I am a proud blood donor. Ever since I was in high school and they started having an occasional blood drive at the school, I have wanted to be a blood donor. Back then, my problem was that I had to wait until I was 17, because that didn’t happen until November of my senior year. But when they did have a drive, and I was finally old enough, I was super happy to be able to do it. I had never had bloodwork done before, so it was definitely a new experience. And I am really drawing a blank as to why I wanted to do it so badly. Most people run from needles, right? My best guess is that it was the closest I could get to a super-rebellious act that involves needles—getting a tattoo.
Those of you that did not know me back then may not realize what a crazy, rebellious teen I was. Despite my mom’s best efforts to corral me into what I considered a boring, “preppy” doom, I did anything I could (within reason, of course) to defy her wishes and take off in a different direction. The majority of my unruly behavior came in terms of fashion (and believe me, I use that term extremely loosely).
In high school I embraced two, widely varying, directions when it came to my clothes and shoes. The first could be easily guessed—we’re talking about the early ‘90’s here. Yes, I’m talking grunge. I had a collection of flannel shirts, starting with one of my dad’s old plaids that he used to wear for working around the house. It was nearly threadbare in places and had paint spills here and there. I still have it though. I loved it so much I wore it in my first driver license photo.
Along with my plaid flannels came pretty much anything else plaid, including shoes. The plaid thing is two-fold. One, I just love plaid. Can’t explain why. Two, one of my very favorite bands in the ‘90’s was a punk-rock-ska band called The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and they were all about plaid. In fact, one of their songs is called, “Bad in Plaid,” and there is a lyric that I think sums it up: “Plaid is the color of my soul…”
So back to shoes…I fell in love with Converse Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers. I had a black-and-white-checked pair of low-tops that I got for my 16th birthday. I wore those things out! Later, I also got two pairs of high-tops: one that is solid purple, the other mainly black with maroon and white racing stripes. Oh yeah, gotta love the chucks.
Speaking of shoes, when I was fifteen, my mom was president of the National Organization of Mothers of Twins Clubs, Inc. (NOMOTC). The annual NOMOTC convention happens in a different city each year, and it is where the officer elections are held. The summer I was fifteen, the convention was held in New Orleans. We didn’t usually go with Mom, but since she was president, we were all going. Literally two days beforehand, I managed to get to Abbadabba’s in Atlanta to buy the shoes I had been saving for. I bought a pair of Kelly green 3-hole Doc Marten’s. They were on sale, and I paid $87 for them, which was a steal at the time. I LOVED those shoes, maybe even a little more than my chucks! When we were in New Orleans, I dragged my dad all over the French Quarter and broke those shoes in but good. Ah, my lovely Docs. Yes, they’re still in my closet too.
The other side of my fashion statement could best be described as an early version of green chic… in other words, kinda earthy, like a hippie. I became a fan of the Grateful Dead, and attended my first concert at the age of fifteen. We went to see the Dead with my best friend, her dad, and another friend. The next year, we went again (minus the dad)… and I showed up to school the next day wearing the T-shirt I bought at the show… which reeked of smoke from the show. But I had to be That Girl. [Tangent Alert!] Just before graduation I learned that a lot of people assumed I was a pothead, which I wasn’t. Hadn’t even seen pot except when the ex-con across the street pulled it out of his boot one time. But that’s a story for another day. I also learned that a lot of other people didn’t believe I was a pothead, but they did think I was a smoker. This, unfortunately, was true… I was a smoker for a long time, which is a sad thing. I smoked from age 15-27. There were a few semi-successful quits in there, but I wasn’t able to put that addiction to bed until January 16, 2005. But at the time I celebrated to myself that people didn’t know what to think about me.
The thing I liked about my style is that it didn’t make a lot of sense. I thought if I could keep people guessing about what I liked, then they wouldn’t be able to label me, and that really appealed to me. Yes, for you astrology lovers out there, I am a Scorpio. One day I was wearing my green Docs and shorts and a plain green t-shirt, and I was wearing this necklace I used to wear all the time that was amethyst beads with a peace symbol pendant. This kid in my class was blown away, and said I couldn’t wear a peace necklace with Docs because it didn’t make sense. Yes, exactly. Thank you.
Anyway, back to the story. Hmm… Oh yes, back to the needle thing. I had decided when I was 17 that I would get a tattoo after I turned 18, but I was still struggling with the design I wanted to get. So I put it off until I had the design figured out. I am now 31, and still do not have a tattoo… I think I probably won’t get one at this point. But if you told me then that I would never end up getting a tattoo, I don’t think I would have believed you!
When I was in college, there were more frequent blood drives at the student union, and I participated a number of times without much incident. But after I moved out to Arizona and got a job, I tried three times and was turned away each time for having low hemoglobin. This has a lot to do with not having enough iron to donate safely. So I gave up.
Last December, there was a drive at my office and I decided to give it a try. It had been 9 years since my last attempt. Lo and behold, I was able to donate! I was so excited. I donated again in February as soon as I was eligible. I tried again last week and my iron was too low. So I made major adjustments to my diet this week and tried again yesterday. Oh, so close! The tech told me I had increased it so much in just a week, that he thought if I kept doing what I was doing with my diet, I could be able to donate tomorrow.
Today, as I decided to try one last time (for now), I sat in the little office with the tech. As she was about to stick my finger, I said, “think heavy thoughts!” Unfortunately, they were not heavy enough… that darn iron. It’s hard being a woman and trying to maintain adequate iron levels.
