Sunday, August 1, 2010
The State of "Eh" Chapter 9
Chapter 9 - You're Not A Ninja
I like weapons.
They turn me on.
Not when being brandished in my direction.
Just weapons, in general, used (or not) on others.
Brass knuckles, Shurikens, darts, that strapped onto my arm. Cane with hidden sword. I brought those sorts of things into the club.
The bouncers liked me. Like Remy said, I did, indeed, "walk around the metal detectors."
I wore the shurikens like necklaces. I didn't fathom the idea that I could possibly trip and fall, causing a nasty murder to self. Or that someone could have accidentally punctured my throat with a sudden death dance move. Considering that I was intoxicated 100% of the time, this could have been something I would think about...but I was young and when you're young, you're invincible. Or stupid. Basically, stupid, for thinking you're invincible.
I destroyed the wall of the hallway outside my bedroom by practicing throwing my shurikens. I got pretty good. I was ecstatic. My roommates were not ecstatic about the way the wall looked. I looked at them, holding the shuriken until they looked more ecstatic.
Had I been planning to fight walls, or The Thing, I'm sure I would have done excellently. People tend to move about, with action. I'm not sure I would have been able to keep up. Unfortunately, there was no ka-ra-tay training ground out back. No wood dummies, no stumps to practice balance, no water buckets to carry. Damn those lucky "in training montage having" bastards in movies. So jealous.
The darts were pretty kick ass too. They strapped on to my forearm, with tassles, that I could bend my fingers back and grasp quickly. Presumably to flick them out quickly at my opponent.
"Ughh" they would cry out, in theory, "I didn't see...ack..ack..*blood* that coming! Hidden, ugghhh, daa--"
Then, I imagine, they would move spastically about, setting off a dramatic 1 minute long death scene, in which they would fall against furniture, grab tablecloths down onto the floor and then ultimately bite the dust with a resounding. "ucccch...uh."
I stabbed myself in the foot with those darts. It hurt pretty bad. I was surprised that I actually had used enough force to damage something, but I was smart enough to know that there was NO way I would ever get the aim right. I would end up with Christ like feet if I continued.
I just wore the darts to mystify people after that.
My brass knuckles were actually handy. Yes, I did, use them. They were effective. Very effective. On someone's face...and collarbone. I feel you judging me.
Exacto knives, box cutters. They, were also very, very effective. On people. We used to take the blades out and put them stupid places. To enter the club. Mine? My giant aqua netted ponytail bun. Perfect.
Why there, you ask?
Well, before the metal detector, bouncers would frisk you with the force of a sexual assault. Grab, mush, squeeze, ugh.
Hiding a blade on your person, and then having it squeezed into you, was a bad fucking idea. The case goes in your shoe, the blade goes in your hair. They never grabbed hair. Even if they did, that hair was impenetrable to any outside forces. An ironclad forcefield, it was. Only I knew the secret location of the trap hair door.
I bring up these simple, far less interesting weapons, because even though I had actually used these with success, they were boring.
Shit, I wanna be a NINJA. Not a simple street thug.
There is nothing fucking mysterious and/or captivating about exacto knife fights. Butterfly knives, yes. Especially with choreography. We all know how captivating THAT shit is. (Beat It, West Side Story) *snaps*
So I took to the weapons of the East. Not the East Coast. I bought a ninja mask. I wore it in my Triple 5 Soul ad. I was so fucking serious about this shit.
I practiced my butterfly knife skills, I was decent. I collected daggers, swords. They were awesome. The things I became good at were the clunky weapons. I wasn't happy about it, but I figured they were still cool. Hey, a skill is a skill. Fuck it. Plus, they had wicked holsters and looked very intimidating on my wall.... or shelf...or person...
Then I left all my weapons behind and moved on. Not that I didn't think about my ninja career anymore, I just... collected other shit instead. Like, engagement rings. Whee.
Two years ago, I discovered parkour. Well, not really. I knew about it, watched countless videos, but I discovered that there were parkour CLASSES. You know, for normal people. Who want to be ninjas. Well, I can't think of any other reason to take the class. Other than you want to be a ninja. Or a douche.
It re-spawned my "I'm a fucking ninja" thoughts.
My issue: indescribable clumsiness.
I was a dancer for many years, half my life. A gymnast in my pre-teens. These are the only two things that saved me from being a nerdy, gangly, constantly injured mess. I move gracefully, with agility and great flexibility...speed even!
Only in these two areas.
I am not athletically inclined. I cannot run. I can't even jump rope. Don't throw anything at me and expect me to catch it. It will hit me. I will be angry. Just get up and pass me what you want me to have. Don't fucking throw that shit.
This saddened me to no end as a child, as I was jealous of the sporty children. I didn't care, with age, until I saw the wonders of parkour.
I signed up for the class, chickened out and didn't go. I was concerned I would injure myself. Badly. In front of other adults who would rise to be way better ninjas than me. Fuck them. They didn't have HALF the will I did to be a master ninja. No way. Impossible. They weren't planning elaborate ninja ...err...plans. They didn't own the Ninja Handbook. (Pick that book up.)
This year I didn't sign up. I merely LOOKED at the website and integrated myself into the video advertisements. I made a space for myself in the front of the class. Taking the class in my mind was going pretty well. I was the best student. I was rewarded with drinks and gold stars on my forehead.
What I've decided, is that I do have my natural born skills and that those are the most important things to work on.
I probably won't be a parkourish type of ninja, but I can (and trust me, this scenario could happen) be the flexy person that a team of assassins or master thieves will need. Or... I mean, I'm not looking to get myself hired. I can freelance. I'm much more of an 'I'm my own ninja" kind of broad.
Concentrating on my natural abilities, working to enhance them. That's what's important. I came up with a good list.
I can contort my body to fit in very small spaces. I climbed inside a suitcase once.
I can maneuver my flexy, bendy self around...let's say, a room of lasers. I think we all know how important the laser room is. If you don't have a woman who can get through that laser room, you are FUCKED.
I can get back into really awesome shape so that I can be a sexy decoy. I will take off my clothes slowly, revealing my stunning abs, thus distracting the enemy.
I can deliver a really awesome sleeper hold.
I racially morph really well.
I can cry on demand. (Still trying to work this in somehow.)
I like green tea.
I look good in black.
I can slip pills into peoples drinks.
I'm very good at carving things. Think black market organs. Handy skill.
I'm very light on my feet. You never hear me walking. That right there is like, ninja rule number fucking ONE.
I can get a lot more tattoos. Coupled with my alcohol tolerance being ridiculously high, this enables me to look very cool and intense while sitting at bars, contemplating how I need to get out of the ninja business.
So, yeah.... I'm pretty good with developing my own ninja values and set of skills.
You should be too. If you're trying to be a ninja.
If anyone has a laser room they need something from... call me. We'll discuss rates.