Doing the Damn Work (Rowing)

So as you know, I train in krav maga. And as you may or may not know, I am training to get certified through Gym Jones. As a result, I am busting my ass to fix my conditioning. Why do I bring this up? Because yesterday was an excellent example of training and doing the damn work.

For the past week, there has been a young woman, approximately 15 years old, training with us in krav. From what I gather, she was traveling for the summer vacation and wanted a place to keep up with her training. Now I will say that she is very bright, and very intelligent. I will also say that she has been told as much. What do I mean? I mean she had the attitude of a 15-year-old that is trying to show that she knows something and can keep up with the older crowd. That's fine, nothing wrong with it, but still a marker for age.

Now why do I give this background? Because yesterday I was training. I row 2k meters everyday, working toward dropping my time. Yesterday I was rowing at krav, before training started. For reference, the training was out of a 3-car garage, with only an industrial fan for A/C. At this point, I want to thank the krav instructor for letting me use his rower. As I am getting ready to start the fourth interval of 400 meters, the girl is dropped off by her father. I finish the round, and we have the following interaction:

15: "Why are you rowing?"

Me: "Because it is part of my programming."

15: "Why are you rowing here?"

Me: "....because the rower is here..."

15: "But why not row somewhere else?"

Me: "...because the rower is kept out in the garage...."

15: "But why row in the heat and humidity?"

Me: "...because this is where the rower is....and I need to row....."

15: "But that sounds miserable."

Me: "....and.....?"

I then completed my rowing, and continued to push through the actual krav training and subsequent finisher workout. With the finisher, there was five rounds of farmer carries, push-ups, and overhead press. I chose to carry 90 lbs, while the other elected for either 45 lbs or less. Again, the girl seemed surprised that I would willingly add the level of difficulty. When she asked, I said that, "If it doesn't challenge you, then it doesn't change you. And if it doesn't change you, then what's the fuckin' point?"

Moral of the Story: The 15-year-old showed her age, and I get inspirational as fuck when I get ready to train. Also, my rowing is getting better.

Fuck You Russia, Or Whoever Hacked My Shit

Fuck you, Russia, and fuck your couch. And fuck your face. And fuck your couch's face. And fuck your Communism. And your couch's Communism. I joke, you don't have a couch. But still, fuck y'all.

Now why did I just come out against Russia? It's not because of the politics (though that was fucked up). And it is not because of the human rights violations (again, that's fucked up). It's because y'all motherfuckers stole my bank account information! That's right, you Commie dicks. One of you hacked my shit. How do I know? Because you bought a $300 pair of fucking Adidas! Nobody buys Adidas except goddamn Russian gangsters.

"In Soviet Russia, Adidas is only shoe brand. Wear Adidas, become best Russian athlete."

And you know what else? Y'all fuckers bought $138 dollars in high-end cosmetic make-up? Do you know what that tells me? That whoever it was is in the process of selling a mail-order bride and wanted her face to look did. Well fuck you. Guess what? I got that shit canceled. I hope you get some ratty-ass knock-offs with holes in the feet. That way, when you walk through the vodka-soaked streets of depression and grey, your shoes make that squishy noise.

Do you know what that money was reserved for? Goddamn diapers! As revenge, I hope my son stays constipated for a week. I'm then  going to mail his first three dirty diapers to your depressing, ass country so that you can experience the fear, hate, and necessity I have.

Now, to be fair, you may not have hacked me. And to be fair, it does not change my opinions. Why? Because I am obstinate. Fuck you. That's why. You don't know me! If you did, you'd have known that I am paranoid as fuck and check my bank statements like a fucking hawk. Fucking $300 for a pair of shoes. If I buy a new pair of shoes, I wait for them sumbitches to be on discount. I then wear the fuck out of them, until I got holes in the feet. And now, I can never buy Adidas. Not that I would anyway, but I had to tell the bank to just not accept any purchases from them.

Do you know what that means? It means I can never visit Russia. Why? Because how can I visit Russia, IF I DON'T HAVE AN ADIDAS TRACK SUIT! That's like rolling into the Jewish part of town and forgetting my yarmulke. It's not that I'll necessarily be denied service, though I suspect that Russians would not look kindly on my Jewness, but that I will be labeled as an outsider. Of course, that may be a good thing. Before the Cheetos President became a world leader, I actually trusted the U.S. to stand against Russia and protect travelers. Now? I'm guessing he'll do whatever Putin asks. That's okay though.I got my money back and y'all get to keep your depression.

Moral of the Story: My shit got hacked. Because they bought Adidas, I assume they are Russian hackers. Also, I'd like to see what would happen for someone to FedEx dirty diapers to Putin's doorstep, every day, for a year. Talk about shitty mail.

Baby Daddy 36: He Pooped!!!!

So I mentioned it in my tribute to that sexy ass nation in the red, white, and blue. My son pooped!!!! And why does that matter? Because his smelly ass was a biohazard.

