Monday, February 20, 2012

Dress to Impress

People have recently not been asking me at all about the details of my training. What kind of exercises I do, my diet, the best accessories to buy, etc. So I decided that instead of politely waiting for someone to ask, I am going to shove random information you don't really care about in your face. Because it makes me feel important. I am the expert, after all. Today I am going to talk about my exercising clothes.

I have one pair of exercise clothes. For someone who works out 6 days a week and only does her laundry every 2 weeks, my exercise clothes go through a lot of wear and tear. So of course it would be logical for me to own something tough and sturdy. And of course because I am so cheap, I don't.

Let's work from the inside out and start with the sports bra.
I had never owned a sports bra until last January. I never wanted to buy one when I started exercising regularly because I was afraid it might jinx my new found habits, just like every person who buys a hot tub or phoosball table and then suddenly never wants to use these things, even if they are professional phoosball players or professional hot tub sit-and-have-a-beerers. It is always best to just have a friend who owns one so you can come over and use it at your leisure. Unfortunately, I have found it difficult to meet people who are willing to work out a sports bra sharing system with me. I even ran a Craigslist ad, but I guess it was too hardcore even for those weirdos out there in the back alleys of the internet.
However when I made the commitment to do the mud run, I knew I would have to break down and buy one, because the idea of hot, southern mud that hundreds of sweaty people have already rolled around in running down under my clothes was just about one of the most disturbing images I could possibly bring to mind. Actually...when you word it that way it sounds kind of hot. But still, pretty gross when you think about all the gross microscopic germs in mud. Besides, I had a friend who swore that buying a sports bra would completely change my workout. And I was getting tired of sweating in a regular bra.
So I made my way to Victoria's Secret, where my friend recommended I go as they were having a sale and she had recently purchased the "best sports bra ever" (her words, not mine), because it allegedly gave real support, unlike most sports bras. I tried on a size small lime green sports bra, the only kind they had left. I have a pretty small chest and shoulders, so I thought this might be ok. I was horribly mistaken.
If you don't really like the way your shoulders and arms look on a normal basis, never ever put on a sports bra, especially one that is slightly too small for you. It will transform you from your slightly flabby self into a horribly deformed Pillsberry Doughboy. Your retinas will burn so that you will screech in agony and fall to the floor, pounding your fists against the 180 mirror and the saleslady will have to call the emergency services due to the concerning noises coming from your dressing room. A Victoria's Secret sports bra also adds the unnecessary and virtually hopeless effort (at least for me) to try to push your breasts up, so as to make you look even sexier when you work out. Because that is an idealistic and totally attainable goal when exercising.
Needless to say, I did not buy the lime green sports bra that made me feel like a giant had reached down and squeezed me from the middle as if I was a corporate stress ball. Instead I headed over to Target, where I found a nice, not so violently colored sports bra that was still too small, but it did not hopelessly try to push what little of a chest I don't have up into sexy work out cleavage when even a regular push up bra can't achieve this feat. I was also saving $9, since it was on clearance and 50% off. So I was ok with this.
After buying and trying out a sports bra, I have come to 2 conclusions:
1. It has made absolutely no difference to the way I run, because my breasts were already so small anyways. Just one of the "perks" of having a small chest I guess. Now if only they could make sports underwear...I have a lot that needs to be held in down below.
2. Sports bras are diabolical contraptions, especially when it comes to taking them off. Getting a sports bra off in a regular state of being is hard enough, but when your sweat is grappling on to every piece of cloth that gets near your skin like a needy boyfriend, a sports bra is extremely difficult to take off. There aren't any fasteners or buttons or zippers on these things...seriously, who designed this shit? There is nothing that instills confidence after putting yourself through a dizzying workout, getting all sweaty and red faced, and panting like a drowning horse then doing the weird little dance/struggle it takes to get a sports bra off. If you are a man and want to experience the full effect of what I am talking about, pretend you are battling a lizard-bird that is wrapped around your shoulders and trying to choke you. That is vaguely what it feels like to try and get a sports bra off.

