Friday, December 14, 2012

I'm Different

On the topic of Fuckshit, I have lost my entire mind. I have no clue why I decide to do the things I do, but one day I will either be too tired, too old or too smart to continue. I have finally (at damn near 40) embarking on the ambition of my life. A quest that I have thought about, occasionally bantered about in polite company and secretly desired since the first day I was introduced to it. What am I blathering on about exactly? I, in my infinite 40 hour a week, old, fat, 9 credit taking, college student mothering life am taking MMA classes. Oh and shut up about it, cause its a secret.

Let me just run the tape back for you. 10 years ago I got heavily interested in mixed martial arts without the help of a boyfriend, my son or anyone else. Just me and Pride and UFC. I watched fights, and shows on fights, and then I recognized fighters in obscure paces, and sold property to amateur fighters wanting to start gyms. Then I came here and started writing about them. Then I got my kid watching, and my dad watching and suddenly the guys I dated watched it too. Then I would say to myself "I sure wish I could do that." Me! You know, crazy violent and particularly nutty, tends to take on too much, just got over a serious ankle issue that required 8 weeks of PT. That's me. Not wishing to be able to run again. Wishing to have an actual shot at being a female MMA fighter. Cut to about three months ago, when I my daily LivingSocial deal flashes across my phone. I was pumping gas, or eating something unhealthy or what the fuck ever it is that I do on a weekend that I don't have a paper due, and low and behold my prayers were answered. It was an offer, for a months worth of classes at the local MMA gym for $25! I didn't breathe, I didn't think I just pressed BUY and then I proceeded to chide myself for even thinking that this body with the extra 40lbs strapped to it and the wacky ankle would be able to do anything as kick ass as Brazilian 36.

I gotta say at that point I just tried to forget that I bought the damn thing. Maybe I would get up enough nerve to go before it expired, or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would go home and eat some more bread and gain 10 more lbs and drink another bottle of wine. You know, 40 year old shit, not 20 year old fuckshit like rolling around on the ground grappling with some other sweaty ass people half your age. Nawww I would just ride this one out till the expiration was gone. That was fine too, until one day I was at home, probably writing another godforsaken paper about Information Security or Information Technology, or Project Management in IT or IT ethics or some other fuckass topic that rules my entire existence when No Reservations came on  the TV. Now, if you know me you know that the only think I like more than watching showes about food is eating said food. So I settled into page three of five and hear hustled while I typed. Then it happened, Tony Bourdain started discussing Rio, and how it was so beautiful and how his wife wasn't there to soak up the sun or lay on the beach. Nope, she was there to have a good old fashioned BJJ match. So I watched this tiny Italian woman who was sickly conditioned, and sparing like a champ and I knew right then and there that if I didn't give this a try now, I never would and I would ALWAYS be sorry I didn't. So the very next we hopped our asses in the car and went over there to see whether or not two decidedly fat, close to middle aged old birds would be laughed out of a respectable MMA gym or potentially be killed in the process. I also determined that if I really wanted to do this, that I better not tell anyone. Not my worry wart momma or my neurotic ass boyfriend. Erica and I made a pact, and went in.

It was uncomfortable, I wont lie. Even though those boys were as nice as pie, we were still two old fat ladies asking about classes. Not only that but one of us is a huge UFC Stan who is trying desperately not to look like a 13 year old girl at a Bieber concert. Of course I thought, we will find out some shit, think about coming to class and leave. I was wrong, they made me sign a waiver and then told us that we should come for the BJJ Fundamentals class on Sunday. Why did I feel like everyone was laughing at me? So we left, her freaked out, me embarrassed and we said we would come back Sunday. Sunday started strange. We ate, showered and then I proceeded to put on every article of workout clothing I owned. I had NO idea what this situation entailed. The schedule didn't say what I was supposed to wear. How much was I gonna be on the floor? Does that mean shorts? I only own one set of sweatpants that I just bought the week prior. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I came out of my bedroom in the following. Shorts, sweatpants, underwear, sports bra, tank top, tank top, *that's right two tank tops* t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt. It was 500 degrees in that getup and I looked insane, so I figured I better scale it back.

