This vehicle really suits us–it’s totally quirky, a little spooky, a bit weird, and definitely a conversation starter!  Here she is:

Want to take a ride with us???

Don’t worry, we won’t make you ride in the back…

Unless you’re absolutely dying to!

I had that exact Walkman during my teen years and used it to effectively block out my parents’ endless prattle during car trips and family vacations.  It was the iPod of my day, and I was hot stuff with this Walkman.

Not only was my cassette player a Sony, but it was YELLOW!  I festooned my portable tape player with stickers and took it everywhere.  I always carried spare batteries (remember those days?!?!) and had a collection of mixed tapes for every mood and occasion.  Who needed play lists back in the 80s?  Not me!

Now here’s the sad part of my fond recollection.  I had this Walkman up until a few short years ago–I vividly remember examining the stickers and showing it to Husban-dito–but when I went to find it a few months back, it was GONE.  The weird thing is that I usually am pretty good with my belongings.  I can count on one hand the items of value I’ve lost in my lifetime.

How did I lose this Walkman?  I managed to hold onto it during my teen years and beyond only to lose it as an adult.  The irony doesn’t escape me, but I still want my yellow Walkman to turn up.  Maybe if I stop looking for it, it will pop up in an unlikely place.

Have you ever lost anything that you’d love to be reunited with (minds, money, and youth not withstanding)?

My veins were recently called into service to donate blood for an immediate family member who is undergoing serious medical treatment.  I had already flunked to be a donor for another treatment she needed, so the least I could do was pony up some blood.

But in true CWG form, this was easier said than done.

Anyone who has ever donated blood is familiar with the bevy of questions they ask to determine your eligibility.  I sailed through the questionnaire, passing even the more taxing questions like Have you ever taken money for sex? or Do you partake in sexual congress with animals?–to which I asked wild or domesticated? Ha.

I was excited to donate, having failed a previous attempt in the 90s.  The women at the blood donation center of the hospital were so nice and promised me cookies and juice just for trying.  Can I be bought for a packet of Lorna Doones and a cranberry juice? You betcha.

It took almost 15 minutes for the phlebotomist to find a vein that would be even half-way serviceable.  It was on the top of my left arm, near my elbow.  I suggested that a butterfly needle, one that is often used for infants or children, would be the best approach, and she laughed at me.

The needle necessary for donating blood is roughly the size of a garden hose; they can’t use anything smaller because it would damage the blood cells.  A sinking feeling settled over me as she advanced with the sharpened hose.  The elastic band was tight on my upper arm and I was frantically squeezing a stress ball with my hand to help my one, lonely vein stand out.

She told me to keep my head turned away, but I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek.  Imagine my shock when she tapped the vein on the first shot!  And it didn’t collapse!  Bonus!  She covered the needle and hose with gauze and told me to relax and watch television.

Instead, I watched my blood course through the tube and into a GIANT bag that was resting on a see-saw type of machine.  It took seven minutes to pump the requisite amount of blood–a pint? a gallon? a metric ton?–and the promised cookies and juice were in sight.

As I made a move to sit up, a wave of nausea washed over me and a bell started clanging in my ears.  I felt the color drain from my face and was suddenly surrounded by a swarm of nurses and vampires. And then, blackness.

artist's rendering of me fainting...lol

The next thing I remember was the strong smell of ammonia and a buzz of voices.

Yes, friends, I FAINTED AFTER GIVING BLOOD.  How cliche is that?

After I came to, the nurses kept me in a recumbent position, bicycling my legs in the air, answering inane questions, and drinking juice to keep me conscious.  I remained in the blood center for well beyond the hour I told my family member I’d be gone.

The kicker to the whole saga?  Just as I was finally getting up to have cookies, I got a text message from my relative who was (impatiently) waiting for me to get back upstairs to her room.  This is what it said:

not my actual phone, but that was the message...

Bending down to grab some towels, a GIANT–and by that I mean HUGE–mutant monster cricket/spider/demon bug hybrid lunged at me!!!  I recoiled in sheer terror, a shriek escaping my lips.  I have never, and I mean never, seen a bug of this magnitude before.  This bug must have traveled from a foreign land to get to my basement.  I’ve lived in Jersey for almost 36 years and have never seen a creature like this.

