Lord God, the last week was awful, just awful. If it wasn't all the damn fighting, it was the bacteria; largely due to the blinding sunshine and humidity of psychic distress, I was a pitree (sp???) dish of coughing, pink eye, insomnia, and laryngitis. Oh what fun the last week was, I meant to examine the relationship between me and G, but reality forced my gaze elsewhere.
So what now? I don't have a lot of time tonight for writing, so just gonna throw a few things out there:
1. Am having a lot second thoughts about a job in the insurance industry
but without the money, I may never get out of here.
2. Having second thoughts about the U of Phoenix position,
but without the money, I may never get out of here.
3. My sister scares me, don't think I've ever made that clear;
something is wrong with her be it psychopathy or some other related disorder
4. G and I had a fight over my friggin sister?? I would rather G say to me
"I just can't forgive you for leaving/the rape/whatever, goodbye" than to end it
because of the goddamn baby-kicker.
5. Tournament in 2 weeks, under 140 beginner divisions. I am gonna crush the
competition. I have A LOT of stuff to work out.
6. The one benefit to everything, is it's left too emotionally exhausted to
obsess over my JKD crush, I have just enough emotional energy for one
fantasy a day.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Ugh unpacked even further
Another golden moment.
My father rode in backwards on a white horse, late as usual, his interference kicking dust and shit and bad bad luck. The fighting commenced anew. It was all out movie time and babykicker wanted her Oscar. Papi said something--I don't remember what--and I retorted, viciously and unfairly, "shut-up, you don't mean anything to me." I am after all still brimming with anger at his misdeeds. Babykicker stepped in, exclaiming how I shouldn't talk that away about people who "put shelter over our heads" My eyes widened. This deserved instant mockery. The nasty little child who constantly calls mom a bitch, papi a motherfucker, who does nothing--NOTHING!!--except sleep and eat and scream. Yes,Babykicker, who behaves as if she does us all a favor by staying here, had found Jesus.
This was a craven attempt to woo my father, she's always manipulating him to get what she wants. This time though, my mockery was straight and acerbic and long with sarcasm, for a hemi-demi-semi moment, I think she actually felt foolish.
My father rode in backwards on a white horse, late as usual, his interference kicking dust and shit and bad bad luck. The fighting commenced anew. It was all out movie time and babykicker wanted her Oscar. Papi said something--I don't remember what--and I retorted, viciously and unfairly, "shut-up, you don't mean anything to me." I am after all still brimming with anger at his misdeeds. Babykicker stepped in, exclaiming how I shouldn't talk that away about people who "put shelter over our heads" My eyes widened. This deserved instant mockery. The nasty little child who constantly calls mom a bitch, papi a motherfucker, who does nothing--NOTHING!!--except sleep and eat and scream. Yes,Babykicker, who behaves as if she does us all a favor by staying here, had found Jesus.
This was a craven attempt to woo my father, she's always manipulating him to get what she wants. This time though, my mockery was straight and acerbic and long with sarcasm, for a hemi-demi-semi moment, I think she actually felt foolish.
Monday, June 22, 2009
State of the dogs
This particular fight was largely facilitated by continued hygiene problems with the dogs: everyone shitting and peeing where they're not supposed to. Snuggles and Princeton have ALWAYS had issues, and Fern (babykicker's dog) is nuts (most likely the result of abuse). But Radar wasn't just house trained, I took him to a handler for weeks and weeks of clicker training. Moving back home has been a disaster on that front. One of the babykicker's favorite excuses is that all the other dogs have issues so why is Fern's behavior an issue? (She pees and shits in other people's rooms) This tactic is particularly irksome, considering the effort I've put into Radar's house training. For the record, last night I tried to say, "look, all the dogs have accidents, no one is denying that, but Fern is doing X,Y, and Z. Just put her in a crate when you leave and you will reduce the number of accidents" Babykicker wouldn't hear it. She seemed to be obstinate about that fact....I'm sorry I just fantasized about caving her face in MMA style....she seemed to be obstinate just to be obstinate.
Now I will confess to this, I think I called her a miserable cunt a little while before I said that, I don't remember, so things were already bad and probably past the point of reason. But that's part of why I called her a miserable cunt in the first place. Frustration. She NEVER listens to reasons, rejects all criticism as a personal act (and will turn around say I can't take criticism)....sorry fantasized about choking her out....Yeah, this is bad.
javascript:void(0)
For example, she called me anorexic. Huh??? I eat all the time. She's the one with eating problems.
