Shyne

Killer Instinct – Happy Halloween!

The one or two people who actually read this blog will probably not know/remember the video game Killer Instinct. You can read the wiki here. So either you remember the game or you read the wiki (or you just kept reading because you don’t care and you think that the rest of this post will be just my usual blather) and maybe you even remember some of the characters. If you do remember, you can just call me Sabrewulf. When my godsister and I used to it the arcade, usually after getting our nails done, lol, Killer Instinct was usually on tap, and Sabrewulf was my character of choice. Not really the toughest of characters, Sabrewulf typically took an ass beating before going bonkers with his attack. This was then and continues to be now, a bit like me. I will put up with the most shit possible before I just snap out and tell you about yourself. See me (Sabrewulf) in action here because I can’t embed this m-f-ing video.

Yeah, that’s how I roll. And over the last few months, I’ve felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into some girly, crying at bubble gum commercials, oh my god my feelings, sort of madness. Seriously. I’ve been tearing up at COMMERCIALS! Who the hell am I and where did regular, tough me go?!?! I still don’t know where she went, but I sure as shit know where I found her.

You see, this past Saturday, I attended a women’s self-defense workshop held by the Krav Maga gym fairly close to my house. I spent a good amount of time feeling sorry for my partner(s) as I released all sorts of pent up everything into those little rectangular pads. We learned quite a bit of useful information in those two hours. Of course, I would never go purposely putting myself into danger because “I took a self-defense class”, but I do feel better about my overall ability to keep myself safe outside of the house. You know, cuz inside my house, it’s the Make My Day law.

At the end of the class, we all had the “opportunity” to be “attacked” by big blue, otherwise known as one of the instructors in a lot of padding. There were three rules:

(As we all stood in a circle around the attackee and attacker) When the attack begins, scream and yell to encourage the attackee. (Look, I know that probably isn’t a word, just go with the flow, ok? No? Elbow, elbow, elbow, groin kick, 10 hammer punches to the back of your head.)
Do not retaliate until actually attacked.
When the attacker is on all fours on the floor, stop.

As we stood around the circle, I really did great at number 1. So well, in fact, that I was nearly without voice on Sunday. When it was my turn inside the circle, I was able to follow the second instruction. (I was going to say I did number 2, but, you know, lol.) For a moment, let’s recap what happened in step 2.

I stood in the center of the circle, eyes closed. Now, a man in a padded suit is not necessarily quiet and due to the previous 90 minutes of punching and kicking, let’s just say I was amped up higher than the top of the highest 14-er. Spring loaded might be a good term there. As Mr. Pads walked around me, saying things that probably would either scare or disgust most people, my inner Sabrewulf started prepping for the fight. Mr. Pads caressed the side of my face. He played with my hair. It’s so cliche, but seriously, the tension in that room? Palpable. Even with my eyes closed, I knew exactly where he was every second. And just when I thought that this would just go on forever, he came in for the attack.

Perhaps once or twice before, I have had this level of focus. My hair trigger didn’t even allow him to fully get me into the bear hug before Sabrewulf showed up all claws out, elbows, fists, knees, and legs in full force. Remember the first rule? Yeah, I’m sure that was happening, but from the moment I threw the first elbow, there was no sound other than me breathing and pads being pummeled. I couldn’t hear my classmates cheering me on, only the voice inside my head that said “Fight like you mean it”.

All of this pent-up rage released on this poor man. Blinded by rage. I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase. I experienced it. Somewhere in my brain, I could recognize that he was on the floor on all fours, but he was also still moving which meant I was still punching. I didn’t hear them say “Time!”. Or “Ok!”. I felt someone pull me off of him. It wasn’t until that point that I came back to the room.

Such a strange sensation to be pretty much lost in yourself. I guess that’s the fight or flight response. And you know my stubborn ass will likely always pick fight. Much like a teacup pup, I don’t realize my size and think I can take on the Dobies. I’m probably crazy, but I’m ok with that. I keep that crazy bottled up and on a shelf, and every now and again, I dust off the bottle, but it stays neatly intact on the shelf. I think it might even say, “Break in case of emergency”, and in that emergency, Sabrewulf doesn’t just pick the bottle up and open it, Sabrewulf smashes it with a hammer punch and releases the beast. Funny how we work like that, isn’t it?