A depiction of me being super hot in a sports bra, like always.

Alright, now after the sports bra comes the shirt.
There isn't really much to this choice. I, like most people, am perfectly happy to work out in a t-shirt that someone gave them as a gift even though you could never wear it on any normal day, because people would think you are a loser who wears one size fits all t-shirts as an excuse for fashion. Ok...maybe that is just a personal opinion. Although I do wear quite a few t-shirts on a regular basis anyways, if it's any consolation. However I do try to make sure they are rockin' band t-shirts or from obscure cool places like the Piggly Wiggly or Girl Scout Camp so I appear edgy and hip.
If you are really fancy, you might work out in a super-cool high tech spandex tank top. However, I think this would just lead to another sports bra dance-attack situation when it comes to taking them off, and also you cannot alternatively use spandex shirts as your towel for sweat, snot, or tears when out running very easily. If you think that is gross, just remember all those snot stains on your shirt are just battle scars of the work out circuit, so as to intimidate other runners when they pass by.
I warn you though, when picking out a t-shirt to go running, to not choose anything too baggy, because if you sweat too much in it, it will turn into a heavy, loose garment that makes you feel like you are running around in thick trash bag, trailing behind you, flapping sadly in what little of a wind you create.

What are you lookin' at?

And then comes pants.
Once again, I opt for the cotton option rather than the spandex. One day I will get spandex because I am still getting images of mud running up into my crotch in April...ugh. But for now I just have my good ol' cotton capris, which are working out alright, although they have a rather large hole in the crotch. They used to be my yoga pants, but when you go to yoga with a giant hole in your crotch and start splitting your legs all over the place people begin to act a little strange around you. I can't imagine why. Fortunately, this is not a problem when running. Although you have to be careful and only check around your crotch to make sure the seams around the hole aren't breaking any further when there are no other people around. Because again, they inexplicably start acting kind of weird...?
My only qualm about cotton pants is the issue of having a major panty-line problem. Admittedly, the knowledge that when wearing my pants people can see every edge of my underwear used to prevent me from working out frequently. I don't know what people do to get around this. Do they just not wear underwear? Do they work out in thongs? Is there some magical running underwear that I am just being oblivious to? In any case, I have overcome my embarrassment of having my panty line being visible by affirming that when I pass people, they will be able to gauge how hard I have been working based off of how far up my underwear has ridden. So yea, when I run by people and I have a mega-wedgie, I feel pretty proud of myself, because I know they are watching me streak (stumble) by in awe.

Mega-wedgie=Mega effort

Finally it comes to the running shoes.
You can tell someone is a serious runner when their shoes are bright, ridiculous neon colors. You can tell someone is an amateur runner when their shoes are plain white, look half a size too large, and have the little plastic tracker from a 10k their mother ran in over half a decade ago.
My running shoes get the job done though. For awhile, when I started training, I was still in Colorado for break and I was running in my dilapidated converse because my running shoes were back at my apartment. My converse shoes that I trekked all over the Rocky Mountains in during the summer, with multiple holes, half of the left heel missing, and bits of plastic falling out. My only other tennis shoes are the ones my mother purchased for me in 7th grade and have half a shoe lace missing from the time in freshman gym it got caught in the little pulley wedges we had to do relays on. They have gone MIA anyways.Yea, so my hand me down running shoes are a "step" up, and I am proud to flaunt them, even when ladies come up behind me on a run and instruct me that they are wrong for my footfalls and I should really consider getting something with more specific support.

(I am sorry I got too lazy to think of an awesome image for shoes...I apologize for letting you down.)