I'm sorry, this was supposed to be about the dogs, and I'm back to talking about her. The point I was moving towards is I think a lot of the dog issues may be acting out. This is their way of handling all the negative energy, loving them isn't enough. I have to get out of this house. I have to get Radar out of this house. Someone in this house is going to snap big time, I'd rather it not be me.
Now I will confess to this, I think I called her a miserable cunt a little while before I said that, I don't remember, so things were already bad and probably past the point of reason. But that's part of why I called her a miserable cunt in the first place. Frustration. She NEVER listens to reasons, rejects all criticism as a personal act (and will turn around say I can't take criticism)....sorry fantasized about choking her out....Yeah, this is bad.
javascript:void(0)
For example, she called me anorexic. Huh??? I eat all the time. She's the one with eating problems.
I'm sorry, this was supposed to be about the dogs, and I'm back to talking about her. The point I was moving towards is I think a lot of the dog issues may be acting out. This is their way of handling all the negative energy, loving them isn't enough. I have to get out of this house. I have to get Radar out of this house. Someone in this house is going to snap big time, I'd rather it not be me.
Ugh revisited
Ok, I don't even know where to pick up from, since the whole thing got derailed when I called my girlfriend for a little support, little being the operative word. I was in tears over the epic fail that is moving back home. I'm worse off, She's worse off, Radar's worse off. Sigh, it wasn't really bad until the babykicker moved back in.
"That's the closest thing to an apology you offered,"
"Really? Are you kidding? I've spent the last year apologizing! I have to shave my beard" Yup. Like I said, the operative word is "little."
What's left for us?
When I speak do people listen? How vague am I?
I think my faith in US has been exhausted, broken.
"That's the closest thing to an apology you offered,"
"Really? Are you kidding? I've spent the last year apologizing! I have to shave my beard" Yup. Like I said, the operative word is "little."
What's left for us?
When I speak do people listen? How vague am I?
I think my faith in US has been exhausted, broken.
Ugh
Have *YOU* had a knockdown drag-out fight with your family lately? Happy Father's Day!!!
How odd it is that this seems to be the only way I learn anything about the babykicker. I admit, sad and pathetic all around.
Soooooooooooooo, this time things began between mom and my "sister" over doggie behavior (poop, pee, etc.) Man, I don't even feel like going into the details. I got involved (Her dog pees and craps in my room), and it was a down hill thrill ride from there. Here are a few choice moments:
Me: "You're a miserable cunt." My personal favorite only because it was the truth. She is a miserable cunt. It's what I really believe. Hmm, that is only one moment. Please, cut me some slack, this fight isn't even 30 minutes old.
Ah, but I did say this is the time when I learn something new about the babykicker. I was quite astounded when she boasted of her talents. To which talents does she speak of? Once upon a time, she was a dancer, a very good one. Then she fucked her life up and did squat. Well, as I said, she boasted of her talents. She was such a good dancer she got accepted to Vanderbilt---she went to Cal Arts and failed out in a semester. And what was the other one? She was a good writer. Really? When did this happen? When does she even write??? She either sleeps or is with her boyfriend. Regardless, I'm not sure if she's even seen anything I've written so I don't know how she can make the comparison.
She's delusional. Seriously. She's trying to win a argument with talents she's thrown in the crapper?
That pretty much sums up my rebuttal too, except....my monitor keeps going on out me.....Was talking to G...I'll return to the fight later.
How odd it is that this seems to be the only way I learn anything about the babykicker. I admit, sad and pathetic all around.
Soooooooooooooo, this time things began between mom and my "sister" over doggie behavior (poop, pee, etc.) Man, I don't even feel like going into the details. I got involved (Her dog pees and craps in my room), and it was a down hill thrill ride from there. Here are a few choice moments:
Me: "You're a miserable cunt." My personal favorite only because it was the truth. She is a miserable cunt. It's what I really believe. Hmm, that is only one moment. Please, cut me some slack, this fight isn't even 30 minutes old.
Ah, but I did say this is the time when I learn something new about the babykicker. I was quite astounded when she boasted of her talents. To which talents does she speak of? Once upon a time, she was a dancer, a very good one. Then she fucked her life up and did squat. Well, as I said, she boasted of her talents. She was such a good dancer she got accepted to Vanderbilt---she went to Cal Arts and failed out in a semester. And what was the other one? She was a good writer. Really? When did this happen? When does she even write??? She either sleeps or is with her boyfriend. Regardless, I'm not sure if she's even seen anything I've written so I don't know how she can make the comparison.
