“I’m Wearing a Cat with a Butt’s Anus”

I had a pretty busy Saturday, which isn’t typical for me. By busy I mean I did 3 things, none of which were particularly taxing, but for me any day with a lot of moving pieces makes me anxious. I was to attend the women’s march downtown with my friends and then head from there to a hospital at which some of us would donate platelets and then later that night I’d be meeting up with different friends downtown for a comedy show. It was an interesting day, and I’m going to tell you about it now.

I went to the LA women’s march with my friend Sarah and her family and friends. As I was getting ready for the march that morning, I couldn’t really find any Women’s March themed attire, by which I mean I gave myself 20 minutes to get ready and if I’d really put in the effort I could at least have pulled a Rosie the Riveter updo and some lipstick out of my ass. I eventually mostly gave up and landed on a t-shirt I have with a print of a cat lifting its leg to lick its butthole. Add my running shoes, my Athleta leggings, and a fanny pack and I was march ready.

To get my anxious mind and broken body prepared for the march, I took a lot of CBD oil. I know CBD is not the part of weed that gets you high but I swear to god sometimes if I take a lot I get a mild case of the goofies. This resulted in a period of about 2 hours that morning where I continually mixed up the nouns in a lot of my sentences. I’d say shit like “Are we going to take a march to the lyft?” Most noteworthy, however, was when I entered the pre march brunch at Sarah’s excited to tell everyone about the cool shirt I had with a cat’s anus on it and I enthusiastically exclaimed “I’m wearing a cat with a butt’s anus!”

The march was beautiful and inspiring as always. My friend and I both got goosebumps once we found the crowd. We walked with everyone to the end point, enjoying signs that were hilarious and heartbreaking, inspiring and dark. It is such a marvelously overwhelming experience to be surrounded by so many people who have your back, even if the leaders of your country don’t.

Then we got to the end and couldn’t hear a single fucking thing any of the speakers were saying.

Sarah’s boyf had an appointment shortly thereafter to donate platelets and we all said we’d come along and donate too, if we could. So we left the inaudible but probably inspiring speeches to get some tacos and head to the hospital.

I didn’t really know about platelets until my friend told me about them. They’re apparently often in higher demand than blood because they can’t be kept for as long. They’re used for many things, I’m sure, but often times they’re very helpful for cancer patients. Because of this, most hospitals are desperate for platelets.

Which is hilarious because half of us were turned away for not meeting their standards. I would say it’s easier to buy a gun than to donate platelets but as we’ve all recently become aware, it’s easier to buy a gun than do a lot of things.

It’s easier to get your license renewed the week your passport expires and you only have a couple hours because you have to leave for work at 1 and the DMV’s entire system shuts down when you’re at the front of the line than it is to donate platelets.

Sarah had done her research and already knew she’d be turned away due to a medication she takes daily. Our friend Marco was turned away because he used to live in Italy and we as a nation are apparently very worried about a resurgence of Mad Cow Disease. Sarah’s mother couldn’t donate platelets because, as it turns out, anyone who’s EVER BEEN PREGNANT EVEN A LITTLE BIT could possibly have a chemical in their system that renders their platelets nontransferable. For some reason, she was still able to donate blood.

I, on the other hand, have been avoiding the thought of donating blood or platelets for years because I have a history of passing out when giving blood for tests and I get myself all woozy just thinking about it. It’s not the needles that bother me. I’m fine with watching nurses put needles into my veins and if you really wanted to, I’d probably let you stab me in a fleshy area with a needle because I’m a good friend and I support your dreams. What bothers me is the idea of something leaving my body that should be staying in my body. And since I’ve passed out in the past, my brain immediately associates blood loss with fainting.

I really wanted to get the fuck over this though and do some good in the world. So all day I made sure no one talked to me about it and that I didn’t spend any time thinking about it. It would be best if I just powered through and did the thing and didn’t give myself a chance to freak out. I even put in airpods Sarah provided me with when the nurses were explaining the procedure to the other people in our group.

Finally it was my turn to go in and answer the tech’s questions and test my blood to make sure I was good to go. I was so fucking ready, by which I mean I made sure my brain had no idea what was going on and I just sang songs loudly to it to distract it. During the assessment, I felt it was important to mention that I sometimes pass out when I have blood drawn. When I said this, he stopped taking notes so abruptly it was as if I’d just informed him that I did heroin with a dirty needle on the way over while eating beef from 1980’s England. He said he had to talk to the nurse and left me in the room alone.