After removing about 4 layers we left for class. 4 bottles of water? Check. We should be fine. We walk in and meet Topaz. He doesn't look nearly as young as the dudes we saw Saturday so we relaxed a little. We introduce ourselves and immediately we have to start jogging. This for me is comedy, because in 3 months the best I have been able to accomplish is attending PT and walking slightly faster than a senior citizen. Okay, so I guess I am jogging. Leg feels strong, I feel good so far. Now I am doing something called Shrimping. Basically I am using one leg to propel myself up the mat. Sure I am slow but I think I am doing it right. There are more warm ups, more jogging. I am beginning to question my sanity when he tells us to sit. Now we are on to ab work and by abs, I mean the place where I used to have muscle. Something tells me that I am not going to feel good later but then, I catch my breath and I start doing moves and Topaz teaches us posture, and side guard and I am understanding now. Everything I have been watching for better than 10 years is starting to connect in my brain and even though every muscle I own has determined that I am a horrible bitch for subjecting it to this class, I am happy and so is Erica. We watch closely every move, and when Topaz instructs we follow intently. Furthermore, we didn't die!

So, class one became class two (where even the apple, redbull, GU and coconut water I had didn't keep me from almost passing out during the boxing portion) and that was mad painful and I still cant raise my arms properly, I still went to class last night and even though I thought I was going to choke in the 15 push up circle, I managed not to embarrass my fat ass in front of a class of 20 somethings and you know what? I am hooked. The funny part is how patient these young dudes are with us. One was so eager to teach us submissions (when I was in the middle of my hypoglycemic attack) another wanted us to stay for a second class. Last night, a little bitty one was telling us how to score points in a tournament. Who tournament? Is he for real right now? Its funny but I honestly believe if I could go back tonight I would. If I were 10 years younger and could just spend all my time training I would dedicate myself to it fully and though I cant walk right now which is not shocking I feel like for the first time I am doing something I always wanted to do. No one has laughed at me, no one has told me that I cant do it, no body has tossed my lifeless body into the alley and though my everything hurts, my ankle does not and its fantastic. So after class 1 I told my kid, cause well he can hold water unlike other folks and he wont admonish me for the ankle thing. Not only that but he was very happy for me. He knows how much I love this stuff. So I will keep you posted. Maybe photos when I lose some weight at this rate it wont be long.

Oh and since I come here once in a blue moon, someone eloquently pointed out in the comments of my last post that as I was complaining about the writing in 50 Shades that I started the first four paragraphs with "so". First, this is a blog, its not a published book so don't think you are shading me by correcting my blog type grammar. I don't write this bitch for grades or book deals but thanks for your fuckass comment anon.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

50 Shades of WTF?!?

So I've done the unthinkable. For a woman who prides herself on her literary acumen and writing prowess I have actually succumbed to the hype and decided to read what I can only describe as literary porn. I Avin have just finished Fifty shades of Gray.

So let me tell you why this is about as out of character for me as a fuzzy pink sweater. First, I'm not at all a romantic. I do not enjoy the occasional chick flick, love story or romance novel. I don't dig it. I don't like the idea if the helpless damsel in distress or the perils of Pauline where the woman is tied to the tracks waiting to be rescued. It goes against every survival instinct I have honed and every lesson I was taught by my super independent self sufficient momma. Seriously, we are talkin about a woman who wouldn't ever watch The Notebook, has never seen Love Jones and was forced to watch Love and Basketball. By the way I hated it. Not only did I find it implausible for the early 2000's but I thought it was archaic and I wanted to shake Sanaa Lathan for not having a spine and leaving that needy, pitiful Omar Epps when she had the opportunity. Seriously angry folks.

