Tag Archives: life

Cracking the Fit Club Code

9 Dec

 

I tried to make this image smaller but it was being rude. So I relented out of frustration. All hail the enormous stick figure runner. DIE IN A FIRE, PICTURE.

I’m having a hard time gathering enough stomach fat to hold it in my hands in front of me now.

That’s radical.

There were really only two times in my life that I’ve been able to say that.  The first is when I was a vegetarian (8 months, Thanksgiving turkey got me), and the second is when I had mono.  So unless I’m starving myself or my body is starving itself, I’ve been fat.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m still totally fat.  But yesterday I put on a pair of pants I haven’t worn in forever because I feel distinctly like I have two sausage link for legs when I’m in them.  And when I sat in my office chair, the waist of the pants didn’t even cut into my stomach and make me feel like I was being stabbed to death by a rubber knife.

I’ve only been running for two weeks, so I’m not really sure how I can lose so much in so little time but that’s pretty darn exciting.  I did three weeks of P90X and didn’t notice any change at all.  This seems strange to me – as if I’ve entered some sort of dimensional fold that is quickly rewarding me for doing something I absolutely hate.  How is it that working out for 1.5 hours 6 days a week got me nowhere fast and interval running for 30 minutes 3 days a week is beginning to make my body stop jiggling furiously while I brush my teeth?

That’s a serious fat girl problem, people.  No joke.

Now, I don’t want to go all life lesson preacher on you because it’s only been two weeks and I seriously can’t even imagine graduating to the 3rd, 4th, and 5th weeks of this program, let alone ever actually running a 5K.  That sounds like crazy talk to me.  But right now, at this point in time, I’m succeeding.  And I think I’m having an epiphany.  My entire life, I assumed that there were people who liked to work out and people who didn’t like to work out and I was one of the latter which is why it never stuck.  And while I’m sure there may be people in this world who like to work out, I think it’s only a very small percentage of humans.  I don’t think they’re doing it because they like it.  I think they’re doing it because they like it more than the alternative.  It feels better to wreck yourself for an hour or less than spend an entire day feeling like a fat turd.

I think I cracked the code.   Listen: I don’t like running.  I’ve been very honest about the fact that I’m doing this as an experiment on how far I can take this whole “no excuses” psychology by doing something I absolutely hate.  But what I do like is finally shaking that feeling that “I should really try to get healthy”.  I’m not walking around with this huge sack of shoulds on my shoulders and it’s awesome.  If I hate myself and what I’m doing for 30 minutes straight, I can spend the other 23.5 hours in the day not thinking about how out of shape I am, how bad my skin looks, or how I should make more of an effort.

Is this obvious? I don’t feel like it’s obvious.  I feel like things are presented to us in terms of people who enjoy working out and people who enjoy sitting on their pillowy bottoms, eating comfort food, and watching television.  You figure out which one you are, and you stay there.  Or you spend all your time trying to jump from one bowl to the other.  

Listen: it’s a myth.  No one likes exercising.  They just like it more than not exercising.  

Now: let’s hope that stays crystal clear when I’m halfway through Couch to 5K and I want to kill myself. ♣

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Kevin Bacon Owes Me a Coffee

8 Dec

No sleep for the Jackie.

I got a lot done last night (still running – 1/2 way through week 2, still alive).  I did not, however get any sleep.  Instead, I was jolting in and out of a dream that included the death of my father, and Kevin Bacon.

The Baconator didn’t do anything to my father.  In fact, it was a friend from my childhood who I haven’t talked to in years.  I have, however, stalked them on Facebook.  Then she killed my father.  Then I checked out Kevin Bacon’s twitter feed, and he got in a hot tub with me after my father died.

It wasn’t, like, romantic.  It was this super awesome hot tub/pool thing that was enormous and had about 20 people there – all folks I only somewhat knew- but the pool wasn’t filled with water.  So the Baconator and I were filling it up for them with the sprayer hose on my kitchen sink.