There are other accessories of course, such as a wristwatch that is the bane of my existence (I STILL can't run a mile faster than 10 minutes...the darn thing must be broken), a headband to keep my hair from flailing all over my face, my super chic white socks that come up my ankles and give me the appearance of having severely swollen calves... and so on. Some people have fancy GPS trackers or iPods in their little arm straps. I am too poor (cheap) for such things. It's better to live a simple life, right?...says the girl on her 17 inch MacBook Pro.
I do also have a few alternate pants. I have a couple pair of shorts which I almost never wear out in public, because I don't want to scare any small children with the sight of my unwieldy thighs, and some cotton leggings that make me feel legit because from far away you can't really tell they aren't meant for running. I also have a multitude of t-shirts to rotate through. So don't worry. I'm not wearing the same gross, sweat encrusted clothes every day. Just most days. It's my way of greeting the people I pass by and saying "You better back off and keep your distance you mother****ers."

Welcome to my version of hospitality.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The Truth About Big Butts

So, recently this image has been floating around in my news feed on Facebook. It's a supposedly fake Nike ad for a campaign promoting big butted women. (I recommend reading it before you read mine.) While I agree with and applaud the message, I felt like it could use some tweaking to be slightly more accurate and in line with my life.

It's funny because all the girls I have seen sharing it I don't really consider as having big butts. I think the world just doesn't understand sometimes. There is a difference between having a butt and having a large butt. Every girl thinks her butt is big, but really, how often do we look at ourselves from straight behind? I do, every day in the mirror, because I have two of them. So I would know.

I have a large rear end that can rival the likes of any black girl, and especially Nicky Minaj. This butt is both a blessing and a curse.
I, personally, love my body. You probably couldn't tell, seeing as how I only compliment myself but a few times each post. But I do. It's not perfect, but coming from the point of view of someone who has looked very closely at a large variety of naked people several times a week for the past 3 years, I have a unique shape. And I like it. It's interesting. And fun to draw. Which is why I draw myself all the time. I didn't think I was THAT much of a narcissist did you? Naw, I just like to draw curvy women.
The drawback, of course, is all the those other parts of life. No one builds the world around women with abnormally large rear ends. Especially clothing designers. I haven't gotten pants shopping in three years. I am not fat and I refuse to let something like denim make me feel like I am. Also, I am pretty sure clothes were invented by overbearing cave-parents to actually make their daughters look less attractive and scare off all the other indecent cave men. Seriously though, every time I see someone take off their clothes, they instantly start looking better!

...I'm talking about life models, you pervert.

I'll talk about naked people more one another day, so back to my point. Having a big butt is tough to deal with. ...Gosh, my life is just riddled with obstacles. I have it so hard, don't I? But I persevere onwards. Because I have a dream that one day, there will be a famous white girl with a big butt that people respect. And the doctored up Kardashian booties totally don't count. I'm talking a real ass. Dimples, cellulite, weird and wide planes, the whole shebang. Maybe that girl could be me. Also, there is nothing more profound then when you are out dancing and "Baby Got Back" comes on. Because you know, deep down --in your booty-- that it is playing for you. And then you get your freak on.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

2 Quick and Easy Ways to Be As Cool As I Am About Valentine's Day

Valentine's comes every year. And then it goes. And to be honest, I never really give a hot steaming shit.

No, honestly, I am not just saying that to cover up for my depressingly long record of being totally lovelorn over Valentines Day. I think I've had two v-days with a boyfriend...and I can't remember a single way we celebrated it. Although I'm pretty sure there was chocolate or something, maybe flowers? ....I really am pretty terrible at the whole romance thing, aren't I?

Ok, so it doesn't help that I don't really show any emotions outward to begin with. But I am really just not a holiday person. Why? I will tell you, and I am going to be completely honest here: I am a really selfish person. Horribly, horribly selfish. My agenda is pretty much only concerned with one thing: me.

Right now I am at a point in my life where I am stumbling around and trying so hard to figure out how to be an adult that deciding just what to make for dinner or what to wear that day is stressful enough. I don't have any time to think about other people! This may be a large explanation as to why I am single. Or don't have all too many friends for that matter.