Well, even though I still have a lot of those old clothing items and shoes in my closet, I can definitely say my style has changed as I’ve aged. I may wish I could go out and get pink rainbow hair, but something tells me it just wouldn’t look right on me now. And the piercings and tattoos… yeah, I can think of other things I would rather do with the time and money. But one thing is still the same: I still want to donate blood. I can, so I do. And tell me, what could be more rebellious than that?
Those of you that did not know me back then may not realize what a crazy, rebellious teen I was. Despite my mom’s best efforts to corral me into what I considered a boring, “preppy” doom, I did anything I could (within reason, of course) to defy her wishes and take off in a different direction. The majority of my unruly behavior came in terms of fashion (and believe me, I use that term extremely loosely).
In high school I embraced two, widely varying, directions when it came to my clothes and shoes. The first could be easily guessed—we’re talking about the early ‘90’s here. Yes, I’m talking grunge. I had a collection of flannel shirts, starting with one of my dad’s old plaids that he used to wear for working around the house. It was nearly threadbare in places and had paint spills here and there. I still have it though. I loved it so much I wore it in my first driver license photo.
Along with my plaid flannels came pretty much anything else plaid, including shoes. The plaid thing is two-fold. One, I just love plaid. Can’t explain why. Two, one of my very favorite bands in the ‘90’s was a punk-rock-ska band called The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and they were all about plaid. In fact, one of their songs is called, “Bad in Plaid,” and there is a lyric that I think sums it up: “Plaid is the color of my soul…”
So back to shoes…I fell in love with Converse Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers. I had a black-and-white-checked pair of low-tops that I got for my 16th birthday. I wore those things out! Later, I also got two pairs of high-tops: one that is solid purple, the other mainly black with maroon and white racing stripes. Oh yeah, gotta love the chucks.
Speaking of shoes, when I was fifteen, my mom was president of the National Organization of Mothers of Twins Clubs, Inc. (NOMOTC). The annual NOMOTC convention happens in a different city each year, and it is where the officer elections are held. The summer I was fifteen, the convention was held in New Orleans. We didn’t usually go with Mom, but since she was president, we were all going. Literally two days beforehand, I managed to get to Abbadabba’s in Atlanta to buy the shoes I had been saving for. I bought a pair of Kelly green 3-hole Doc Marten’s. They were on sale, and I paid $87 for them, which was a steal at the time. I LOVED those shoes, maybe even a little more than my chucks! When we were in New Orleans, I dragged my dad all over the French Quarter and broke those shoes in but good. Ah, my lovely Docs. Yes, they’re still in my closet too.
The other side of my fashion statement could best be described as an early version of green chic… in other words, kinda earthy, like a hippie. I became a fan of the Grateful Dead, and attended my first concert at the age of fifteen. We went to see the Dead with my best friend, her dad, and another friend. The next year, we went again (minus the dad)… and I showed up to school the next day wearing the T-shirt I bought at the show… which reeked of smoke from the show. But I had to be That Girl. [Tangent Alert!] Just before graduation I learned that a lot of people assumed I was a pothead, which I wasn’t. Hadn’t even seen pot except when the ex-con across the street pulled it out of his boot one time. But that’s a story for another day. I also learned that a lot of other people didn’t believe I was a pothead, but they did think I was a smoker. This, unfortunately, was true… I was a smoker for a long time, which is a sad thing. I smoked from age 15-27. There were a few semi-successful quits in there, but I wasn’t able to put that addiction to bed until January 16, 2005. But at the time I celebrated to myself that people didn’t know what to think about me.
The thing I liked about my style is that it didn’t make a lot of sense. I thought if I could keep people guessing about what I liked, then they wouldn’t be able to label me, and that really appealed to me. Yes, for you astrology lovers out there, I am a Scorpio. One day I was wearing my green Docs and shorts and a plain green t-shirt, and I was wearing this necklace I used to wear all the time that was amethyst beads with a peace symbol pendant. This kid in my class was blown away, and said I couldn’t wear a peace necklace with Docs because it didn’t make sense. Yes, exactly. Thank you.
Anyway, back to the story. Hmm… Oh yes, back to the needle thing. I had decided when I was 17 that I would get a tattoo after I turned 18, but I was still struggling with the design I wanted to get. So I put it off until I had the design figured out. I am now 31, and still do not have a tattoo… I think I probably won’t get one at this point. But if you told me then that I would never end up getting a tattoo, I don’t think I would have believed you!
When I was in college, there were more frequent blood drives at the student union, and I participated a number of times without much incident. But after I moved out to Arizona and got a job, I tried three times and was turned away each time for having low hemoglobin. This has a lot to do with not having enough iron to donate safely. So I gave up.
Last December, there was a drive at my office and I decided to give it a try. It had been 9 years since my last attempt. Lo and behold, I was able to donate! I was so excited. I donated again in February as soon as I was eligible. I tried again last week and my iron was too low. So I made major adjustments to my diet this week and tried again yesterday. Oh, so close! The tech told me I had increased it so much in just a week, that he thought if I kept doing what I was doing with my diet, I could be able to donate tomorrow.
Today, as I decided to try one last time (for now), I sat in the little office with the tech. As she was about to stick my finger, I said, “think heavy thoughts!” Unfortunately, they were not heavy enough… that darn iron. It’s hard being a woman and trying to maintain adequate iron levels.
Well, even though I still have a lot of those old clothing items and shoes in my closet, I can definitely say my style has changed as I’ve aged. I may wish I could go out and get pink rainbow hair, but something tells me it just wouldn’t look right on me now. And the piercings and tattoos… yeah, I can think of other things I would rather do with the time and money. But one thing is still the same: I still want to donate blood. I can, so I do. And tell me, what could be more rebellious than that?
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