It took a while.

No one at my workplace will understand this or accept is as a valid reason not to come to work.  I would argue that I’m a better worker when I’m sick than I am when I’ve spent the evening bereaving my father’s passing and filling a giant hot tub with a kitchen sprayer, assisted only by Kevin Bacon.  But unfortunately it’s not socially acceptable for me to skip work because of a taxing dream.

I’ve attempted lucid dreaming before, but haven’t succeeded.  It’s happened a few times on accident and those moments are so super awesome that I would prefer to hang out in dream world than be in reality.  Because naturally, I can fly there.  And breathe underwater.  And play Mario levels in real life.  But the moment I don’t want to be lucid dreaming for is the one where I gain a sense of my own consciousness right beside the Baconator while he’s holding my kitchen hose.

So I’ve resolved to stalk more people online that I actually want to dream about.  Maybe I could focus a lot of it on cartoon characters, because I’m sure that’d be a swell adventure.  I could check out Donald Trump’s twitter feed and see if when I dream about him, he gives me a bunch of money so I can pretend to accomplish fiscal goals and buy schools for third world countries and things.  Or maybe I should just browse a bunch of food blogs and stare at the food porn so that at night I dream of food.  Suddenly kicking in to lucid dreaming when I’m right beside the world’s largest vat of Jell-O sounds pretty splendiferous if you ask me.

Anyway I’m super tired today and the way I see it, Kevin Bacon owes me a coffee.  Perhaps instead of accomplishing real work tasks today, I’ll begin composing documents in support of Paid Time Off following particularly strenuous dreams.

I’ll keep you posted on my progress. ♣

 

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How to Discreetly and Effectively Share Your Wish List

7 Dec

I’ve been so excited about particular products in the past (hefty trash bags, dyson vacuums) that I have been suspected of working for the companies that produce them.  Last night I entered the wonderful world of Pinterest and though I don’t work for them, I can’t help but share my enthusiasm with you.   Partly because it took over my entire night and is thus the only thing that happened to me yesterday, and partly because I have a beautiful plan for it. 

Well, it’s not the only thing that happened to me yesterday, but I don’t think making jokes about the holiday HR party for work is the best idea with regards to financial sustainability.

Anyway, here’s the deal.  Pinterest is a website that allows you to ‘pin’ your favorite things onto a virtual pinboard (essentially, like a profile page with just pictures and links but no personal information).  You can drag a little hot button into your toolbar while you browse and when you see something you like (ZOMG that kitten wearing armor and fighting a dog is sooooo cute!!!111!!!) you can click ‘pin’.  It will populate a few images you can use to represent that page/interest (select picture of kitten with mouth wide open, charging dog) and connects a URL to it.  So when I go to your Pinterest page, I see a bunch of pictures spread out on the page that link to the original sites and I’m all like oh man, that kitten is so cute. And I click it.  And see what you saw.

On the surface, it’s just another way to share things with people on the Interwebz that may or may not give a hoot about the sock bunny tutorial you thought was fantastically awesome or the failblog you read that morning.  But (and this is where my genius comes in) when you dig deeper, it’s a way to log all your desires into a wish list that you discreetly make available to family and friends.

Yeah, I’m going there.

Listen, everyone’s having babies and getting engaged and married and such (not necessarily in that order).  All of those life events are opportunities to have gifts given to you.  Now, I’m in my mid-20’s and at prime marrying/showering/engaging age, but I’m pretty happy and comfortable at the moment and in no rush whatsoever.  And by the time I do get around to any of those things, I’ll have already supplied myself with the items that one would deem appropriate for registries and general gift-giving.  Since I don’t have a socially acceptable reason to publicize a list of my product lusts, Pinterest can do it for me.

It’s a beautiful plan, folks.  Stay with me.  

On Pinterest, you can choose what to name the different pages in your profile.  That is, you can pin all your craft findings to a page called “ILOVEKRAFTSHAHAHA” and all your armored kittens to one called “Renaissance Cats Unite”.  So you make one called “Wish List” or “Product Lust” or “oh em jee buy me things” and pin your favorite products to that page.