I dread gift giving holidays. It requires an amount of selflessness and caring from me that just about breaks my machinery. All that spending time with people and doing nice things for them...ugh. Seriously, if you ever catch me singing Happy Birthday to you, it means I must really care about you. That or it is too awkward to not be singing with everyone else. (Although most of the time I can get away with mouthing the words and making little noises with my throat...which isn't actually that different from my version of singing anyways.)

So yea, I feel that the trade between having a relationship and being totally devoted and caring towards another person with being single and structuring your whole world out of things you want is a pretty good deal. This selfishness really helps me deal with this holiday.

Also, another mechanism that helps me glide through V-day like girl scout cookies glide to my thighs is that due to the fact that I have celebrated genuine "love" on this day so infrequently I have very low expectations. The lowest of low. Like when white girls try to "get low" at the club to be cool but instead just end up flashing everyone kind of low. The only expectation I have ever had from Valentine's day is that I will get a good haul of candy and chocolate. When I was kid, Valentine's was a significant day, because it was one of the few days of major candy collection in the year. Valentine's day was what would get me through to Easter. This was important, because often my parents decided it was a good idea to give up dessert for Lent. But, oh ho, did I get the better of them! Of course after Easter was always the long haul through summer until Halloween, but there was enough vacationing and ice cream during that time that it was bearable.

All I ever wanted out of Valentine's day was lots of delicious chocolate. We know we all threw the pointless cards full of marketing for cartoons away, even if your classmate went through great caring lengths to actually put your name on it (usually about half the class did this) and compiled all the candy together. Except for the cool Harry Potter cootie catcher card. That thing was so boss. I probably still have it.

Really, being reminded that I am single on this day is not that big of a deal, because I think about this fact so often anyways. Basically, every time I see a guy I remember that I am single. So, yea, this day, whatever, don't really care. And if I ever do have a boyfriend* during this time of year, well I hope that he is man enough to completely forget about the holiday so that I don't feel bad that I didn't get him anything in return when he buys me a bunch of flowers. Or chocolate. If he has any sense he will get me chocolate. Although if he is really smart, a weekly offering of chocolate will be routine. (Donuts, cookies, brownies, and other pastries are all acceptable alternatives.)

I hope I've given you a new perspective on this holiday. I am sure many people have a very complicated situation on this day, with many mixed emotions and outlooks... much more complicated than mine anyways (although it doesn't take much) and I don't run into many people who aren't affected by this day at all, like I am. (Is there anything that I am not amazing at??) Maybe they have realized that by all this reasoning that it is actually pretty strategic and rewarding to be single on Valentines day.

Also, I may actually be a man.

Oh, and if you are reading this and are in a relationship...I don't have any advice for you. Or anything to say at all about the matter. Sorry. Maybe you should break up with you S.O? Then I could help you a lot more. (This would have nothing to do with the fact that it would mean more single men for me)

Look, all I am trying to do is make the world more uncaring and passive place for all. I feel we would greatly benefit from this. Besides, that is the way of the badass, isn't it??

Have a good Valentine's Day everyone. Now I have to go, I have a date with a pretty pair of heels I never have an excuse to wear, sushi, and a body pillow stand-in for a guy! If I'm lucky there will be some cuddling later tonight ;)

*Now accepting applications. No seriously, just because I am single doesn't mean I want to be. Are you up to snuff? Take the challenge and find out!

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Tortellini Ears

I have a history teacher who has ears like tortellini. (Harsh, but true.)

He might as well look like this:

Every time I go to class I wildly crave tortellini.

...But not as much as I used to back in my first year in college. Those were the days when I used to think about tortellini almost as often as I think about tall white boys becoming enraptured with my amazingness and then being invited over to their apartments to drink beer and play RPG video games.

Tortellini is expensive, so I would only buy one package when I went to the store. I would look forward to tortellini night all week.

And when the time came, I would celebrate. Hardcore. Party in front of the microwave ya'll.

