Now UFC Me, Now You Don't...

Jason and I spent Saturday night watching UFC fights and drinking beer. This happened mostly because I'm a guy with boobs. I had watched pieces of the fights here and there but had never really invested my time into watching it. Now I realize just what a huge mistake that was!

First thing I noticed was that the lightweights fight just like teenage girls, out behind the school, by the tree at 4:00. With the exception of hair pulling, I'm pretty sure I used half those moves in the gravel road in front of my parents house after softball practice when I got my shirt ripped off and ended up scrapping it out in the street wearing shorts and a bra. I know, I'm just a walking wet dream, aren't I?

By the end of Saturday night I was positive that I could be a UFC fighter. I mean, I can take a punch just like a good Irish beer brawler (just like my dad) and you show me how to do a rad knee bar and I'll get any bitch to tap out (just like my mom). Yeah, you like that? I'm all like official and stuff. I'm not totally down on the weeping head wounds or the fact that some sweaty chick would be holding me down, blowing her bad breath in my face but really? I've had worse nights. It was called Friday.

So when the re-broadcast of the Couture/Lesnar fight started first I told my husband how hot Randy Couture is, which I know could have been the booze talking since the guy looks like he ran into the back end of a semi, repeatedly, but no, I Googled and still that boxer nose is righteous. I then spent the rest of the fight trying to ignore the fact that my husband supposedly watched this very fight at his friend's house and crawled home bombed in the early hours of the morning but yet, he couldn't remember how a single one of them turned out. But I was able to put that aside when I decided it was time to try some moves on him. The thing is? I didn't kick his ass at all, I didn't get him to tap out and there was no TKO - Unfortunately, my husband is just really turned on by a chick trying to wrestle him to the ground and yelling "Take that, MOFO!" He didn't even mind my weeping head wound, sweaty chest or bad breath. He then asked me to re-enact the bra/shorts scene from the 8th grade girl fight and I knew I had lost.

But still I was riding high on the adrenaline and the visions of my future as a bad ass, cage fighting mama. I grabbed some of the beer bottles off of the coffee table and headed out the garage to throw them out while still reflecting on the bitchin' smack down I just laid down. I stopped and emptied them into the garage drain and chucked them into the garbage can and then turned to go back inside and lay another round of the Betsey Booms Punishment on Jason. Realizing the floor around the drain was wet and super slippery I went to jump over it and in a fantastic show of grace and agility, my foot slipped in the frothy brew on the cement floor and down I crashed onto one knee.

I sprang up only to limp into the house. As I shamefully climbed into my bed with the ice pack I realized my UFC fighting days were over. But for one glorious Saturday night, I kicked some major ass.

Even if it was just my own.



By the way, I took this shot using the "CUISINE" setting on my camera. Not just because it was totally appetizing, but because there was no "Drunken Wound Incurred While Acting A Fool" setting. Also? I didn't scrape my knee at all. That is just what happened from the sheer impact of kneecap on cement.

I'm awesome.