I give life.

I periodically donate blood and it is always a rewarding but basically uneventful experience. It takes all of about 30 minutes and nothing very exciting ever happens, and for that I am thankful to be very honest. The blood bank will typically have a volunteer there to help you with your treat of juice and cookies after your donation is complete. It is always a very awkward exchange because you sit down in an area that is about 3x3 and the water, juice and cookies are all right there. However, it is the job of the volunteer to walk the 2.7 ft to the water cooler to get your beverage. I always feel so silly being waiting on in that setting. I mean, it is not like I have to run up a hill or battle a dragon before I can get my water. I was able to walk the 15 feet from the donation chair to the "canteen" as they call it. For God's sake, I can walk the two more and get a glass of OJ! But I digress.

Nearly every time I have donated, the volunteer has been an elderly lady named Dolores. She talks (pretty much for the entire 10-minute required waiting period to make sure I don't pass out or something) in a low, mumbly voice. Though it may seem rude, I have found that asking her to repeat what she says does not really change her volume or diction, so I basically smile and nod and try to laugh when she does at her own jokes.

At my last donation, it was not Dolores but a bubbly teenager who quite quickly reaffirmed the fact that I am getting old. During my donation I watched her sing...and kind of dance along to the new Rihanna song, "Umbrella." (Hey, I guess I can't be that old. I did not even have to Google that song title...that's right, I like the funky jams.) As I made my way over to the table she greeted me with a smile full of braces. Oh Lord.

She asked me what I would like to drink and brought me my water. She then sat at the table I was at and just stared at me, smiling. "Thank you." I said. (Wow, that is quite a smile she has there. Uncomfortable...)

"So how are you doing today?"

"Really well, thanks."

"Do you come here a lot?" (To the blood bank? Yeah, totally, it is awesome here!)

"Well, not recently. My iron levels have been too low so I have not been able to donate but I have been taking iron supplements so..." (why the hell am I telling her all this!?!? Ok...now there is awkward silence...why is she still staring at me...)

"Hee-hee...well I am really glad you got that taken care of!" (and hair flip, hair flip)

We had a few more uncomfortable exchanges and then the kicker. I asked, "So, have you ever participated in a blood drive at your high school?"

"Well, I mean, we have had them and stuff but I have never done it because, like, you know how you have to be like 17? Well, you also have to weigh 110 lbs...and I am neither so...hee-hee!"

"Riiight." (I don't remember when I weighed 110 lbs but whatever!)

"And I mean, next year I will be 17 but like, I just don't think that there will be anyway that I can gain 5 pounds between now and then!"

Ok, you know what, honey? I would be willing to bet that these Nutter Butters I am eating right now are probably going to pack on an extra 5 lbs. In fact, just looking at them is probably going to make me gain 5 lbs! And you know what else, lets not even talk about the Pecan Sandies that I am eyeing over there that I probably won't eat right now, but lets face, will take for the road. I gave life today!

Alright, so maybe I am overreacting a little. I know, I am not old. I will say that it is quickly becoming very apparent that people in high school are a lot younger than me now. I don't remember when I reached the point where I no longer felt like I could still identify with them in some way.

But there is still that high school girl in me somewhere. After donating, I went to buy myself a pair of running shoes (See aforementioned Nutter Butters) and I went with the light blue ones, not because they will support my feet and ankles, but because they will look cute with my new running outfit. Some may call me juvenile, but I say that is just good fashion.

Pure Joy.

I had some of the best company on my vacation.

Kids these days.

At dinner tonight there was a table kitty-corner from ours that was a party of six girls. If I had to guess they were probably 14-ish. I could be off by a year or two but I can say pretty confidently that the only way those girls got themselves to the restaurant was via parental escort or public transportation. They were all dolled up in an attempt to look a lot older then they actually are even though three of the six girls had braces and I think one had ordered apple juice as her beverage.