Now, Pinterest is an invitation only community right now.  So you have to send an email invitation for someone to get a unique link allowing them to create a profile.  Which means that you will make yourself a page with your deepest desires on it, and out of the kindness of you heart, invite others to join the community (and also come check out all the things you really want).

No guilt, no pressure, no awkwardness.  Just a “hey, by the way if you want to get me something for just being in my mid-20’s, you can check out this page”.  Or a “hey if you don’t know what to get me for my birthday, I happen to have a constantly updated wish list available online”.   And because the pages are so pretty and well-organized, it’s almost like a treat for that person to browse and look through the things you pinned. Plus they get an invitation to a site they can’t join without your help.

It’s called a win-win, my friends, and it’s fantastic.

So go ahead; put out a request on your social media poison site of choice for a Pinterest invitation.  Make your Wish List, and spread the love and joy.  You might just find that the gifts you receive this year are beautifully tailored to your interests.   Or someone might get confused with which page is which and deliver a fully armored kitten to your doorstep.

Like I said: win – win. ♣

click image for original source/credits

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Enraged Knitting for Beginners

6 Dec

Good luck with that, buddy.

I’m genuinely upset.  My blood is boiling with frustration and I want nothing more than to throw this ball of yarn against the wall but I know it’s soft and malleable and will bring me  no satisfaction on impact.

Happy Lollipop Tuesday, boys and girls.  I’m angry.

If you don’t know what Lollipop Tuesday is, please know that it’s not often something enraging.  Usually, it’s a nice mind-opening experience that makes me grow somehow as a person – sometimes from epic new undertakings and sometimes from minute challenges. To read about more pleasant adventures, check out the archive at “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” at the top of this page.  To mock my pain, stay put.

I have always wanted to knit.  I don’t know why.  Something about it seems so soothing.  I’ve seen people knit while they watch television as if their hands have minds of their own and their brain can take a vacation.  I’ve seen people knit entire scarves that come snaking out of their bags during class in college.  I’ve seen beautiful little craft tutorials online that seem so easy…if only you know how to knit.

I lack this basic pioneer skill.

For some stupid reason this week, I thought it would be great if I could teach myself how to acquire it.  But instead of relying on YouTube tutorials (which lovingly taught me how to solve a Rubik’s cube and how to make origami this year), I thought I’d go old school like the craft itself and learn from a book.

Why? Why did I do that?

As it turns out, I’m apparently an imbecile and have no ability to decipher diagrams or make sense of instructions. I’m really disappointed in myself.  Hours of attempting to ‘cast on’.  That’s right: I spent HOURS just trying to cast on.  It kept spiraling around and I couldn’t figure out why.  Then when I finally did, I realized my stitches were too tight.  There was always a reason to start over.  And when I finally sang a weak, forlorn Hallelujah for my accomplishment, it occurred to me that I hadn’t actually begun to knit yet.  I’d just prepared to begin to knit.  If I could have worked faster, I’d have fashioned myself a very soft, very colorful noose.  When I sought out the section of the booklet that actually delved into knitting, my mind was a flurry of despair.

 “Wrap the yarn around the right needle from back to front, so that it rests between the two needles (reference Diagram 32).  Slide the right needle down, then bring the point forward through the stitch, bringing the yarn with it (Reference Diagrams 33 and 34).”  

-excerpt from “Knit Yourself a Noose” by Jackie.

First of all, what the hell does any of that mean? Honestly.  It’s not clear enough for me.  And referencing the diagrams doesn’t help, because they’re in 2D and my life is in 3.  Three.  I need three D’s.  I don’t see any clear difference between the diagrams so I have to flit my eyes back and forth from one to the other until I can spot the difference like some sort of children’s activity book and then once I do, I’ve completely forgotten what I’m doing and my hands are in a mess that looks a lot like when I played Cat’s Cradle in elementary school. Blame it on my generation, but there was no way I was knitting a scarf from a book’s instructions.  Maybe if I were trapped in a cabin with a full supply of food and water, but nothing to entertain myself but a ball of yarn, two needles, and this incredibly vague book – then maybe I might be able to fashion myself a scarf wide enough to warm a kitten.  But it would probably still be spirally and misshapen and sad.