Anyways, I am pleased to say that due to my close encounter in history class, I have realized that I don't need tortellini like I used to. It makes me a little sad, and sometimes--like when I look at my teacher's tortellini ears-- I still pine for the comfort it used to give me. But I know better. I have learned my lesson, and I am stronger person for it.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

A Little Thing Called Improvement

Today was like any other day. I woke up 10 minutes before my 8:30 alarm and knew from the fact that I still had one foot over in dreamland (aka I was still having a conversation with Will Smith about using possums as the new wii-mote...and no, that isn't an exaggeration) that 10 minutes wasn't going to be enough. I quietly pulled my alarm clock under the covers with me and held it under my body so the minute it went off I could shut off it's muffled sounds as soon as they began. Oh the pointless things I do to try and not wake my roommate. She probably wouldn't wake up anyways. Although to be honest I don't like hearing that incessant beeping either. It reminds me of every 6 am wake up I ever had in high school. I can actually feel the sleep deprivation from the past making me more tired in the present when I hear it.
20 minutes and 2 snooze buttons later my escapades with possums are over (by the way, we should never make possums the new wii-mote...millions of people will buy possums and neglect them after 4 weeks--just like their Wiis-- and then we will have many malnourished and abused possums running rampant. Angry, uncared for possums are a dangerous and foreboding future). I got out of bed and made sure I spent 20 minutes checking every version of social media I currently use JUST IN CASE someone messaged me or liked something I posted. I have to know as soon as possible to in order to help my ego stay inflated. This will be important when I know that 30 minutes later I will resemble a sweaty, red faced, shaven llama.
So then I finally went running, like I do every day. Ok, 5 days out of the week. Today, to spice things up--for repetition is what kills a workout routine...slowly, enjoying every minute of it, like the sadistic serial killer that is it -- I ran up and down the road. Real creative, I know, but I tend to try to avoid the road or anywhere where people might see me. (In California this is almost everywhere)

But something must have made today different, otherwise I wouldn't have started out a blog with the sentence "today was like any other day." ...Or would I?

No, ok, I'm not that badass. I would. Today was different because I actually ran almost the entire time I was out. I travelled 2.25 miles, and I ran 2 of them! I only spent 3 of my 23 minute run walking.
This week marks my 6th week of training for the USMC mud run (71 days to go!) This is the longest commitment I have kept since I decided to re-watch all 7 seasons of Boy Meets World in the fall of 2010. That and going to art school (Whatever, no big deal.) Seriously, I am not a commitment person. I change my shirt 7 times a day. Every month I have a new life goal. I have never been into a fandom long enough to make creepy sexual fan art. Long term commitment has just never been one of my strong points. This is why I try to get everything done as fast as possible and switch schools every 2 years on average.
That being said, I have actually been working out long enough and steadily enough to see real improvement. This is an entirely new experience to me. I can't even remember the last time I ran more than 1 mile at a time. Middle school, maybe, before puberty and that whole "hips" thing happened. (I would say the "boobs" thing happened too, but I am still waiting on that one.)

Anyways, I am so amazed that I have actually improved in my running skills and it gives me more optimism than hidden gigabytes of porn on any man's computer. Seriously, if I can go from 1 to 2 miles in 6 weeks, think of where I could be by the end of the year. I could be like all those profiles I see on dailymile where they say "6.5 miles, 45 minutes. So much fun! I could have gone another 5, but I needed to go home and stare at my rock hard abs in the mirror and then get off on it! Here is a photo!"

