking pretty damn hot.

I guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise that I was hit on. But considering that it was a lot of people I work with, I was mostly laughing of their obvious flirting. It's not too hard to brush off guys I have known for years.

I had brought with me Ambria, Darrious and Paris. But because Darrious and Paris needed to catch the train, I had to leave halfway through the party and come back later.

So when I went and dropped them off, and then came back about a half hour later, the party went from people I mostly knew to a hell of a lot of people I most certainly didn't know. Everyone was still cool. And while there was the half of the party that was getting really high, and the other half was getting really drunk, I was the designated driver, and thus only had a few drinks, that in the end didn't even give me a buzz.

I ended up doing a lot of people watching. BBJ (Big Booty Judy) got really upset twice while  I was there. Honestly, the first time I had no idea what was wrong with her. She just ended up in a bedroom crying and saying incoherent things. The second time was because Brian who we work with, ended up making out with one of her friends that she had brought along. I guess the second crying fest was more logical to me, except that she is most definitely not going out with Brian, so... I don't know what the big deal was.

Chrys brought a bunch of his gay friends, or as Shesha said, "The whole gay community," and that made a lot of people who were uncomfortable around gay people leave. Of course, I was like, "HI! You won't hit on me, so we are totes chill." It's why I have a lot of gay guy friends.

Nick, who I also work with, puked all over the kitchen, and I saw the whole thing. I even giggled because I have never gotten sick and puked all over like that. For that I am proud.

At some point after Nick's puking episode and before BBJ had her crying fit, this asian dude dress as Psy started talking to Ambria and I. I may have mentioned this before, but I am not good at talking to new people. Like genetically, I am not predispositioned to do well at parties sober.

Ambria did all the talking basically, because she is a beast and can make friends with anyone or anything. I smile and added to conversations where I thought I was needed, but there were plenty of just awkward silences. He offered to take us to the diner up the road, and I was like, "Ah ha ha, no, we can't."

He didn't seem to understand. "We have school in the morning, you know."

"Oh, I graduated like 6 years ago."

"From... college?" I asked. I had no idea how old he was.

Apparently he was 31. I was like, "Oh, we graduated high school like two and a half years ago. Dub ten." I thought that would deter him.

Nope. As the clock rolls around to two AM, his asks me for my number. And on one hand, I am flattered. But I don't need a fancyman. Sorry, but I am fancy enough as is.

Of course, I was thrown through such a loop that I didn't know what to do but program a number into his phone.

And then Ambria and I practically ran out of there, so when he called the number he wouldn't be able to catch me and say, "Oh you put it in wrong."

Maybe I am a horrible person, but... He didn't give me a chance! I am too polite.