“Are You My Type?” Tales of a Blood Drive.
Though it’s not my favorite thing to do, I try to donate blood once or twice a year. The opportunity came Thursday when my sorority teamed up with another sorority (see, we do more than just have pillow fights and go tanning!) and put on a blood drive.
The best part of donating blood (aside from being stabbed in the arm and sucked dry, and aside from the free orange juice and cookies) is the part where the Red Cross worker gets to ask you all sort of personal questions:
“Do you smoke?” (“Only pot.” “Only?”)
“Let me see both your arms.” (Oh my god, you think I’m a junkie!?)
“Have you ever had sex for drugs or money?” (No, but I’ve had sex for a steak dinner, does that count?)
“Have you ever had sex with a prostitute?” (There are male prostitutes?!)
“Have you ever had sex with someone who has had sex with men?” (Surprisingly no, despite the homosexual population’s general love for me.)
“Have you ever been treated for gonorrhea or syphilis?” (Hahahaha. No, but I really think this is my year!)
“Have you ever had sex with someone who has shared needles or who has had sex with someone who has shared needles?” (I’m not really sure. Hold on, let me call each one of them and ask.)
“Have you ever had sex with someone who has shared needles with another man while traveling to the UK for a combined total of more than three years?” (Wait…what?)
Then they handed me some blood bags and sent me on my way to donate. (Holy crap, you still want it?!)
After that lovely trip down Sexual and Drug History Lane, I got to lay back and squeeze a cute little heart shaped ball while “Peaches” by Live played in the background (the guy in charge of music made some questionable choices, honestly). Then I got to eat free cookies, which was pretty sweet.
Let me tell you, I am a champ at donating blood. I was done in five minutes (most people take 10, those pussies) and I didn’t even throw up, turn white (haha, well I could never actually turn white though, could I?), pass out or cry.
Which is why I figured Friday night it would be okay to imbibe.
So I did. And then I got shitfaced (me minus a pint of blood plus wine, Jello shots and Captain Morgan equals disaster) and came perilously close to doing all of the above (throwing up, passing out, turning white, crying) within a very short period of time.
The hangover was just a nice bonus.