Okay, the results of last post's poll are in. Usually I don't give any weight to polls posted on my site because the results don't come out the way I wanted them too (for the record, my sweater was NOT gay, and neither is any dog, no matter the size). But surpisingly, by a narrow margin, the voters on my site (unlike the voters in the last two presidential elections) showed some sense and decided that the weird guy with the rainbow hair is, in fact, George Clinton.
But speaking of gay...if you are fan of "Fight Club" and other Chuck Palahniuk's books, then you can go to his book signing on June 3. I haven't been able to make it through a sitting of Fight Club without falling asleep (I tried twice). The only reason I can find that some guys think this movie is great is that they are closet homosexuals who hide their insecurities by fawning over this homo-erotic ritualized violence and faux philosophy about why it's okay to be a underachiever with no direction. Keep lifting weights, taking steroids and walking around in a t-shirt that's a couple of sizes too small, but don't think you're fooling anyone.
And lastly, I don't want to pat myself on the back too much, but I was particularly proud of not losing my temper on Friday. There's a hipster bar a few blocks from the ninja fortress that I've only been to about 5 times in the 3 years I've lived there. The reason I avoid it is that I hate hipsters way more than I love cheap microbrewed beers and emo music. Anyway, I was on a date and at the end of it I stopped in to get a drink at the place at one of the outdoor tables. (I hate going inside because it's crowded and hipsters hate soap like Bush hates the constitution) There was a table outside but only one chair and the girl offerred to grab another one from one of the other tables, but I said I would do it (because I'm a gentleman).
There is a long table (several tables pushed together by hipsters to form a douchebag black hole) and a couple of empty seats. I asked if they were taken and they said that, no one was sitting in them, but that they were saving them for their friends who were coming later. Now, I think I mentioned before that I'm pretty good at keeping my cool, except when someone bigger than me (which is, statistically, over 50% of the population) tries to physically intimidate me. Then, as the douchebags say, it's on like donkey kong and it usually get's ugly quicker than a game of strip poker with Oprah Winfrey and Rosie O'donnell. So it's 4 hipsters and their girlfriends and me discussing the chair:
Me: well, you can't just save a seat like that at a bar, if---
hipster one: who say's we can't? Is there a bar rulebook or something?
hipster two: we took those chairs, so we can reserve them for whoever we want.
Me: [starting to get upset] really?
hipster one: yeah, really!
[take a deeeeeep breath]
Me: yeah? Well guess what? this argument is over, I'm taking the chair
[takes chair]
hipsters 1,2,3 and 4 [unintelligible yelling and threats about ass-kicking].
I think that was the right thing to do. Keeping your cool is always the best choice. He was trying to push my buttons and intimidate me into backing down so that he could look like a real man in front of his girl, but I didn't play his game and I also didn't let it get physical. I didn't want a fight, I wanted a chair...and I got what I wanted.
A few months ago I spotted what may or may not be George Clinton in my hood. I walked in front of him to make sure, then I snapped this pic with my old camera phone. I didn't speak to him because, well, because he's George Effing Clinton and you just don't go up to him unless you've got something to say (or some free pot). And I was coming home from work (wearing a tie!) and I didn't want him to think I was a narc. Although my friend's band opened for him and P-Funk several times, I don't know him personally and I didn't have any free pot for him, so I settled for taking this secretive picture from behind rather than approach him from the front and start talking to him like kind of yuppie with a freaky man crush.
I was telling a friend the George Clinton story last week and showed the picture to prove it, but (maybe because of the small screen on my phone), my friend doubted it was the man from the mothership and instead insisted that I had snapped a picture of a really weird homeless guy. So I'll leave it to you imaginary people to decide:
The Fortress has been mice free for a year and half. I hoped that by killing all of them with the precision that only someone like me that is 1/4 German and all ninja could do, that it would forever deter others from ever trying to come back. Unfortunately, mice have a short memory. I don't think I cook enough in the fortress for a mouse to survive on my leftovers, but I do live in a townhouse (unless you are trying to kill me, in which case I live on a farm in Kansas) which makes it difficult to avoid invaders because they could come from either house next to me.
I saw one the other day. I dug through my stuff for the mouse traps that I hoped I'd never need and I caught one a few days ago and another last night. But I noticed a strange thing...on a couple of the unsprung traps, the traps were still in place but someone had eaten the peanut butter out of them, but not sprung the trap. Mad skillz, yo!!! I loaded them up with peanut butter again in the hopes that the mouse will get cocky and then I'll get him.
Also...some a-hole put a car with no plates in my driveway. We know how I feel about that. I kicked it a few times (not kidding) , and left a nasty note on it and promptly called the cops to have it ticketed and towed. I don't think the cops will do anything about it (when have they ever done their job?) but we'll see.
I usually wait until thursday to plug stuff for which I don't get paid, but one of the things I'm plugging is on thursday, so the effort will be useless if I do it on friday, unless you have a time machine...but if you had one of those, I am sure that you have better things to do with your machine, like travelling backin time to kill the scientist who came up with the idea for the super particle accelerator in switzerland that may destroy the earth.
Date Number One: This is a little independent film that I saw a couple of years ago. I like to support independent film makers and this film in particular because it's got 3 short stories in the movie and one of them is about a guy who dresses as a ninja, going on a blind date. The director told me that it was VERY low budget (like less than $20,000, including the camera equipment) and sometimes it shows. But if you're interested in storylines and good dialogue instead of fancy lighting, sound and special effects, then go see this movie. If you want special effects with no storyline and crappy dialogue, then have fun renting the last three Star Wars movies on Netflix. Anyway, there is a FREE SCREENING in Silver Spring on Thursday. That's right, I said free. I know a lot of you are thinking "if it's free, it's for me!!!", but you should check this out because it's a good movie, not because it's free. Just because something is free, doesn't mean that you'd want it. If I was offerring free kicks in the nuts, would you want that? huh? Huh? that's what I thought...anywho...Click THIS LINK to get the details.
Someday someone will invent a device that allows you to punch someone in the face over the telephone. When that day comes 1) he or she will be very, very rich; and 2) I will buy the first device (even if it's still in Beta testing).
Yes...it's one of those days, and no, I can't give specifics. But now I judge Russell Crowe less harshly for throwing a phone at someone in NY. I'm not saying what he did was okay, just that now I get where he was coming from.
Also, is it just me or is everyone sick of the whole Obama vs. Hillary thing. Every 3 days there is another primary that is "crucial" for each of them to win the nomination. It's like watching Indiana Jones escape from one death-defying predicament after another, each more dangerous than the last, except that instead of being filled with adrenaline-packed action sequences it's boring, montonous and filled with ill-fitting suits and overweight bald, male political comentators in their late 50s and early 60s. And what's with all the American flag lapel pins? Was there a sale at the americana isle of the DC Walmart?
If each of us has some kind of internal clock that tells us when to wake up and go to sleep, then the warranty on mine must've expired. Either that, or it was manufactured in Turkey by illiterate toothless hillpeople who were hired to make it when the factory relocated from Vietnam because the hillpeople were willing to work for ten cents an hour less than the barefoot former vietcong in southeast asia. Damn you outsourcing!!!