She's delusional. Seriously. She's trying to win a argument with talents she's thrown in the crapper?
That pretty much sums up my rebuttal too, except....my monitor keeps going on out me.....Was talking to G...I'll return to the fight later.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Radiation Therapy
So my crush is engaged, due to be married in a few months. I found this out last night during JKD. In about ten seconds, I knew what my next blog post would be be about, title included. I was given a huge dose of radiation therapy.
Knowing she will be married soon places another ethical roadblock in my way; it prevents me from cultivating any sort of relationship with her, which in turns prevents me from destroying my relationship with G. Stupidity is radioactive. One blunder becomes two, two becomes three, and then those around you begin to blunder and stumble. Stupidity spreads like the halo at the base of a mushroom cloud.
In this case though the treatment is radioactive too. It burns, god, does it burn. The school girl crazies giggling through my marrow are ground into Saharan dust. I'm sweating the butterfly fever through my hair; she is my first gray hair, my second, and my third. The bush and tangles clumped in my hand, as I stand in a hot shower. Old guilt, a stirring for someone not named G, is replaced by new guilt, fatigue from the crush itself, because I am still left to wonder: Can it still work between us? Is it too late? Am I still losing her? And the sad answer is an emaciated, forlorn yes.
In retrospect, the high school aspect to the experience is complete. Too often I fell for girls because of some intangible thing I saw, a talent, a dreamy kaleidoscope in the center of their chi. My first crush, my VERY first crush--I was 12 or 13 at the time--was a talented actress and an amazing singer. Forgive me for reducing her to a scale, but I honestly couldn't tell you if she were a 7 an 8 a 9 or a 10. I fell for her because of the way she sang: that dizzying, whirling, out of control barf ride at the State Fair, love, was not returned. She just didn't see me that way. It happened again in high school. In my senior year there was this one girl, smart, outgoing, ambitious, confident, brilliant blonde hair. One day, we were talking. It was inside a McDonalds; I was minding my own business, listening to her, impressed, by her focus, everything she wanted to do and be, and my heart started doing backflips and moonsaults, pirouttes and handstands. It was the Olympics, and my ventricles were doing the floor routine. I was surprised by the suddenness of the thing, its divine irrationality, and as before she was not interested.
There are two things she said to me I will never forget: "you treat me like a queen" (intoxicating even as it followed rejection), and "Tigr, honestly, sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."
I have been kicked in the nuts, I've been pegged in the nuts by a soccer ball, I've been tackled so hard it tingled from my chest through to my extremities. There's been the referred pain of the hips, and the searing, buckling numbness, of being wacked in a large nerve. What she said hurt more, it shamed me; but I couldn't tell her that, I was a wall, she was right.
And college? College. College. College. At this point a descriptive history of my un-love life becomes tedious, redundant, filled with excuses and cynicism. (In other words I don't feel like writing about it). For this crush, it was her boxing. I was impressed by how quickly she absorbed the boxing, she learned to turn with her hook, in comparison to me, a fraction of the time. (the porcelain, Victorian skin of her thighs didn't hurt either) It was off to the races.
To compare G to all of this???? I am stupefied; forget about doing anything, I don't even know what to make of it. I think this is enough for now. I'm sure I'll be revisiting this in the coming weeks.
Knowing she will be married soon places another ethical roadblock in my way; it prevents me from cultivating any sort of relationship with her, which in turns prevents me from destroying my relationship with G. Stupidity is radioactive. One blunder becomes two, two becomes three, and then those around you begin to blunder and stumble. Stupidity spreads like the halo at the base of a mushroom cloud.
In this case though the treatment is radioactive too. It burns, god, does it burn. The school girl crazies giggling through my marrow are ground into Saharan dust. I'm sweating the butterfly fever through my hair; she is my first gray hair, my second, and my third. The bush and tangles clumped in my hand, as I stand in a hot shower. Old guilt, a stirring for someone not named G, is replaced by new guilt, fatigue from the crush itself, because I am still left to wonder: Can it still work between us? Is it too late? Am I still losing her? And the sad answer is an emaciated, forlorn yes.
