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The Fisher of Stories


As I’ve explained in my post about being a Social Rapist, I am not always a smooth and captivating individual. There are moments, both when I’m alone and when I’m with people, where I can be incredibly awkward. As I get older, these moments are getting fewer and farther between, but they still happen, as evidenced by my day yesterday.

I left work early to go vote, and then I figured I’d go donate blood. There was a blood drive at my old church in Okay, Oklahoma, so I stopped by to give them a pint or two of my finest red (aged 29 years, with a sweetness to it that I have to take Metformin for).

I arrived in the parking lot and saw that they too were in the process of letting folks vote. That church has always been a polling center, as long as I can remember. So I walked up to the doors of the big building where the blood drive was supposedly at, and I see a lot of arrows pointing in the same direction that all say “Blood Drive” on them. The arrows kind of point back towards the main church building, so I amble over that way and look in the door, and the lights appear to be out. So I sidle on back over to the big building and walk in, only to see no sign of a blood giving party.

At this point, I could ask someone what’s going on, but everyone looks so busy voting, and I will not be held responsible for a Democrat getting voted in anywhere because I’ve distracted someone at the last moment by asking them about a blood drive that they know nothing about because they’ve been focused on voting straight party all day long. So I don’t ask anyone, and shamble on over to the main church building again.

It was 105 degrees in Okay, Oklahoma yesterday. 105. I weigh 340 pounds at this current moment. I also have the aforementioned sweetness in my blood that the doctors so lovingly call diabetes. The point I’m trying to make is that I run hot already, and for me, sweating often involves me doing nothing more than trying to fit six Doritos in my mouth at one time. Add the exercise of walking back and forth between buildings and the fact that it’s 105 degrees outside together, and you get a very moist and salty Travis. Particularly in one area.

That’s right… I’m talking about the swamp butt.

This is a mild case, trust me. Also, this isn’t me. I would never put…well, yeah I would, but I don’t have one.

This condition has caused me to avoid metal or plastic chairs like the plague, constantly fearing that I will leave a sweaty butt print that, let’s just go ahead and say it, won’t be making the ladies swoon with desire. Last semester in college I would have to sit in a plastic chair after a long walk to class, and I actually perfected a move in which I would get out of my chair and slide it under the table at the same time so no one would see my butt shaped ring of shame. If there are any swamp butt sufferers out there that need to learn this move, let me know.
Back to the blood donating. The first chair I sat in was cloth covered. Thank the baby Jesus for that, because cloth sort of wicks away moisture and you don’t know a swampy butt has been there until you’ve already sat down and…well, I’ll just leave you to think about that.
Then they took me back to my donating bed. The lady that was going to be drawing my blood was incredibly nice, and completely distracted me from thinking about the fact that I WAS GOING TO BE LYING ON A VINYL TABLE.
We talked and talked while she was preparing to hook me up to the machine about how no one ever hits my vein on the first try. I explained to her that the last guy to try actually punched clean through my vein, leaving me with a slightly swollen arm and bruise that made it look like I’d been punched by the Hulk. We laughed, we had good times, and before I knew it, she nailed my vein on the first try, for which I told her she needed a gold star, and the machine happily started draining me of my liquid Travis.

I often times wonder if I could replace my blood with “skinny blood.”

Then it happened. I overheard “Yeah, I finished all three books this weekend. Wow.”
I have recently acquired our daughter’s talent for sticking my nose in other’s business, so I said, “What books?”
You see, I was honestly thinking The Hunger Games. It is a great series, and I read them all in a couple of days, and I was ready to discuss my literary knowledge and blow these three ladies out of the water.
The expert vein sticker turns to me and says, “Oh, it’s Fifty Shades of Grey.
Here you might be thinking, “Haha, this is awkward, Travis doesn’t read trash like that.”
Only…Travis does.


So. There we were. There was sort of this awkward moment where I could have said, “Oh, I’ve heard of that,” and butted smooth the heck out. But…
“Yeah, I finished reading that last night!”
I hate to reuse a picture, but this describes Expert Vein Sticker and her two friends perfectly.

“Say what?”

