Amy's Adventures in MMA: Wait...what?

Like all great adventures, it started with a snack run. "What do you mean 'You don't stock Twizzlers.'?" I asked, flabbergasted. Quickly recognizing that they had committed the sin to end all snack-related sins, the gas station clerk quickly re-directed my attention to a thirty dollar cowboy hat and the buy 2/get 1 free Snickers egg special. "There's more caramel in the eggs," she confided sweetly. 

Well-versed after 35 years of marriage, Brad didn't even blink an eye as I emerged from the convenience mart, vex-ed because I had experienced a great deal of inconvenience, with an armful of goods that were not the quick bag of Twizzlers and bottle of Pepsi that had been my original quick quest items.

"Howdy, partner," he said, wrestling a container of Pringles, Pepsi, and peanut M & Ms out of my arms while I juggled three Snickers eggs in the parking lot before ducking to clear my cowboy hat as I crawled into the car. 

One item caught his attention though. "What is this?" he asked. "They're fruit leather lollipops," I announced, happily, "And, look! They come ten to a package! I'm going to use them as class prizes." "You are using a product labeled 'Slap' as a prize for 9-year-olds," Brad drawled, "Sounds like a great idea." Lowering the brim of the gas station Stetson over my eyes, I glared at him. He acts as though I have no sense at all regarding my selection of motivational prizes when, just today, I finally, after great inner torment, put back the whimsical wildlife-themed murder masks that were reasonably priced at a tempting one dollar each. See?!? I'm discriminating!

So, anyhoo...now armed with sub-par adventuring snacks, we proceeded to our destination. The venue was set in the middle of no-wheres-ville with inadequate parking (and, as we would soon discover, inadequate seating). I surmised that the event had uprooted a colony of skunks as the air was permeated with an unpleasant perfume. Fun fact:  A group of skunks is known as a surfeit. Defined, surfeit means "an excessive amount of something."  

So there we were at this obviously high-brow, academic affair when I began to question my appearance on MANY different levels. I was a fraud. A poser. My above-the-head fist thrust did not feel authentic (and I've watched the end of "The Breakfast Club" a million times). My clap was more "middle school play" than "gut-wrenching gladiator competition."  Clad in my comfy Kansas City sweatshirt and giant muck boots, I began to conduct some discreet interviews. "Excuse me, sir, may I ask where you purchased your trendy garment?" I asked a scary man with an impressive number of swear words decorating his outfit. He glanced down and paused because apparently he owns a lot of profanity-laden outer-wear. "I think my kids got me this one," he growled at me. What a fine testament to fatherhood. I gave up trying to take surreptitious photos of a woman with amazingly complicated and colorful hair and just stomped over to her so she could explain it to me. "I love your hair," I gushed.

She smiled and told me my bangs were cute. There were tons of waxed mustaches, ear gauges where the lobes could touch shoulders, tattoos, Dr. Seuss-inspired hair styles, and Hustler-inspired women's wear. I felt very self-conscious. I stuck out like a sore thumb. And that was before I had to deal with watching the ring girls. "Did you realize that there are apparently two levels of ring girl?" I asked Brad, who was startled by my blatant invitation to inspect the subject of my discussion. "Yes. One level is tasked with the difficult job of balancing the Round Cards while the other level must contend with the weighty responsibility of lifting  and displaying the defending belt." Brad nodded, no doubt impressed and awed by the sheer complexities and enormous responsibilities associated with these seemingly degrading and useless roles. "And they make it look so effortless..." I added. Brad nodded again. 

Apart from dealing with my insecurities and inner angst, I also had to contend with my conflicting cases of claustrophobia and agoraphobia as we entered the crowded, practically standing...packed-in-like-sardines...room only area and pushed our way, unable to breathe, directly from one door to the nearest exit. This was going to be a fun night, I thought to myself once I had control of my breathing and out-of-control pulse.

Fortunately, as the evening went on, the crowd began to dissipate a bit and we managed to score some valuable real-estate in the blind area behind security and the control panels. My inner anxiety is only ever out-maneuvered by my anxiety if kids are added to the mix so I was happy to toss my friend Cooper up on an unstable foldable chair. "What does Obi-Wan say to Anikan during their fight on Mustafar?" I shouted over the unsuitable lyrics being blasted. My young padawan laughed, "I have the high ground!" Meanwhile, his sister was busy balancing on two toes at the very top of her unstable folding chair's backrest, fighting to catch a glimpse of the current bout. Brad chose this moment to distract me with french fries. 

The kids were eventually able to score two of the five actual seats for ticket-holders where you could

actually see the action in the octagon so I was able to show off my nimble flexibility by having my husband and a complete stranger haul me up onto the now vacant high ground. Seeing predators eyeing up my territory, I loudly announced, "If anyone tries to take my chair, I will KILL them." Threats of violence are apparently so common at this venue (that doubles as a church on Sundays) that no one blinked an eye. "Look at her in her Kansas City sweatshirt and muck boots," the wary remarked, "Stay away from her...she's obviously CRAZY." 

Perched safely on my pedestal, I once again studied the ring girls. "If I were a level of ring girl, which level would I be?" I asked my now frightened husband. Should he respond by saying gender is a construct imposed upon us by an unenlightened society? Should he say the use of the term "girl" is degrading to women? No...my guy went straight for the kill. "You would obviously carry the belt, you dominatrix, you."  I quickly glanced around to make sure no one could hear or be offended by our saucy talk. "Me-ow," I purred at him with a wink while he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Still not fluent in martial arts regardless of having a husband who has been a practitioner for forty years, I found myself rooting for the competitors to stay upright as, if they went to the mat, we lost sight of them. Vaguely familiar with the lingo, I spun (cautiously) around to stare, wide-eyed at Brad, when the next fight was announced as SUPER heavy weight. The entire room stilled as we turned in unified anticipation, wondering what was going to be coming in the door. Two robust men, with more confidence than I will ever hope to have, whipped off their shirts (I'm embarrassed if my shirt even rides up a LITTLE), and entered the ring. Like enraged bull elephants, they clashed...falling back against the

cage wall. "That's over 700 pounds," Brad muttered, mentally inventorying the nuts and bolts that were currently battling to hold the octagon together. The people sitting ring-side were currently questioning their life choices and I took a moment to be grateful for my rickety chair near the exit. My first authentic fist thrust of the evening followed the declaration of the winner who immediately dropped to perform "The Worm" for the wild crowd.

We were there (of course) for the Head-Lined Fight. Naturally, Amy Mosiman would be at a sanctioned MMA event for the main fight. Brad's friend Chase, sporting a nifty pair of leopard print shorts, was AMAZING. It helped that Brad front-loaded the fight by getting me a fried pineapple cheesecake eggroll. Striking hard, Chase won in the 3rd round with a TKO...it was impressive (and horrifying) to watch. The eggroll had a nice crisp outer shell and the pineapple finish
was warm and sweet. I'm not sure I need to re-visit either experience again but I'm glad I was able to encounter them both at least once. 

As snack-based adventures go, I'd definitely say this one was a knock-out!