Yesterday, I was supposed to call someone at 10pm. I put my head down for a nap at 6 and woke up at 2:30 am. Sadly, this has been happening a lot lately. I wish I could blame the drugs, but I haven't been taking any. If I had, I would have an excuse that would eventually become an interesting anecdote that I could tell my future grandchildren. "Stay away from drugs, kids. Lots of people die from using drugs, and some of them, like me, sleep for inordinately long periods of time and wake up feeling no aftereffects, except for a feeling of restedness followed by feelings of Catholic guilt, which are completely undestandable since I've been haunted with them since my traumatic parochial school years."
I think I should stop with the Catholic jokes since I haven't been to church in a good long while. I did attend Catholic schools when I was younger. The tuition covered unlimited helpings of guilt and an exceptional education in math, english and science. Before anyone makes an inappropriate joke, I should mention that alhtough I attended Catholic school, I was never molested by a priest...they charged extra for that. Moving on...
I have a list of things to do around the house and I keep meaning to get around to them, but lately I've been falling asleep and waking up at really odd hours and I don't think my neighbors will apreciate me running my table saw at 4am. So I've been doing what everyone does at 4 am. Watching infomercials. I've decided that I'm thinking about doing the p90X exercise program. Because the first step to actually doing something is to think about it; so for a while I've been thinking about thinking about it, and yesterday I decided to think about it. There are only a couple of metaphysical steps in between that and actually doing the exercises. Some of those before/after pics are pretty impressive. But it probably requires a lot of effort. We'll see how I feel after today's nap.
There are very few things that leave me speechless. I'm a lawyer, so words are the tools of my trade. Like a carpenter's hammer, a surgeon's scalpel or a trophy wife's breast implants, words are what I use to earn money to keep a roof over my head. So it's not often that I forget how to use them.
However, yesterday I was driving to my meditation class and I saw the funniest thing i've seen since Superbad. I whipped out my cell phone, snapped a picture of it and emailed it to my friend with the only words I could think of to mock it: "HAHAHAHAHAAHA!
When I first bought a phone with a camera, I hoped that one day I would find a use for it, but it stayed in my pocket eager but without a purpose, like the condom in a high-school kid's wallet. "Someday" I kept thinking..."someday." Well, yesterday was like the prom for me. I almost crashed my Ninja Lite Armoured Assault Vehicle at the site of THIS:
A guy in his early/mid 50s, bald, with a reallllly bad comb over, driving a T-bird convertible. As he drove the comb-over would flap wildly in the wind, then at every red light he would stop and fix it back in place. As if all it needed to stay in place and look like a normal head of hair was to be patted down one last time.
With his Ray Bans on and his convertible he was making eye contact with the 20-something cute girl in the next car. (why aren't men in their 50s attracted to women their own age?) In his mind I'm sure he felt like he was Tom Cruise in Risky Business. But the girl was kinded of creeped out by someone her dad's age looking at her sexually; and I had this reaction: HAHAHAHAHAhAHA!!!
I drove up next to him and thought of rolling down the window and saying something, but all I could think of was: HAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
It's been 24 hours now, and I finally know what I should've said to the guy:
Sir, you're comb-over is not fooling anyone. I advise you to sell that car and invest in some hair transplant surgery, it will be worth it;
that girl is probably younger than your daughter, just because you are attracted to her, doesn't mean she's attracted to you;
If you want to keep the car and can't afford hair replacement surgery, why don't you just shave your head bald. White guys with a shaved head look 100x better than balding guys. Just make sure to be a little tanned so you don't look like a cancer patient...a old cancer patient with a nice car who likes creeping out young girls.
If you don't want surgery or shaving your head bald, try a hat! srslykthnxbye.
Unless you run a drug smuggling ring, human trafficking operation, or some other criminal enterprise like a church, the purchase of your home will probably be the biggest financial decision you ever make in your life. That's why the news about the housing market is so depressing. It's like getting married in Vegas to a hot girl and then finding out that she used to be a man. Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but the sense of disappointment and dread are probably similar. Again, this is just an assumption since I've never been married to anyone, let alone to someone who used to have a penis.
But when I see house prices in DC (in my neighborhood, since I'm too lazy to look elsewhere) the prices don't seem to be coming down a whole lot. Well, it seems that the news was exaggerating how bad the housing market is. To make a boring story short:
the housing numbers that the news keeps quoting are coming from only 20 cities, some of which are doing much worse than the rest of the country;
the decline in REALLY EXPENSIVE houses is included in those numbers so it makes it look a lot worse than it is (like if you average your salary and Bill Gates' salary and then came up with a number).
So, in a way this is like the Shark Attack scares. A few weeks ago I saw on every news channel a story about a guy who was attacked and killed by a shark in South Africa. Now I try not to pay attention to these types of stories because
I don't live anywhere near the beach, so unless a shark is gonna come out of my toilet and try to bite my junk off, it doesn't really concern me;
if you're taking surfing vacations all over the world when I'm here working, then I don't have a lot of sympathy for you, even if you get eaten by a shark.
But the real reason I was thinking about this (besides procrastinating) is that shark attacks aren't very common. You're 10x more likely to die from a coconut falling on your head than you are to die from a shark attack. But people don't worry about dying from falling coconuts because the news only focusses on shark attacks, because, lets face it, sharks have huge teeth and are really scary; coconuts...not so much.
Same thing with the housing market. Some people overpaid for their houses in some parts of the country, but that doesn't mean that people everywhere are going to suddenly stop buying houses and living in their cars. It's not the end of the world.
Well, I didn't mention it before, but my foster dog got adopted. I miss the goofy mutt, but in a way it was good to have my life back. Plus, the guy who adopted him lives next to a dog park (which is great for the dog) and he's going out of town a few times this summer and asked if I could dog sit. Which is awesome for me. That's like breaking up with an ex and having her get married, then having the husband ask if you could sleep with his wife while he's out of town, then drop her off when your done. Well...it's not exactly like that, but it's still pretty freaking cool.
In the meantime, to get my dog fix, I have been taking care of a new dog for a few days while the real foster dog person lady is out of town.
"Hi, I'm Beatrice. I'm not as cool as Ninja's previous dog because I have short stubby legs and am afraid of everything. You'll know when I'm afraid of something like a loud noise, because I will cower in a corner and pee on your hardwood floors. Plus, I'm a little chunky so I'm hoping that Ninja will take me on his training regimen which involves running a half mile in the morning and bragging about it the rest of the day. He says he runs two miles on the treadmill at Gold's Gym, but if that were really true, than I wouldn't be the only chunky one in the house. Plus, he made me watch The Dog Whisperer with him and started telling me about how he's the pack leader. What-the-fcuk-ever!!!"
Yeah, so I think this dog was abused before because she's really jumpy and got terrified when I picked up the broom to start sweeping. So I stopped sweeping. It's not like a need an excuse to avoid working, so when a legitimate one comes up, why not take advantage of it?
Another weird thing about this dog is that it's a girl dog. I didn't think about this until yesterday, but all my dogs have been boy dogs. So when I gave her a belly rub yesterday, I noticed something was missing....the penis! I don't think there's a big difference between boy dogs and girl dogs (except for the whole penis thing), but one thing I noticed is that girl dogs pee funny. Boy dogs lift their legs like they're about to execute a roundhouse kick; girl dog's just sort of squat like they are about to jump through a hoop. Boy dogs also like to mark their territory...a lot. If I take a boy dog out for an hour long walk. He will be peeing on stuff for the full hour. And even if he runs out of pee (which almost never happens), he still lifts his leg and tries to mark his territory. It's like he's marking it with his chi. A girl dog only goes a couple of places and uses the peeing process to empty her bladder, not make some kind of statement about it's role in the heirarchy of dog society.
