*Subtitle: This can't be your vacation. I refuse to believe it.

Tuesday began with more of the same: a whole lot of nothing. We slept in, we lounged on the couch, we went out for lattes. We wandered aimlessly for a few hours (which is my way of saying I've been dragging my feet for so long I've forgotten all the details) before the day's only real event.

The blood drive! I know, my life is so much more fabulous than Snakehead's! The Red Cross was doing their more or less quarterly blood drive in one of the conference rooms at a nearby hotel from 11:30 to 5:30. I started donating just after 9-11 and I've kept it up sort of consistently ever since. I would love to go to every blood drive, but I'm a little hesitant to push my luck by asking Pointy Bearded Boss for time off that I don't really need. But this time I was on vacation, so I had no excuse for skipping out.

I've tried to mix things up by arriving at different times, hoping to find that one magic time they're not busy. Well, I've seen the pattern and now I know. The least busy time is always one hour after I arrive. This latest visit was no exception. I know they accept appointments, but that only seems to save about 20 minutes, and I never seem to be able to get there when I expect anyway.

So I arrived and saw the three kilometer line snaking out the door. I'd blame this on The Curse of Riddick, but this was more or less normal for my blood drive visits. I walked in, signed in, and took the bundle of "required" reading papers the volunteers were handing out.

I took my seat and paged through the forms. Like most corporate forms, there's a document revision date printed in one of the corners. Every one of them is 2002 or older. I've read these, many times. I pretended to read, handed them back in, and lined up in the queue for the two month wait.

After forty minutes of musical chairs, one of the nurses finally took my vitals and went over the medical questionnaire. I showed her my blood donor card. She made an approving noise and told me to make sure I showed my card to the cookie lady at the end.

After another two months in yet another line, I finally got to a cot. And then we began our usual dance. The nurse looked at my arm and said, "My, what great veins you have!"

"Umm… thanks?"

"You should really be in one of the other chairs for the double red cell donation," she says.

"No thank you, I prefer a traditional donation."

"But why? It's so simple!"

"I'm comfortable with this donation. I know exactly how it's going to affect me and I can plan for that. And even your own handouts say the double donation will take twice as long. And I've already been here for an hour and a half."

"Oh, it's not that much longer."

"I prefer a traditional donation, thanks."

And at this point the nurse working the "other" chairs pipes up. "What's this? Why aren't you over here?"

"Because I don't want to be, dumbass. Now close your mouth and sit down. Oh, and pink scrubs make you look fat."

Ok, I didn't say that. Instead, I patiently explained again. "My" nurse made a sour face and continued her prep work. She jabbed me with that steel garden hose and we were off.

I've got this part down. I was finished in less time than it took to go through the medical questionnaire. Should I be alarmed that I "bleed out" so quickly? The nurse was putting on my band-aid when a supervisor type sauntered over.

"Finished already?" he says. "You should be in one of the other chairs."

GAH! "Hey, Baldy, I know I'm supposed to avoid strenuous activity, so try not to fight back when I'm beating your ass!"

Didn't say that. Wanted to. Said nothing. Hoped bald man would leave. Bald man stayed.

The bald man asked, "Do you know about the double red cell donation?"

GAH! Again! I explained, yet again. He looked disappointed as he wandered away. A moment later I was finished and off to the waiting area for cookies and cola. I showed my donor card to the cookie lady. She gave me a confused look. I explained that the one of the nurses told me to show her, but never explained why. This created a small flurry of consultation. Volunteers consulted nurses and each other. Nurses passed my card around until it found its way to the nurse who started the whole thing. She looked at the cookie lady and said simply, "Eighth donation." She handed back my card and went about her work.

The cookie lady brightened considerably and began rooting around in a plastic tub. A moment later she returned with my card, a certificate, and a lapel pin. This was my eighth donation. I'm now a member of the gallon club.

I had no idea there was a gallon club. But now I'm a member. And I have the "hey, my name is misspelled" certificate to prove it.

Lord of The Rings update: Yeah, remember the last time, when we were almost half way through Two Towers? We made it through another five minutes before she fell asleep. Five minutes, honest.