After hours of attempts and painfully slow progress, I stopped.  I told myself I’d given it the good ol’ college try and simply gave up.  I thought through the list of incredibly stupid people I know that somehow managed to learn to knit and got very, very angry.  I thought of all the old women to hum and rock and stare into a vast void while their hands make beautiful clothes and crafts and blankets and wonders of all kinds.  I was enraged.

Then I remembered that YouTube exists and did what I should have just resorted to in the first place: finding the most basic video with the most views.  As it turns out, it taught me how to cast on in a beautifully straight, incredibly clear line in only three minutes.  Yeah. Three minutes.    Then I moved on to attempting to actually knit a row.  And wouldn’t you know: it’s all actually quite straightforward.  There’s some messiness with all the fingers and string involved, but once you figure out what you’re looking at it’s really no big deal.  That being said, I’m not knitting Christmas presents any time soon, but I can at least not write off an entire bag of newfound knitting supplies.  And that’s pretty stellar because before I watched the YouTube video, I had resolved to burn them in a hot, blazing hellfire.

End result? Nothing actually knitted.  Various, undocumented attempts.  Overwhelming frustration.

Tonight, I go 2011 on it and go full-fledged YouTube.  I’ll knit you yet, scarf of rage. ♣

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My Plan for World Domination

5 Dec

My butt hurts.

And my thighs.  And my arms.  And my lack of abs.

Yeah, I didn’t think that a lack of something could hurt either, but that was until I started running.

For those of you not pumping my blog posts right into your veins every day, I should probably note here my most recent undertaking: Couch to 5K.  That’s a term for transforming one’s self from a sad, flabby couch potato into a lean, mean running machine.  This is an experiment for me in whether the psychology lesson I learned from blogging every day is applicable to other areas of life.  Areas I really hate that make me want to die.  Like exercising.  

Specifically, running.

The concept is simply no excuses.  I decided to do something, so I’m doing it.  One day at a time, without looking at the end product.  

I'm sorry but it was really hard to tell the search engine the difference between domination, and well, "domination". So you get the latter. Maybe it will inspire you to do Couch to 5K too. Or vomit. Sorry if it's just vomit.

This is the ultimate test of the postaday psychology because every time I think about running a 5K, I vomit in my mouth a little bit from fear.  So it’s important to focus on one day at a time.

I’m doing all right so far.  I mean, I’m only one week two.  But I’m still doing it-  I still run when the voice on my iPod tells me to run, and I (gladly and with much thanks to God in Heaven) walk when it tells me to walk.  But oh my good grief my fat does not take kindly to the flogging.  I went up a flight of stairs today and my thighs questioned me.  I had to talk them into it.  The sad part is that I’m not really even running yet. I’m just, like, jogging for a bit and then walking for a bit.  Interval stuff.  It’s just that I haven’t done anything active whatsoever with my body in so long that telling me to run for a minute and a half straight, giving me two minutes to question if I want to end my life or keep going, and then telling me to run for another minute and a half again is. so. hard. 

I’d like to mention here that I have asthma, so as to help the judging ease itself ever so slightly.  That’s right: I’m pulling the asthma card *pushes up glasses*.  Actually, I make Dave go with me so he can coach the breathing part.  Left to my own devices, I will haunch over and hyperventilate myself into an all out wheeze-fest.  It’s more like an exercise in breathing than an exercise in running.  

I’m hanging in there.  Ever so slightly.  I have to admit that the knowledge that in two weeks I will be expected to run for five minutes straight has me approaching paralysis.  I haven’t run for five minutes straight since I was in 9th grade soccer.  Even then it wasn’t pretty.