In retrospect, the high school aspect to the experience is complete. Too often I fell for girls because of some intangible thing I saw, a talent, a dreamy kaleidoscope in the center of their chi. My first crush, my VERY first crush--I was 12 or 13 at the time--was a talented actress and an amazing singer. Forgive me for reducing her to a scale, but I honestly couldn't tell you if she were a 7 an 8 a 9 or a 10. I fell for her because of the way she sang: that dizzying, whirling, out of control barf ride at the State Fair, love, was not returned. She just didn't see me that way. It happened again in high school. In my senior year there was this one girl, smart, outgoing, ambitious, confident, brilliant blonde hair. One day, we were talking. It was inside a McDonalds; I was minding my own business, listening to her, impressed, by her focus, everything she wanted to do and be, and my heart started doing backflips and moonsaults, pirouttes and handstands. It was the Olympics, and my ventricles were doing the floor routine. I was surprised by the suddenness of the thing, its divine irrationality, and as before she was not interested.
There are two things she said to me I will never forget: "you treat me like a queen" (intoxicating even as it followed rejection), and "Tigr, honestly, sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."
I have been kicked in the nuts, I've been pegged in the nuts by a soccer ball, I've been tackled so hard it tingled from my chest through to my extremities. There's been the referred pain of the hips, and the searing, buckling numbness, of being wacked in a large nerve. What she said hurt more, it shamed me; but I couldn't tell her that, I was a wall, she was right.
And college? College. College. College. At this point a descriptive history of my un-love life becomes tedious, redundant, filled with excuses and cynicism. (In other words I don't feel like writing about it). For this crush, it was her boxing. I was impressed by how quickly she absorbed the boxing, she learned to turn with her hook, in comparison to me, a fraction of the time. (the porcelain, Victorian skin of her thighs didn't hurt either) It was off to the races.
To compare G to all of this???? I am stupefied; forget about doing anything, I don't even know what to make of it. I think this is enough for now. I'm sure I'll be revisiting this in the coming weeks.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Nothing specific
I don't have to say here, just felt like I should put forth the effort to file an entry to the readership of none.
Having a crush on someone, and being in a relationship with G doesn't exactly fill me with pride. I feel foolish. On one hand I am fighting to keep my existing relationship going, an ultra marathon through death valley, under the guffaws of a laughing sun; while at the same time, I feel like a goofy high school kid again because I've gone all ballerina twinkle toes for a girl I really don't know that well, who I speak to a couple times of week, who--and I can't emphasize this enough--probably leads an ideological existence in opposition to my own. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Shouldn't love have a button? What about an emergency brake??? I'd settle for that! I try to remind myself that the shoe was on the other foot not to long ago, that G was the one crushing on someone else, and that I was understanding and believed things would work out for the best. Don't have that sort of faith right now. The human heart is savage in its fickleness, showing no mercy to the raped, the tortured, the humiliated, like God and HIV, it does not discriminate.
Random thought: The story of Job. The trials of Job, were a manifestation of God's love for Job, the whole "where were you when I made the stars" speech was because God didn't think Job would understand how much love could hurt. Probably not, but I'll wager I'm closer to the truth than I know.
Having a crush on someone, and being in a relationship with G doesn't exactly fill me with pride. I feel foolish. On one hand I am fighting to keep my existing relationship going, an ultra marathon through death valley, under the guffaws of a laughing sun; while at the same time, I feel like a goofy high school kid again because I've gone all ballerina twinkle toes for a girl I really don't know that well, who I speak to a couple times of week, who--and I can't emphasize this enough--probably leads an ideological existence in opposition to my own. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Shouldn't love have a button? What about an emergency brake??? I'd settle for that! I try to remind myself that the shoe was on the other foot not to long ago, that G was the one crushing on someone else, and that I was understanding and believed things would work out for the best. Don't have that sort of faith right now. The human heart is savage in its fickleness, showing no mercy to the raped, the tortured, the humiliated, like God and HIV, it does not discriminate.
Random thought: The story of Job. The trials of Job, were a manifestation of God's love for Job, the whole "where were you when I made the stars" speech was because God didn't think Job would understand how much love could hurt. Probably not, but I'll wager I'm closer to the truth than I know.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Job Front
I passed that damn insurance licensing examine. Hooray for me. Also, more U of Phoenix "boot camp" this week.
Radar got hosed, man!
My puppy dog has been on the short end of the stick this morning. He was stuck in the crate while I took my parents dogs to the vet for rabies shots. He was quite vocal in his protest. The injustice poured from his throat with all the eloquence of a fat man sitting on a set of bag pipes.
