2009-09-25 00:57:36 PDT
i woke up this morning at 7am. out of the ordinary, definitely; the real problem was not the clock, however, but the shocking twisting in my guts. inside me it felt like a boxer testing a new heavy bag's give. incredible really.
i got in the bathtub immediately. this is my go-to solution to any kind of negative feelings and, straight up dogs, sweating in a hot tub really is a fantastic way to improve my outlook on most things. if i can focus i'll read a book, but if i can't i'll just soak and think-- let my mind wander to wherever it's going to end up.
this morning though, all my mind would turn to was the churning of my stomach. i knew vomit was inevitable but for some reason the time wasn't right. the balance was definitely off in the washing machine of my belly but it wasn't burning anything so the smoke detectors weren't chasing the inhabitants of my stomach out yet.
stomach inhabitants: i remembered back to my meal the night before. pasta with hamburger and tomato sauce. at the simple thought of eating my stomach tossed its contents dramatically in horrible directions not meant to be traveled by matter from the standard dimensions. the smoke detectors began to ring and those within my stomach glanced around nervously and headed for the door.
"ogh JEsus," i wet-burped, and pulled myself dripping out of the water and toward the toilet-- which i had peed in before getting in the tub and not flushed because then the tub fills with scalding hot water. mistake.
as i got near the toilet, the sonny liston right hand of the stench of urine hit my washing machine, and it didn't just smoke or catch fire-- it fucking exploded. the alarms screamed "danger !" and the tenants of my stomach raced for the door.
i heaved, hard; a defeated fighter swinging one last wild punch as he falls, broken. it felt like i had a bulldozer in my esophagus at top speed pushing a huge load of misery toward my clenched throat.
misery won, as it has a way of doing. chunks of food cannon'd out of me like baseballs from a pitching machine covered in vile, bitter acid, splashing the fetid pisswater into my face.
"OH GOD NO !!" i tried to roar, horrified, but the bulldozer just kept pushing the filth out as the sonny liston piss fired brutal salvos into my midsection. the balls of horror choked my cries to the non-existent, uncaring, or indescribably cruel deity to whom i pleaded.
it felt like an eternity, this impossibly vicious cycle of launching poisonous foodstuffs into a soup of vomit and urine, which then launched back at me. was that why no god heard me ? was this finally, really hell ? to be choked by your own expunged contents ? i couldn't think of a better definition...
and then it was over. my body began to fill with a calm even as tears streamed from my eyes. i flushed the toilet and the stench drifted toward me in a last goodbye as it was pulled away and i washed my face. my stomach unclenched; no more haymakers to be endured. i rinsed my mouth, brushed my teeth, and got back in the bathtub to enjoy the gift of letting my mind wander.
2009-09-02 23:02:29 PDT
i just got a lecture on how boxing isn't a real martial art and it's so simple and anyone who takes boxing is getting ripped off by these "trainers" (he did fingers quotes around "trainers" because who do these guys think they're fooling exactly !)... from a kung fu guy.
he also mentioned how brazilian jiu jitsu is useless because "sure, you've got the armbar, but then what ???" and i was not hiding my incredulity at all-- jeez dude there's a lot of limbs to break, you know ? i tried to tell him that BJJ is positionally based and can be used to simply get on top of someone and wail on them like a pimp, but he was having none of it whatsoever.
"see i'm a striker, so i don't fuck around with all that grappling shit. it's just so stupid." i told him it goes both ways: i love grappling and boxing, and think kung fu is silly flashy nonsense that is useless in any kind of real confrontation, but hey you've just got to find the art that fits you as a person. he looked totally confused like he'd never heard anyone say anything bad about kung fu ever.
and in that confusion he sprung at me with the unexpected: he asked me to time his "blitz attack" ! i laughed and said sure ok ! even though i had no idea what a blitz attack was or how one times it. so he hands me a "clicker" (which is like a stopwatch thing, and every time you hit the button it adds a number to a rollover [like an odometer]), tells me to hit it every time he lands a punch, drops into a deep squat, and says, "you gotta get a real good horse stance for this," making me choke back laughter from so deep in my belly that it hurt my face and wonder if i was, indeed, being filmed from somewhere. he then hit the bag as fast as he could for 30 seconds, gets TOTALLY winded, and goes, "THAT'S speed. *pant pant pant gasp* seeing is *wheeze pant* believing, huh." and i was like, "welp, i saw it !"
then as i was hitting the bag he was yelling to me how to throw my punches "properly" and i was rolling my eyes so hard in response that my eye sockets were smoking, but he was totally oblivious ! he was actually advising me to drop my hand to my waist to generate more power ! i was like ok dude, sounds like a really great way to eat a counterpunch which is something i totally love to do so thanks for the sweet tips on how to get brutally fucking KO'd man !
that was when he started in with how boxing is stupid and not a real art. he said, "boxing is so simple. there's like, four punches, so what does that take to learn ? a week ? kung fu teaches you the tiny details that boxing misses. how you need to turn your hand all the way around to generate real power. how you need to breathe through your punches. it's like how the shaolin can break boards all over their body, can boxers do that ?"