Anyway, that's all for now. Which would you prefer, a girl dog or boy dog?
I noticed quite a few police cars with sirens on my way home from work yesterday. I assumed it was because yesterday was Free Ice Cream Day at Ben and Jerry's, and they couldn't contain their joy. But no such luck. I was about two blocks from the Ninja Fortress and I asked someone who apparently saw what transpired.
Guy: There was a gunfight, right here. [points to where we're standing]
LadyBehindMe: Oh my G*d, I hope no one was hurt.
Ninja: Oh my G*d, I hope that doesn't hurt my property value when it's time to sell.
[looks of disapproval from Guy and Lady Behind Me and other lady]
Ninja: and uhhh, I also hope that no one was hurt or something. Cuz, yeah, I'm like a humanitarian...and stuff...
Since I can be honest on here, I will say that property values were the first thing on my mind. Say what you want about gentrification, but there are lot less of these incidents since they started building luxury condos in my neighborhood. There are also nicer places to shop, better restaurants, and bars that you can take a girl to without her thinking that you are about to sell her to human trafickers. The only "restaurant" that was around before gentrification was a chinese food place that required you to order from behind bullet proof glass (not making this up).
I moved in a couple of months after the first supermarket opened in this neighborhood. I don't know where poor people got there food from before I moved there, but it's not something I think about a lot because it makes my head hurt. Since I've been there (only 3 short years) they have opened up trendy restaurants, bars, and now a mega retail place with Target, Best Buy, Bed Bath & Beyond, Washington Sports Club, and Staples. This place is starting to look like Bethesda (and I mean that in the nicest possible way).
Since I like my neighborhood the way it is, if you're thinking of shooting someone in my neighborhood, why don't you go someplace else and do it. As you can see from this METRO Map, you can take the Green and Yellow Lines from my neighborhood to other neighborhoods where you can kill each other without affecting my investment. It would be really nice if you took the train to the last possible stop. The Green Line train can take you to Branch Avenue or Greenbelt and the Yellow Train can take you to Fort Totten or Huntington. Thanks for your cooperation.
I don't want to turn this into an anti-dc blog, but if you've read this blog for any length of time, you'll know that I have no love for the DC police department, whose mixture of incompetence and laziness is only rivalled by their stupidity.
This weekend I'll be helping a friend of mine move. Being from the midwest, he probably was underestimating how dangerous his neighborhood would be. But after his third mugging in a year, he's had enough of his neighborhood. The first two times he fought the muggers off*. But this time there were four of them and one of them had a gun.
He was sitting on his stoop drinking coffee and working on some papers when they approached and pulled a gun on him and demanded his money. He said he didn't have any money on him, which was true. All he had was coffee. And not even good coffee at that. Unsatisfied with the java, they ordered him to open up the door to his place. Two of his female roommates were asleep inside. He didn't know what would happen to his roommates if he let these guys inside, but you can bet it wasn't going to be good. He said he wouldn't do it. I'm sure if he had, the odds are good that it would've turned into rape/robbery or rape/murder/robbery. But being from the midwest he was willing to take a bullet to protect them. He said no again, and was able to bluff his away out of it. "There's 8 people in that house man, it's not worth it, just walk away." And surprisingly, they did.
Now, I've always been a fan of Star Wars and, as a kid, I wanted to be a Jedi. (shutup, you know you did too). The coolest thing about Jedis (aside from the light saber) was the jedi mind trick. I always thought that the Jedi Mind Trick was fake (like light sabers), but maybe Lucas was onto something. Imagine how much easier life would be if the Jedi Mind Trick was real.
Boss: Frankly, you hardly show up for work anymore and when you do, your work sucks. we're not giving you a raise this year, ninja.
Ninja: Yes, you are.
Boss: Okay, we are.
Or in other contexts! For instance, my site is number on the interweb when you do a Google Search for Rachel McHottie. And it just so happens that Rachel McAdams is in DC RIGHT NOW filming a movie with the asshat who shall remain Russell Crowe. Imagine if I had the Jedi Mind Trick for this:
Rachel: Look, I don't know how you talked your way past all my security guards, but this is my movie trailer and I don't like coming in here and finding you going through my underwear drawers. So, take your flowers and 24 pack of condoms and get out, I'm not marrying you.
Ninja: Yes you are.
Rachel: Okay, maybe I am.
Back to the story. So he did what you're supposed to do when someone points a gun at you and tries to rob you: he called the cops. Now, I don't know if there was a sale down at the Dunkin' Doughnuts store, or if the whore house was giving a buy one get one free deal on deviant sex, but those cops took their time in coming (no pun intended). They got there 2 and half hours later.
I'm sure you're not surprised that they didn't find the guys. It doesn't take very long to flee a crime scene, but in 2 and half hours, you could pretty much crawl back to your hideout, stop for some pizza on the way, chat with some friends, smoke a cigarette and rob someone else and still have time to make it home before the cops get there. TWO AND A HALF HOURS!!!
Maybe those fat doughnut eating morons aren't as dumb as they look. If you knew that there was a guy running around with a gun, and you'd run into him if you got there quick enough, maybe you would take your own sweet time too. Or...if you're not going to do the job they are paying you to do, maybe you should quit and become a panhandler.
And Breaaaaathe!!!!
Soooo....what are you guys up to this weekend?
*His Jiu Jitsu is better than mine, and his Muay Thai standup skillz are pretty good too.
The girl on Sex and The City with the horse face is Sarah Jessica Parker. (women like her because she has a horse face but wears nice clothes and dates lots of guys);
If a woman sees you holding a baby and not looking terrified, it's better than foreplay (the key is to wear your terror on the inside);
If you ask a girl what's wrong and she says "nothing", she is lying (that's why you should pretend not to notice);
Girls like watching you do guy stuff, like fixing things. (they like it almost as much as watching you hold a baby while not looking terrified);
Girls are better drivers than men (they can drive and have conversations with full eye-contact at the same time while killing a suprisingly low number of pedestrians);
Yes, girls do need that many shoes (supposedly);
If a really attractive girl walks into a bar wearing anything remotely sexy, then she is a bitch, and where does she get off walking around with those hooker shoes and last season's Dolce? (and no, I was not checking her out...really...I swear...what?);
For attractive girls, a cover charge is like a neutrino. It exists in theory, but no one has ever seen proof of one in person (same thing for speeding tickets);
If you do her a favor and wash some dishes or something and she says "does this look clean to you?" it's a rhetorical question; (and she's a b1tch);
Women who don't like dogs can't be trusted (they are those pygmies in africa who eat their babies and talk with that clicking sound).
Well, I continue to search for things that I suck at, but I am so awesome that it's difficult to find anything. Let's add submission grappling to the list. But first...some background.
I started learning karate when I was about 12. Only it wasn’t just karate. The school was taught by an old school karate master and an old school judo and jiu jitsu master who thought that by combining grappling with punching and kicking, it would make you a more effective fighter. Although this sounds obvious to anyone who watches Ultimate Fighting, in the 1980s it was really radical thinking. It was like saying that Cold War would end without a shot fired, or that women in p0rn would one day ditch their crotch afros and go completely bald. Crazy talk!