Afterwords, I came home, picked him up, and took all three dogs to the groomer's. I was informed that Petsmart policy stated that dogs had to wait 48 hrs after getting the rabies shots because blah blah blah, but since Radar was good to go I left him there: poor, poor puppy dog.
Afterwords, I came home, picked him up, and took all three dogs to the groomer's. I was informed that Petsmart policy stated that dogs had to wait 48 hrs after getting the rabies shots because blah blah blah, but since Radar was good to go I left him there: poor, poor puppy dog.
What I've been up to
Posting on this blog has been sparse, I know, I know, "he's always got an excuse" But in this case I've been trying to establish myself on dailykos, in the hopes of a) making a meaningful contribution to political debate and b)cultivate an audience, one that might be interested in my creative writing as well as my critical output. Dare to dream, I know.
Speaking of daring to dream, that friggin' nerve in my left leg is the in-law from hell. The good news is I can do most of the workouts and train at the dojo, but I can't run on the damn thing without feelin' pain. I will do my best to be patient. After the tournament on July 11, I will go into rehab mode.
Speaking of daring to dream, that friggin' nerve in my left leg is the in-law from hell. The good news is I can do most of the workouts and train at the dojo, but I can't run on the damn thing without feelin' pain. I will do my best to be patient. After the tournament on July 11, I will go into rehab mode.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Health Notes
Leg continues to improve s l o w l y. Fuckin' thing still hurts.
But on a positive note, I set new personal bests in my crossfit workout yesterday.
I did Lynne: 5 sets of max reps body-weight bench and max reps pull ups. ON the first set I achieved personal bests on both. 18 reps of 135 lbs bench press/25 pull ups.
But on a positive note, I set new personal bests in my crossfit workout yesterday.
I did Lynne: 5 sets of max reps body-weight bench and max reps pull ups. ON the first set I achieved personal bests on both. 18 reps of 135 lbs bench press/25 pull ups.
Monday, June 8, 2009
I miss the drive-in: conspicuous consumption
Another thing, I've been thinking about texting in movie theaters. I've always hated it, never understood how anyone could be that inconsiderate, to be lacking in common sense and empathy to the degree which they couldn't understand how texting fucks up the movie going experience for other patrons. My answer came in the form of a question. Maybe they DO understand? Perhaps the point here is THEY WANT TO BE SEEN. It's another form of conspicuous consumption. It's blue toothed douche-baggery, a kind of asshole double jeopardy. If no one asks them to do anything then they get to enjoy the performance of texting AND being an unchecked dickhead. If someone does ask, then the texter wins acknowledgment that HE has a cellphone, that he knows how to text, that HE is technologically adept, and that he has the disposable income to afford texting. I think I'm on to something here, but I'm not sure if "asshole double jeopardy" is best descriptor (although I love the sound of it.) Yeah, yeah I'm sure someone else came to this revelation before I did, but god damn, I'm not the last, and if this is true, then the best way to handle these movie-molesting philistines can be extrapolated from the true cause. Fuck those guys. I want to make THEIR movie going experience as miserable as possible.
I miss the drive-in 2
So I've been thinking. You know, I was a bit scared to ask that guy to stop texting, and I was definitely scared when I was stuck with him for the rest of the movie. I felt guilty, not just because I hadn't meant for it to become a production. I felt guilty because I didn't ask him in the first place, even though I knew my past history in movie theaters made it a dangerous proposition. I feared losing control of both myself and the situation. And to a degree I DID lose control of the situation. I was stuck! I couldn't leave the theater, or at least I didn't feel as if I could leave the theater upon a perceived threat of violence. You'd think my training would instill confidence. It didn't, perhaps if the situation had turned violent I would have remained calm, but that is speculation. What my training did was make me aware of the potential for violence and the consequences of violence. So it's not as if my training failed, I kept myself out of a compromising position and yet I still felt COMPROMISED. I'm not sure what all this means. Sifu would say my avoidance of conflict was a victory in itself: I didn't get hit; I didn't get hurt; therefore, I didn't lose a fight. And I agree. It's just...I don't know. This incident pushed my buttons. Is it a gender thing? As a male there is pressure for me to solve conflicts aggressively? Maybe the trauma has created an extra incentive to solve my conflicts with the grace and skill of a caveman, but my movie theater blow ups happened before I was tortured and I've ALWAYS been a bit shy. Ugh!