"they're usually too busy bustin' up heads i think..." i said.
"that's the other thing. boxing is all punches, and it's all to the head. it's so closed-minded. now in kung fu you've got--"
i was really starting to get annoyed at this point so i figured, man fuck this guy. "dude straight up, i don't care about kung fu. at all. i think it's sloppy and ineffective. and the way you're talking about boxing, and grappling, it really sounds like you've got pre-conceived notions but don't actually have a clue about any of it."
so he says, "hey, i'm just calling it like i see it." he actually said that. that was his defense. and then he said, "everyone training (i was wearing a "bas rutten mma system" rash guard and at this time he gestured at it) "these styles" is just getting totally ripped off by their rip off trainers."
"look dude," i replied, "you're getting pretty insulting about my trainer and my art so you should probably think about what you're saying here because it could get taken the wrong way." and he was all confused and going "no man, no offense !" which of course is the only way to excuse being insulting.
finally it was ten o'clock and the gym was closing. i was taking off my gloves (he was sitting there the entire time yelling shit like "deep breaths !" and "there you go, hips !" even after i told him i didn't care about kung fu) and he says, "i mean obviously i wouldn't get in the ring with you because you've got a ton of power and really good movement and you would most likely knock me out, i just don't really think boxing is for me." which made me think both,
okay hey great i have no problem with your lack of desire to box and your love of kung fu ! that's awesome, different tastes appeal to different people and all that ! why the fuck wasn't that your approach to this conversation the whole time,
but then also
if you wouldn't get in the ring with me because you think i would put you to sleep, isn't that admitting the total failure of your martial art in both 1. providing you with the technique necessary for self-protection, and 2. instilling confidence in yourself ??
but i just said, "ahhh, i don't spar that hard."
2009-07-17 20:09:50 PDT
so i was getting changed at the gym yesterday talking to a dude i know and another dude i didn't know, seemed like a pretty nice guy at first, maybe 40lbs overweight. anyways, we were talking about the last ufc and as the guy i know left, the hefty dude started talking to me about it a bit more, talking about the classlessness of lesnar, how good st pierre is, all pretty agreeable things until he started talking about the things st pierre should have done to finish the fight (submissions, ground and pound etc). i didn't really want to debate with the guy but i basically said alves was good enough to not really be in a position for that shit to happen; his defense against strikes on the bottom was very solid, and there's very few submissions from the top position if you're in a guard or half-guard and they're very easy to defend against if you're not a total tuf n00b (which alves isn't). the guy got sort of "look i'm just saying what i would have done in there" about it and i was like, "oh, right okay cool man." and left it at that because you can't really tell a guy about how if you or i were in there we would've been k'd the fuck o by the first strike either of those guys threw, and neither of us would be able to take alves down, and if we tore our abductor ligament we would be crying helplessly and tapping a goddamned hole through the mat. but let's say for the sake of argument that alves spots us a fucking top position-- you think he's just going to roll over and give up his arm like "i've never seen an armbar before so do whatever," or that you're just going to send lefts and rights straight down the middle and cruise by easy like a day off ? do you think st pierre just forgot about the submission game, or isn't good at it, and also wasn't trying to pound alves' head into dust ?
but then, a minute later as i'm eating a protein bar, this joker has the audacity to comment on the fat content of it with a "i mean do what you want but i wouldn't be caught dead eating one of those" attitude and smug look on his face and i'm going "fuckin... really ? motherfucker ?" do you really need to be that much of a know-it-all that your fat ass is going to jiggle out a lecture for me about the fat contents of my food while you walk around with your belly rippling like a wading pool ? fuckiiiin... duuude.
but i just politely thanked him for the advice and left.
2009-06-02 11:33:49 PDT
i moved my base of command to my living room instead ! my teevee wayching is about to hit levels previously only DREAMED, poppin my colla colla
dude shit was dope i giot so hi** and hit on all the nurses and they LOVED IT y'hurrd me
after te surgery i demanded that all female nurses come to my room so that i might call them SHAWTAAAAY-EE
doctor seemed el confeedanto that the shit went straight, th nurse accused me of not being ready to leave or stand until i informed her tgay she was unablr to noy get mauy thai'd with that attitude
i don't think she knew what muay thai was iirc but i was already a hitttin the do' ass nigga like payce
i hope she didn't think it meant bukkake
beacuse she was old
2009-05-15 02:12:39 PDT
i woke up to my phone ringing this morning, which doesn't usually happen for a variety of reasons including i frequently have earplugs in and i've never really been a phone person so people don't phone me. which works great for everyone involved really.
but this morning i wake up to my telephone because the earplugs have come out in the night and some asshole doesn't know the golden rule of "don't phone me but DEFINITELY don't phone me before eleven in the morning" because SOME OF US have exciting insomniac night lives that include video games and/or reading and/or touching dudes (no homo, i insist in futility).
so who this be ringin' on mah phone ? i wonder to myself, but me still being mostly asleep at the bullshit single-digit hour of 9.45 cannot for all the tea in china find my goddamned phone (it took me at least five seconds to realize the noise wasn't my alarm clock and hitting the snooze button with increasing levels of hostility was not stopping it) until i realize it isn't even in my room but off somewhere in the even worse bullshit place that can only be accessed by getting out of bed.