But running hasn't been my only improvement either. Here is a list of all the physical improvements I have achieved in the past 6 weeks:
1. When I do planks for a whole 30 seconds, instead of looking at my watch at the halfway point to count down, now I can hold out at least 20 seconds in before I start wondering when the madness is going to be over.
2. When I flex my arm muscles for people, instead of laughing they just smirk. Politely.
3. I only start making grunting noises similar to that of Link's dialogue in any three-dimensional Zelda game on my 3rd set of pushups.
4. My freckles still being visible in February is a testament to how much time I have spent outside. I also have the ever so faintest farmers tan. And by faintest I mean that I am probably making it up.
5. I can whip out 10 lb bicep curls like a boss.
6. I can see all of my toes, even when slouching and "letting it all hang out."
7. I can squat at the same rate and with the same ferocity I can eat popcorn. Which is actually a little scary when I think about it (to be fair though I have been doing squats pretty frequently since last May)
8. Sometimes my joints hurt a little when I run, like a real runner. (Right??)
9. I can run a quarter mile up (halfway) the 20% incline road before I stop. I really only do this as a safety precaution anyways, because if I didn't I would stumble and fall from exhaustion, and then I'd fall right into the street and get run over by a car. Know the dangers of running, folks, it is important.
10. I've only fallen on my ass going downhill once. And fortunately no one was around to see this.
11. My fastest approximate mile has been 8 minutes. Of course, all of this was downhill, which really only requires letting gravity propel me forward and just trying to keep my limbs from waving around too wildly so as to prevent myself from looking like I am on some ecstasy-induced rave-jog.
12. I have gotten so extremely talented at blocking out the sound of my own pained panting and heavy footfalls that my mind actually reaches a level of processing so low that I am pretty sure I might actually be unconscious while jogging.

And there ya go. I'm shaping up quite nicely, don't you think? It won't be long before I am ready for that mud run. Watch out world, super fit badass lady is on her way.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Hiking off a Good Ol' Fashioned Hangover

There is nothing better then leaping out of bed the morning after a night of drinking and setting out on a 5 mile trek. It really wakes you up and lets you sweat off all the alcohol you tried to destroy your body with last night. And don't worry, puking only slows you down the littlest bit. You get to a certain point where you can actually walk and vomit off the side of the trail simultaneously. Gotta keep that heart rate up! maybe that isn't actually the ideal way to spend a hungover morning. But to be fair, I wasn't actually hungover this morning. Sure, I did feel pretty groggy and I could still taste the pretzels (last night's lavish indulgence) in my mouth, but that unnerving feeling that you are probably going to die if you move even just an inch was not present. Which, in my opinion, is the sign of a successful evening. So of course I would get up to go do the 5 mile hike I promised myself I would do today. If I don't feel like dying, I don't have an excuse. That is the way of the badass. At a sunny and sweaty 80 degrees I truly did feel like it was the perfect way to round off my exhaustion.

Let me go back to the beginning though, to explain.

Friday afternoon I was sitting in the courtyard at school eating one of my awesome salads and secretly pretending to be a dinosaur with some friends when a girl I had a couple of classes with last semester walked up out of the blue and told me she is having a party and I should come. She wrote down the address and her number and handed it off to me saying I could bring any friends if I wanted to.

Maybe if you are a social, outgoing, and all around popular person, this is a common occurrence and no big deal. But if you are me in my current living situation, this is like the hand of God descending from the heavens to offer you the Holy Grail. I think I was actually blacked out for a few moments when she uttered the words "Hey I am having a party."

To make it clear, I am not much of a hardcore partier or drinker. I did a bit of that in high school, and honestly, I'm spent, like a shriveled up raisin, or an old person. It takes a lot of effort to live that lifestyle. It is physically exhausting on your body and detracts from valuable sleeping time that I cannot afford to lose. Besides, after a couple of hangovers from the depths of hell, you don't feel the need to indulge your liver so often anymore. Often these days, I feel that if I am going to drink, it actually has to taste good. I think they call that maturity, or something like that.

I do however like to yknow, make new friends and be social and all that good stuff. Every now and then. Just for kicks and giggles. A hobby, of sorts, really. Alcohol and parties are the "in" way to do this at my age, and the easiest for me because it actually relieves me of my Chronic Bitch Face for a short while and my mouth and words start working again by some miracle. And after all, you can only make so many friendships out of bonding over your weird affinity towards demotivational posters and My Little Pony fandom* on the internet. Sometimes it's good to branch out.