I’ve returned to normal. No more crying at commercials, or anything else silly for that matter. Back to my normal. Thank goodness. I don’t think I could have taken much more of the over-emotions.

Now, for the PSA. Ladies, go find yourself a self-defense class. You just never know what might happen. There are some scary statistics out there that we women are raped and/or killed on the regular. Please, learn to protect yourself. Don’t become a statistic!!

Angel Wings

If I had a large photo of the human back and asked a random sampling of people, “If you were drawing angel wings on that back, from where would they sprout?”, I feel that the majority of people would point to the same general area. Upper back, somewhere near the shoulderblades, right?

Right.

Every now and again, maybe once every few months, my angel wings get super itchy. It’s like phantom limbs or something. Perhaps I’m here as a guardian angel, but I’m just now realizing it. I wonder who I’m here to guard. I don’t think that, so far, I’ve really saved anyone from anything so I suppose my work here is not done. But, you know, the next time you hear a bell….it might be me. 🙂

Just some pics

So much to write about, but on my last day at sea, I just don’t wanna. 😛 Have some pictures instead.

All ABOARD!!

All Aboard!

I’m adrift in the middle of the ocean. The Gulf of Mexico anyway. Not really adrift I suppose. But you get the picture.

Sunday, we left Denver in the wee hours to fly on down to Galveston, TX to board our floating home for the next seven days. We decided against going to actually check out Galveston in favor of just getting on the ship and getting comfortable. I did, however, snap a photo.

It seems like a very old, industrial type city, but you know, I didn’t actually go to explore it.

We were favored with very calm seas on our sailaway on Sunday. It was like we weren’t even on the water. Since I had heard a rumor that you got a free bottle of wine if you book the steakhouse on the first night, you know where we were going, right? We both had a huge filet. Tasty? Yes. As good as when hubby makes steak at home on the grill? Nope. The rest of the wine is still in the fridge. I have a few days to finish it. J

Monday we caught some of the wind and chop from the tropical depression. That means it was a little rough. I had to be really careful where I focused and for how long to make sure that I didn’t get seasick. No pills or patches for me. I did spend a lot of time out on our ridiculous balcony just watching the water. Like this:

During my ocean observations, I came to a conclusion: You do not “fall” off of a cruise ship. Either you jump, or you are thrown. There is no other way. Unless you are about seven feet tall and top-heavy, it is just impossible. I also, with my non-swimming, non-water-loving ass, could see the drunken interest in wanting to jump in. The ocean calls to drunken fools. Its beautiful color, ever-changing, its bubbles to tickle your whole body as you plunge into the deep. Fortunately, rationality takes over, in my case at least, and I know that I’d be dead within two hours because I’d panic. On the ship I stay.

We spend a lot of time on the balcony just enjoying the fresh air and the quiet. We’ve seen several albatross, some flying fish, the random seagull, and lots of dragonflies. The people in the next cabin are part of a large family reunion. They’re funny. They peeked over to our balcony and asked if we were on our honeymoon. No, but yes, our third honeymoon. Dayumn! They say. It’s called vacation, people. When we do it, we do it right. (Even when I have to be forced to play the max bet on penny slots. HA!)

We got a lovely sunset last night.

I have yet to do any exercise outside of the million laps around the ship we do on a daily basis. I may not do any at all. It’s a massage kind of day and I’m there for the hookup at 1. No talking and use your elbows!

Tomorrow, we hit Jamaica. Hopefully I’ll get around to taking photos of the ship from top to bottom to share. Until then…

Sorry for the randomness. Ship internet is a great big pain in the butt.

