Thursday, June 27, 2013

Save you!

I have a new man in my life, and his name is Esteban.

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He's not much of a talker but I can tell you that we got pretty intimate yesterday. And by intimate I mean I put my mouth on his, and I saved him.

Or not. Since his lungs are plastic and all.

As part of the ACE personal certification process, I have to have my CPR card and have it before I schedule the test. I've been dilly-dallying about it because I, well, could and I didn't want to fork over $100 to play with a dummy. I figured I would take care of it as I got closer to being ready to take the test.

My new gig at the YMCA*, though, requires me to have a CPR card and they offer sessions regularly for employees. At no cost. Talk about schweet.

And there's the post. Aren't you glad you opened this one up?

Just kidding! Wile I'm not going to go into the mundane details of the session because, well, it's mundane, I feel compelled to tell you two things. First, I made an ass out of myself and secondly, the unicorn.

Secondly - the unicorn. I was at Target on Monday with my grandma (not the unicorn), and we passed those cutoff shorts that are so popular en route to find a shirt with sleeves. I don't understand these shorts. The inseam can't be but 2 inches - if that - and it certainly wouldn't come over my inner thigh lumps. Bending over seems problematic because it seems like a full moon situation. I told my grandma that I had no idea who would wear them.

Yesterday, at training, I saw her. One of the YMCA camp counselors, who couldn't be but 19, was wearing an aqua pair. To my surprise, she didn't have to constantly adjust the shorts nor did it expose her bum. It's probably because her thighs DID NOT touch - something I only thought existed in fairy tales.

First - my ass-making-ness. The protocol for CPR is: "The scene is safe!"; "Are you OK?"; "You! Call 911!"; assess breathing; remove clothes; and begin compressions. When it came review/testing time, my group was going through the steps. We had secured the scene, tapped Esteban's shoulders to see if he was responsive and asked someone to call 911 and get an AED.

"What's next?" the instructor prompted.

My group: Assess breathing.

Me: "Rip off his clothes."

I told you I got close to Esteban.

*We're not talking about this because I don't want to jinx it ala the doomed circuit class of winter.**

**Dear Kim, I'm sorry for stealing your formatting trademark. I'm only doing it this once.


  1. Ha...I wear pretty short shorts. My mom was just saying something about them yesterday. I just act like I don't have cellulite and that I do have a gap between my upper thigh, even though none of that is true.

    1. If I had your legs, I would wear short shorts. Cellulite or not, you are a tall, lean drink of water ... or beer because this week deserves a beer.

  2. Ha ha. You are not stealing it. Use away.

    I can't recall how many compressions it was - a minute? Or do we count to 40 or something? All I know is, act quick after you ask if they are okay and tell them you are going to do CPR.


    1. LOVE IT!!!

      It's 30 compressions at a rate of 100/minute. Then two breaths. But, if the person is nasty, I'm reserving the right to make someone else do it.

    2. Thank you thank you for the refresher!!!!

      Did they give you the mouth guards? To use for nasty peeps?

  3. Genius! I never thought to name my dummy! Will do next time!! Hah! Those shorts are too funny!

  4. I agree, most of the shorts are way too short. In fact, my daughter who is 20, bought jeans at Goodwill so she could make her own shorts that are longer than the ones you buy. And you know, she wears a size 0, and her legs don't touch. She said she doesn't like too see butt cheeks hanging out.