However, upon arriving to California, I found myself like one of those dinosaurs going extinct because they got caught in those awful tar pits. My classes are so dead silent, you would think we were all selectively mute, or maybe just continuously doing one of those day of silence protests for gay people or whatever (it is art school after all). Sometimes it is so quiet I think I can actually hear other people's thoughts, which is uncomfortable because so many people are thinking about either dirty, perverted things or My Little Pony. Or worse: both. People haven't been outgoing, or warm, or friendly too often so far. And without a large campus or much of a student population, there are not a lot of opportunities to get involved. And you wonder why I join old people activity groups on the internet.

Sure, it doesn't help that my Chronic Bitch Face is so severe. Or that my idea of a fun afternoon is sitting on my floor watching people on the internet play video games. Or that I never talk ever, ever, ever. But still! You'd think people would be at least drawn to my dazzling beauty or amazing artwork to come up and talk to me. This, however, does not prove to be true. I guess they are just too intimidated by my awesomeness.

Suffice it to say that not a lot of partying opportunities have arisen in my time here in California. And by not a lot I mean none. So this invitation was pretty significant in my sad little anti-social eyes.

--Not to mention the fact that for the past 2 years of my life, trying to get invited to parties has been like executing war strategies. And if you have ever seen me try to play Starcraft or Advance Wars or even Go Fish, you know that I am not very good at strategy. My strategy is that when I hear of a party going on but I haven't been extended an invitation outright, I must try to awkwardly wiggle around the conversation with people I know are going until it finally gets too uncomfortable to not mention a party occurring or inviting me. If this fails, I usually just party-crash anyways. Once everyone gets enough booze in them, no one gives a crap if you were invited or not. Unfortunately there was a good chunk of time back in high school in which my dear, dear friends actually went through great pains to exclude me from their social events. Why? Because it was high school. And everyone is a snotty little bitch in high school. I still managed to show up to a fair amount of parties, but it just isn't as much fun when everyone is treating you like you smell their grandmother's closet. So yea, getting a real, genuine invitation to a youthful social eventful is very meaningful to me. Just about brings tears to my eyes thinking about it...--

This is slightly embarrassing, but since I've already shared details about my sex life and illegal activities I sometimes partake in, what the hell, I will admit I spent almost the entirety of the next day excited and giggly like freshman school girl on the day of her first prom with her super gorgeous senior boyfriend who is planning something "special" afterwards. I planned out my clothes and my hair to be the perfect combination of cute but casual. I even cut and painted my nails, a ritual I only partake in for vacations, school dances, and dates. And ever since I graduated high school and I've never been on a real date, that means I paint my nails about twice a year, max. Of course, I did set aside enough time to sit on my floor and watch another live episode of people playing video games. You gotta have priorities.

And lo and behold I spent an evening talking to new or at least somewhat unfamiliar people outside of school. People thought my taste in drink was somewhat "cool" or "hardcore" ...for some reason (straight vodka chased by diet coke, classy, I know, although I am pretty sure you can't be much girlier than that. It would have been better if I had been using my usual chase: water)**. It was glorious! It was beautiful! It was grand! It was....well, it was actually just a pretty chill night. But I can appreciate that too. I am sure I actually made something of a fool of myself, but at least I was upfront about how weird and awkward I am. (Now there won't be any more surprises! Except for if they ever see me dance. Or sing). And for the first time in a long time I went to bed at an ungodly hour and I didn't get a full nights rest.

Which is why my hike this morning gave me extra badass points. I cannot recommend enough getting up for a 5 mile hike in the middle of a hot day after a hearty night of carousing. Because even though your stomach feels like a gross, melted, pepsi-flavored slushy that has been sitting in your car all afternoon and all you want to do is lay down in the middle of the trail and take a nap, it's worth it. Because it's pretty out. There are even wildflowers blooming! And it will get you just that much closer to super fit badass status.*** Which we all know is the most important thing in life. Ever.