All of their outfits made me think of how my father must have felt when I was fourteen and trying to leave the house. One young lady clearly had a sweater on when she left her house, but once out of sight of her parents, quickly removed and shoved it in her purse not to be worn again until returning home. She was wearing a strapless black dress and red bra. Yes, I said strapless and yes, I said bra. Classy.

All six girls had cell phones which they spent approximately 78% of dinner talking on, texting boys, talking pictures of each other or just looking at the shiny buttons. But I think what truly aged these girls was their menu selections as three of the girls ordered french fries...for dinner. Enjoy it while it lasts, ladies.

Welcome home...

There are a variety of reasons why coming home from vacation sucks. Lucky for us, Grant and I came home to a clean house. I am still not sure how this happened but I am pretty sure gnomes were somehow involved. Even more miraculous, we unpacked within an hour of being home instead of next week, or next Christmas, like we usually seem to do.

One of my favorite activities on this vacation was to go for walks at whatever time of the day I wanted. My walks were not dictated but pesky alarm clocks or work hours. One thing Grant said to me on one of our daily walks was, "Everyone says 'hello' here." It was true; we never passed a fellow vacationer and/or retiree without hearing a friendly greeting of some kind.

So I my walk today I guess I expected the same treatment from passers-by. Well we all know what happens when one assumes. Not a single person that I passed in this quaint and pleasant little town of my mine said so much as hello to me. Vacation is officially over.

I are smart.

Someone I work with has a daughter that is going to Yale. When I hear things like this I wonder if maybe I was aiming low when I applied (and later was accepted) to Sacramento State. Did I really try? Should I have gone for something more impressive on paper just to say I did it?

As my co-worker talked about Yale, I sort of tuned her out a bit and these thoughts crossed my mind again today like they have million times before...

Yale.....I wonder if I had tried if I could have gotten into Yale....well maybe not Yale...maybe Cal at least....or maybe UCLA...sigh....where is Yale? Seriously...I have no idea, what the hell is wrong with me. Well, I can't ask her! What will she think? She is standing in front of my desk...I can make it look like I am working when in fact I am googling "where is Yale." That's right Heather, just keep smiling...just keep nodding....Connecticut! Excellent....

"Wow, so Connecticut is going to get pretty cold, huh!"

Good save...

Yeah, I think Sac State was a good choice. I don't think my interviews with the staunchy Yale guy would have gone over very well:

Staunchy Yale Man: And do you have any questions for us Miss Andersen?
Me: Um, yes actually...where are you located?

Numero dos.

I have officially started blog number two which can be found here for your reading enjoyment.

Why, you ask? Beacuse food is tasty and I would love to tell you all about it.

Enjoy!

One more of our silly conversations...

Grant on fancy cars:

"You know, I am not really into having a super nice car"

"Agreed"

"I guess I am more interested in..."

"Functionality...point A to point B if you will."

"Right. I mean, I don't want an ugly car."

"Sure."

"I guess if I am ridiculously rich one day, I might buy a fancy car. But only after I install the indoor pool."

"Well yeah. I mean, we have priorities."

"Right. And what better way to cool off after dancing all night in the Disco room?"

"Well, that goes without saying."

Growing up boy/girl

I am not one to buy into gender stereotypes. Girls can play with trucks and get dirty. Boys can play dress up and "house" and fight over who gets to be the mommy at preschool and not grow up gay. (Seriously, ask my mother-in-law about that one...true story). But these beliefs of mine are up against societies norms so lets just face the facts, people.

"Are transformers good guys or bad guys?"

"That depends. Some are good guys and some are bad guys."

"Which is which?"

"The Autobots are the good guys and Decepticons are the bad guys."

"Oh."

"Ok, I will tell you the name of a transformer and you tell me if it is an Autobot or a Decepticon."

"Ok."

"Optimus Prime."

"Decepticon"

"What!?! Decepti...how can you? You know what, we can't talk about this anymore."

So what if I didn't know. What I do know is that anytime I was around any boys playing with those silly little action figure things, they always found a way to ruin a perfectly fancy and lady-like tea party I was having with my Rainbow Brite dolls and My Little Ponies. How rude!