Get Your Credit Card Out Now. That's an Order.

So... I'm still pretty new at this blogging thing. Originally, I was a little fearful to write because I was worried that it seemed pretentious and self-centered. The only people I knew with a blog were people with charities and things like new babies. Well... I don't have any rugrats to keep people posted on, and although I associate with many different charitable organization, I'm not sure that they want their names associated with a blog that has posts which reference bull testicles, dead snakes on a string, and my extreme love of the "F" word. Therefore, I was a little nervous to start this whole blogging business.

In my own obsessively-compulsive tendency, I did lots of "research" (i.e. following lots of different blogs/bloggers), and one of the writers I fancied the most is a fellow named Black Hockey Jesus. In fact, I fancied him so much that I read his whole blog beginning to end in two nights. And, believe me, that's a ton of reading and even more thinking. He makes me think. Like to the point where my brain actually hurts. He's excellent. Truthfully. I'm telling you... check him out here. After staying up two whole nights, reading his blog life from beginning to end, I found myself doing something I swore that I'd never do.

I wrote a friggin' fan letter.

Well...technically, it was a fan email, but that sounds even more ridiculous and embarrassing. Therefore, I'm sticking with fan letter even though it does make me feel like I'm choosing between Team Edward or Team Jacob or doodling Black Hockey Jesus's name on my binder at school. I'm way too old for that casserole of nonsense.

And guess what? Dude wrote me back. Immediately. And he was amazing and reassuring and much-needed in my life. I figured out that what I was missing was a total stranger to tell me to quit my tiptoeing around and just step up and quit being a worry wart. I knew my friends would encourage me because that's who they are... but when it's your friends, you can never be sure where the line between total honesty and bias really lives. Fuck everyone else, he told me, and do what makes you happy. He was a total smartass at first and then became super-encouraging with my questions/qualms about this whole writing dilemma I had. If he didn't already have an incredible wife who he obviously adores and two funny-ass kids he's sure to not abandon, I would've developed a mad crush. But he does have those peeps, and I'm not completely insane, so I've kept it to just a writer's admiration.

So, anyhow, this whole blog you're reading can very well be traced back to BHJ's delightfully awesome email. I hope it's been worth your time. If it hasn't, then what are you still doing here, jackwipe?

Now here's the real need for this post (although I've been looking for a way to publicly love/thank Mr. Black Hockey Jesus but didn't want to look like... you know... a stalker).

BHJ, for all of the ways that I adore him, has a passion/obsession with running. Seriously, the man has run over 1100 miles in the past 6 months. I don't get it, but he does it and truthfully, that's not really the worst addiction he could have, so I'm gonna let it slide. It just means that my love for him is a definite no-go because I totally suck at running. Seriously, if I was the girl in the scary movie, I would totally just give up and take a machete to the face because all that running? No thanks.

He's run for causes before, and I've noticed and been appreciative. There's a few posts where he links to other super worthy causes. I don't ever click because I know myself, and I know that I would click away my life savings for the people on the other end of those clicks. But this time? That mother effer showed me a picture. A picture of a completely darling 8 year-old kid named Tanner. A picture of a completely darling 8 year-old kid in his wheelchair. A picture of a completely darling 8 year-old kid, in a wheelchair, who will never escape that wheelchair becasue he has muscular dystrophy. And all I could think about were all the completely darling kids in my life, some in wheelchairs while others are not, and it pissed me off that there is even a need for 8 year old sized wheelchairs. That's where I feel like God or Nature or genetics or even the world is nine kinds of fucked-up.

Whoa... rant coming on. Switch gears, D.

Anyway, this kid's aunt is apparently a blogger and has organized a 5K for Tanner in which everyone will run in a tutu. Black Hockey Jesus, however, has upped the ante as he's known to do and you can read about it here. For reals, click the link. Don't be like me.

BHJ's going to run as many 5K's in a row that he can handle. The Dude's a lunatic. He gets it. He owns his lunacy, and that just adds to his complete awesomeness. I told you... the running is an obsession, but now his obsession is helping a darling 8 year old, and I totally heart this (me + BHJ = LUV).

So, click the link, fall in love, toss out a vote for a nickname for little Tanner, take out your credit card, and help out. Or you can make a pledge right here on this little widget, placed in honor of my pseudo-friend BHJ's request. But make it big. Like I said, this dude's crazy and will run until he cannot run anymore, and I simply cannot wait for a post update while he re-hydrates in some hospital.