and then i almost passed out...

I could not finish donating blood this morning, as I nearly face-planted. I'd guffawed and p'shawed over the idea of doing so, but on the 8th vial, something in my bum twitched and wriggled up my spine in a wave of heart-racing panic. The voices attending me turned into angry wasps in a jar* and I started craving Swiss Chalet ribs. For some reason, I felt like Adam Sandler must've felt the first time his 'DOOBIE-DOOBY-DOOBIE' joke fell flat. Like The World started to fish-lens and retreat with frightening, deflating rapidity. It was awesome, and not in the biblical sense. The only real drawback was the registered concern on the faces of my friend and her lab technician. I didn't have too much time to worry about their worry though, as apparently the last cogent thought I could possibly have while teetering on the precipice of what basically felt like my assured and gloryless demise, was not an impromptu death-poem comparing cherry-flesh to our cerulean hive, but about an interesting blog idea. So watch out my fellow blogheads, it could happen to you... your death rattle might not be the whispered safety deposit box number to your grandchild, but a blogger.com password. I don't really have too much more to say about the experience other than that the next time I give blood, I'm going to tape that bum-twitch down beforehand.

(* - a phrase I liked from a book I'm reading. I won't say which one, as that's the subject of tomorrow's post... I was feeling faint for quite some time.)


Please keep in mind that the following blog idea was induced by shortage of blood to the head. Thank you.

More than a blind-date: it's full-on senseless

I am so very happy being with the person I know. I'd wade further into that thought, but I'm a little reluctant to share any of my privileges here. All I will do is repeat myself: she is my apples and sunshine, her smile her greatest wound. Now, while I see its virtues, I do not want to date anyone else.. but I am curious about the process. I read dating stories avidly ('date' is such a dry fig-ure of speech. Sorry, I'll prune my puns down and only use the plum ones), believe dating is crucial and laugh in the face of monogamy. Well, morelike behind its back. Actually, no, I have much respect for it and she won't let me say otherwise. Er, where was I... compound misery... monogamy... dried fruit... oh yes, the idea! I'm going to have a blind-date right here, right now.

In Italics!!

GO!

S'Mat: Hello. Are you Deborah?

Deborah: Yes. And you must be S'Mat!

S'Mat: Affirmative.

Deborah: And who might that be?

S'Mat: My attorney. Please be advised this operation in socio-amourous intercourse is being recorded.

Deborah: Are you sure? Because it looks like a dog.

S'Mat: Mr. Spazazoid says I do not have to answer that question.

Deborah: Ha! Is there a camera hidden somewhere around here?

S'Mat: HA HA. No, of course not. Why? Can you see it from there? Now, would you like to join me in my enjoyment of a scotch. You have some catching up to do. Please select a cheap one. Blended malt only.

Deborah: No thank you, I'm driving.

S'Mat: Me too. Check out my wheels across the street there.

Deborah: The Buick?

S'Mat: Shit, this really is blind-date. NO! Not the Buick, next to it.. the Segway..

Deborah: Ahem. Oh yes, very nice.

S'Mat: If you and I make it, a guy I know in Wisconsin could make us a sidecar..

Deborah: Ahhh. I see.. well, Segways make me nauseous.

S'Mat: We'll paint it puce. Now I hope you don't mind, but I prepared some questions.

Deborah: Oh good, me too. They're pretty silly, you know, to lighten the mood. These things can be so awkward.. My friend once set me up with this backwoods firefighter. We met at 'Friscos, the karaoke bar down on...

S'Mat: Cottage cheese or chocolate?

Deborah: Er, what?

S'Mat: Hmm. 'Er, what' sounds like someone answering 'chocolate' with a mouthful of cottage cheese. Could you possibly refine your answer?

Deborah: Do you know where the exi.., I mean, washroom is?

S'Mat: Is that your ques.. oh wait.. I see.. er, I'm sorry, I must be being rude.. I should've told you, I have Aspergers..

Deborah: Oh? Oh.. I'm sorry to hear this. Um, ok, well.. er, chocolate. My turn! What superpower would you have, if you could, and why?

S'Mat: Good question! Either a limitless collagen-injection system built into my index finger so I can help the hungry be fat OR the ability for others to see what I say with subtitles, you know, in case I'm snorkeling.

Deborah: Out of all the potential superpowers?

S'Mat: Oh. Wow. Ok, I thought they necessarily had to be powers that weren't already taken, for litigation purposes. Because Mr. Spazazoid says Spiderman's got a real bitch of a legal firm behind him.

Deborah: No. This is imaginary though, so..

S'Mat: Ah.. Well, in that case, I'd choose to either be able to talk to animals OR be Superman, because what's better than Super?

Deborah: But you can already talk to animals, do you mean understand them when they talk back? Also, Ultra's better.. and there's also Supremo, or Turbo or even Superlative?

S'Mat: Super IS Superlative, just with a silent -lative. You do however have a point about being able to understand the animals as well, that'd have its uses.

Deborah: Er. You're only allowed one answer.

S'Mat: Ok, then Ghostrider, as he's licensed. How about you?

Deborah: I'd like to move objects with my mind.

S'Mat: Good for you. Ok. MY TURN! If a pair of pants were to become alive and self-aware and stuff, do you think that he, or she, would wear pants?

Deborah: Yes.

S'Mat: Correct.

Deborah: Do your dreams, you know, as in your real-life aspirations, correspond with your dreams when asleep?

S'Mat: Yes. Except in real-life her publicist always tells me that she says 'No'. 'Barbara's simply too busy,' she claims.

Deborah: Hmm. Barbara, as in, Streisand?

S'Mat: As in Bush. I personally think it's a load of bologny, but no, apparently the Betty Ford clinic won't..

Deborah: Yes, yes.. Ok then. My dreams are simple.. a world governing body dedicated explicitly towards bio-medical ethical regulation.

S'Mat: Yes. I'm cool with bionic people. They've had a pretty rough time, you know, maligned by people who just don't *get* them. I get them because I listen to Euro-trance.

Deborah: Well, the idea behind this would is a little different.. it'd be LIKE the UN but..

S'Mat: That's been done already. MY TURN! Cowboy or a pirate?

Deborah: A genteel pirate?

S'Mat: Or Jewish, whatever..

Deborah: Er, I meant as in civil, courteous, well-mannered, gracious, gallant.. you know.. friendly!

S'Mat: Ah yes. Because friendly people ransack ships laden with treasure all the time.. You can't possibly be a NICE pirate, that's just stupid. HAHA 'Would you mind awfully if I set fire to you now?' HAHAHA

Deborah: You are an asshole.

S'Mat: So you're saying that if you were a cowboy, you'd like me?

Deborah: I think we should end this so-called date right here, right now.

S'Mat: Me too. We do share a few things in common, such as the compulsive need to use the interjection 'you know' and we both like wearing shoes. I'll tally up the scores, though it's strikingly apparent that I won, and then get back to you shall I?

Deborah: Don't. I'm going home to blog now. In it I will be reappraising my friendship with Rachel for setting this whole thing up, that snake.

S'Mat: Oh yes, I remember Rachel. Did she ever find the right glue solvent?

Deborah: Get a life, lose bag. And get your attorney flea-dipped. [Storms out]

S'Mat: AND I DON'T REALLY HAVE ASPERGERS! Hmm. That's right Mr. Spazazoid, I smell libel case too!

Ok. I am no longer curious about the dating life. However, come to think of it, if the A&S ever reads this, I might have a new, slightly more-true installment for you...