Sweat Psychology

Some years back, on my first trip to Mexico, I wondered if I could make it there. You see, my arrival in Mexico was directly on the heels of being in Florida for the previous seven months. Oddly enough, for Florida, it wasn’t constant heat and humidity as I was closer to central Florida than south. So, when I stepped off of the bus from the airport and walked through the village to my new home, I was drenched in sweat before I even made it to my room. I immediately became concerned that I simply wouldn’t be able to make it there for six months if I couldn’t stop sweating for two minutes. I would literally get out of the shower and start sweating. It was nuts!

Eventually, I learned to start ignoring the sweat – it didn’t stop – it’s Mexico for Pete’s sake! So unless it was an ungodly hot day, I just soaked it up.

Fast forward a decade and change (OMG, really?!?!), and I’m living in Colorado. I’m working on my fitness and flexibility goals. To this end, I started taking a Bikram yoga class once a week. Now, in order to get the most benefits out of this, my understanding is that I would really need to be going several times a week, but the reality is that I just don’t have that much free time on my hands, so once a week it is. In case you aren’t familiar with Bikram, it’s a series of 26 poses with breathing exercises between them. Oh, yeah, and the room is heated to about 104 degrees and pumped full of humidity. With all due respect to Justin Timberlake, Sweat Me A River.

Typically, in my workout world, things are too easy or too boring. I’m a bit of an extremist I suppose. Trapeze? Constantly changing, learning new tricks, improving, WIN. Pole? Put my hand there and then put my leg WHERE?!?! It doesn’t get any tougher. P90X? Daily changes kicking my arse. I’ve tried a couple different forms of yoga, and while they did a great job of calming my mind for about 3 minutes, I couldn’t get out of my head because I wasn’t being challenged enough. Enter the Bikram.

For my first class, I went in what I thought would be typical yoga attire: capri pants and a full-length tank top. OMG hot. OMG sweaty. For the second class, I thought I’d try a different route and I wore shorts and a midriff-baring tank top. OMG hot. OMG even more sweaty?!?! First class – I made it through. It was tough but I felt pretty good. Second class – I made it through but it was a struggle. I’m chalking up the differences to all being in my head. Why? Well, in the first class, I knew that I must be sweating. The guy in front of me literally had rivers of sweat running off of him (it was really gross), and while my super powers are strong, I just don’t think I’m that badass. The clothing – the clothing kept the sweat away from my body, away from my mat, away from my overenthusiastic brain, thus giving it time to concentrate on balancing on my left middle toe while holding my right middle toe behind my head and scratching my nose with my elbow.

Something in my head said, wear less clothing the next time you go, so I did. For some folks, this might not be an issue, but if you’re me or one of the entities living in my head, this is not the case. Now, I’m fully in my head. Every move takes forever. I can not only see the sweat running off of me and pooling in a disgusting circle at my feet, I can feel it. Everywhere. It’s horrid. I’m trying to towel off constantly. As such, my focus is in the complete wrong place. I’m not enjoying my practice; I’m not in the proper positions; I’m not receiving all there is to receive.

So what is this psychology of sweat? There have been studies done about seeing the temperature and reacting accordingly. Here’s a story about another time I was crazy sweaty. I don’t like to sweat or be sweaty. I’m no dummy; I know that it’s a part of life and a part of living, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it. I’m coming to the conclusion that out of sight, out of mind means more to me than I originally thought. If I can’t see those cookies (which is why we have a cabinet full of junk that I forget about), then I won’t eat them. If I can’t see that unopened bottle of wine (or 4) on the counter, I won’t open them and imbibe. If I can’t see that I’m a sweaty mess, I’ll keep pushing hard until the class is over. Having a preoccupation with something, anything else seems to make almost anything an attainable goal. Perhaps this is also why I like to keep a million things on my plate at once. Do they all get done? Hell no. But I also don’t spend a ridiculous amount of time worrying about what’s on the plate. I just pick something to handle and handle it.

What about you? Do you join me in overthinking? Or are you one of the lucky without this affliction?

Shyne

Killer Instinct – Happy Halloween!

Angel Wings

Just some pics

All ABOARD!!

Sweat Psychology

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Too Damn Slow

Ghosts (of Days Gone By)

Raunchy Activated