Addicted

I have an unusual thirst for blood. Now before you go off trying to come up with the correct medical terminology related to this disorder, let me clarify.

I Love Fights!

I went to the UFC fight in Vegas a couple of weeks ago and found out that I am an insenstive, bloodthirsty, whore of a human. My husband has decided that there is something so seriously wrong with me, he may need to commit me to the State Hospital. I believe he's thinking of hiding the children.

The pomp and circumstance surrounding these fights made me roll my eyes. "Yeah, whatever," I thought. "Just show me some blood." The stadium was full of screaming fans, the music was pounding, the floor was vibrating and I was drooling thinking about the amazing injuries I would see.

Yet, with each fight I became more disgusted. "Where's the blood? Where are the injuries?" I kept thinking. I was so disappointed. "Can't he just break the other guy's leg or something?" I wondered out loud. Four pairs of very disturbed eyes turned towards me. "WHAT?" I snapped.

Then it came. Someone finally broke open a torrent of blood. An amazing right to the eye was all it took. That man could HIT! The red was on the mat and I felt the excitement rise. Finally there was blood! I stood up in my seat as I screamed "Oh Thank God! Finally! Someone's hurt." My husband replied with "There is something very, very wrong with you."

It's Emergency Nurse Porn. Blood, broken bones, open chest wounds - they're all we need to feel the rush of adrenaline, the pounding of our hearts, and the excitement of what's to come. What I wouldn't give to be on the medical staff of a fight team.

The really sad thing is that I don't even know the fighter's names. I have no idea who they are, how many fights they've won, how long their reach is.........................nothing. My dear friend Heidi - the one who tricked me into watching the fights on pay-per-view the first time and got me addicted to the heroin that is UFC - just shook her head in dismay. Her disappointment in my knowledge of the fighters was palpable.

"I don't care who they are. I just want to see them hurt somebody," I told her.

"You have no respect for their talent!" she cried. "That's Rampage Jackson out there! And look - Tito Ortiz just walked by!"

"Tito who? Will he hurt someone?"

"You need help," she said.