So, when I tell you that I've read 50 shades, it's beyond a stretch. Second, I typically enjoy a higher brow fare when it comes to my books. Favorite novels recently? The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, the Dragon Tattoo series, Medium Raw, I know this much is true by Wally Lamb, Like water for Elephants and anything by Lee Child. I honestly don't like romantic fare or anything with a shirtless man on the cover. Don't even get me started on black romance novels. Can I even call them that? So hood and raunchy and downright unbelievable and foul I cant even believe they sell that crap. I was in Borders downtown a few years back looking for a respectable novel and what do I see in the African American fiction section? Thong on Fire. I shit you not. I was once roped into a Zane book by a coworker and I was so embarrassed halfway through that I wanted to put that book in a wood chipper.

So the idea that I would read what amounts to crap is baffling even to me. My roommate loves anything with Fabio or some other half naked man on the cover so this is totally up her alley, but I don't go for it. Cut to last week where for the umpteenth time I get to hear some woman gush over this book. Today it was on the radio. Up until that point I had only a vague knowledge of the subject matter. Some woman, some man, some S&M. Not interested. Don't get me wrong I am no ones prude at almost 40 years of age, but I damn sure haven't spent my days fantasizing about two white people in the throws of deviant sexual behavior. Okay let me rephrase that. After countless years of psychology classes in pursuit of a degree, I know more that I ever cared to about the psychology of human sexuality so a little description of whips and chains isn't really enough to run me off from a book. Trust me there are much scarier predilections to steer clear of.

What I had heard was super lightweight. Still if it's not in my purview the I am not interested, but people wouldn't shut up about it. Then I got an invite from FAC's ex girlfriend inviting me to a book club. I lept at the chance to go and discuss books with a bunch of women my own age until I heard the requirement. Read 50 shades before you come. Really people?

Fine, so I go and get the damn book on my Kindle Fire and start reading last week. I am surprised to say that while I don't think her writing sucks, she does spend a lot of time using the exact same adjectives "flush" for example is a worn out favorite of hers to describe blushing. I don't get the blushing thing but okay. Oh and "blaze" is another. She has got to go get a damn thesaurus. I have heard her describe different scenarios the same way about 30 times now. The plot seems fine, the characters are fully fleshed out, the settings are described well, and the pace seems on par...BUT lets not get twisted up in the game. This book, is about a Masochist with a heart of gold and I am really nervous for the glut of weak minded little suburban housewives who 1 thrive off of mock romance and 2 don't have two clues about the seedy ass nature of the paraphilla they are reading about. Homechick has made this some "hearts and flowers" (another over used description) jaunt through BDSM and they are not gonna like what this really is if they go looking for it.

I just get the feeling that somewhere between the feminists ranting about this book returning women to the dark ages and Dr. Oz spouting off about its amazing liberating qualities for women, there are gonna be a whole host of wide eyed, dumb ass women trolling the intrawebs for millionaire dominants with gray eyes and hearts of gold. I envision lawsuits....lots of them. Oh, and stories on the ID channel.

I wont pretend like they don't get into some of the dirtier bits, but talking about spanking and tying folks up gently with a silk necktie and actually being flogged, humiliated or engaging in sounding (please don't google that, you will not be happy) or suspension are two totally different things. I am kinda mad that I know all this stuff honestly. There are some seriously messed up people on this here earth, and they aren't all 26 and waiting to whisk you away for a night of light debauchery. The type of folks who engage in this stuff as a real hobby aren't fuckin around. They ain't gonna ask "Oh what am I going to do with you" (WAY overused) or offer you a soft blanket and a few Advil when they are done. They aim to kick your monkey ass.

Anywho, I read the book, and apparently there are more in the series. I am not necessarily looking forward to two more books of this fuckery but if the book is a requirement speed bump in order to get to the good shit then fine. I can manage. As books go its not terrible, but its no Memoirs of a Geisha.