Whatta Tuesday

Jun 022010

Okay, so the place I rode looked nothing like this, but how bad ass would I be if it DID!

I was sick as shit last week and missed BOTH practices—suck!  Then I got to hear all about how aweeeesome practice was on Thursday.  And how my teammate got to do all these super fantastic endurance drills without me—double suck, I looooove endurance training as much as TrAC/DC loves push-ups!  After an entire week of inactivity, I feel like a slug.  So, I decided to be extra ambitious this weekend, get all of my make-ups done, AND do lots of cross training.  The weekend went something like this:  fun skate Friday, dryland Sunday morning, and trail riding Sunday afternoon.  Good times, right?

Since I am a derby girl, everyone in my sphere of influence seems to think I’m totally hardcore.  So they think nothing of asking me to do shit that I find kind of nuts.  Like TRAIL RIDING on a MOUNTAIN BIKE, when I have only been on a bicycle precisely three times (and that includes said trail ride) in the past 20 years!  Now, don’t tell anyone, but I am, in fact, NOT hardcore.  And I’m sure that most of you TRUE hardcore derby girls, thrill seekers, and risk takers, would think that what I did Sunday was merely child’s play.  But it’s my story, so, it was totally hardcore!

I don’t really know exactly what I was expecting this trail riding experience to be like.  I know that my best friend is positively terror stricken every time her husband suggests that he might want to take a ride out to the Hooper Road Bike Trail, so, that should have been something of an indicator.  But, I hear “trail riding” and I think RIDE on a TRAIL.  Not, ride over fallen trees, through ditches, precariously close to a small ravine (okay, fine, it was a ditch) and so on and so forth.  But I was not to be deterred!

Moments into our ride, I began to think that maybe I’d made a mistake.  This thought occurred to me as my life flashed before my eyes when I ran into a tree at the first fork in the road.  I spent the next few minutes kicking the shit out of the back rim of my borrowed bicycle, the rim that I bent running into the tree.  I really just wanted to pack it up an call it a day at that point.  Buuuut, the thought of anyone calling me the P-Word was just too much for me to handle.  So, I huffed and puffed up and down, up and down, up and down the hills—most of the time pushing or dragging my bike rather than riding it.  Once, I fell into a bush, then slid backwards down the hill, dragging the bike down on top of me.  But finally, by the end of this harrowing adventure, I had mustered up enough courage to just say eff it, and I charged ahead, peddling as fast as my legs would allow—over roots, and tree branches, through valleys and ditches.  About an hour
later, I made it out alive, drenched in sweat, covered in bruises and scratches, mud and bicycle grease, but reasonably proud of myself.

Today, I cannot walk.  Not with a normal gait anyway.  My quads hurt SO bad, I can hardly raise my own ass up off of the couch, not to mention the fact that the bicycle seat did a serious number on my bum.  I counted 11 bruises and there’s a small collection of scratches on my right forearm.  I have no fewer than two dozen swarming insect bites and a small patch of black grease on the back of my leg that two showers later I still can’t scrub off entirely.  Good times, right? Common sense suggests that I may want to stick to 8 wheels, but against my better judgement,  we’re riding again next Sunday, if anybody wants in!  Pad your asses ladies, it’s a bumpy ride!

Photo Credits:  www.deater.net

May 252010

You Should See the Other Blocker!

I feel that this post is long overdue!  Ladies, feel free to print out these instructions and pass them out to your boyfriends, husbands, fiances.  I will probably post several installments!

Dating a rollergirl is not for the faint of heart, gentlemen.  There are intolerable things that you will be forced to put up with:  your girl smells. She smells BAAAAD. She has lots of friends, LOTS of them; and they all smell bad too. Her hobby is expensive—we can spend more money on SHIT than you would ever believe (It’s true!). Roller derby is evolving faster than DELL. She’s always covered in unsightly bruises, and you will probably catch some scathing glances from restaurant patrons when they catch a glimpse of her battered biceps.

But there are plenty of perks that go along with dating a rollergirl too: chances are your old lady has the sweetest ass on the block. Chances are your old lady has the meanest BLOCK on the block, too. You get the bragging rights of dating the Tri-State Leg Wrestling Champion. She’s the closest thing you’ll ever meet to Wonder Woman, and your old lady has her own old lady. How cool is that!

So, here are a few tips to keep your Warrior Woman happy:

1—Don’t EVER say, “Dude, I totally saw you bust your ass out there” or any variation of that phrase.  I just knocked down eight people BEFORE I busted my ass, so how ‘bout you point that out.

2—Please don’t bitch about the smell!  I know I stink. I can smell myself. People recoil and visibly wretch when I walk into the gas station after practice.  I really don’t need you to point out that I stink after every bout, practice, dryland, etc.

3—Forget the flowers. Bearings are a girls best friend—expensive ones, that come in tiny red boxes adorned with white crosses.

4—Compliment me on my ass, a lot!  Flattery will get you everywhere!  I worked hard on that thing. It’s nice to know you appreciate it.

5—If you’re going to get mad when I don’t pay attention to you at practice, don’t come.  I don’t hang out at the gym while you and your boys pump iron, then get pissed off ‘cause you’re too busy giving yourself a hernia doing leg presses to pay attention to me.  You don’t go to the gym to hang out with me! I don’t go to practice to hang out with you!

6—I’m on a high protein diet!  Stay the fuck out of my beef jerky!

7—If we win, tell me how awesome I was.

8—If we lose, TELL ME HOW AWESOME I WAS!!!  Now is not the time to bring up the fact that I accidentally took out my own jammer during the last jam when we were down by six points.