*For the record, I don't actually watch MLP. It's just an example. We all really know the coolest fandom is Gumby, which is totally making a comeback.

**I am pretty sure they actually just thought it was kind of gross or sketchy or just downright weird to drink that but didn't know how to word it politely.

*** Points will increase if you have a real hangover or if the weather sucks or if you take some nice, professional looking photos of the wildflowers that you might frame and give to your mother for her birthday.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Red Face Syndrome Awareness

Hello. I am here to talk to you about something very serious today folks.

As you may know, I already suffer from Chronic Bitch Face. But this is not my only ailment. I also suffer from Red Face Syndrome as well on a daily basis. I don't know why I have so many facial diseases. My mom must've eaten some weird stuff when I was still a fetus. Or maybe it was because of that time I ate all that cow manure as a child...In any case, scientists are working very hard to figure it out. (They're not.)

Red Face Syndrome, if you haven't heard of it, is the unusual characteristic of getting a really, really red face every time you exert yourself beyond a brisk walk. It can be embarrassing and degrading, especially when people ask you if you are ok and if you need to sit down. This has been one of the sole reasons I do not participate in sports. It has nothing to do with the fact that I have no coordination and am very bad at sports. Definitely not.
The only benefit I have ever reaped from Red Face Syndrome is the fact that gym teachers often take pity on me and believe I am working really hard in their class (which I am) and give me an A. Of course, gym teachers give everyone As even when they promise not to. Yes, even those lazy-ass kids who didn't even bother to change into gym clothes and are walking the mile while you struggle along on the verge of peeing yourself are probably getting As too. Those bitches.
If you have never seen an example of Red Face Syndrome in action, here is an illustration I have kindly given permission for myself to use. It details me in the different stages of Red Face Syndrome, before, during, and after a workout. (click to view large...and then you should probably zoom in a little more...if you still can't read it, well, you probably get the point anyways...or you can look at a larger view of it if you click here)

The length at which Red Face Syndrome persists after a workout usually depends on how hard the workout actually was. I have experienced RFS for up to 5 hours after a workout before. Sometimes my face does not return to its normal pasty coloring until another workout on the next day.
People with pale skin are very susceptible to this disease. Yes, it is a disease. This is a totally true fact. Look it up. (And by look it up, I mean google it until you return to this blog, which will state that it is a totally true fact). If you are like me and have what I deem ultra-Twilight-Vampire-skin (I don't just sparkle in the sunlight--I blind you!) then not only do you have to watch out for skin cancer or whatever, but beware RFS! It will sneak up on you, and you might not even realize you are experiencing until you look in the mirror or someone points it out much to your embarrassment. Which will make your face become even more red. It's a dangerous, slippery slope.

Folks, I am writing this to raise awareness of RFS. If you see someone suffering from it, please just try to ignore it. Unless they are on the ground and might look like they are having a heart attack or a heat stroke. In which case you should ask them whether or not they are aware what RFS is and if they have it. If they are able to speak and can assure you that they know what it is, they are probably ok. If they wheeze out a gasping cough, you should probably call an ambulance.
I also encourage that if you or a loved one suffers from RFS that you print out these banners into stickers and put them on your bumper or your water bottle to let other people know that RFS is not just a disease. It is who you are, nothing is going to change that. You are proud of who you are, RFS or no RFS! Similarly, I also have one that is sized perfectly for your blog or website.
C'mon folks, we are all in this together! Let's raise awareness for those with RFS so their voices can be heard and then ignored!

One day, I dream of living in a world where RFS does not exist. You have heard about my journey and struggle with RFS, and I am not the only one. Please consider writing your congressmen or maybe just that guy at 7-11 (because they will both care about the same amount) about beginning a campaign to end RFS. We're talking fundraising, fun runs, the whole nine yards. The first step though is these banners, so I better start seeing them all over the internet. You got that?