Roxanne Modafferi

The Happy Warrior

Anecdotes of a Happy Warrior – the pen is mightier

Posted in amusing, story or poem on August 14th, 2016 by roxyfighter

Intro: The Pen is mightier….

6th grade. 1994-ish

Social Studies – a relatively interesting class. I think we were talking about something health related, like “don’t-do-drugs.” I was listening to the consequences of smoking with rapt interest: lung disease and nicotine addiction. Who would want horrible things like that?!

A girl named Jackie sat behind me. She was always mean to me for no reason. Well, when I asked her why she was mean, she said, “Because you’re SO annoying!” which baffled me because she couldn’t elaborate. Later I heard that I had ADD tendencies and tended to butt into other people’s conversations around me, so upon learning that, okay, I suppose that counts as annoying. I didn’t mean anything bad by it, though. It’s what you do when you’re lonely and you want to fit in. I didn’t want to wear jeans and cute short tops like the rest of the girls. Maybe it was because I was a goodie-goodie, and I got good grades. Maybe Jackie was annoyed that teachers liked me. She kept putting her feet on the back of my chair. Her feet stuck through the hole in the plastic in the seat of the chair, poking my butt.

So I politely turned around and whispered, “Jackie, your shoes are touching my butt. Could you please stop?” She just stuck her tongue out at me. I turned back around. A few seconds later, she nudged me again. I turned around again. “Could you please stop kicking my butt?” I tried again, nicely. My mom’s advice echoed in my head: “Tell the other kid that he or she is hurting your inside feelings.”

That might have worked in first grade, but not against Jackie. I could never defend myself verbally. If someone called me something mean, or said I looked dumb or my name was dumb or whatever, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t possibly say something mean back. People aren’t supposed to say mean things – it’s very hurtful and continues the cycle of pain, right? So I always ran to the teacher.

Maybe Jackie didn’t like me because I was a tattle-tale. I lost all my battles, but I won most wars, because the teachers punished the offending kids. Haha.

“I’m not TOUCHING your BUTT!” Jackie whispered back, with a smirk.
“Yes, you are!”
“No, I’m not!”
“Is there a problem?” the teacher asked finally, pausing in his efforts to separate the class into mini-groups to do a team activity.

Jackie and I exchanged glances. “No,” we both said.

“Then please be quiet,” the teacher said.
She put her feet down. Peace. A few minutes later, she gave me a very hard nudge on my butt. On purpose.

I turned around. “If you don’t stop, you’ll be sorry!” I threatened. She smirked. I fingered my pen, wondering how I was going to back that up. What could I do? What? Then I thought of something….

I spun around and stuck my pen through the hole in the seat, drawing juicy black lines all over the top of her beautiful, white sneaker.

“HEY!” she shouted, leaping up. I laughed about three good “Hahaha”s before swallowing nervously. The teacher’s voice suddenly boomed, “Roxanne, Jackie, come up here now.”

My classmate’s eyes shot fireballs at me as we both stood in front of the black board.

“Okay, class, continue working quietly in groups,” the teacher instructed. “Okay, girls, what happened?”
“She drew on my shoe!” Jackie screamed.
“She was kicking me in the butt over and over again,” I said, “Even though I asked her very nicely to please stop.”
“Did not!” Jackie retorted.
“Yes, you did!” I retorted back.
“Well, she called me a bitch!” Jackie accused, looking at our teacher.
“What?! I did not! That would be mean!” I protested, also looking at him, with my innocent eyes aghast. I didn’t know exactly what a ‘bitch’ meant, but my mom had told me it was a mean insult and I should never say it. She sometimes taught me things on a need-to-know basis.
“She also called me a whore!” Jackie cried.

I blinked. “What? What’s that?” I said.

Jackie’s jaw dropped straight open.
“I couldn’t have called you that. I don’t even know what it means! What’s a whore?” I asked our teacher, who was shaking his head.
“Go sit down, both of you.” Mr. Smith ran a hand through his hair. “Roxanne, you sit over there. Jackie, you sit over there. No more putting your feet up on the chairs.”
“But! It wasn’t me!” she protested, angrily.

I smiled triumphantly. Yes, I often won the battles. The teachers tended to believe me because I never lied.

“Mr. Smith, what’s a whore?” I asked him after class.
“Go home and ask your mother,” he said firmly.

I shuffled away, discontent. Why wouldn’t he just tell me? It must be something SO bad.

Fast forward a few hours. I burst through my front door.
“Hi, honey!” came my mom’s voice from the kitchen. She was preparing me an after-school snack.
“Hi, Mom! I called back, dumping my backpack off to the side. “What’s a whore?”

I failed my middle school writing assessment! lol (poem)

Posted in amusing, story or poem on December 3rd, 2013 by roxyfighter

So in 1997 when I was about 14 and a half, we had a writing assessment for my middle school class.

I was a strong writer and loved language and stories and poetry.

