'creepy guy' nomination:
the gym at sunday's tournament was so stifling hot that i thought i might just pass out, no floor-allergy involved. I decided to get some "fresh" LA air, and found a seat in the shade near the front door. My reflections on life/love/karate/etc were not so subtly interrupted by a large man bearing an "EMT" shirt tucked into some embarrassingly tight black jeans and adorned with a large gold chain. He inquired about my position, my participation at the tournament, and my involvement with other men. He asked me out once and asked my name twice. He also made it clear that he doesn't do mouth-to-mouth. I hadn't asked.
I somehow escaped back into the sauna of the gym, and shared my experience with the skeptics I call my team.
After I had changed into my gi and was getting ready to go to staging, the medic walked up to the stands, tugged on my sleeve with a "I'll be rootin' for ya." The skeptics turned believers.
As I finished my kata, I could hear a deep, exuberant, nearby voice yelling "YAH BRITT!". My medic was right on the sidelines, clapping wildly. I bowed out and sat down, only to be tuned into a different kind of drama unfolding: one of our kids, Tony, had managed to get bopped in the nose... I was made aware of this by his mom yelling (from the stands) "Tony, DON'T GET IT ON THE GI!!" and "STICK A PLUG IN IT AND LET'S GO!". Unfortunately for Tony (and the gi), the medic was too busy with his personal rah-rah for me that he wasn't even tuned into the bloody mess behind him... Sorry 'bout that, Tony.