"fuck an entire 100% of that," i mumbled to myself, and dozed back off after thinking, you mess with the bull, you get the goddamned horns ! because in my sleepy halfbrained state i was convinced i was really fucking putting one over on those assholes who would dare telephone me. i mean REALLY putting one over on them; some straight Kaizer Soze shit is this not answering my phone when someone calls it business i'm thinking.
so i sleep for another hour, wake up to my phone ringing AGAIN, and i'm going, you know what you telephone calling dicks ? suck on THIS. and actually got out of bed, but get this: i don't head into the living room and answering the phone at all, because pwn#2 is coming down hard like a jackhammer as i bust a leff and instead take a piss while i laugh at my phone ringing plaintively in the distance. "you picked the wroooooong motherfucker to step to at such ungodly hours, you craven bastards !!" i yell into the comforting echo of my bathroom, not the least bit concerned that the only people who might hear me are my neighbours. i'll threaten them with porno again if i have to, i don't give a fuck. they're goddamned pussies too. i give myself an extra healthy piss-shake just as my phone gives up its wailing. osborne - 1, pack of assholes who don't know a single thing about anything - 0.
i finally wander out of the bathroom-- leisurely, mind you; i'm in no hurry for these milquetoasts-- and check my phone. two missed calls eh ? ask me if i give a fuck. answer: hell to that ol' nizzah my dowgs. sure i'll check and see who it is, but only because i'm standing here holding my telephone. and of course it's the surgeon from ubc i've been waiting to hear from for six months.
my bravado melts away as i make panicked choking noises like a dolphin trying to swallow two dolphins. i start pleading with my phone to ring again, but it just silently acts out the tables turning. i check the messages and the woman is saying to get in touch with her immediately because they've had a cancellation and can surgery my shit wit a quickness if i can stop frontin' for two seconds and answer my telephone, or at least swallow my pride and call her back. she actually says all this. i have no idea how she possibly knows what a petty little queer i can be sometimes but here we are, her honesty coursing through my body like a vile poison.
i call back and immediately get an answering machine. i leave a whimpering message like a dumped boyfriend begging to be taken back, "oh please fix my shoulder i'm so sorry i know i treated you badly but just give me one more shot surgeon, i can make this right baby, sob sob" and then sat staring at my phone waiting for it to ring.
ring, baby please call me oh god what have i done
but she doesn't call. and she doesn't the next minute. or the next. i go shower, and leave my phone in easy grabbing range. no call. i walk to work, no call. i work, i eat lunch, i mock the produce guy and sing the "sup shawty" autotune song i'm working on to the cute redhead girl at the till and SHE STILL HASN'T CALLED. i'm sweating and pleading with the universe to just make this happen, please just fucking call me. i've never ever wanted a woman to phone me this badly in my life, it's not even a contest. i mentally vow that things are different now; no more pettiness, no more cowardly acts of evasion. not just on the phone, in all walks of life. is that what you want universe ? it's yours.
she phones. she's very polite and professional and doesn't seem to be treating me like someone treats a man that has been reduced to a crumbling, weeping, praying husk, by which i mean there is no gloating in her voice and i find that very confusing but also promising. she informs me that my surgery will be on june 1st. she doesn't mention that she's made me a better, more complete man for going through this morning what she put me through, or more accurately what i put myself through, but she doesn't have to. everything she has done will improve me, physically and mentally.
i realize immediately what's going on and ask her to marry me because no woman has ever had this kind of impact on my life. she tells me she is flattered but also already married, and i weep bitter tears at how the universe continues to mock me. i rescind my vow of removing pettiness and cowardice and instead declare a new oath of tenfold depravity and wickedness. a true scoundrel, a more heinous villain than the world has ever known ! but then i spend a minute thinking about how much work that will be and instead half-heartedly mumble something about probably engaging in some slothfulness.
so: universe - 1, osborne - 0. we'll see what happens in the rematch once i'm 100% after surgery though-- i'm not making excuses or saying i lost because i'm injured, but i am saying i won't get caught making the same mistake twice. i'm going to train hard and come into this in the best shape i've ever been in for a fight. it'll be different this time.
The Jesus
"Eschew Obfuscation."
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