Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

Why Oreos do not a breakfast make

Posted by Lissa on October 25, 2010

(I’ve got a story queued up about the snake that wandered into our screened porch.  However, since the last post went ridiculously crazy — 47 comments!!! I love you all!!!! — I have to tell a humiliating story about myself, to keep me humble.  It’s a LookingForLissa rule.)

A long, long time ago — otherwise known as the spring of 2004 — Mike and I were but humble workers and flirtatious friends at Ye Olde Financial Company.  These were the relaxed, golden days of my youth . . . wait, what the hell am I talking about?   These were the days when I used to work 3 PM to 11 PM at the Financial Company, and at least twice a week I was also working 6 AM to 12 PM at the coffee shop.  Halcyon my ASS!

Anyway, on this particular day we were both signed up to donate blood at the Ye Olde Financial Company-sponsored Red Cross Event.  If I remember correctly, Mike had never given blood before.  I, on the other hand — insert preening and suave nonchalance here — had given blood SEVERAL times back at college.

I held on to the record of accomplishment.  Somehow I neglected to hold on to the results, mental and physical, that always followed said blood donation.  More on that later.

So on this particular sunny spring day, I didn’t have to hit the coffee shop before work.  As such, I lingered in the sunshine, drinking an extra mug of coffee and helping myself to three or four Double-Stuf Oreos for breakfast.  Yeah, yeah, they were no breakfast chili, but I’m often not very hungry in the morning.  Calorie-wise, I figured they must equal an egg and a banana, no sweat.  I shower, groom myself, slip into a business-casual outfit and hie myself off to work.

The blood donation itself wasn’t bad; they actually found a vein without TOO much trouble (I have little-bitty roll-y veins) and it didn’t stop halfway (which is always particularly infuriating).  Like the others, I sat munching vanilla wafers and sipping juice to restore my blood sugar, and then went off to start my work day.

Because I’ve always felt a bit faint after donating blood, I made sure to come prepared: I brought a huge jug of Juicy-Juice (100% juice, y’all!) with me and sipped it as I sat at my desk.

*cue the ominous music*

Problem the First: I didn’t eat nearly enough food to squirt out a pint of blood.  I was pretty light-headed.

Problem the Second, which was rather more troublesome:  I never drink juice. Or regular soda.  Or other sugary beverages (unless you count wine).  So my blood sugar went from kinda low to ohmyfreakingGODWHATTHEBLOODYHELLISGOINGONYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I felt worse.  I drank more juice.

I felt worse.  I drank more juice.

(No, that’s not a double type.  I kept feeling worse, so I repeated the action that was undoubtedly making me feel worse.  What can I say, I’m a bloody idiot.)

My skin gradually turned the color of a cave-dwelling albino.  My hands grew clammy and damp.  I gave up and went to visit my supervisor.

“Boss,” I whispered, swaying slightly back and forth.  “I think I need to go home.”

He took one look at me and gasped.  “Are you gonna MAKE it home?  You’re like the color of paper!”

“I’ll be fine,” I said bravely.  “Heather will cover my work for the day and I’ll go home and everything will be fine.”

I weaved back to my desk and put a note into the work Chatroom that I was leaving for the day.  And then . . . as I stared at my computer screen . . . it suddenly did this:

(That’s the push-pull dolly shot made famous here.  It’s scary when it happens in real life!)

I held onto my desk with both hands as my monitor stayed still and the world around it suddenly zoomed away at 100 mph.

Oh crap I’m never gonna make it home.

I called my sister for help.

“Sister,” I whispered.  “Help me.”

“Lissa, what’s wrong?” she barked.  “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Help me,” I pleaded.  “I’m . . . sick.  I . . . I can’t get . . . I have to go home.  Come get me.”


“I just . . . help me . . . ”

And with that, I hung up the phone.

Not on purpose!  I just kind of . . . blacked out.  I fainted.  For the first and only time in my life.  Apparently my poor sister was left screaming into an open line and imagining that I’d passed out under a bush somewhere.

Oh, and it gets MORE humiliating.  Yes, yes, it does.

Because I awoke from my passed-out state and promptly vomited three cups worth of Juicy Juice onto my desk.



Miraculously, no one witnessed me blacking out and then spewing.  I frantically cleaned up my desk with paper towels and 409, then called my sister back.

“Hi Big Sis.”

“WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?  You sound a lot better.”

“Oh, I feel a lot better.  I threw up on my desk.”

I made it home and administered chicken broth and saltines for the remainder of the day.

And the moral of the story is:

If you’re donating blood in the afternoon, eat steak and eggs for breakfast.

The End.

8 Responses to “Why Oreos do not a breakfast make”

  1. bluesun said

    Needles… blood… I think I am going to pass out here at my computer desk.

    I don’t donate blood. I need mine. As Red Green says, “It’s necessary for my lifestyle.”

  2. TBG said

    You po’ pitiful thang!

    People at the FL/GA Blood Alliance hate me, for several reasons, actually…
    First- I have my 10 gallon pin.
    I gave blood every 6 weeks like clockwork up until recently.

    This isn’t why they hate me… It’s because I haven’t been able to donate for the last 4 years, ever since I’ve been going to China regularly… Geographical restrictions, don’t y’know.

    I also have frickin’ wicked awesome veins- easy to hit, good flow… It gives the newbies a false sense of accomplishment, so when the next Poor Bastard goes under Ms. Newbie’s needle, they get perforated like an IBM punchcard.

    The also have a certain amount of hate because I just looooove screwing with the poor little non-certified PaperPusher who has to ask all the sensitive questions…
    PP:”Have you ever had sex in prison with someone who has resided in West Africa within the last 5 years.”
    Yours Truly: “5 years… Let’s see…. Wait… Are you talking about sex with them in the last 5 years, or they were in Africa for the last 5 years?”
    PP: “Have you had any male-to-male sexual activity within the last 18 months?”
    YT:”Hmmmm. Does sex with a guy who went to Sweden and got a sex-change operation count?”
    PP: -shocked look-
    YT: “I mean as if ‘he’ is a ‘she’ now… Just wondering.”

    Since the PaperPusher is usually a young female in an intern position, it’s pretty easy to ruffle their feathers.

    I know.

    I’m going to hell.


  3. alan said

    I’ve passed out every time I’ve ever donated blood. The last time, the nurse said I probably should stop trying.

  4. Lissa said

    Bluesun, so sorry! Maybe you need that steak and eggs for yourself?

    TBG, that is EVIL. And hilarious!

    Alan, good on ya for trying, but that nurse might just be on to something . . .

  5. Almost threw up on my desk once…tho I hadn’t donated blood. Was up late watching the election results…and well the other guy won and well….

    I solved it by going into the lab and cracking an oxygen cylinder under my nose. I’d seen guys do it before, and when I told the story other people would say “yeah I used to do that”…I’ll be damned it works like a charm!

  6. Your moral is too long. The last six words is all you need. 😛

  7. Brad K. said


    The flip side is bad, too. Don’t give blood with food in your stomach. It doesn’t necessarily stay there.

  8. Well, not to brag, but I’ve done ok with the blood donation thing. Now, when my wife gave birth twice, (it’s not that she got it wrong the first time, we have two kids…never mind), I had my issues. The sight of an epidural needle that is AT LEAST 17 feet long did it to me. And I’m not afraid of needles.

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