Eventually, I got a few months more Judo training from this guy. I stopped when I got a concussion. But even then I realized what a useful skill ground fighting was. If you could hurt someone that bad by accident, imagine what you could if you were doing it on purpose. If something existed at the time that had let you do more grappling, with less crazy throwing-people-on-their-heads moves, I probably would've done it. Not that I mind throwing people on their heads, but in class you usually take turns doing stuff, and the part where I land on my head kinda sucks. Nowadays, there are a lot of jiu jitsu schools where you learn of lot of groundwork and not a lot of throws, but they weren't around in the 80s.
My training in grappling isn’t extensive, but what little I know has come in surprisingly handy over the years. A big drunk a-hole doesn’t think anything of punching a little guy in the face if he’s had a few beers and his girlfriend is checking me out, but alcohol makes it surprisingly easy to knock him off balance and he usually don’t fight very well after he falls face first into a bar stool or the floor.
I started training in jiu jitsu again recently. I do okay against the people in my class (even though I’m usually the smallest guy there), but I wasn’t sure if it’s just because I was eventually figuring out their weaknesses, so I wanted to enter into a tournament to see how I do against strangers. Now, I have competed in karate tournaments (punching and kicking) but never in a jiu jitsu tournament. Grappling against someone who knows what they are doing is much different than some random drunk or crackhead.
I like training jiu jitsu because it’s a really good workout. If I go to the gym, it’s hard to stay motivated because lifting weights is really repetitive and boring. But I have no motivation problem in jiu jitsu. It’s easy to stay focused and motivated when there is a fat guy with his knee on your chest trying to rip your arm out its socket or choke you unconscious.
So a couple of people in my class decide to go to a tournament "nearby". It turns out it was almost 3 hours away, which meant that I was going to have to wake up at 5am to get there. For some reason I thought the tournament was only a half an hour away. Geography is not my strong suit.
Me: Why are we meeting at 5:30 am?
Friend: We're taking D's truck to the event.
Me: Doesn't his truck have second gear?
Although it was kinda far, and although I didn't get down to the weight I wanted to, I decided to do it anyway. I ended up at the bottom of the 160-180 lb category, instead of the top of the 140-159 lb class. Which meant that a lot of those guys walk around at 200 lbs and they dropped weight to compete at 180 lbs. Not good for me, but whatever. I'll try anything once. I won't bore you with a play-by-play, but here's the pics that I have from the event. I competed in about 5 events. Some were with gi (uniform) and some were no-gi, they were in the novice division.
Here I am fighting for second place in the no-gi event. Sadly, I lost and got 3rd. This guy was a wrestler, and I hate fighting wrestlers. I had a match right before this and I was dead tired. They only gave me 2 minutes to rest, then I was at it again. I had no gas left in my tank and this guy was good...and he fights dirty. He kept grinding his knuckles into my face and trachea when the ref couldn't see.
Here's the beginning of the fight.
I move so fast that existing technology can't capture my movements. They make photo equipment that can capture a bullet in midair, but nothing is fast enough to catch me.
Long story short, eventually he got me in a RNC, and I defended it. He was clamped around my jaw, not my neck and it was uncomfortable, but I could have easilly held on 'till the end of the match. The thing was, that he was way ahead on points and I was out of gas. So if I held on for another minute, he would still win, and if I broke free, I had nothing left in the gas tank so he would win. So I tapped. 3rd place for me! Anyway, I'm not making excuses, he beat me fair and square and even if I was rested, he was really good and would've probably won.
It's hard not to get nervous when your sitting around waiting for your turn. I tried to keep my self psyched up by listening to my iPod while practicing my drills during my downtime. If you ever need some god psyche yourself up music, I suggest some NWA or some of this.
In a way, the best fight I had (even though I lost in the first round) was the open division. The open division takes balls to enter because, like the old school ultimate fighting, it's open to all weight classes. So you have to have to be really dumb....errrr, I mean brave to enter because you could be fighting someone who's 150 lbs heavier than you.
Which happened to my friend Cody. D'oh!
Here I am in the open division. This guy looked like ex-military (there were a lot of people rockin' USMC tattoos at the tournament).
This was my last fight of the day. At this point I was thinking "another fight? can't we all just get along?"
If I remember correctly, he shot for a single leg takedown and I sprawled out of it. Here I am starting apply my guillotine choke. I cranked this guys neck so hard that I thought I would rip his head clean off his body, but he was tough as nails. He wouldn't tap. Eventually, he got his neck free and got me in side control.
It went downhill from there. After several submission attempts and escapes, he tapped me out with about a minute left in the fight. He had me in an armbar, and although I started to stack him, I wasn't about to try to muscle out of it. I've got a mortgage to pay and getting my arm broken for a medal isn't worth it.
From left to right, here's Sajira with 3rd place in the women's open division, James the instructor, Cody with 2nd place in one of the Gi events, me with 3rd place in one of gi and one of the no-gi events.
I've been on ibuprofen for a couple of days now and both my elbows are hyper-extended, but I got a cool anecdote, some medals (and blog post) out of it.
Here I am with 3 medals. I don't count the third, because for that event (over 30 years old, novice, 160-180lbs, gi) I won because no one else was in that weight class. I wasn't even going to pick up the medal, but I did because I wanted my school to get credit for the win.
So that one I won for being the right weight. Of course, when I tell this story to my grand kids, it will be for killing a lion with my bare hands.
I think it's been more than a couple of weeks since my last post, but I'm not dead (knock wood), just busy. I had hoped that this year would be the first year in a long time when I filed my taxes on time without asking for an extension...but apparently next year will have that honor.
Ironically, I have been trying to get my sh1t organized for some time, and at a party a couple of months ago I met a cute girl who is a professional organizer. I got her number but am so disorganized that I lost it and didn't find it until yesterday. So I called her and we have an appointment set up for a consultation at the fortress, then she's going to put her OCD issues to work on my life. Although she's a hottie, I'm only interested in her professionally. There's no shortage of vaginas in this town, but finding someone who will spend hours sorting through your closets and files so that you don't have to is pretty freaking awesome if you ask me. I hate dealing with own mess, so if you devote your life to fixing other people's messes, you are like those Catholic Nuns who work with lepers or blind kids, in my book.
Before anyone asks...yes, I did lose some weight for that tournament last week...but, no, it was not enough. I ended up near the bottom of the 160-180 lb weight class instead of the top of the 140-159 lb weight class. I'll post a few pics from the tournament next time and tell you how I did, but do it in a way that makes me sound like I'm trying not to brag...even though I am awesome.
There is a (bigger) national tournament next week near Richmond, but I don't think I'll go to that one. I'm not ready for it, quite frankly, and I don't see the point in driving four hours each way and paying a lot of money to have complete strangers kick my ass when I can have people I know do it here for free. Also, no offense to Richmond, but serioulsy...Richmond? on a saturday? I'm sure Richmond is a fine place to start a family or open a meth lab, but I'd much rather spend my weekends around here.
