I has a bonsai tree.

And it is awesome. I almost left it outside last night, which would have undoubtedly killed it. Oops. Maybe I'm learning to be responsible?

Yeah, no.

Judo is going. 3 months off killed me, and I did nothing but get fat, lazy and lose any technique I had. Believe me, it wasn't much. Going to keep on keeping on though.

I am less angry.

Yet another day of RSX drama. Thank God for networking. The shop quoted my repair as $4,000. FOUR THOUSAND *FUCKING* DOLLARS. I think I'd prefer a blowjob from some piranhas. Moving on, a very reputable and well-recommended local garage located an engine for $900 and will do the work for $800. Fuckin' a, Ilsa will be back in business. Also, I'll be refinancing my loan through SEFCU. With the refinance, I might get a little extra and throw some headers in that bitch. Maybe even a K20A3.

Anyways, the RSX will be back and better than ever. That is all I care about.

I am angry. Again.

Fuck. My. Life. The KKK took my baby away. Imagine it's Saturday night. You are driving yourself, your best friend and two females down to a block party for a night of shenanigans. You're driving in your shiny, black 2002 Acura RSX. The window is partially down so you can hear the whine of your intake when you hammer the accelerator to show off. Your ion yellow foglights are on, again, just to show off. The interior is as if a submarine, lit by red LEDs. The car is a work of art. Everything was thought about. Honda spared no detail with this car. Look at any review of it, the entire shebang was about the driver. The car begged to be driven. As you are fulfilled what will soon be the last wishes of such an art piece, everything. stops.

"What the fuck was that?"

Everyone's fine. Get out of panic mode. Get out. Smoke. Combustion smoke. Open the hood, don't choke on the cloud. What the fuck? What happened? Everything looks fine. Move it out of the road. What did you just step in? Oil. Why? You just lost half a quart. No engine pressure. Why? Dad's here, you're saved. Push it to the side of the road. Go home, wash up. Take mom's car to go pretend to have fun.

Tuesday. Your car is finally towed to a shop, you wait all day and hear nothing. Wednesday, bloody Wednesday. "Bad news about car, call on lunch. -Mom." I knew it. It's all over. Maybe I just popped the oil filter out of place, wishful thinking. A piston nearly went through the engine block. You are fucked, and need a new motor. There is no way around this. You cannot get a loan for a new car, insurance will not cover this and you don't have enough saved for a new engine. You are on your own, with no help available from anybody. The feeling of helplessness is crippling.

Hi there, welcome to my last 5 days.

I am angry.

You know what, I'm not mad, I'm disappointed. We got hurt weeks ago, and what have we done since then? Nothing. Been fat and lazy. What the fuck Mike? Are you serious? You should have set a goal of getting back to judo stronger, more agile and in better shape. Instead you ignored our diet, stopped working out and stopped going to judo. Major problem. Tryouts for the Empire State Games are TOMORROW. We could have gone right from work, but nope. Even better, there is nobody from our club fighting the -73kg weight class. We would have been the one to represent JMJC to the state. Instead, your weight is up and your judo is down. Garbage. Unacceptable, complete and utter trash. Go work out, go run 2 miles or you're going to bed without anything to eat.

Textbook narcissist?

Agreed.

Third Place...

Morris Cup was yesterday, longest day ever. Got there at 8:30, worked a table until some time had passed. The little kids are so scrappy when they fight. Then more time passed until the junior division, which took 1000000 years. Seriously, I was a little aggravated and I don't think I got to fight until like 9pm. Which leads us to the results. I took third place for Novice Men -74kg. Third. Place. Ugh. I should have won, except in match 2 I (well, a Russian) dislocated my left shoulder. It didn't hurt too badly due to adrenaline or me just wanting to win, so I didn't go on the DL and just fought through to match 3. That might have been an awful idea, as I couldn't fight well at all, and got thrown for ippon in 2 and 3. I'm immensely aggravated that I lost to two judoka I could have beaten. Again, ugh. The high point of my day was the support from my friends and my family. Jessica, Dave, you guys rock, thank you for sticking it out until the end. (Almost the end for you Jess!) Mom and Dad too, love you guys and thank you for coming out and watching me get injured, sorry about all that. Mike D'Alessio, Sensei DaLessio, thank you for all the training and for getting me into judo. Everyone from JMJC- you guys rule, thanks for all the help and support. All in all, I'm extremely disappointed. It was a great day but I should have performed much better. Empire State Games tryouts in June once this shoulder is healed up.

Dear Crista Leigh, the "Rock Goddess..."

You fucking suck. You literally, utterly, and wholly suck. I hate you, and I don't even know you. Why do I hate you, you ask? Let's start off with my morning. My ears enjoy receiving the musings, shenanigans and other such tomfoolery as Free Beer and Hot Wings put on. I don't exactly mind listening to the traffic or the weather, in fact it's somewhat helpful. Then, I consider reaching for my toothbrush and sharpening it into a shank. I would use this shank to tear apart my ear drums and make it so I don't have to hear what's coming next. A less masochistic approach would work too, although I don't feel like going to the garage for a sledge hammer in a towel. Instead, I suffer you. I suffer your horrible, nasally, drawn-out voice of absolute aural pain. Do you have a fucking speech impediment? What the fuck is, "It's CRISTAAA LEIIIGH the RAWWKK GODDESS?" You sound like a retarded valley girl swallowed a squeaky toy.

And how the fuck are you a xxROCK GODDESSxx? None of us from this generation understand rock. We were not around to bang our heads to Maiden or Metallica in their glory days. You are not, never were, nor will you ever be a rock goddess. A rock goddess is Janis Joplin. You are a stupid radio personality. And here's what's wrong with your Facebook picture- You look like you just walked "out da hood." Please go gargle with bleach, razorblades or something that will ruin your voice beyond recognition. Oh wait, that's over and done with. Become a mute nun.

-Because I can.