Sunday--more productive

I woke up today remembering I had to go to the lab for blood tests for my general physical. And I remembered I had aimed to get there first thing because I was supposed to be fasting for the tests. Well, I meant to go as soon as I got up but got sucked into the Germany/England World Cup game. I was impressed that the English ESPN commentator was fairly uncompromising when the English team was defeated 4-1 by Germany. He said the German team made the English team look "overweight, heavy". Ouch. I'm pretty sure I'd cry if I heard that in reference to me. He even suggested that perhaps England should look to Germany in terms of changing up their strategy and structure. Yeesh, will this guy get in trouble back in England? I worry a little for him.

I managed to get to the lab without passing out before 10am. On a tangential note, I dread getting blood drawn because I have such small veins. Donating blood has been one of the greatest sources of conflict--I love to do it because it doesn't cost me money or much of my time yet it's a huge life-saving donation in the big scheme of things. But on the other side, because of my small veins, it's painful and sometimes, because the weak flow from my small veins sometimes clots up, the flow stops and it's not enough for a donation and it's a wasted effort.

The phlebotomist today also acknowledged my tiny veins but not before amusing me. As he was tapping my open arm trying to get a rise out of my tiny veins, he asked if I exercised and I told him sure, but not super regularly. He said, really? Because your arms are so muscular. Snort. I joked that he was being fooled by the layer of fat and he said, oh no, and continued to tap his finger on my ostensibly bulging bicep. In my near-delirium from not eating, I almost accused him of trying to pick me up. But besides that being a weak pick-up line, that notion was extinguished by his rough "shovy" style of trying to extract blood from the crook of my arm. Hardly the needlework of a flirting phlebotomist. He said he didn't want to bruise me so he flipped over my arm and said Aha! and said that the top of my hand was the obvious place to draw blood from. Between his stabby style and the fact that there's so much bone close to the surface, the idea sounded so "ouchy". But I played the grown-up and shrugged, sure. And it wasn't so bad after all:

(Try not to be mesmerized by my muscular arm.)

Afterwards and famished, I went to the Starbuck's nearby and went for the healthy oatmeal option and the nonfat latte:

I ran some other tedious errands (adult productivity--check for today) and looked at the clock and saw that the Argentina-Mexico game was on. I pulled into the same local bar as yesterday, ready to root for the underdogs: Mexico. Unfortunately, the bar only had about two dozen people and somehow all managed to be rooting for Argentina.

One observation: a third of the Argentina team has my haircut. Put Gabriel Heinze or Carlos Tevez in a ponytail-bun and I'm pretty sure it'd be like looking in the mirror. Well unfortunately for Mexico, they lost 3:1. And frankly I have to give it to the Argentina player who backed up the goalie and saved the goal with his face.

Anyhoo, going to round out the day with some adult amusement: