BLOOD-SOAKED NURSES FROM HELL!!!

So I went in for my "blood work" this morning.

Get there right at 8 a.m. and sign in.

By 8:10, I STILL hadn't even had my presence acknowledged. There was a girl there...white girl ... with her hair in cornrows. You know...on some women that look is pretty hot. But on most women it looks pretty damned stupid.

This girl looked like she was as dumb as a brick. Her hair was about as long as mine and she had the gall to put it in cornrows. Had they been professionally done, that'd be one thing. But she just looked like she woke up outta bed late and started tying her hair into sloppy knots.

If I had to pick a hairstyle that I absolutely ABHOR on women...it'd be a toss-up between cornrows on a short-haired girl and those goofy balls on either side of the head that Princess Leia or Bjork does. My God. When I see teenage girls turn their hair into big balls on their heads, I have one opinion..."You, my dear, are a flaming jackass."

Anyway.

So this gal finally gets up and calls my name.

I jump up and run over to the window like a trained puppy.

She takes me back in the back, asks me to sit down, show her my insurance card, ask me my phone number and then tells me to go back out in the waiting room and wait.

Great.

Fine.

So I go sit and wait and watch the Today Show. I saw Magic Johnson on there. My God. The guy's the size of a regulated tugboat now. His arms look like fifth graders hanging off his shoulders.

Finally, I get called back for the actual BLOOD WORK!

This lady checks my arms, thumping on the crook of my elbow which is something I HATE. I can't explain why...I just don't like anything touching me there. I'm sensitive in the crook of my elbow.

"I can't find a vein here," she says.

"Oh, you're looking for a vein?" I shoulda said. "I moved them all to my other arm. Ah ha ha ha ha ha!"

...But I didn't.

So then, she gets ready to stick me. But FIRST, she has the insatiable desire to tell me "You're going to feel a little sting..."

Ummmmm...I think we've covered this before...but I'm 39 years old.

A young looking 39. But you wouldn't confuse me for a teenager. I don't get carded. I'm kinda like the Daily Show's Jon Stewart. We're a few months apart as far as birthdays...and we both probably look younger than we are.

I have HAD a needle jabbed in my arm before. My baby...just turned a year old...he's probably had eight needles jabbed in his body over the course of the last year.

Yes lady...I KNOW what getting a needle in the arm feels like. This isn't like you're feeding me a boiled pig testicle and saying "You're going to get this wave of nausea just as you bite down on this juicy testicle."

I KNOW. I KNOW. I KNOW.

There's little sense in making it any worse for me.

"You're going to feel a little sting, followed by an overwhelming urge to punch me hard in the face as I slide this jagged needle under your skin."

I KNOW. I KNOW. I KNOW.

So she jabs me. And as is my customary response, I stare off in the distance, not flinching. Not fainting. Not going "Oh he'p me Lawdy...I be feelin' mighty faint!"

I take it like a man.

Except ... this seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time.

I don't say anything. When I have a needle in my arm, the last thing I want to do is piss the person off holding the needle. Finally, she speaks up.

"It's coming out real slow," she assesses.

Hmmmm.

Maybe she accidently punctured the Heinz ketchup packet that I had hidden up my sleeve. I'm not sure what the deal is, but I don't like it.

There's one thing that I dread when getting sticked. And that is...having the person screw it up and have to do it all over again.

This has happened to me a few times. There's nothing that can completely prepare you for the event of having to have the needle jabbed TWICE into your arm. Sure...jabbing at your genitals repeatedly with a fork may do the trick. Seeing how far you can cram toothpicks into your eyes is another trick.

But having to be stuck twice when you had to psyche yourself up for a week for just one stick...well damn...that's mentally scarring to a guy.

Just as the tears begin rolling down my fat face, the blood starts flowing.

I leave happy.

A pint low on plasma...but feeling good.

And now I'm at work.

That is all.