Yesterday was utter crap for various reasons including but not limited to losing £5 to the washing machines from hell, getting punched forcefully repeatedly by a truly terrible yellow belt who hadn't trained in years and who thought wailing on me was "training to her potential" (actually that whole class was taught by some guy who thought he had something to prove and therefore wanted to sparr everybody, including me), a computer that is out to thwart me, an increase increasee!) in the price of yogurt at Sainsburys, the realization that my phone calls really are £1 a minute, and an alarming loneliness I haven't felt since I was six years old. Despite my bettejudgmentnt and my overpowering desire to go swimming in some softened hagen daaze, I left the flat around 10:30 to meet some people at the Student Union which was hosting a weekly event called Club Sandwich. What a quirky name, I'd thought. It wasn't until later that I learned that the name wasn't cute and accidental. Rather, sandwich is meant to indicate the type of dancing popular at this event, namely, the girl is "sandwiched" between two guys. Classy. I played pool and danced in a group of girls. Good 80's music, and not an awful night.
I've got to log off as there's a class starting in here...more later
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Remember, a good swift kick in the gut will often stop someone who's focused on punching you. Most of them never remember to guard that little triangle where the belt sits. Kick 'em there a few times and as soon as they start dropping their hands to cover the gap, plug 'em in the face.
Then smile sweetly and say, "I told you you were hitting too hard..."
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