I miss the drive-in
Had a sour movie going experience Friday. I went to see The Hangover with a friend....No, that's not why it sucked. THe movie itself was alright. I was caugt off guard by the Danzig song in the opening credits but that is neither here nor there.
The black guy to my left started texting during the trailers, that was annoying but I let it slide. Then the fucker kept doing it for a good 20 min straight into the movie. I'm not good with confrontation; I consider myself to be shy, but when it comes to movie theaters---how do I put this?--there were two occasions were I lost it. I mean I just flipped out and did some serious screaming. That's not how I want to conduct myself, I don't even want to risk it, so I left the theater and complained to a manager, who was SUPPOSED to wait and not follow me in immediately. He waited all of 5 seconds. Sigh. The texting stopped. Then the guy next to me said "You could have just asked me blah blah blah" to which I replied "I find there is no polite way to do it," which in my case has served as a true statement.
Then the usher asked the dude to leave. I hadn't anticipated that. He was gone for about 5 min, then he returned. During the interval, I was unsure if HIS friend had made a threat to me or was just talking at the screen.
I felt bad about the guy leaving. I wasn't trying to get him kicked out, but when he returned? Dude! Why even bother?? That just makes it really uncomfortable and awkward, and I was getting a little scared and started wargaming my best defense to a two on one assault. Grapple? Or go for the eyes. Best to keep it standing, avoid th throat if possible, cross fingers hope they didn't have weapons. Their being 2 black males in a dark room reminded me of the rape. I wasn't going PTSD, but this must have been one of the hundreds of hell dimensions from the Buffyverse.
If I had been sitting on the end I would have left. I was miserable, but actually leaving meant crossing between two men I didn't know or trust so I stayed put and hoped that when the lights went up they would just leave. Luckily, they did. My friend downplayed the incident, but said something to the manager about his lack of timing. I just wanted to go home and hug Radar and bask in his grunts and shovel-heads.
God damn, I miss that drive-in.
p.s--Could have asked him?? There was a sign outside saying texting was a no-no.
The black guy to my left started texting during the trailers, that was annoying but I let it slide. Then the fucker kept doing it for a good 20 min straight into the movie. I'm not good with confrontation; I consider myself to be shy, but when it comes to movie theaters---how do I put this?--there were two occasions were I lost it. I mean I just flipped out and did some serious screaming. That's not how I want to conduct myself, I don't even want to risk it, so I left the theater and complained to a manager, who was SUPPOSED to wait and not follow me in immediately. He waited all of 5 seconds. Sigh. The texting stopped. Then the guy next to me said "You could have just asked me blah blah blah" to which I replied "I find there is no polite way to do it," which in my case has served as a true statement.
Then the usher asked the dude to leave. I hadn't anticipated that. He was gone for about 5 min, then he returned. During the interval, I was unsure if HIS friend had made a threat to me or was just talking at the screen.
I felt bad about the guy leaving. I wasn't trying to get him kicked out, but when he returned? Dude! Why even bother?? That just makes it really uncomfortable and awkward, and I was getting a little scared and started wargaming my best defense to a two on one assault. Grapple? Or go for the eyes. Best to keep it standing, avoid th throat if possible, cross fingers hope they didn't have weapons. Their being 2 black males in a dark room reminded me of the rape. I wasn't going PTSD, but this must have been one of the hundreds of hell dimensions from the Buffyverse.
If I had been sitting on the end I would have left. I was miserable, but actually leaving meant crossing between two men I didn't know or trust so I stayed put and hoped that when the lights went up they would just leave. Luckily, they did. My friend downplayed the incident, but said something to the manager about his lack of timing. I just wanted to go home and hug Radar and bask in his grunts and shovel-heads.
God damn, I miss that drive-in.
p.s--Could have asked him?? There was a sign outside saying texting was a no-no.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
State of the body: dumb luck (?) edition
Monday night. Grapple time. Fun time. Happy time for all. Oh yeah, and I banged up my left leg. The damn thing was a magnet for damage. I didn't have my gi pants for judo. I took a fall. The landing kinda stung, but I got over it. Later, as we did a roll warm up in grappling, I was paired with a tenth grader, a 282 lbs tenth grader. Lots of energy. New. Enthusiastic. Reckless. He is the StayPuft Marshmallow Man of newbies. He's demonstrated a disturbing habit for improv, which is good for artists, but not good for young grapplers playing with LEGLOCKS. He was locking me with...his weight, I don't know how to describe it, reminiscent of the "Brock Lock" Lesnar used during his WWE run. I tapped fast, very fast. I thought I tapped before he did real damage. Truly, Staypuft is the most dangerous guy on the floor.