You know what I really can’t get over? That I do this crap at 6 in the morning.  SIX IN THE MORNING.  Because if I don’t get up and do it then, I’ll dread it all day.  It’s like knowing I have to get punched in the face eventually.  I can either spend my day working myself up to it and freaking out, or I can just take a slug right at the top of the morning. So far it’s been effective.

What if I unlock a whole key to psychology here? What if I begin to take on one unfathomable concept at a time until I have become a guru at life-changing and mind-altering? That’s my claim to fame, folks.  And you saw it all start here, on the Jackie Blog.

Now go share my Facebook page and Twitter with all your friends so you can be a cool hipster and say you read me when I was fat and unmotivated. ♣

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The Thrills of Adulthood Part II: My Palace of Filth

4 Dec

I’m protesting adulthood right now. 

My sink is absolutely chock full of dishes that have actually begun to take on a distinct smell, which I don’t like so I have a large Yankee candle lit in my kitchen to help me forget about it.  There are papers on the floor in my living room, evidence of a recently-rehearsed monologue, which my cats have deemed important and have therefore sprawled themselves across.  At one point yesterday there were so many cups on my coffee table in the living room that I began to think I was actually in the kitchen.

I just simply don’t feel like doing anything.

Sometimes I like to embrace being a grown-up in strange ways.  No one can tell me to clean my house, and that’s awesome.  No one can tell me whether or not I can blow a bunch of money on something completely stupid, and that’s awesome too.  I can make a blanket fort any time I like in any corner of the house I please, and I can blast music and dance around in my pajamas until 3 in the afternoon if it’s what tickles my fancy.

And lately, doing nothing at all has tickled my fancy quite fine.

I keep telling myself I’ll come out of it.  Either that, or Dave will get so tired of it that he takes over the entire house with adult sparkle magic one day.  That would be totally awesome.  I’ll promptly make a blanket fort in the newly cleaned domicile.

If he doesn’t give in soon, I’m going to have to eventually buck up because it’s highly likely that my parents will be in town next weekend and I’d hate for them to think I’ve given up on life or something (hi mom – thanks for reading).  Not even running out of dishes can stop me – I’ve already given up drinking anything except water from the bathroom faucet (because I keep a cup in the cupboard, constantly clean and ready for such an occasion), and I’ve taken to eating things that don’t require pots, pans, or anything more than a paper towel to handle.

I don’t know what happened to me.  I took off work on a bit of whim last Friday, had a 3-day weekend right on the heels of the 4-day weekend from the Thanksgiving holiday, and now I’m stuck in ‘off’ mode.  Which, relative to where I’ve been the rest of the year is a pretty excellent place to be.  I noticed that I’m a day behind on blogs (I used to post early in the morning and now I post late at night, to be read the next morning), that all I do when I have free time is watch movies and that going to work is just what I have to do until I can come back home and watch more movies.

Maybe it’s a December thing.  I decorated for the holidays, decided to not be so uptight about taking time away from the job, and now I’m so in love with it that my brain has found a permanent setting here.  I can’t bring myself to be bothered with the frivolties of adulthood.  I’d rather roll around in filth like a little baby piglet.  

Well, hopefully it’s more of a semi-permanent setting.  Eventually, I might have need of a clean dish. ♣

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MISSING: Ten Dollars (and My Dignity)

3 Dec

I’m mortified by what I’ve done.  I’ve hidden it from you all this week, and I feel awful about that.  It’s time to come clean.

I watched all the Twilight movies.

I did – every single one.   I even paid genuine American dollars to see the most recent installment in the theater.  I don’t even go to the movies anymore.  I have Netflix and use Redbox for a quick fix.  And when I don’t want to do either of those, I use Amazon instant download to rent something. All of that is far less expensive than nursing my movie habit in the theater.  Not to mention less dangerous, because every time I spent into the movie theater, a chatty teenager of the female persuasion giggles, talks to her friends, makes comments out loud throughout to the movie, and texts and plays on her phone.  That kind of behavior makes me want to slaughter people.