I haven't been myself lately. I've been busy...very busy, and a little edgy lately. Last week I almost got into a fist-fight at 3 am with a drunk. I am usually pretty laid back (partly it's zen, and partly it's that I don't give a sh1t), but something just set me off. I came back from a club and it was late, but I still had to walk the dog so that he doesn't pee on my floor and then act like he has no idea how that puddle got there. I was still in my club clothes and walking the dog, when we passed the drunk. Since my dog is so cute, lots of people stop to pet him while we are walking...and because of that he's gotten used to going up to people and looking for affection in a a non-threatening way. So when he walked up and sniffed the drunk, the guy flipped out and started cursing at me. I think we've discussed before how one of the only things that sets me off is when someone bigger than me tries to physically intimidate me. Well, let's add "people who mess with my dog" to the list.
Drunk: what the fcuk is wrong with your dog, man!
Me: You know what's wrong with him...he didn't know you were an asshole, that's what's wrong with him. What's your problem?
drunk: if he comes near me again, I'm gonna' kick him!
Me: yeah? you're gonna kick him? well, he's right there motherf****, why don't you kick him right now and see what I fcuking do to you!
This went on for about a full minute, and people started turning their house lights and someone threatend to call the cops. At that point I walked away with a "yeah, have another drink you fcuking wino!" I probably shouldn't have said that. Obviously he had already had plently and the last thing he needed that night was an enabler.
Afterwards, I realized how stupid that was. The guy was bigger than me, but size doesn't really matter. I've gotten my ass kicked by people half his size.* I was thinking about taclking the guy and doing a neck crank (which you should only do to people you reaaaally dislike) but what I should've been thinking about was the consequences. What if the guy had a knife? What if his friends from the bar (no one drinks alone) saw us fighting and decided to "provide technical assistance"? What if I got arrested...and disbarred? What if I got injured? What if he got injured and sued me and he ended up owning the fortress (a blessing or a curse?)?
The funny thing is that the only reason I didn't tackle the guy is that I was wearing my leather jacket that I bought in San Fransisco and some other overpriced clothing that I got in Miami. So sometimes I guess it pays to be a metrosexual.
Anyway, like I said, I haven't been myself lately. Yesterday I was walking the dog and I was so zoned out that I didn't recognize a friend of mine who was standing 10 feet away and waving at me. I'm going to Florida for a few days to recharge my batteries, and after that I'll be back to my old self again. But in the meantime, I'll probably take a break from blogging for a couple of weeks to catch up on some personal stuff in my life. See you soon :)
*this isn't true. The last time I fought someone smaller than me was in the fifth grade. I don't want to fight people smaller than me because you should never fight a midget unless it's on pay-per-view.
I was off yesterday and I went to Ikea for the last things I needed to finish my kitchen. It's not as loathesome a place during the week. On the weekend there's always thousands of people there and every single one of them is in my way. But if you go during work hours, the silence is deafening.
When I bought the kitchen cabinets from them several months ago, they supposedly sold me everything I needed for them. But it turned out that I was missing one door for one of the cabinets. And it's been driving me crazy ever since. OCD much? I also had to buy knobs for the cabinet. My friend chastised me for picking the most boring ones (basically, just a pull knob). But although I liked the funky ones she picked out, I decided to play it safe because my ultimate goal is to sell the fortress so I'm not looking for the decor to wow someone in particular, but rather to not offend anyone at all.
I installed the door, but I still haven't put the knobs on...weekend project?
In other news, my friend (and also one of the commenters) expressed doubt at my ability to lose 20 lbs in 20 days. Here's my plan for it:
Work out with weights (or grappling) 6 days a week;
cardio 3 times a week;
decrease caloric intake by cutting out all food that tastes good and replacing it with stuff that tastes like crap (i.e. fresh fruits and vegetables).
I was 171.3 lbs when I posted the last time, and I weighed myself at the gym at lunch today and I am now 167.4 pounds. Now, I'm no mathematician, but if I keep going at this rate, not only will I be able to cut 20 pounds in 20 days, within a few months I will weigh less than nothing and will therefore be lighter than air, which will give me the ability to fly.
I will probably stop at 20 lbs, however.* If I learned to fly, that would be too much like a superpower, and I am sure there would be societal pressure for me to quit my job and use my powers to fight crime and uphold truth and justice, which pays next to nothing...unless you're crooked.
*I intend to lose about 12-15 pounds during these 20 days and drop the last 8 pounds in one day by doing furious cardio while wearing several layers of clothes and by not drinking or eating anything during the last 24 hours.
Although this is St. Patricks Day weekend, you don't need to wear a green t-shirt and make a drunken ass out of yourself with all the rest of the aging frat boys trying to re-live their college days. ("you don't know, man, it was willlld, my boyz can DRINK, man, you don't know, you have no idea how fcuked up we used to get every weekend"). So I'm going to give you some other things to do with your time which are less damaging to your liver and your self-respect.
On Saturday morning, you can come to Chateau Animeaux in capitol hill from 12-2pm and adopt a dog. Unless you don't like dogs, in which case you are probably a serial killer, so you'll probably be staying home and figuring out ways to get rid of all the dead hookers you've got lying around.
All day Saturday is the Copa Nova jiu jitsu tournament, featuring gi and no-gi events. I won't be competing at this one* but if you tell them you are a friend of mine, you get a free choke or leg lock applied to you. I may be competing at an event next month, so if you want to come out for that one, I'll choke you in person. Admission for spectators is only $10. You can't even eat an entree in DC for that price.
Saturday night, you can see Grammy Award winning blues legend Pinetop Perkins playing at the Spanish Ballroom in Glen Echo. Pinetop is close to 1000 years old, so if you get a chance to see him, you should do it while he's still alive. People's musical ability declines significantly after they die.
Also on Saturday, there is the Indulge party at Art Whino for artist Ted Kliman. Tickets are $20 in advance or $25 at the door. Stick it to "the man" by coming out and supporting emerging artists. Your inner hipster will never forgive you if you don't.
There's probably stuff to do on Friday and Sunday too, but if you're reading this blog then you are smart enough to figure out a way to have fun on those days too.
*in order to shame myself into preparing properly for next month's event, I will confess that I am not going to this one because I've been too lazy to cut weight. I am at the bottom of the 170-185 lb weight class (don't even think of calling me fat...this all muscle...what? what?) By next month, I hope to be at the top end of the 140-155 lb weight class and I will dominate. 20 pounds in 20 days!!! Mad skillz!!!
I've been thinking about starting another blog. Not like the stock picking blog, which nobody reads, but a secret blog that nobody reads. I was talking to my sister the other day and it turns out she found out about my cyber outlet for life's frustrations. At first I tried to deny it.
Sis: [cousin] told me about your blog. It's hysterical.
Me: I don't know what you're talking about...I don't have a blog...Maybe you're imagining it...
Me: Maybe it's a stalker? You should probably lock your windows.
I don't like the idea of family reading my blog for several reasons. If I say something bad about someone (usually my brother) it might eventually get back to him and he'll want to discuss it with me. My brother isn't big on verbal communication and words usually just make him confused and angry, so historically our "dicussions" have been fist fights. Well..."fight" might be a stretch since most of my childhood is riddled with memories of me minding my own business and him attacking me mercilessly because cable TV hadn't been invented yet and you get bored of 3 channels after a while.
Additionally, the more people that know about my blog, the less I can make fun of them. Case in point:
Sis: Why did you say I was a terrible cook?
Me: Because it's true...