“You read it?!” “Oh my God.””I want to read it!”
You see, right there, I should have been mortified. But I wasn’t.
“Yeah, it was trash, and the writing was horrible Twilight fan fic, but I wanted to see what all of the fuss was about.”
These ladies ate it up. Then one of them said, “You know, I called my mom the other day and asked what she was doing and she told me she was in her room reading that book.”

Now it was my turn.

There were a few crickets, and then we picked right back up where we left off, EVS and I discussing the “merits” of the book, and the other two gals chiming in about how they couldn’t wait to read it now.
Then EVS said she hoped Chris Hemsworth would play Christian in the movie.
Did I mention we were in a church building?
So I look up and say, without thinking, “He is a handsome man.”

Their turn.

As I said, I can be an awkward guy.
The ladies resumed talking momentarily, and I pretty much just waited for the machine to be done. I was really regretting donating two units at this point, because the machine had to stop twice and put the plasma back into my body.
When EVS finally unhooked me, we laughed a bit, and she thanked me for the conversation. Then, and only then, I became aware that it was a bit steamy in the room I was in. And I had still not dried up from my pre-donating hike between buildings. And suddenly, I realized I was on a vinyl tabletop. And I knew what was going to be there when I got up.
A full body sweat imprint of yours truly.
I had no choice. EVS had been so kind, and I couldn’t just let her walk into this blindly.
“Ma’am, umm, I sweat. Real bad. And when I get up, there is going to be a sweat imprint here, and if you give me a rag, I’ll clean it up. I’m so sorry.”
EVS didn’t even blink an eye.
“Don’t worry about it man, I’ll clean it up.”
I walked out, and I didn’t look back. I couldn’t look at their expressions as they saw what I knew was there.
Fifty gallons of awkward.
Laters, baby.
I’m guest blogging again today, and this time it’s


Go check that shiz, yo.

Oh, and one other thing.

Jeff over at Badly Drawn Monsters is riding his bike in a Tour de Cure for the diabetes.

I was so thankful that I made him a couple of things.



And here is one for my Twilight fans:


Enjoy the guest blog.


And your lunch.

I love you, Jeff!

Alright Blue Bell. What are you trying to prove? For starters, I go off and get diabetes, and this leads to some of the greatest advancements in ice cream history. Yeah, yeah, I know you make sugar free. But when I have to get sugar free, and The Missus buys “Sugar and High Fructose with Sugar and Brown Sugar and Cane Sugar” on top, and she’s over there havin a food “O” face, and then her blood sugar might shoot up to a whoppin 75, and I look at her ice cream and have to take a shot, I get pretty upset.

But. That’s not what this is about.

This is about them (and everyone else) puttin stuff in our ice cream, that we USED to have WITH our ice cream. I heard a commercial today adverstising the new “Blackberry Cobbler” ice cream from Blue Bell. Sweet Moses. First it’s birthday cake, and that was pretty cool, then cookie dough, and I started getting worried, and now we have cobbler flavored ice cream. So now, when my family gets together for the 4th, I get to hear, “Oh, we’re sorry Travis, but we didn’t make cobbler. We bought the ice cream that has cobbler in it!” Damn you Blue Bell. Damn you.

Cobbler, Cake, Cookies, Brownies, Cheesecake, Pie… You know what’s gonna happen next, right? Ice Cream with the cone already in it! Oh the pity I will feel for our nation when this happens. It will be a tragedy! You’ll walk into Braums and say, I want a strawberry cone… And a cup will be thrust at you… Or your child. Think of your child. “Mommy? Can I get an ice cream cone?” And you will go through the drive thru, and say, “My little fatty wants a cookie dough cone, can I have the large one please? It keeps her quiet on the ride home.” And lo and behold, you get to the window, hand them your money, and they hand you……A CUP! “Oh, ma’am we don’t have cones anymore, they are mixed right into the ice cream.” What will your child do? Will future children never know the joys of a cone! Oh sweet waffle cone!!!

Wow. I got kinda worked up there, and I apologize. I am very passionate about ice cream. Well. I was. Before the whole diabetes thing. Lame. I guess I should be thankful that they are combining these things. Means I have less sugar to eat, and then they have to cut off less of my feet. That’s a good thing, right?

Meanwhile, I’m gonna go check out the market for this cone flavored ice cream thing. Might be some money in it…