But I paid ten dollars to see this movie and was sad and disappointed.  Sickened even.  I feel dirty inside.  

This was all a sort of accident, really.  I started out by forcing myself to watch the first movie for my Lollipop Tuesday this week.  I found it to be awkward, poorly written, and not at all well done overall.  I really honestly felt like they had all the trappings for a good storyline but did a terrible job of throwing it together.  Then a few nights later, Dave and I were joking about what to do with some free time and bantered that we should watch the next Twilight movie.  I laughed, he laughed, and then we both realized that the other was kind of not joking.  Like we were curious if it got any better and still wondering what the hype was with everyone.  But when I pushed play, the storyline didn’t make any sense.  It was like we jumped in the middle of things and didn’t know how we got there.

Turned out I downloaded the 3rd, not the 2nd.

And we couldn’t just go right to the 3rd without having seen the 2nd.  That’s preposterous.  And since I didn’t want to watch it out of context but didn’t want to waste the money by not ever watching it at all, I downloaded the second.  Naturally.

So that’s how one through three happened.  I’m still kind of embarrassed by the whole thing.  But here’s the kicker: the third one was

I've endured your terrible acting and your unwillingness to open your mouth when you speak far too long. You owe me ten dollars. And my dignity.

actually kind of good.  Not like, a good movie.  But it followed all the rules of good movie-making (sans finding good actors, but they’ve stuck themselves there) and there were lots of awesome vampire fight scenes.  

They might sparkle like little fairies, but they fight a fast, gory fight. 

So I was left with the third movie, thinking that maybe the third one was what had everyone excited.  It was a lot less about Bella’s relationships and a lot more about killing stuff.  Then tonight, Dave and I decided to take a long walk.  Well, really, we started looking for a bus that took us to a different part of town and never found it – so we just started walking toward where we wanted to go.  About 6 miles later, we ended up there.  I was tired, I wanted to rest my feet, and I thought a movie would do us both good.  But looking down the list, I got to choose from Arthur Christmas, Happy Feet Two, Puss in Boots, Jack and Jill, Twilight, and the Muppets.  Oh, and 3 of those also came with their 3D counterparts.

I should have chosen the Muppets, I know.  But I feel strange paying to see a Muppets movie.  I feel like you rent Muppets movies.  There are no actions scenes, there are no awesome graphics.  I can see the Muppets on my own television and be just as satisfied.  I know now that this was a mistake from which I can never recover.

So that left Twilight.  And hey, I’d already seen the other three.  I could just see this fourth one and then be able to actually argue with people about why Twilight isn’t worth all the hoopla because I’m no longer ignorant.

It sucked.  Sucked in the kind of way that made me sad that I ever started it all or thought that I saw a glimpse of hope in the third movie.  Sucked in the kind of way that made me wish I’d seen something else on the list, even if it wasn’t Muppets.  I kept hoping something awesome would happen and that they’d embrace the almost-cool parts from the third installment.  But they didn’t.  Ever.

It ruined all its potential, and that’s the only thing I was holding out for.  I thought that maybe after four movies, they could realize what they have the ability to do and whip up something acceptable.  But they trashed the storyline, made half the movie a wedding and honeymoon (You get to see a nipple in a PG-13 movie.  Nipple! PG-13!), and made me want to strangle the writers and director even more than I wanted to strangle the teenage girl in front of me, chatting with her friend and flashing her phone around the front row like a torch lamp.

I don’t know what came over me this past week.  I’m really quite mortified.  I was going to try to keep it a secret from everyone I know, but I don’t think I’d be able to sleep.  I have fallen, my friends.  I searched and searched for some redeemable quality to a terrible movie saga, and came up empty and feeling foul.  I’ve made a huge mistake and I fear I’ll never be the same.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take a shower and try to wash away the dirt that can never come clean. ♣

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A Rant from the Feminine Abyss

2 Dec

I’m think God gave women periods so that the times that they aren’t miserable, volatile, sour beings they actually seem to be quite lovely.