Sis: NO IT'S NOT!!!
Me: Look it's nothing to be ashamed of. We can't all be good at everything. For instance, Mom is a terrible cook but she excels at raising dysfunctional children. And you are a terrible cook, but you're really good at making good looking babies. We play the hand we get.
Anyway, I'm probably just venting. Having two blogs is probably like trying to make love to two women at the same time. It sounds good in theory, but one of them will end up getting all your attention and the other one will end up jealous and you will end up with a veneral disease and blame yourself because of the residual catholic guilt.
What's happening to Elliot Spitzer is ironic. He prosecuted money launderers and prostitution rings, and he gets caught because of suspicious bank transfers which leads authorities to his whore mongering. To make matters worse, Spitzer signed a law that increased the penalty for sleeping with hookers from 3 months, to one year in prison.
Unlike Alanis Morissette, I can use the word ironic in a sentence. She wrote a whole song about irony, but the only thing ironic about it was that nothing in the song was ironic. Anyway, Alanis, if you are reading this, irony is what is happenning to Elliot Spitzer. If you are facing jail time for violating a law that you created...that's ironic.
UPDATE: HERE'S SOME NEW YOU TUBE VIDEOs ABOUT HYPOCRITE ELLIOT SPITZER
Accordian Music Mashup sung to "Love Client Number 9"
I saw on the news that Gary Gygax died yesterday. If you don't know who that is, it's probably because you were getting laid in high school. Gary Gygax is the guy who created Dungeons and Dragons. You see, before the internets were created, there was no such thing as World of Warcraft and movies like Harry Potter. Special effects were so rudimetary that film studios had to rely on cheap gimmicks like plots, story lines and full frontal nudity in order to get you to buy tickets to their movies. If you had nothing to do on a Saturday night and wanted to pretend that you were some wizard or warrior, instead of jumping on your computer you had to use your imagination (and some Dungeons and Dragons Rulebooks). I can't stress how big the death of Gygax is to geeks. It's like their Gandhi died.
I stopped playing Dungeons and Dragons when I was a sophomore in High School (right around the time I saw my first vagina). But I was surprised to read that Gygax still played Dungeons and Dragons weekly until his death. I guess some people have things that they never grow out of.
Speaking of things you never grow out of. I discovered Anime when I was 7 years old. I used to rush home from school to watch StarBlazers (and so that my brother wouldn't kick my ass in the school yard). My friend who works in the Japanese Embassy invited me to a private reception tonight with sushi and lots of japanese art, including Anime. There will even be some stuff by Takashi Murakami and Shigero Mizuki. Eat your heart out Geeks!
A nice article about the opening of Target tomorrow in my ghetto...errr, neighborhood. On saturday, I was interviewed by Channel 9 news about the development by the metro, and I was on TV at 6 and 11. I told a few people I know about it, but I didn't tape it with my old school TiVo (i.e. my VCR) because, honestly, I only have a couple of VCR tapes (I'm not a caveman, afterall), and I didn't want to tape over the UFC fights that I hadn't watched yet.
It was a weird experience. I was out walking the world's coolest dog and listening to my iPod when this heavy set guy with a giant smile comes up and starts asking me questions about the Target store. The first thing I thought was "I'm not gay, and even if I was, I am SO out of your league that it's not even funny, slim." After a couple of questions, he said "can you say the same thing on camera?" and motioned for the camera guy to come over. Then he asked me the same questions, and I gave the same responses, word for word, while my dog sniffed the camera guy's leg and crotch area.
After the question and answer session, they petted my dog (everyone pets my dog because he's so cool) and I went on about my business. Being on TV doesn't phase me in the least. I'll just add it to my screen credits: I was also on Jim Cramer's Mad Money last year, but I didn't bother to tape that either. And I was an extra on a Chris Rock Movie, Head of State (the worst job I've EVER had) and was inadvertently in Sabrina the Teenage Witch Goes to Rome (long story).
And because I never get tired of posting pics of Benny, here he is again.
This is why people need to vote for Ron Paul. Do you think any of the empty suits (McCain, Clinton, Obama) could lift Dr. Ron Paul's intellectual jockstrap? I didn't think so.
As a homeowner who has a great deal of my net worth tied up in a house whose value could decline as the result of idiotic actions by Bernake and his predecessor, the moron who shall remain Greenspan, I'm glad that someone like Ron Paul is talking sense and that (young) people are listening and voting for him.
And here is some good stuff on the War. Give em hell, Ron!
I am hungover today, but I received some good news today (and no, it's not that Hillary Clinton has Syphilis).
When I first bought the impenetrable ninja fortress, "they" said that a Target store was under construction and would be open "soon". Well...it's been three years and finally I can go get some slightly-better-than-walmart stuff without having to drive to Virginia for it. Oh yes, now high-ish thread count sheets and faux leather ottomans will be within walking distance of me. It will feel like I died and went to hausfrau heaven. Plus, I have some halogen bulbs that I bought at the Virginia Target 2 years ago that I need to return that I have been too laz, errr, busy to take to the other Target. It's like the planets are coming into alignment. The store is set to open in less than 2 weeks. I have seen then advertising job openings, and I thought about going in and pretending to fill out an application so that I could find out when they were opening, but luckilly, the internets saved me the trouble. March 9...sweeeeeet.
I figure that once the Target, Best Buy, and other retailers in that development by the metro are complete, it will make my ghetto more desirable, which will help me sell my sh1thole...err, fortress, to some yuppies for enough money to keep me in drugs and whores for a good long time. If I have any money left over after that, I'll even get a new car...or more drugs and whores.
When I first moved into my ghetto, the only place where you could buy stuff where the cashier wasn't behind bulletproof glass, was the Giant supermarket. Then a bar opened up...a yuppie food place...even a Ruby Tuesdays. Now the yuppie circle is complete.
I remember once hearing a hipster lament that soon my ghetto would look like Bethesda if someone didn't stop these greedy develepors. Rather than punch that soap-dodging hippie in his face, I just smiled and thought about what my house would be worth it it was in Bethesda.
One meeelyun dollars!
Anyway, in other news, I'm filling out an application for a home equity line of credit so that I can get central air conditioning installed. Selling a house to yuppies in DC without central air, is like trying to sell a car with no wheels to a Nigerian. I have no idea what that means, but you get the point.
Also...my dog peed on my rug today because I was too hung over to walk him last night. I heard him crying and scratching at the front door last night, and I yelled at him to "shut the fvck up and go already!" I was hoping that he would come upstairs and use the toilet, but whatevs.
Sometimes when someone says something, you hear something completely different. I'm not talking about some kind of Freudian thing where you misheard something, like if a cute girl says "wait a sec" and you hear "wait for sex", but the other kind of thing where you hear the words, but the message is something different, like if a cute girl says "hi" and you hear "I want to marry you and have all your babies...take me now".
The other day I was talking to someone who occassionally reads my blog. I think everyone should read my blog all the time, but I don't blame people if they only occassionally come to their senses and need to read fine literature on the internet. I mean, if people read my site everyday, what would the NY Times do for money?
