The Creepy Eyeball

I want to be small.
Well,
Smaller at least. I don't think at 6 feet tall I will ever be described as "tiny". I'd settle for "tiny wasted."
At least my ankles qualify.
Here's the dilemma: When eating low-carb for the diabetes, coupled with the vegetarianism, it seems the trade off often equals calories - delicious, fat growing calories. Not that I've been growing, but with the risk of repeating myself...I want to be smaller.
And I'd like to know why the second I sit down on my couch with a snack in hand,  The Biggest Loser is on the tube. Every time. It is an unnatural phenomenon. It's like it knows. It makes me uncomfortable - Both the show, guilting me to death, and the phenomenon itself. As if some spooky eyeball is staring down from the sky, zapping my television every time I eat that salty, buttery popcorn.
I suppose I should thank that eyeball, since I told myself I couldn't go shopping until I lost a few pounds. I suppose the weight of the guilt crushing (squishing?) my flabby belly is actually doing me a favour.
I suppose.
I've never found guilt to be a positive motivator.
But I do want to be smaller. {sigh}
Well, I'm feeling kinda hungry. Should probably have a snack.
I think I'll go turn on the TV before I choose a tasty delight this time. ;)

Cubicle Number 3...Again

Yes. I was at the lab...again. Three times in 2 weeks isn't a bad average is it? And there isn't even anything seriously wrong. Nonetheless...
I took my number just in time. People started arriving in droves within moments.
After pushing a woman with a walker out of the way, I dig for my medical card and settle in. (No, of course I didn't push a woman with a walker out of the way! What kind of monster do you think I am?! She was already behind me for legit. And I was in a hurry...)
So as I was sitting their knitting (No, of course I wasn't knitting! I was taking notes for this very discussion we are having here. Although I am the one doing all the talking...) and I looked around as any curious blogger would do.
Right across from me was an elderly dark-haired woman brushing her hair. No biggee right? Only she brushed it the whole time I was waiting, which was long enough to finish an adult-sized afghan. (Brown and yellow to be exact. Wait! No! I don't knit.) It was so weird. Was she suffering from OCD? Was her short dark hair that unruly? (Looked pretty flat and shiny to me.)
Then I looked to my left as the 90-something year old man beside me got called for his procedure. I noticed him slip his I-phone into his back pocket. First of all buddy...never a good idea to sit on your cell phone no matter how much you paid. And second...HE WAS A 90-YEAR OLD WITH AN I-PHONE!!!! I'm not gonna lie. I was Impressed. And what kind of marketing geniuses do they have over there at Apple that both 10 year-olds and 90 year-olds and everyone in between believes they need one? I personally have a Blackberry but after seeing Old Man Mr. Jones there in that waiting room, I am seriously wondering what I am missing.
So then it was my turn. It went something like this:
"Your name please."
"Susanne Schwartz."
"Arm please."
"Okay so this one (pointing to my right) is retired due to scar tissue and this one (pointing to my left) is nearly impossible according to your people and still has a bruise from last week's surprising success."
{Silence}
She starts poking around my difficult arm (left) and instantly finds another good vein no problem.
SERIOUSLY!?! So let me get this straight. The arm that most techs refuse to use because it's impossible to find a vein has TWO good ones?!?
So much for my "aim here" tattoo. I'm gonna need to get another arrow added now. And the words "OR HERE" as well.
Good grief.
Well, good ol' cubicle number 3 didn't let me down once again.
Until we meet again Mr. Cubicle. Until we meet again.
Now, I need to go brush my hair. ;)

Take A Number!

I went for blood work again today.
Yup.
And they didn't let me down.
So...
I get there, and not a soul was in the waiting room.
There was however, FIVE lab techs leaning against the wall chatting.
I asked if I should bother taking a number. They say yes.
I have no words.
So I get called in, and I say, "The good one is on my right arm but it is retired so I hope you can find one on my left."
Before I go any further, I should mention that after posting on my FB status that I was getting blood work again this morning, one of my friends suggested I draw a map for them this time. Since I was out of the house all day, I didn't see that comment until after I came home. Back to this momentarily.
So the lab tech promptly gloves up, ties on the tourniquet, gives 'er and gets one on the first try! (In case you missed it...last week I had a similar experience only the lab tech insisted on using my retired vein since according to her it was impossible to find one on my left.)
Mentioning my frustration from last week, the tech from today explained to me how I could describe where this good left-armed vein sits for future reference.
Genius.
Put that together with my friend's map suggestion...Double genius!!
 I have made a decision.
I will get a tattoo.
On each arm.
On my right it will say "retired" with an arrow to my good old faithful and on my left it will say "aim here" with an arrow pointing to the perfectly usable "non-existent" vein.
I have always wanted a tattoo, but I couldn't decide what I wanted permanently on my body.
Now I know
I just hope the tattoo artist doesn't hit a vein. ;)