So I figured I’d write a witty little poem.

I don’t think I found out the result! I think my mom hid it from me, because I was so pleased with myself. I just came across it while going through boxes with my mom. I GOT A ONE OUT OF TEN, and the comment “student’s essay is not understandable when judged by standards appropriate for his/her grade level.” They failed me! WTF?!?!!!!

I mean, wtf. How on earth could I fail a writing assessment? So I glanced at it and remembered spending so much time on it….I made it rhyme and everything! Then …. I thought about it from a teacher’s point of view. What if *I* had to read and grade this? and started laughing my head off. She probably thought I was being a smart-a$$! LOL HILARIOUS.

check it out.

Title: The Horror Cafeteria
(I am NOT describing C.F.Patton’s cafeteria)

Dank, dark, unpleasant to my nose
We go in and sit, like we are supposed
My friend and I don’t like the food.
It only helps depress our mood.
The cafeteria ladies are okay,
but I can’t stand them every day.
The benches are hard on my tush.
It feels like I’m sitting on a prickly bush.
I pack my lunch, but my friend does not.
She must eat it fast or it will rot.
I count two, on the menu of the day,
that won’t make me throw up right away.
I like the school very much.
Just be careful where you eat your lunch.

people and two months

Posted in every day, friends, story or poem, training, work on February 8th, 2013 by roxyfighter

Yesterday was nice.

Many thanks to my boss for giving me a light work load because I told him I wasn’t feeling well the previous day. I ended up waking up feeling okay, though. However, I went in early to prepare for one of my kids’ lessons. She is only 4, and she can’t be alone in the room with the teacher without crying, so instead of enrolling her right away, the mother bought a 3 lesson introductory package with me to try and get her used to it.

I think I’m in love. She is SOOOOOO ADORABLE. ;_; She’s so young, though. ~_~ But I prepared crafts and we played peek-a-boo with paper pupetts we made out of chopsticks and pictures of lions and pandas. And today, we cut out and pasted paper pictures of food on larger paper to make a good lunch box picture. She gave me some of her cut-outs, because she snagged all the good ones, and I only had water in my box.


Roxy: Oh, I only have water for lunch. hahaha
girl: *puts glue on the back of the cookie picture and hands it to me*
Roxy: Oh, I can have the cookie?!
girl: *Shy smile*
Roxy: Thank you! Yay! :}
girl: :} :}

And her coloring and cutting is SO NEAT. I thought she couldn’t do it, but she colored PERFECTLY in the lines and cut SO neatly. Wow. Her eyes are like shining stars, and her giggle is like angels laughing.

I hope she fully enrolls.

After work, I went to Groundslam (my dojo) to watch class. And meet my teammates. I chatted with an observer, and I took notes on Japanese I heard. Lots and lots of notes. It was very productive. Then after sparring, I talked to G-san, my friend and teammate who had helped me so much before. That was fun. And Brittany came late, so I got to see her. 😀

I left kind of later than I wanted, but it was soo soooooo nice. I love them. I’m not lonely if I’m around my teammates. The people in my life make me so happy. At the gym, at work, in my social life (which is basically work or the gym, lol) I’m not depressed about my leg as much as I could be. I have goals. I’m just hoping my injury keeps getting better. Two months. Two full months. But ‘only’ two months. I have a project I MUST finish in two months. It’s kind of a fun tense feeling of pressure I put on myself, and it makes me excited. Once I’m back to training, I can’t work on my project so much.

Two months.

Stream of Consciousness style writing

Posted in every day, story or poem, training, Uncategorized on July 26th, 2012 by roxyfighter

I was waiting in line in the grocery store. A woman in front of me passed by a mirror near the cash register and looked at herself.

I’m not going to look at myself when I pass. I don’t need to. I don’t care if I’m beautiful or not. People think I’m thin, but actually, I’m over my fight weight now. I should lose weight. No, wait, I’m not over-weight. I know I’m not fat. Oh, there’s my shoulder and arm muscle…so small. So inadequate!! I’m so weak. How did fighters like Sarah McMann get so big and strong? They worked hard. But I’m working hard and I don’t look like that. Lifting? I lift some. Why not more? I’m too hurt, or sore or exhausted to lift and do so much conditioning. Why? I should be doing stairs every day. What’s wrong with me? I work. I’m injured. Always injured. Always something. No guidance. No support. No, wait, now I have guidance. I have support.

I love Groundslam. Today I sparred Tsuchi-san. He kicked me in the face. I like sparring him because he respects me enough to try and hit me. But he’s so much bigger and stronger. I really have no chance. My black eye. Tokoro-san got me. At first I was proud, but now I’m embarrassed. I should have blocked it. I wonder how he feels. I’m sorry if he feels bad for hitting a woman. I’m sorry I’m just taking up space…I can’t provide a challenge for my male sparring partners. I hope they don’t resent me being there. Some girl. Get out, right? Wicky doesn’t. Wicky invites me to spar. “Roxanne, let’s go!” he says. Maybe he just likes crushing me. He laughs when he’s pinning me with his knee and doing GnP. I like Wicky. He’s a little out there sometimes.