Or is that just me?

Sometimes I wish guys had to go through something similar.  I really do.  Because I’m sure it seems to some that if you go through something once a month every month for decades, eventually you get over it.  But you don’t.  Maybe other women all over the world do, but I totally don’t.  I don’t get over the feeling of going about my regular business and getting attacked by what feels like little feral mole rats grinding at my innards.  And the stupid commercials that make periods seem like a holiday parade make me want to throw a shoe at the television every time.  Not to mention the fact that we’re more likely to attract sharks.  Sharks.  About one quarter of my life can’t be spent in open waters. That’s serious business.

One time I found a very small hole in my sock while I was walking around the house and was so sad that it took 30 minutes for me to be coaxed out of my deep depression.  

You know what else I find annoying?  The fact that it costs so much to simply endure one week of the month.  Heating pads and drugs and magical cotton wonders of all kinds come at a high cost.  Sure, you can buy generic.  But you’ll regret it.   

Where, exactly, is the inconvenience for guys? There are no boobs to strap up, no heels to don, no cramps to endure… and to make a baby all they have to do have a romp in the hay, while women have to watch their bodies morph into monstrous human incubators – swollen and waddling, waiting for the beast to come forth.  And then when it does, it gets its food from the woman’s body. 

I’m not seeing where the compromise is here.  Can someone direct me to it?

So here’s my proposal.  I’ll endure the once-a-month.  Or the baby-incubating.  Or the baby-feeding.  Or the boob-containing. Or the menopause.  

But can we please just give one of those to the men?  It only seems fair.

Puppies and Sprinkles,

Obviously Menstrual Jackie ♣

Look at these. These hearts and butterflies aren't fooling anyone. I wish packaging could just be more straightforward. Maybe I'll start my own tampon line. "Feel gross? Buy these. You're welcome." Yeah. A snarky tampon company - that sounds like a legacy to leave.

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A Shameless Plug for Blood Donation

1 Dec

I remember the first time I gave blood; it was my freshman year of college and I was quietly waiting for a friend to finish and texting my family on my super awesome TracFone, which cost me .5 units per text.  The blood drive was finishing up and a nurse came out to ask me if I was waiting.  I assured her that there was no way I was going to give blood and that I passed out at the sight of it (a problem for about 2-5% of people).  She said that if I could make it through, I would save three lives.

That’s when the guilt set in.

It was a good guilt.  I needed to feel obligated to do it.  Because sometimes I forget that just because a problem isn’t staring me in the face doesn’t mean it’s not a very serious problem that I can help alleviate.  I continued to give blood when blood-sucking events were being held at my school and struggled each and every time.  When I graduated, there was a sense of relief surrounding how inconvenient it was to donate now that nurses wouldn’t just come to my house and line up with needles.  But then I got a job with a hospital system that has very well-organized donation days in my business unit every single quarter.

That’s once every 3 months that I have to attempt not to completely pass out.

I heard a rumor once that if you pass out while giving blood, they can’t use it.  I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I use it as a sort of endurance test for me.  I can either hang in there and make the pain and awfulness worth it by saving three lives, or I can give up like a little pansy and succumb to the sweating and lightheadedness all for naught.

Today I did really well.  Like, seriously well.  I barely even sweated, and that’s huge for me. 

So here’s the thing: You should donate blood.  Really, you should.  There are lots of perfectly healthy, perfectly lovely people wandering around and not donating blood while there are lots of unhealthy people in hospitals in need.  Blood banks are pressed for supply so they offer gift card incentives, cholesterol screenings, and some workplaces even offer Paid Time Off Incentives for their employees because people need blood.

Do you understand what that means?  It means that people are suffering and in need of blood in order to get well and live and not only can you help three of those folks in one donation, but you get gift cards and a host of other incentives while you do it.  You can even go to some places and get cold, hard cash. 