Anyway, I was at an art show where a friend of mine was painting while a grunge band played bad music in the background. It's not really as weird as it sounds (well, maybe it is, but let's pretend for a second that it's not). This guy bought a house and has had even worse luck than me (no really). Termites...wood rot...famine...plagues...locusts. Whenever you hear stories like that or the stuff on this site, it makes me feel a little better because I think that things could be worse and luckily they aren't. Like if you fall and break your leg and you think your life sux, and while you are waiting in the emergency room, the ambulance brings in a guy with a broken leg...and syphillis. And you think "wow...at least it's not syphillis. I can handle a broken leg, but not a broken leg and syphillis". And that's sort of how I feel about the house. I can handle the bad plaster, leaky pipes (hey, I'm getting better at plumbing, so get off my back) but at least there are no termites. Things are stressfull, but at least it's not stress from something that I really can't handle.
Anyway, we were talking about my new countertops that were going to be installed in a few days. He mentioned that as long as the cabinets underneath were really, really level, that there's probably nothing to worry about. Rather than finding that comforting, I found it terrifying. You see...I leveled the cabinets myself. And even though he said "if the cabinets are level, there's nothing to worry about", the implied message I heard was "if the countertops are messed up, it's all your fault."
The countertops went in without a hitch. This weekend I connected the diswasher and tried to connect the plumbing underneath the sink (More pics to come). It's a double bowl sink and after several trips to home depot for parts, I managed to get everything connected underneath. One side is working perfectly, but the other side is leaking...a lot. Oh well...at least it's not syphillis.
I am still sick, so I don't feel like doing a real post, so I have used my ninja time machine to bring you a love letter that I will write to my future wife at some time in the future.
______________________________
Dearest Future Wife who agreed to marry me without a pre-nup even though you have way more money than me:
Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years ago, my love, on February 14th St. Valentine was beaten to death with clubs and beheaded. To commemorate the occasion I have purchased for you a pair of red crotchless under-bloomers that I would like you to wear in the spirit of this event. I have also purchased for you a dozen of the reddest roses I could find. Yes, I know my love, there is no need for words. I care for you so much that, at my behest, I have had ordered a living plant-creature to be killed for you and I offer you its severed genitals as a token of my love. Although counter-intuitive, the severed genitals are not a veiled threat to ensure your fidelity, but rather a declaration of affection. I can think of no greater way to show you my love, dearest, except to offer you severed plant-creature genitals and then to do passionate sex to you involving sundry positions. Because it's a special occasion, we can even do that subversive woman-on-top position that you like.
Oh my darling, I have traced every inch of you with my hands, my fingers, my palms. I could sculpt you from memory, my love. Every inch of you. I know what you are thinking right now, beloved. You are thinking that watching Rock of Love 2 is futile since Brett Michaels can never fall in love with anyone since he is already in love with himself. But also you are thinking that if you died tomorrow in some kind of freakish accident--of the type that sometimes befalls people who are too much in love--that being able to sculpt an anatomically correct replica of you would be a useful skill to have.
But know this, my darling, I would not do sex to the lump of clay. Even though sometimes you lay there like a lump of clay, my love, the lump of clay is not you and it would therefore be like cheating, or at the very least be squicky, even though it is you--sort of.
No lump of clay, blow-up doll, or even an almost-high-priced call girl could ever replace you, dearest. When I put my mouth on your sex and move my tongue in a left-right-up-down-squiggle-squiggle fashion and variations of such a combination, I know that no other could possibly fake a climax like you do, oh sweetest.
Therefore, I hope that you will enjoy this Valentines day that I have planned for you and that we will remain together forever, or at least until such time as I can appear on my own fox reality TV show involving many attractive desperate women who will shamelessly compete for my affections and air time. After such brief hiatus I will return to loving you devotedly and exclusively.
I fell twice yesterday. Twice. I know the weatherman (or woman) warned me about icy rain, but I still needed to get out of the house for frivolities like food. The first fall was on the steps of the ninja fortress. The wrought iron steps were covered in an invisible (and deadly) sheet of ice. I didn't see it until it was too late. Mad skillz, mother nature! Mad skillz, yo! I wish I could say that my cat-like reflexes allowed me to recover in time, but that (like the justification for invading Iraq) would be a lie.
When I first learned judo a long time ago from this guy, I was told that the secret to not getting injured when you hit the ground really hard is to keep your body relaxed. Don't worry about hitting the ground, just focus on the sensation of falling. Live in the moment. Toddlers fall all the time and don't get hurt, and the reason (supposedly) is that they are relaxed and supple and therefore don't get injured (it could also be that they are only a foot off the ground, but whatevs). Maybe that's why I didn't break anything either time that i fell. I was calm and relaxed. It wasn't a zen thing, it's just that I was so high on Nyquill that I didn't even know what day it was, and I didn't even realize I had fallen until it was too late. My arm, shoulder, back and butt hurts today, but at least nothing is broken except my spirit. Nothing is wounded except my inner child.
So maybe that's a metaphor for life also...that the best way to live it is in a calm, relaxed state that is focussed on being in the moment and unattached from the outcome...and high on Nyquill.
Still really, really sick. I took off from work today to wallow in self pity and get high on Nyquill. Even though I'm still stick, I can't sit home and watch TV all day like some housewife who married up, then quit trying to impress her husband.
This dog still needs to be walked otherwise he will poop on my floors. And even though I don't want to be bothered right now, it still wants to be up in my grill and demands to be petted and receive constant affection. It's like some really needy co-dependent girlfriend, except that there is no sex, so maybe it's more like a wife?
Anyway, I think yesterday I was the sickest that I've ever been...ever. If you would've come by the fortress and offered to put a bullet in me to put me out of my misery, I probably would've considered it. Of course, ultimately, my dog would've attacked you when you least expected it (his ninja training is progressing nicely) and decapitated you and laid your head at my feet as gratitude for my helping his escape certain death from a high-kill rural shelter.
Now, when I was a kid, I loved X-men comic books (who didn't, right), and my favorite character was Wolverine. Everyone wanted to be Wolverine because of his claws and adamantium skeleton. Wolverine, however, also had mutant healing powers. And when you're a kid, you think "so what?...in terms of superpowers, having claws and a metal skeleton is way cooler than healing powers." Well, if you thought that, then you never had the flu that I got.
I didn't have a thermometer, but based on my pain threshold, I think it was around 200 degrees celsius. Plus, I had sore throat, achy bones, and all kinds of phlegm that were colors that I didn't even recognize. If I had a canvas in the house I would've made you people a Jackson Pollock.
Anyway, my "point" , which I just realized I had, is that sometimes you underestimate a good, but not flashy mutant power, in favor of some other mutant power (like flying), but when you really need it, you learn to appreciate something like mutant healing.
Actually, I lied...I'm still feverish and I don't think I really had a point, but what mutant power would you like to have that doesn't seem so cool at first glance?
I don't feel like being witty today because I am sick. Not sick as in "mentally off balance" which goes without saying, but sick sick. I don't usually get sick, so the fact that I have a slight temparature probably means that it's some type of super virus like the ebola or something. Not to worry, my superhuman immune system has contained the virus and will destroy it shortly, thus saving the world again. You owe me a beer, internets.
In the meantime, enjoy this youtubey goodness. GO RON PAUL!!!
I don't want to drag this post out anymore. If I teased this post anymore, I'd be able to get a job doing 80s hair in Brooklyn (or 2008 hair in Texas). I finally uploaded some pics of the kitchen that I finally installed the countertops in. BEHOLD BITCHEZ!