Let me preface this by saying that my son had not pooped in over a week. Do you have any idea how awful that is? When that happens to real people (adults), we go to a doctor, take a laxative, and pray we don't literally blow up the toilet. When it happens to a baby, you just sit and deal with his whiny ass. The problem though, beyond his discomfort, was my son had awful flatulence.

Now keep in mind, that is coming from someone who literally secured a place in hell by hot-boxing an airplane with his protein farts. This kid's gas was as bad, if not worse. Every day, and every night, it was the same. My son would dig his head into my chest. Then I'd hear a "brrrrrr....fap-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop", followed by my son grunting a relieved, "...uhn...". At one point, it was so bad that my wife grabbed my head, hooked my eyes, and shoved my face into his diaper. All she kept telling was, "SMELL IT! SUFFER! SUFFER WITH ME!!"

And I did suffer. His ass should have been studied by the CDC for bioweapon capabilities. If you want to know how to end the war, bottle his farts and drop them on the enemy. Of course, the U.N. would then put sanctions on my son for war crimes. It wouldn't do much good, mind you. He'd just fart and kill the U.N.

For all the backup, he didn't have a significant poo. In fact, it wasn't even a full diaper. As it turns out, that was just the plug coming loose. The true bowel movement came in the following morning. I was at work, talking to my wife, when she got quiet. I asked if she was okay, and she said, "....He just pooped...." I asked if it was bad and she just said, "....Yeah...."

She then proceeded to start changing him and her first response was, "Fuck. What's wrong with you, baby?!" My wife then sent me a picture and said that I'd be in trouble when I got home. I'm guessing I didn't fully mute the phone, as I giggled over being at work and avoiding the mega-poo. Sure enough, I got home and had quite a bit of housework to catch up on.

Moral of the Story: My son pooped and I didn't have to clean it. Also, I never realized I would be so invested in bowel movements.

America, You're Still a Sexy Bitch

I have been reflecting a lot on the past year. On July 4th, 2016, my wife and I hosted a party for our friends. We had fireworks, alcohol, a cookout, everything. It was glorious. On July 5th, 2016, we found out that we were expecting our first child. One year later, and everything changed. We still had a cookout. We still had fireworks. And we still had alcohol. It was still different, though. One part was that my son did not like the loud noises of the fireworks. He loved the colors, but the smell and noise was upsetting for him. Beyond that, there was just a different atmosphere.

"Tell me more about freedom"

Now one aspect of that atmosphere is that my son finally pooped. I have a different story coming for that one. At the same time, it really speaks to the change that has occurred. My wife and I became adults. Don't get me wrong, we always have been. But it is different, now. Last year we could fuck around and not worry. Now we have to keep our son alive. A cookout that was filled with booze and laughing last year, became an impromptu business meeting this year. We have grown and we have had to take a different mantle. And so, as I reflect on that, I also want to reflect on America. Why? Because fuck you, that's why.

When I think of America, right now, I am a bit disheartened. We have a President that has shown ineptitude. We have a Congress that has shown disregard for human life. And we have a Supreme Court that is relatively inactive. Our people are afraid. Half seems to be afraid of immigrants, LGBTQ, non-Christians, science, and liberals. The other half is afraid of the first half, because the first half has been championed by those advocating violence. Also, that first half has invested in leadership that would strip the second half of rights. And because everyone is afraid, everyone is angry. And with that anger, they have hate. They act like toddlers, afraid to eat broccoli, so they hate that fucking broccoli. To be fair, it only really tastes good when roasted or swimming in dressing. Otherwise it is a bitter vegetable.

And so, for those who are afraid, I have a message. Keep in mind that this post is about America. For al my readers in Russia, I can't help.

Our great nation was born on the backs of immigrants seeking freedom - people who were prepared to fight and die to protect it. There was rampant discrimination, but I would like to think it was born out of ignorance, not hate. I would also like to say that, 241 years later, we have made progress. We realize that the Irish are not bad people for wanting to get jobs in the U.S. We realize that black people are people. We realized that women have the right to everything that men have. We realize that Latinos (from any country) have the right to immigrate and find jobs. We realize that believing in Allah, Hashem, Buddha, or any poly-theistic faith does not make you a terrorist or enemy of the State. We realize that love between two people is not defined by their physical gender. We realize that a physical gender does not define a person, and that people have the right to change it. We realize that EVERYONE deserves LIFE, LIBERTY, and the PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.

For whatever reason, our sweet nation has grown bitter. We have grown fearful of anything new, or anything different. From that fear, we have grown hateful. We have become isolationist. We have begun to resign ourselves to "the way it is". We then hide within our social networks, which reinforce our beliefs without challenging them. Maybe, just maybe, it is time for the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA to be fucking UNITED. Yes, we need to make changes. We need to make progress. We need to take action. So let's fucking do it. Let's stop being fearful of each other, and start acting like a nation that is the land of the goddamn free and home of the goddamn brave. If our generation can't do it, I'm sure as hell going to raise my son so that his generation fucking can.

Moral of the Story: You're a sexy-ass nation America, born from immigrants and revolutionists that were brave enough to seek a better future. Time to act like it.