Despite a nasty bump and a goofy, but unpredictable neophyte, my leg appeared to be a-okay. It was time for someone safer. I was paired with another heavyweight, a guy with several MMA fights to his credit, to work some half-guard escapes. His ankle casually bumped the large nerve running past the knee.
And that was all she wrote. It's Wednesday and I'm still limping. Could take over a week before I'm walkin' right again. By which point I'm supposed to have a large, black eye style, bruise. Thank God I know how to swim.
Despite a nasty bump and a goofy, but unpredictable neophyte, my leg appeared to be a-okay. It was time for someone safer. I was paired with another heavyweight, a guy with several MMA fights to his credit, to work some half-guard escapes. His ankle casually bumped the large nerve running past the knee.
And that was all she wrote. It's Wednesday and I'm still limping. Could take over a week before I'm walkin' right again. By which point I'm supposed to have a large, black eye style, bruise. Thank God I know how to swim.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Tristero Quote
"It is those of us who oppose the banning of abortion who always hold the moral high ground, and not only when one of the pro-coat hanger crowd murders a health provider."
Damn right.
Damn right.
In the land of baby killers (a rant)
So one Dr. Tiller of Wichita, Kansas was murdered yesterday. Assassinated inside the halls of his own church. His "crime" was providing late term abortions. If it isn't gun nuts it's anti-choice wackaloons. Notice how well they complement each other.
Again, maybe this is me speaking ignorantly on matters of the law, but I thought good laws were equal in distribution and impact. Good laws make life better for everyone, or at least the maximum number of people possible. That the unrestricted free-flow of guns greases the wheels of extremist behavior is neither shocking nor much of a revelation.; nevertheless. the continued inaction, the cowering at the feet of the aggressive ignorant sickens me. For years I've listened to assholes beat their chests: question the war effort? Traitor! Demand the return of our troops? Dirty fuckin'liberal! Decry torture in all its forms? Go to Canada you terrorist loving hippie!
Yet how quickly they change their tune. Not even a year into the term of President Moderate they are ready to secede, and commit terrorists attacks against follow citizens. But I'm not saying anything new, if you haven't heard these conclusions already you must be oblivious by nature.
But they are terrorists, domestic terrorists, who've gotten away with, literally, murder. So when do we call them on it? When do we point our fingers and call a spade a spade? I've already started. You shoot up a high school you're a terrorist. You assassinate doctors , you're a terrorist.
In the case of the latter they love to run their mouths about God and morals and hellfire.
Tiller. Murdered in a church. There is no holy ground. Only convenience.
What is it like to live this way? To hate modernity, to spit at the words "absolute relativism" yet become absolutely relative when it comes to the big ten? Relativism in support of absolutism, terrorism, authoritarianism.
I am disgusted, because this will happen all over again.
Again, maybe this is me speaking ignorantly on matters of the law, but I thought good laws were equal in distribution and impact. Good laws make life better for everyone, or at least the maximum number of people possible. That the unrestricted free-flow of guns greases the wheels of extremist behavior is neither shocking nor much of a revelation.; nevertheless. the continued inaction, the cowering at the feet of the aggressive ignorant sickens me. For years I've listened to assholes beat their chests: question the war effort? Traitor! Demand the return of our troops? Dirty fuckin'liberal! Decry torture in all its forms? Go to Canada you terrorist loving hippie!
Yet how quickly they change their tune. Not even a year into the term of President Moderate they are ready to secede, and commit terrorists attacks against follow citizens. But I'm not saying anything new, if you haven't heard these conclusions already you must be oblivious by nature.
But they are terrorists, domestic terrorists, who've gotten away with, literally, murder. So when do we call them on it? When do we point our fingers and call a spade a spade? I've already started. You shoot up a high school you're a terrorist. You assassinate doctors , you're a terrorist.
In the case of the latter they love to run their mouths about God and morals and hellfire.
Tiller. Murdered in a church. There is no holy ground. Only convenience.
What is it like to live this way? To hate modernity, to spit at the words "absolute relativism" yet become absolutely relative when it comes to the big ten? Relativism in support of absolutism, terrorism, authoritarianism.
I am disgusted, because this will happen all over again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)