Saturday, Nov. 26, 2005
Dear Diary:

Santa factoids I learned on Friday:

1) Santa is a blood donor

2) Santa talks smack about mall Santas

Thursday afternoon I got a pleading call from Hema Qu�bec to please, please, puh-LEESE go to a blood donor clinic at a mall about 45 minutes from where I live. They are way, way below donor targets and the holiday season is approaching, a time when blood shortages are common.

The clinic would be open on Friday, so I promised that I would haul my aged carcass out there. Once there I filled out an incredibly detailed questionnaire about where I had travelled and with whom I'd had sex.

Man oh man, if you ever want to have your nose rubbed into the fact that you have lived The Most Boring Live Evah, just fill out a blood donor questionnaire.

Part one of said questionnaire finished, I plopped my buttal region on to an extremely uncomfortable plastic chair and awaited my turn in a cubicle with a nurse who would ask me even more detailed questions, check my blood pressure, and make sure that I wasn't anemic.

Imagine my surprise when Santa came in and sat down beside me. Yep, St. Nick himself. He said he was coming in a bit early before work to give blood. You know, the guy looks really good for his years�even up close he doesn't look a day over 55.

So we got talking about what it's like to be Santa because, frankly, I've never had much face time with the jolly old elf. You'll be pleased to know that Santa has never been puked on, but he has been peed on by an over-excited child. He has had the odd sceptic tug on his beard, which really, really hurt because Santa's beard is for real.

I made sympathetic clucking sounds. Imagine. A child so sceptical that they would tug Santa's beard.

I ask you, what kind of world do we live in?

The woman ahead of me was called in to the nurse. I would be next. Santa folded his hands over his lovely, round tummy. He leaned a bit towards me. From the look he shot me, I realized I was about to receive a Santa secret. Me. A Santa secret. You can well imagine how tingly I felt about that.

He mentioned a shopping mall about 20 minutes from the one we were in. He said that mall had an epically bad Santa. "How bad?" I asked, intrigued that Santa talked smack about mall Santas.

He leaned in closer.

The mall Santa, he said, was skinny.

Simultaneously, we widened our eyes and pursed our lips in mutual horror. Really, words were unnecessary.

Before I could get more dirt on the ersatz Santa, I was called to the nurse.

Rats.

When the nurse hit the part on my questionnaire where I checked that yes, I've had cancer, things came to an abrupt halt. Oh man. Had I driven 45 minutes and then sat for nearly half an hour on a hard plastic chair for nothing? The nurse consulted a rule book and found that people such as I who have had basal cell skin cancer can give blood if they haven't had a recurrence of the cancer. Whew.

But she warned me that next time I show up that might not be the case because the rules shift constantly as science changes. Oh dear.

Unfortunately, that was the last I got to talk to Santa. We did our bloodletting on different ends of the room and I bled faster than he did. I had my cookies and grape juice and was out of the room before he even got his snack.

You know, I love the fact that Santa is a nice enough guy to give blood but not such a goody two shoes that he can't talk a little smack. Wish we'd had more time. It would have been cool to know what he really thinks about the reindeer.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 1323.59 miles. blue ribbonDone. Now I can log me some of them there Road Runners, eh?


Goal for 2005: 1,250 miles - 2000 kilometers



Going Nowhere Collaboration

.:Comments (6 so far):.

Old Drivel - New Drivel


Subscribe with Bloglines


Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (6 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime


A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!


< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>


This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.