Omigawa-san put his hand on my shoulder and nodded at me. He’s always nuts. He likes flirting with women and taking suggestive pics, but I think he has no idea how to with me. So he just stares into my eyes. “I’m so tired, Roxanne!” he said today. “You worked hard, today,” I replied. He just nodded. I like Omigawa-san, even if is scary and looks like Vegeta.

I wanted to spar more, but my back hurt. Will I ever fight again? Can I ever get into good enough shape? Many of the women I want to fight are in great camps where their jobs are running the gym or training, and they’re around fighting all day. I can’t do that….everyone tells me I should move back to the States. Then I could be a fighter 100%. But I don’t WANT to move back to the States! I’m psyched I got my visa so I could keep working my day job to support myself and pay bills. I’m smaller than my previous opponents now. Why can’t I bulk up? I want to go back to 135 but I can’t. I ate a lot and just gained fat. My previous personal trainer with the fat-measuring scale said so.

Deepak Chopra said that “*I* decides what’s real about oneself. The whole thing is a feedback loop. Once *I* decides something about oneself, everything in the outside world must conform to that decision.”

I always try and be positive. I see the world positively, albeit naively. I like it that way. It’s a happy world through the eyes of a child. Simple things make children happy. I want to keep my child-like heart.

Shopping was done. Walking down the path through the Lazona Plaza.

There’s a grate. Oh, it’s lighted. But how strange. I can only see the light from underneath the grate if I’m right next to it. I can’t see what’s in front, or what’s behind…

Hashi and I

Posted in fight, friends, story or poem, training on February 25th, 2012 by roxyfighter

I tapped quickly. Toida-san’s submissions came fast, hard, and merciless. The bell timer rang. Damn, and I’d hoped to get away with less than 5 submissions this time.
The heavy double metal doors of the underground Keishukai Headquarters slammed I heard “Osu!” Rubbing my neck, I squinted at who came in. It was Hashi. I squinted at the clock. Maybe it was about 9:30 PM. Sucks her work ends late sometimes, I thought.

I went another round and by then she came over and slapped my hand to spar. I felt her strength wash over me as I was muscled backwards and into a bad position. I struggled to regain guard and defend the submission. We went back and forth for a bit before she got me. I tapped. I hate losing to another female. My neck tensed up. That’ll hurt for a week, I thought. One minute left. I got top position for a bit before she swept me, and I was back to being on the defensive. I felt the ligament in my shoulder straining. The bell-timer rang. She went off to spar someone else.

I hate being bested by another female fighter. I wondered what would happen if we’d both been fresh. I’d done the technique class since 7:30, and left around 10:15. I have no idea when she eventually left. As I called out “Otsukaresama” (goodbye) she was hitting mitts held by her main trainer Koizumi.

I came out of the dressing room and bounced over to Moriyama-san, our teacher, who was sitting on the floor shuffling papers.
“Good evening, Moriyama-san! Are you genki?” I said with a big wide grin.
“Oh, Roxanne! Of course I am!” His kind eyes twinkled. “You?”
“I’m great! I wanna fight soon! I just can’t seem to get an offer.” I paused, strapping on my knee pads. “What’cha got there? Is that a contract?”
“Yep,” he answered.
“What for?”
“Oh really! Wow! Who’s is it?” I exclaimed.
She jabbed. I stepped into it and connected.
“Hmm my reach is longer,” I thought.
“Don’t just block, counter! Counter!” Koizumi screamed at Hashi.
She countered. It hit me square in….I have no idea where, because my vision exploded into bright twinkly lights. I fell down, got back up, staggered, got back up. I’d never been hit that hard before. Ever.

We had MMA gloves and shin guards and took over the far corner of the room at Keishukai Honbu (HQ). The tired gym members sitting against the wall all watched us female fighters sparring all-out.
We exchanged more strikes and she clinched. What a powerful clinch! I couldn’t break it. Koizumi screamed coaching advice again and again. That’s nice she has somebody, I thought idly, circling. The sparring progressed and we ended up on the ground. I got on top and grounded and pounded. She just covered. Another fighter shouted some advice to her.

Nobody shouted advice to me.

I wonder how it would be if we really fought for real? I want to fight her in a real MMA fight.
“Hey, let’s go out for dinner sometime!” I said.
“Sure,” Hashi replied. “Sounds great!”
“I’m inviting Mizuho. I was thinking Oden. Do you have a preference?”
“I love oden,” she replied, with a smile.

Uno, Hashi, Kadowaki and myself were all invited to the Koga Matsuri together with Moriyama-san, and although he passed away in an accident, we went to honor his memory. 2007