Monthly Archives: October 2010

Go Shannon, it’s your Halloween-party-day

Kickboxing yesterday!  You know, I had just been thinking to myself, “Self, it’s been, like, two months since you gave a person a piggyback ride.  What is even up with that?”  The Halloween-Party-Day gods were listening, and they answered.  In piggyback form.  My piggybackee, Sam, cheered me on with the whole, Go Shannon, It’s your birthday chant, until I corrected her with the Halloween-Party-Day chant.  Because yesterday, being the Saturday immediately before Halloween, was Halloween-Party-Day.  After that, she just concentrated on racing me against fellow bootcamper Laura.  Quoth Sam, “I’m always competitive when I’m the rider.”

Other kickboxing adventures: I got knocked over!  Right onto my butt.  That’s what happens when you get chatty and inattentive during a kicking drill.  Also, I have paid for my boxing gloves, and will receive them sometime next week.  New bruise: Left hip, lovely shade of dark purple.

Halloween party at the Library House!  Apparently, drinking wine straight from the bottle has become my signature, and I am deeply, deeply pleased with this.  I figure if I use a glass, I am just making more work for Library House People the next day, and also buying into the Dawn Liquid Soap advertising conspiracy and we’re all just puppets of the wine glass industry… or… something.  I don’t know, it all starts to fall apart once I start “thinking” about it.

Anyway, hungover until noon, so I skipped grappling, like a loser.  I have done precisely dick in terms of fitness today.   Have done precisely dick in terms of a lot of things, really.  No closer to attaining Nirvana, curing cancer, or finding true love.  But I did some homework and came to work, also I got to sleep in and watch sitcoms.  My life rules!  What were we talking about?

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Filed under exercise, fucking inanity, great ideas, kickboxing

I am left-assed, apparently

Bellydancing update!  We were experimenting with squeezing only one glute, independently of the other.  I have an easier time with the left, which is I guess unusual.  So I’m right-handed, but left-assed.  Just keeping you people abreast of important things in my life.

Kickboxing!  Gerald had me aside and asked if I wanted to be a “person who takes kickboxing” or a “fighter”.  It would have been pretty funny to say, “Yeah, I just wanna be a schmo who takes kickboxing”, but I figured I should go with the fighter option.  So I learnt how to throw a really badass punch, and spent so much time concentrating on the muscles from my toes, knees, hips, shoulders, all of it, I was goddamned forgetting how to curl my goddamned fingers.  My point is, my thumb hurts, but that’s OK because I’m getting badass-er.

I ate an apple yesterday, and I think a piece is, like, lodged down at the bottom of my esophagus.  I have no idea what to do about it, but it hurts!  I keep eating other things, in hopes they’ll move it, but to no avail.

This reminds me of a delightful story from my delightful childhood, which you’ll damn well be delighted to hear.  I was born with a thyroglossal duct cyst, and when I was three I had to go to the hospital to have surgery to get it removed.  I asked my dear mommy why I had to go to the hospital, and, being a good nurse, she explained to my three-year-old-self that before babies are born, they have a piece of tissue that goes down their throat to make their thyroid, and when they’re born it’s supposed to disappear, but mine didn’t disappear, so the doctors have to take it out or it could lead to infections.  And my little three-year-old-self was all, “… what?”  So my dad said, “Honey, you know those apple slices with peanut butter you like to eat?   Well, one of those apple slices is stuck in your throat, so the doctors have to take it out!”  And I was all, “Like Snow White!”  And Dad was all, “Exactly like Snow White.”

Anyway, I would not lie to you, I believed the apple thing until I was, like, sixteen.  I’m really not an idiot, it was just a matter of never thinking very hard about it.  I would occasionally look at the scar on my neck, and be, like, “Oh yeah, the apple thing”, and then not think about it past that, until one day my mother was all, “What fucking apple?  Thyroglossal duct cyst.”  There’s an important lesson in there about challenging assumptions, but I don’t actually care.

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The nose is worrisome

SQL is freaking me out less, seeming downright do-able, which means I’m probably doing it wrong.  Oh well!

In bruise news, my awesome arm bruise is even awesomer, today.  And, and, on the other side of my bicep, there’s this weird little, like, archipelago of bruises, and I’m not sure if they came from kickboxing yesterday or grappling today (rolling got downright fierce, today, you know, for me).