While attempting to keep an eye on the Franken-Bug, who was menacing me, I casted about for something with which to smite it.  My mouth was dry, and I heard a loud clanging in my ears.  Where the hell was Husban-dito when I needed him?!

In desperation, I threw a towel over the bug.  And then I tossed a heavier towel on top of the first and then another for good measure.  I can only hope that the weight of the towels will prevent this monstrosity from boinging up two flights of stairs and bouncing down the hallway into my bedroom to attack me as I slumber.

Shaking, I sprinted from the dungeon to my office, immediately parked myself at the computer, and Googled “horrifying spider cricket mutant bug’.  I was greeted with the image of the EXACT bug that is now resting under several layers of beach towels:

I'm STILL shaking from the encounter with this mutant bug.

And here’s small sampling of what Wiki had to say:

• To avoid starvation, they have been known to devour their own extremities, even though they cannot regenerate limbs.  (Now that’s appetizing…)
  

• Given their limited vision, cave crickets will often jump towards any perceived threat in an attempt to frighten it away. (ROGER THAT!) Their large hind legs allow them to jump high and far. (NO SHIT!!!)
  

• Cave and camel crickets (also known as spider crickets) are of little economic importance except as a nuisance in buildings and homes, especially basements. They are usually “accidental invaders” (From where, praytell?  HELL?!?!) that wander in by mistake from adjacent areas. They generally do not reproduce indoors, except in situations that provide continuous dark, moist conditions, such as a basement shower or laundry area, as well as organic debris to serve as food.

• Although they appear intimidating, they are harmless to humans. (Right.  Except for inducing myocardial infarction in 30-something bloggers.)

• Their long legs have caused them to be more commonly referred to as “sprickets” or “spickets”, a blending of “spiders” (whose legs they resemble) and “crickets”.

Tomorrow, I’m going to tell Husban-dito I left a present for him under some towels in the basement.  I’ll let him wrangle this monster bug because I’m DONE.  D-O-N-E.  Now could someone please pass me a Valium?

Enjoy the weekend!

*And by mac and cheese I mean the blue box brand.  No other mac and cheese can hold a candle to that fake cheese taste!  Yum.

1.  While on a school trip to Niagara Falls, I went over Bridal Falls in a barrel.

2.  Husban-dito and I have finally! crossed to the dark side and on or around November 11, 2010, we will henceforth be known as Daddy and Mommy.

3.  I ate sushi.

These were some of the happenings in 1993, the year my first passport was issued.

It’s now 2010…17 years since my passport was issued, and I’m scrambling to get a new one for an impending school trip across the border.  I should have listened to my mom all the times she told me to renew the stupid thing, but I never got around to doing it.  Anthony doesn’t fly, so our travel is 100% domestic, by car.  Aside from a few trips to the Bahamas and a second trip to Europe with a friend, I haven’t traveled (by plane) out of the country since 2000.

The trip to Niagara is a last minute thing, thrown together in the last few weeks, which is why I’ll be sitting at the Passport Agency tomorrow getting my expedited passport.  I know you’re jealous but try to control your envy.  I’ll tell you all about the fun on Monday.

Oh, and did you know that you can’t Photoshop your passport photos? What a scandal!  What’s a little airbrushing of smile lines between friends?!  I also learned that I can’t use the picture of 18-year-old me from my old passport on my new passport.  And the mirthless Costco photographer also told me NOT to smile for the picture, that I had to have a neutral expression instead.  What? No Jazz Hands?!  C’mon!

I tried to employ the technique someone once told me about–flexing my toes to stretch the muscle–but it brought no relief.  And then, as quickly as it came on, it was gone.  Make no mistake, for the remainder of the night and into the next day I walked gingerly on my left leg because it kept twinging, threatening to Charley horse again.

not my leg or photo...hijacked from flickr

My leg was sore for a few days and I just wanted to share with you the agony.  Sadly, like the retelling of a nightmare in the bright light of day, the story of my Charley horse is a bit flat now that I’m rereading it.  Rest assured that it was agonizing and I wouldn’t wish a Charley horse on very many people!

Have you been a victim of this evil affliction?  Is there a cure?  A preventative measure?  And don’t tell me about bananas–I hate them and the filmy feeling they leave on my teeth.