So why aren’t you doing it?

This morning when I went to donate, there were several empty cots and no one in the hallway.  My coworker and I were the only ones there.  I think that’s unfortunate.   You don’t have to do it quarterly, although you can.  Trust me: if I can go ice cold, pale, and sweat until I’m on the brink of passing out and still make it through, you’re going to be fine.

So hey: it’s World AIDS day.  Consider making a life-saving appointment today.  It can be your good deed of 2011. ♣

Sidenote: Did you know that if you identify as a male that has ever had sex with another male, you are ineligible to donate?  Even though blood is tested for HIV before being accepted, plenty of healthy, uninfected homosexual males are turned away for donation.  It wasn’t until November of this year that the UK lifted their ban.  Consider raising your voice for the U.S. to do the same. 

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Flight of the Wildebeest

30 Nov

Disclaimer: These are not my legs.

I’ve begun to run.

This is huge, because I’m made of blubber and fat and mostly squishy things.

I’ve attempted to run before but it hasn’t gone well.  And actually, it wasn’t so much “running” as “jogging from one light post to another and then walking the rest of the way”.   But now my endeavor is far more epic.  I’m doing Couch to 5K.

For those of you unawares, I’m 1) happy to be a source of constant education for you and 2) happy to tell you that Couch to 5K is a running schedule that takes couch potatoes and whips them into being able to run for 30 minutes straight (or the distance of a 5K) in 9 weeks.  You don’t pay for it.  It’s just a program someone whipped up and decided to share.  And it turns out it’s been effective for lots of folks.

I absolutely hate running.  I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.  But one cannot deny that I am startlingly out of shape and in need of emergency intervention.  After all, a child was just put into foster care by a state here in the good ol’ US of A for being morbidly obese.  If the nation is going to start sweeping up all the fatties and placing them into programs against their will, I’m going to have to get on the trim trolley.   And surprisingly enough, I kind of enjoy this.  All I have to do is download a podcast that has music that fits the interval I’m on, and a dude’s voice that tells me when to walk and when to run.  There’s something about it that’s really satisfying, aside from the feeling that I want to hurl and my loud pleas with God to please make it stop.

People tend to stare.

Dave has kindly decided to join me.  He’s in much better shape than me since he’s a black belt in ninja studies and he does me the favor of allowing me to set the pace.  But since that bores him, he side steps and twirls around me while I struggle.  It’s an interesting dance: ballerino meets wildebeest.

I’ve had this sort of revelation.  There are two different kinds of endeavors in my world.  There are the things I want to do and give a shot, not caring if I make it to the end and willing to stop at any point I please (P90X, biting my nails, general acts of adulthood) and then there are things that I make stick, regardless.  Like this blog.  This is a no-excuses sort of deal.  I do it every day regardless of whether I’m inspired, feeling entertaining, have had anything interesting happen for the past two weeks, am sleep deprived, grumpy, or have all my fingers chopped off.  It happens.  It’s a force beyond me and there is no negotiation.  I simply decided to do it and kept doing it.  This is a sort of… trial.  What if I apply that thinking to other areas of my life?  Just simply do it because I’ve decided to do it.  In a blogging way, not in a ho-hum-maybe-I’ll-stop-when-I-want-way.

This could be a powerful unlocking of the psyche.  It’s also a good excuse to don a Jackie Blog shirt at a 5K.

And so it commences: the flight of the wildebeest. ♣

I owe you an update.  Long ago in a land far away, I started the search for the best macaroni and cheese recipe ever.  I’m still cooking, and still eating.  I don’t have much father to go, but each recipe is about a pound of pasta and there are only two people in my apartment.  It’s taking a while.  That being said, the Martha Stewart recipe is the front runner at the moment – but I have a promising recipe yet to be carried out.  A $25 Visa Gift Card is on its way to a lucky reader in the month of December.  Here’s hoping it’s you!

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