I learnt in grappling that I have to stop crossing my ankles, which I do, like, freaking constantly.  Tammy, the kickboxing second-in-command, was at grappling, and she took to physically uncrossing my ankles while I was lounging around.  When I protested that I am a lady, god damn you (currently straddling and choking another lady notwithstanding), Jody said, “None of us are ladies, here.  We leave our vaginas in a box by the door.  It’s the box of boxes.”  Jody is now Officially Aces in my book.

(I need, like, a stamp, or a set of stickers, that say “Shannon Certified: Officially Aces”.  My cool grandmother and Jody would both have one.)

Then I rolled again, and I pretty much completely forgot everything, so I was just dodging around, and getting into good positions, then being, like, FuckWhatNow?  It’s been two weeks since I went to class (Thanksgiving in Truro and last week’s class was cancelled), so I’ve forgotten most of the moves except Arm Bar.  But I’m super-wiggly and surprisingly strong, so I still gave Tammy a run for her money.  Everyone else has mouth-guards, which I need, but the nose is what freaks me out.  It’s just out there, and when your face is getting squished into the floor (tactically squished into the floor, tactically), man, the nose is just waiting to get smooshed.  And my pretty face is basically my meal ticket.

And now I’m on the reference desk!  It’s good to Barbarian before you Librarian.

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SQL is the sound a piggy makes!

I’m working on my SQL assignment (Teradata is open, god damn you, it is like work), which seems as good a time as any for a blog update.

Awesome kickboxing day, today.  We did some bizarre series of exercises I won’t even try to recount, and Gerald revealed that if anyone ever throws up in class, he’ll treat that person to a meal, sort of to replace the nutrients.  Sounds fair!  I’ve only ever gotten as far as crying, which merely got me mad props.  He was also filming us, so I was hopefully pretty rad-to-the-extreme.

I totally got roundhouse kicked in the arm, like, 150 times.  That number is not a hyperbole.  My left arm already has a completely wicked bruise, and I’m sure by tomorrow it’ll be even more awesome.  We were learning what to do when someone roundhouse kicks you in the arm, natch.  Yeah, you just get in tight and punch.  Turns out, roundhouse kicks sort of suck because they don’t really stop your opponent, so it’s best to go with a front kick or a side kick, again, for those backalley knife fights I know you all go to without inviting me.  In other kicking news, I got to freestyle kick with my opponent all over the place, which was super fun, and I’m getting pretty adept at kicking dudes in the face.

Then the ballet class after us came and kicked us out.  I thought we should have a dance/fight off, because the camera was right there and everything, and there’s even a guy in both classes, so there’s your plot!

After class, I took a nap, and now my hair looks like an anime character’s.  Seriously, why do I even have bangs?  Fuck bangs, just fuck those guys, hanging aroung my face, not even pulling their own weight or anything, then suddenly actively trying to escape my head like my forehead is coated in napalm.

It’s almost 9, why hasn’t my piggy-SQL homework magically finished itself?

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The bugs! They’re everywhere!

OK, am I the only one who sees all those terrible little green maggotty caterpillar-inchworm-things hanging from the trees?  Because I walk down the street with people, and I feel like I’m the only one freaking out and dodging the little bastards, and then I feel like the lunatic, complaining about being surrounding by bugs, the bugs are all over me, holy crap, holy crap, etc.  But they just fly around on the wind!  And they hang under trees!  Yes, explaining them sounds crazy, but they’re there, so why is no one freaking out with me?

So, my problem is Global Warming.  Because it is Fall, and the stupid floating caterpillars are supposed to be a fucking Spring thing, but they are here, plaguing me while I wander blithely through the woods like a delightful wood nymph, with my laptop and kicky blazer, much like they had in Ancient Greece.

I got downright giddy during my last class of my twelve-hour Tuesday.  I’d had a test the class before.  A test.  I haven’t done a test in years.  Then a bunch of us sat around for 45 minutes while I tried to convince the rest that my apartment, full of alcohol, was within easy reach.  I was (rightfully) ignored, but turns out I really didn’t need booze (do I ever?).  I was running on an entertaining combination of social-life-staying-up-late-syndrome and nine-hours-of-class-itis.  Bellydancing needs to kick it up a notch, sane me up a little or something.  That or Knowledge Management needs to get way less hilarious.

