Despite their names, the two do not mix. Let me explain…

Last week, I heard about Tweet for Blood in Austin. I decided it would be the perfect opportunity to cross a goal off of my 40×40 list, so I marked my calendar and made my very first blood donation on Friday.

While donating blood wasn’t my idea of a good time, it went well enough until I had to go and get all Diaphoretic – which I learned is just a fancy medical term for sweating like a whore in church. After a refreshing fruit punch Gatorade complete with bendy straw (Phlebotomists are so thoughtful), I was as good as new and on my merry way – feeling quite smug about having just saved two lives.

A few hours later, I had plans to meet a Twitter friend in person for the very first time at a local hangout on the lake. She and her friend turned out to be just lovely and there was a beautiful view, good conversation, and a Bloody Mary to lighten the mood.

As the sun started to set, I began to feel light-headed. I moved inside to the air conditioning, which didn’t help a damn bit. I knew I was doomed when I could barely keep the conversation going without thinking I’m going to puke in front of my new friends and the restaurant is going to have to compensate all these people for their dinners and I’m never going to be able to show my face on the east side of the city again because I will be the Diaphoretic barf women in the dining room and OH NO I have new jeans on please don’t let it splatter.

I must have looked green, because I asked no one in particular where the bathroom was and a drill sergeant of a woman boomed THIS WAY and whisked me off to a dark corner of the restaurant.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful to see a public toilet in my entire life.

I should mention (or maybe I shouldn’t?) that in addition to the fruit punch Gatorade and Bloody Mary, I had also enjoyed a red velvet cupcake and chips and salsa that afternoon. Notice a theme?

What goes up, must come down (or maybe what goes in, must come out?)…

I was mortified. I apologized to no less than 25 people, including those in the bathroom, the restaurant manager, and my new friends who – bless their hearts – waited in the lobby and even hugged me goodbye knowing full well what had just transpired.

For the record, I’m not a puker. The last time I puked was 2003 when someone had the bright idea to teach me how to play chess using a bottle of Malibu. Yes – an entire bottle.

I haven’t played chess or had a rum and coke since. I will donate blood again. I just won’t chase it with a Bloody Mary.

Lesson learned.