He came back in and said that I couldn’t donate because the doctor was not there that day and due to the risk of me passing out they didn’t feel it was safe for me.

He continued speaking but I felt like I had been punched in the gut and I didn’t hear anything else he said. I started to cry and said “I’ll just go.” I ran out to the lobby and started cry-explaining to Sarah what happened. She said it wasn’t my fault and most everyone else got rejected too, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault. I felt like I was just scared of passing out and that I should just learn to get over the association my brain has formed between blood being drawn and passing out. I felt like I shouldn’t have said anything about my past and just stuck it out.I still feel those things strongly, but I know that if my friend told me that that had happened to them, I would absolutely not judge them and I would have felt that it was in fact safer for them to wait to have a doctor present due to the potential risk. I guess that’s something I’m just going to have to fucking deal with eventually. I just want to feel useful for something! Can I donate other stuff? Eyebrow hairs? Nails, perhaps? A pervasive need to feel needed?

Eventually with time and help from my amazing friend, I got the fuck over myself and we had some fun doing crosswords, drinking coffee, and petting dogs in the waiting room while the two people who were special enough to be accepted sat through their procedures.

I grew increasingly anxious about the time because I had to make it to a comedy show by 6, we were pretty far from there, and I’d hitched a ride with the heroes and other rejects. I wanted to make it out in time to go home, change, and eat before heading out to the show downtown. Eventually, we realized the only way I’d make it in time would be if everyone, including dog, joined me on my detour downtown to drop me off.

I waited outside the for both of my friends. One of them, Kristin, is friend’s with one of the comedians in the show so we had VIP tickets waiting for us at will-call. This arrangement sounds cool but being an insane person, it made me very anxious. So I stood outside the venue in my cat anus shirt and fanny pack frantically texting them to hurry up because I felt like an idiot and all that waiting room coffee was hittin my own butt’s anus pretty hard.

When they got there, we went in and got our tickets and backstage access wristbands. I wanted to shit first since my body had been yelling at me about it for approx 45 minutes except it ended up being a FUCKING FALSE ALARM. So I headed in to meet the hosts of one of my all time favorite podcasts with a full colon, an empty stomach, and sweaty clothes I’d worn all day. Because of this, I was more worried than normal that I’d fangirl and be a nonverbal idiot.

Immediately when we got back stage, Dave, one of the comedians, gave us pizza and said “Did you wear that shirt because Gareth loves cats? Gareth you have to see this.” Then while filling my tummy, I told them the story about how I somehow managed to say “cat with a butt’s anus” and they loved it so much we took this picture:

Then we just chatted for a bit and had a fun time before heading back up to the show where we were seated with their friends and family. And as always, the show was fucking hilarious. Then my friend drove me home because we live super close to one another (and also because she loves me and is an angel) and we had a great fucking time in the car. I got home safely, ate some noms, and went to bed.

This could just be a fun story but I always feel the need to make there be a moral of some sort. There were so many times in the day that my anxious thoughts crept up and nearly ruined my day. I worried that I’d panic at the march or that my back pain would keep me from walking. I worried that I didn’t eat enough after the march to feel okay enough to donate platelets. I worried that I wouldn’t have time to drive home and change and get properly ready for the show. I worried that I’d have to take an expensive lyft at some point since I didn’t have my car. I worried that I’d feel like crap during the show and not be able to enjoy it or enjoy meeting them.

But it ended up being a really magical day. And if I were any other writer, I’d say “So I learned that when I let go, everything turns out okay.” But that is not me and that is not the case. There are things about my body and my life that make it such that it is genuinely hard for me to go with the flow at times. I get hungry easily. I have back pain that makes it so that I can’t walk around a lot at times. I don’t have enough money to take lyfts whenever if I find myself with out my car or a ride. I have anxiety that wears me out quickly.

But I do want to say that it is hard for me to forget about all of that panic and enjoy the awesome day that did happen. Oftentimes, even when things turn out great, I feel the same as I would if they had not because the anxiety is still in my bloodstream and remains very real to me. I want to take a moment to enjoy how perfectly perfect the day ended up being, partly due to luck, but largely due to me deciding to let go just enough. Just enough to trust my friends to have my back and just enough to be myself.

And if you follow those easy steps you, too, can talk about cat anuses with some of your favorite entertainers.