You may get a cool post about my emergency preparedness kits, but do you want to know what the two most important things I always keep next to my bed are?  A dream journal, for if I have an awesome dream.  And a hammer, in case of rapists.  These are the two most important things.  Everything else will fall into place on its own, but amazing dreams and rapist-smashing wait for no man.

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Library-House-Party-Hard!

There was a charity bottle-drive at the Library House last night.  You brought your bottles, full of alcohol, emptied them accordingly, then donated the emptied to the Student Union.  I actually lost my wine bottle mid-emptying, which was probably for the best, since I could have fun regardless and not be hungover for kickboxing.  It’s win-win!  Presumably, the bottle was adopted and consumed by some vagrant first-year and donated.  Win-win-win!

I learnt many fascinating things, including things about book clubs.  Did you know, Internet, that the cool book clubs barely involve books at all?  And I have been declared cool enough to join these cool book clubs?  Now I just need to find one!  Or start one!  Maybe I could advertise it, like, COME TO MY BOOK CLUB.  THERE’S NO READING LIST, ONLY A WINE LIST.  VODKA COUNTS AS WINE.

After Library Party, I went out dancing with Andrea and her friend Julie.  I haven’t gone out dancing in a million years!  I’d seriously forgotten how fun it is.  I incorporated my bellydancing, just a little.  It doesn’t work too much on the regular dance floor, but I was working the hip circles in, and Andrea assured me I didn’t look completely stupid.  That’s all I hope for from any situation, really.

I went to bed at 3 last night, which is the latest I’ve gone to bed in years.  How do people function like this?  I’ve been making a habit of late nights, what with this blasted social life and all, so I may have to rethink my “always up at 7am” rule.  It’s just getting ridiculous.

Coolest thing I learnt in kickboxing in a while.  When pregnant, which exercise do you think suffers the most?  Try to guess, but it’s totally mindblowing.  OK, here it is: pushups!  There’s no way to do a full pushup, because you’ll crush your little baby!  I just found that so entertaining.  You’d think situps or something like that, but it’s pushups.  No one argue with me about this, by the way.  I have no backing, a kickboxer who had recently had a baby just told me this.

I’ve decided to move towards sparring at some point, so I’m going to buy some boxing gloves and all the other gear.  I’ll put up a picture of myself all decked out whenever I get it.  If anyone takes a picture of me getting my ass completely whupped, I’ll also post that.  Should be good times.

Holy crap, do I see sunlight?  Can I leave the house without getting rained all over?  I can put on clothes and everything, sweet-ass!

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The Extemporaneous Tale of Zorn Dragon, Jr.

I had a request for a story, which was just so amazing I thought it should be recorded for posterity.  Enjoy!

There once was a boy name Blargity Blarg.  He realized he had the worst name on Earth, seriously, bordering on child abuse, so he decided to go find some new parents that would give him a new name.

On his journey, he met a fearsome dragon.  The dragon said he would adopt the boy and name him Zorn, and the boy decided Zorn was a better name than Blargity Blarg, so fine.  The dragon’s name was Zorn, too, and the boy’s full name become Zorn Dragon, Jr.

But Dad Dragon said that any son of his had to be able to fly.  He thought that humans were able to fly, but didn’t because humans are wusses like that.  But no son of his would be a wimp!  Zorn Dragon, Jr just had to believe in the power of flight, and he would soar magestically.

Dad Dragon took Zorn Dragon, Jr to the highest cliff, and the boy believed in himself as hard as possible, and jumped!  Sadly, he fell like a brick.  But!  Dad Dragon rushed down to rescue him!  He grabbed his beloved son in his claws!  Too bad, Dad Dragon’s problems understanding human physiology weren’t limited to flight capabilities.  Zorn Dragon, Jr was crushed to death by Dad Dragon’s rescue.

Even though Dad Dragon had only adopted Zorn Dragon, Jr that morning, already his heart was bursting with paternal love for his non-flying, crushable son.  Heartbroken, he cried a thousand dragon tears.

The tears made a river, flooding the nearby town.  This town was where the Blargs, Zorn Dragon, Jr’s original, crappy family, lived.  They totally drowned.  The river became the Danube, which translates in many languages (that I invented) as: Zorn Dragon, Jr.

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