They had a blood donor clinic at work today. I tried to give, but they rejected me. I snuck out the back door, head hung low, trying to ignore the whispering from the crowd in the room. “What’s he leaving for? What’s wrong with his blood? He must be an addict or something. I heard he used to be a (very successful) male prostitute”

No, I’m not gay; and no, I don’t have a boyfriend who is. I haven’t been in jail for more than 48 hours in the last six months, I haven’t shared needles, I haven’t traded money or sex for drugs, I don’t have AIDS, syphilis or gonorrhea, and I haven’t handled monkeys or handled their body fluids at any time in my past. (They actually ask all of these questions, including the monkey one.)

But…

I have had an operation in the last six months, I did get a vaccination recently (flu shot), and I did travel outside the US and Canada in the last three years, twice.

Apparently, my trip to India was the show-stopper. Sorry, my Indian friends, but because I spent 10 days gracing your piece of the earth-pie with my presence, my blood must be filtered through my liver and kidneys or whatever for a total of 12 months before it is fit to flow through someone else’s body. I guess Malaria can sometimes take a while to show its ugly head and there is no test available for it in Canada.

So… if you’re looking for A+ blood anytime between now and the end of October 2008, I can’t help you. If you are wondering where to find a good burger in Chennai, India…. well, actually, I can’t help you there either.

On my CBC News feed:

“Use of ‘Canadian’ as possible racial slur may be part of Texas probe“

I’m not so much angered or otherwise upset that someone would consider the word “Canadian” to be a racial slur. I’m actually a little more concerned about something else. What exactly is a Texas probe?

There was other news that caught my eye today, but Nadine at Missing The Rock beat me to it. Check out her reaction to another CBC News post about an Air Canada co-pilot falling mentally ill during a flight. Funny stuff! I wouldn’t have done it the justice that she did.

Gives new meaning to the term “Blow it out your ass!”

(Thanks Cindy!)

Last March, I wrote a post about cleaning up dog shit in my back yard. There was so much crap out there that I didn’t know where to start. I likened it to picking blueberries. Well, I really like to illustrate my posts, so I decided that I would include a picture of blueberries. So, I went picking blueberry pictures using Google Images. I perused dozens of photos and finally chose a beautiful picture of blueberries. I completed my post and it garnished three, count ‘em, three comments. All in all, a resounding success by OMeN standards.

Or so I thought.

I got an email today from Michele Stapleton. Michele is a very talented photographer from Maine who politely informed me that I had stolen her copyrighted photo:

Hey, do me a favor, will ya? Please take my very nice copyrighted blueberry
picture off your website.

It’s bad enough that you used my copyrighted photo without permission, but to
use it to illustrate a diatribe about doggy do-do??? That’s just not cool.

Please email and let me know as soon as you’ve removed the photo.

Funny thing is that I didn’t get the photo from her site. I found it somewhere else. (Those buggers stole her photo. I simply found it for her!) When I attempted to explain the fact that I didn’t realize I was taking her copyrighted photo, she set me straight. I’m paraphrasing here, but she said my explanation simply told her that I stole it from someone who stole it from her. Same difference; stealing from a thief is still theft.

Good point, Michele. You have shown me the error in my ways.

So, I went to Google, found another photo of blueberries, downloaded it, and posted it in place of the original.

You know how it is. Someone says something and you just can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. You KNOW you’re gonna step in it, and then put the foot right in your mouth. But, you say it anyway.

Sometimes it’s trouble. Sometimes it’s self-deprecating. Sometimes it’s just plain fun.

During a meeting with our life insurance agent:

Wifey: (mumble)
Me: What was that?
Wifey: Nothing.
Me (to life insurance agent): She won’t say anything that even slightly resembles a commitment. For some reason, she’s been like that since our wedding day.

At home, talking with some friends:

Wifey: We used to have this neighbour, who I’m sure had a crush on Steve. Whenever I was around, she wouldn’t talk to me, but if Steve was alone outside… BOOOM! … she was there chatting away.
Me: You had nothing to worry about. If she was looking for a man, then she wasn’t going to have any luck finding one here (my two thumbs pointing at my chest). Er… I mean… uhm…

At work, talking with senior co-worker:

Co-worker: Oh shit. Look at the time. I really have to fuck off.
Me: What a coincidence. I’ve been meaning to tell you to do that.
Co-worker: (pause)Well, go ahead. I won’t be giving you many opportunities like this! (He took it with good humour, thankfully)

Many years ago, at my brother’s wedding, in the men’s room. I was stood facing a urinal and my brother’s boss came in and stood at the urinal next to me. (I was 15 years old):

My brother’s boss: So. You’re Bill’s brother.
Me: Yup.
My brother’s boss: You look a lot like him.
Me: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
My brother’s boss: It’s a good thing. Your brother’s a good looking guy.
Me: Sorry sir, but it scares me when a man holding his privates tells me I’m good looking.
My brother’s boss: (Awkward silence.)

So. Y’all got any good ones? Any real zingers you put out there? (Keep it nice… don’t hurt anyone’s feelings…)

What does a sane, rationally-minded person do when one notices he has a piece of bacon that could arguably be divinely crafted in the image of the Virgin Mary or perhaps Mother Theresa?

He creates an altar, lights candles, charges admission, enjoys 15 minutes of fame in The Enquirer and ultimately sells it for a nice tidy profit on eBay, that’s what he does.

What does the author of Oh Me Nerves! do? He nukes the bacon and eats it.

Yummy. Tastes like chicken.