This is part of the wall that I opened up to make the kitchen more open. I added these brackets to turn it into a bar area (as if I needed more encouragement to drink). I don't know why everyone wants bars in their kitchens, but as long as some yuppie is willing to pay for it, I'll build it and laugh about it when I sell my place and spend that breakfast bar money on drugs and whores...errr, I mean on like, giving it away to like charities for like for blind kids or lepers or something.
Now this little knee wall was kinda wobbly, so....
When I added supports on the wall for where the countertop would go over the dishwasher, I added some extra bracing across it to keep the wall from moving.
On this part I got to use my new framing nailer a bit, which was really cool. I haven't used it since the first week I got it when I injured myself during a scientific experiment to see what kind of cool things I could shoot nails into. (Don't give me a powertool with safety glasses if you don't want me to do dangerous things with it...jus' sayin').
Here is the kitchen in progress. Yes, I know the picture is sideways...get off my back, chief!
So this is what it looks like with the doors on it, plus I cut the side pieces to match the doors in the front, which was harder than it looks because I had to buy a special blade for my table saw (fine tooth) and call in a favor from a friend to help me install it for free. It's not hard to install those side pieces, but it is a two person job if you want it to be straight and level.
Here is the side of the kitchen that is opposite from the sink.
View from the breakfast bar
view from the kitchen sink before the holes for the faucet were cut, or the sink was installed.
Here you can see the hole on the bottom of the cabinet for the hoses from the dishwasher.
This is the finished look. That faucet and sink don't have plumbing hooked up yet, but it looks like it does, which is all that matters. Perception is reality.
And since you asked for it, here is a pic of Benny my foster dog doing what he does most of the day: sitting on the couch and staring at me while silently passing judgment on me.
By the way, that painting above the sofa was recently featured in the Style section of the Washington Post. Does that make me an art collector?
I'm learning a lot about human behavior from walking my foster dog. Like, for instance, there are people who walk around my neighborhood eating fried chicken and throwing the bones along the sidewalk. I have never actually seen these people, but I know they exist because I have seen the bones everywhere.
Eating chicken bones is very bad for dogs, so either there are lots of these people walking around everywhere in my neighborhood eating chicken and throwing bones everywhere, or there are people who hate dogs, hiding fried chicken bones in the grass in order to harm dogs. Since people who hate dogs are worse then Hitler, I don't know what to make of it. Luckily my dog is not "food aggressive" like other dogs. Some dogs growl and bite when you go near their food bowl, but my dog allows me to open his mouth and take the chicken bones out of his mouth without biting me. He just gives me the "oh no you didn't" look.
Now, what I find more disturbing than someone who is worse than Hitler, is the fact that my dog may not respect me as pack leader. As part of my responsibilities in being a good foster parent, I sat and watched several episodes of the Dog Whisperer with my new dog. I want him to understand the concept of the pack leader/alpha dog (me) and the pack follower/bitch (him). What I learned from the show is that the pack leader eats first, then the other dogs can eat when the pack leader says so. This is why when a dog kills a squirrel or a rhinocerous, he will bring it to you and lay it at your feet. As pack leader, you are supposed to eat first and give him what's left over. It's a sign of respect. You are Don Corleone, and he is Fredo. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want to eat old chicken bones that have been sitting in the gutter, but as the pack leader, he should at least offer me some first, then try to eat. I took his eating of the chicken bones as a a sign of defiance of my authority as pack leader. Like when Tattaglia tried to kill Don Corleone, in Godfather I.
If I'm on a first date, I always pay for dinner, but I expect the girl to at least pretend to reach for her purse so that I can say "I got it" and she can pretend like she was willing to pay and that I am a gentleman. So the dog should pretend to offer me some old chicken bones before digging in (because I am pack leader) and I can so "no...the pack leader doesn't want chicken bones from the gutter, but you may have some because you have been a good pack follower/loyal bitch."
I have tried other things to assert alpha dog/pack leadership over him, like (1) keeping him on a short leash so that he doesn't walk ahead of me; (2) doing the occasional alpha roll; (3) humping the dog's leg so that he knows he's my bitch. The last one gets me funny looks from people at the dog park, but I don't really care what they think because they are not my pack members. There are only two members in my pack, and if I'm the one paying the mortgage and buying the dog food, then excuuuuuuuuse me for wanting to be in charge for a while.
I think the reason that he doesn't respect me as pack leader is because of the poop thing. Just when I think he is starting to RESPECT MA' AUTHOR-I-TAY he poops, and then watches me while I pick up the poop using nothing but a poop bag and my bare hands. I wouldn't respect a person who stood there and picked up my poop with his hands while I silently judged him and mocked him in my head. (Yes, I know it's judging me and secretly mocking me...if it could talk, I'm sure if it would make fun of me to its doggy friends).
Now, a friend of mine thinks I am taking the whole pack leader thing too far. She thinks that you can train a dog using love and positive reinforcement instead of using calm assertive leadership and humping its leg. I think dogs are like bowels and they view people like sphincters, and if you show weakness, they will sh1t all over you. And I am not one to be sh1t upon. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that it is possible to train a dog using positive reinforcement and love, but if it's all the same to you, I'll keep humping its leg.
I hate this weather more than a college socialist hates a bar of soap. Although the heat seems to be working fine at the ninja fortress, I am always not-so secretly worried that it will start leaking all over the place, I will be stuck without heat and they will find my lifeless frozen body wrapped in the infamous sweater, that while toe-ing the line between european metrosexuality and gayness, is remarkably warm. Then the coronors will come and while i'm in a body bag they will go through my p0rn collection and steal the good stuff. I don't care about most of it, but I would like to be buried with the Brianna Banks one, so although it's not in my will, if any of you are at my funeral, make sure no one takes it out of my coffin when they are pretending to mourn my passing. Anyway, part of the reason...well, actually most or the reason I worry about the heating system is that I did the plumbing work on them. I think I'm okay at soldering pipes now, but I definitely learned by trial and error (and error and error) and I worry that some of those early experiments will come back to haunt me like Frankenstein's monster.
The weather is really getting on my nerves because I started fostering a rescue dog and part of that means getting up every morning at 5:30 am to walk him. This is not fun under the best circumstances, but it reaaaaaaally sux when it's 15 degrees out, like last week, or when it's raining like today. And when dogs get wet they shake themselves dry, but they usually wait until they get inside to do it....nice. On my hardwood floors. Mutherflower!!!
He's a good dog and if I take him for a short run in the moring (I can't do a long run unless it's in a dream sequence involving zombies) he naps for several hours, but if I don't take him for a long run, he's got a lot of pent up energy and I've got nice stuff that I don't want him taking his frustrations out on, so jogging it is.
I'm still adjusting to this giant rat that I saved from certain death, but I'll post more about that soon. Right now, I'm drinking tea (no, I'm not British) because the girl in our office who makes coffee is out sick today so it's either walk a half block to Starbux or drink this urine colored grass water. I don't know how sick she is, but she better have a broken leg or a failed kidney because I need my coffee and tea is for old ladies. That's right, lady, I don't care about your "flu" because it's all about me, me, me!!! And my dog...
ing. But I have no motivation problem in jiu jitsu. It’s easy to stay focused and motivated when there is a fat guy with his knee on your chest trying to rip your arm out its socket or choke you unconscious.
