The Thing I Love To Do More Than Anything Else...

Is fence, apparently.

I arrived in Chattanooga around 8:30pm. After settling into my cheap Hampton Inn suite - which amounted to a very tight bedroom, and an unassuming door that led to a huge room with more open space than my condo - I got the addresses to the local bars and restaurants and headed out. Registration for my first event ended at 8:30am, so I knew I couldn't stay out too late. After about 20 minutes of cruising Broad and Market Streets, I came to the conclusion that Chattanooga is just not a party town. After I settled on a bar and parked my car in the pay parking lot, I had to stand in line at a pay machine while I listened to a smarmy white shit call a group of Mexican kids "beaners" to their face. This let me know that the town is full of assholes too.

I ended up at a bar that is part of the Gordon Bierch family, which means it has great food and plenty of good beers from the microbrew. After settling in at the packed bar, I was tortured every five minutes by some slack jawed yokel or trashy ho ordering a Budweiser/Bud Lite/Miller Lite/Natty Light from the bartender. Guys, this is a friggin microbrewery! Can't you see that the taps have no brands or designs on them? They say things like Special Lager, or IPA, or Stout - because that is why you are here - to eat good original food and drink good original microbrewed beer. Nobody goes to Casa Gallardo and orders the Taco Bell Five Bean Burrito for heaven's sake! One asshole orders a friggin Killian's - the bartender had the great patience to point said dickhead to the Special Lager, which has a similar and better flavor. Of course he took it since he really doesn't care what it tastes like, because people who order Killian's want to get drunk and are too chickenshit to drink liquor.

After a nice pasta dinner and a couple beers, I decided to try out the carrot cake. I am a big fan of a good carrot cake, and I am under the dillusion that carrot cake is healthier than other cakes or sweets 'cause it's made with vegetables and nuts. Apparently, the bartender misjudged me and thought I was good fan of a big carrot cake - because she brought me out a slice so big, it had to have been cut from something that was alive and moving. Thanks for not warning me, you actually think I can eat all this. The best part is when a decent looking Australian girl accompanied by a fat chick and an ugly girl with her unambitious boyfriend saw the thing as they filed past me and decided to make comments.

Aussie girl goes, "I'll give you $100 if you eat that." Sure you will sweetheart. Why don't I just scrape off the gallon of cream cheese icing covering this monster, eat that, and you can blow me. Hey, you can taste the icing in my cream filling.

Fatty girl goes, "Hey, share it with us! We'll drink your beer too!" (Yes, she really said this. No joke. Plus she suggestively rubbed my back as she said it. ) Are you serious? Wow, you must have been in this lucky situation before! Is it always carrot cake and Special Lager you begged away from the strange guy at the bar - or have you switched it up some, like a fudge cheesecake/Stout combo? To paraphrase Ice Cube, why don't you get off my cake nasty, and tell your friend to come here.

Of course, this group doesn't go away, the four of them take positions directly behind me. I hate that shit. As most of my friends know, I am pretty sensitive about personal space. I can feel it when people brush against my clothes; I can typically kill mosquitoes the second they land on me (my total mosquito bites over any summer are in single digits); and unless the person is pretty hot, famous, or important - I hate it when strangers touch me. If I know you, great. But don't rub up on me if I don't know who you are and whether or not you like to get freaky with your dog, literally. Eventually, the guy in the group asks me if I will scoot over a bit so they can fit an extra stool in so the ladies can sit down. Smart man. Aussie girl takes up the position next to me, and gives me a look - ok, she wants to talk. She is pretty, and seems reasonable, and hasn't touched me without permission, so we talk. Turns out she is very cool, just returning from a reception that ended early, and is down to party. If this was any other weekend, and if I did not have to be awake, dressed in uniform and ready to fence in exactly 9.5 hours (time is now 11pm) - I would be writing about bedding my first Aussie chick. But just like in Doom, sometimes you got to leave a target behind to make it to your real objective. So I gave my regrets, and head back to the hotel.

The actual tournament was pretty difficult. I was awake and ready Sunday morning, and a can of Red Bull helped me midafternoon. I was ranked 27 of 34 fencers in the Open Epee event and about 9 of 34 in the D (rated) and under Epee that afternoon. Not my best showing, but an overall improvement over previous years.

This was also the first tourament I ran into a new issue. You see fencing is the only thing I have ever put my heart and soul into after college that doesn't somehow involve me getting laid. I volunteer a lot with my fraternity - and I am afraid to try to remember how many girls I got base hits and beyond at fraternity parties in and outside of college (not all TKE parties either). I work hard - and there are at least three girls from work on my cell phone and work messenger list who are at least somewhat interested. I go to church - not only because it is good for me, but where else will I find a decent woman? But fencing was all about fulfilling a childhood dream, and just the joy of the game. I am not the best, but I am good and getting better. Plus, my uniform is not what I would call stylish. Nevertheless, If a woman is not impressed, she can kiss my ass. That is until today.

Today between matches I met one cute girl from Tennesee who was a soccer player that needed another sports outlet because soccer earned her too many concussions. Unfortunately for her, she went up against a guy who has a penchant for ramming people in the head with his heavy epee - and she got another one today and had to withdraw. But before the pain set in, I found her to be a wonderful person and easy to talk to - and for a second I lost my focus.

Soon after I met another girl - a freshman from Middle Tennesee State University, who decided to compete in one of the toughest tournaments I have been to, as a beginner. Not a beginner who has been at it for a bit, but one who has only been fencing for two weeks. Three lessons. This chick doesn't even know what a parry is. Good heavens, I bet EVERYONE READING THIS KNOWS WHAT A PARRY IS. If not, think of the Daffy Duck episode where he is playing Robin Hood and is fighting with the staff - he does all the parry and other fencing style motions. After I got over the fact she shouldn't even be here - I noticed she seemed eager to learn all those things that will help her get points (winning was not an option at this early juncture), and she was really funny. Pretty girl, loves to fence (even though she doesn't know how), and funny? Guess who is going to be hanging with you for awhile? Coletrain, that's who.

The best part is that she wanted to practice moves between matches - this kept my blood flowing and my brain alert. Normally, I would pace the room, and today I would have laid out on the ground and slept - after all I have been fencing all day today. After the tournament was over, we exchanged emails and she vows to write me - although I don't have the faintest clue what about, but it was fun hanging out anyway. I am still pretty new to the fencing scene in Georgia, and my new clubmates are still trying to figure out what to make of me, so being able to do what I love and not just brood in a corner during breaks was refreshing.

Long story short - Chattanooga nightlife sucks, fencing rules.

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