These are just a few simple suggestions that really will make your lives easier, guys.  And remember, the way to a rollergirl’s heart is ATOM!

Photo Credits:  dailymail.co.uk, bonesbearings.com


Full of Meh!

 Posted by at 8:00 am  6 Responses »
May 182010

It's MY party Bitch!

I’ve been staring at a blank computer screen for over an hour now and can’t think of a single inspiring, quotable thing to say.  Mainly because I’ve been feeling sorry for myself for days now and I really just feel like bitching a little bit.  So, since this is my diary, and I can cry if I want to, I’m going to do just that.

I’m fucking exhausted.  Every second of my life is planned and scheduled.  And I’m so sick of it.  I want to sleep in and get up at noon.  And I want to sit around drinking coffee in my bathrobe, reading the newspaper.  I have a pool that I’ve only been able to get in twice so far since the weather warmed up.

I feel like that little kid who’s stuck indoors, finishing his homework and staring out the window at all of his friends playing stick ball in the street.  I’d love to go on outdoor afternoon skates every Sunday afternoon.  I want to skate the fishbowl in Hammond sometime.  And I want to spend a Wednesday night at Sciara’s pummeling my teammates and fine tuning my blocking.  Every practice I go to I see the Capitol Offenders narrowing the gap between the A Team and the B Team.  It pisses me off, it makes me nervous and it fills me to the brim with envy.

The Green-Eyed Monster

It also drives me to work my ASS off at practices these days.  Granted, I should have been working my ass off since I started, but nothing drives you like fear sometimes.  I’m not losing my spot on that roster!  Since my availability is limited, I’ve got to really start making the most of the time I have.  So, starting today, ladies, it’s take no prisoners.  I’m going to hit everything that moves!  If you’re in striking distance, I’m going to do my best to take you down. And please don’t take it personally if I happen to knock you on your ass!  The only thing YOU’VE done to deserve it, is gotten better!  ; )

Photo Credits:  fotoJENica a/k/a Jenny Romney and http://lovethatfeeling.com/blog/its-not-easy-bein-green/

May 112010

So, I’m going to start this post off by apologizing to anyone who may get hurt feelings after they read this.  I LOVE, love, love all of you Freshies, JUST as much as I love my Senior Skaters!  And I love everyone who falls in between those two ranks!

I am so super stoked to see like 20 new heinies in hot pants every time I come to practice!  I mean, you guys are the future of Red Stick Roller Derby!  Really!  Hopefully by the end of this season, you’ll be kicking the shit out of anyone you run across on the flat track.  And next season, YOU get to teach the new crop of skaters how to be ball busting bitches without ever smearing their sassy red lipstick!

And to my Capital Offenders.  Um, I hardly feel right calling anyone of you “Rookies”.  I got totally smoked by two of you at practice Thursday night, and when you hit like a wrecking ball, well, “Rookie” just don’t apply anymore.  And I gotta admit, while my ego was bruised almost as much as my ass, my chest swelled with a little bit of pride, you know, that “my little girls are all grown up” feeling.

All that said, I’m having a hard time mustering up the enthusiasm that I had when I rolled into the Red Stick for the first time, two and a half years ago.  And I finally figured out why–I miss my Senior skaters!!!  Waaaaa! As much as I am in love with the game, I guess I’m equally in love with the fifteen or so girls that I started out with.  I mean, when you see the same eight faces, day in and day out, forEVER, like more than your family, more than your “I Swear We’ll Be BFF’s FOREVER, for REAL” friends, you really fucking miss them when they’re gone!!  I know that there’s no retirement plan with Red Stick Roller Derby, and I never actually expected any of you to be around that long, but it never once occurred to me that you wouldn’t be!  And it’s totally selfish of me to feel this way, but I totally want all of you to put your lives on hold until I’M done playing roller derby.  I mean, who needs a phD, or to get married, have kids, get a new job, open your own business, move away.  I mean FUCK, Whatta Tuesday ain’t done playing, didn’t anyone tell you??

Long story short ladies, I’m super proud of all of ya’ll–you’ve all done some amazing things since I’ve known you.  And I’m sure you’ll continue to amaze me.  And I’ll always consider myself the luckiest girl in the world for havin’ known ya, but please come baaaaack before I cry my little eyes out!

Photo Credits:  Girls, Guns, and Glory and Word Press

May 042010

Swallow that pride!

With all of the posts that have been cropping up on LDG about wreckage in our personal lives, I can only assume that everyone’s been having a shit time of it lately.  This has preeetty much become the norm for me.  But I can’t complain because it’s shit that I created myself!  My life has been like an inactive volcano that’s been rumbling beneath the surface for the past 13 years and finally built up enough pressure to spill over—and looking around, there’s plenty of destruction.

That said, I can do one of two things, continue to wallow in it and take everyone around me along for the ride.  Or, I can learn from it, grow from it, clear away the wreckage and start over with a clean slate.

I know in MY mind, my problems are the hugest, worstest, most miserable problems in the entire world.   (Most of us do have that mentality.)  I used to get completely consumed with worrying about my problems, I was miserable, stressed out, and angry.  I lashed out at everyone around me like they were somehow responsible for any of the shit that I’d stirred up in my own life.   And in turn they’d strike back, thus creating and even bigger pile of shit that I could bitch about.  I was the best bitcher in the entire world.  Had perfected the art of bitching.  Could have gotten paid for it.  And could have built my EMPIRE with my dividends.

My AA sponser, who is kickass by the way, doesn’t let me get away with that shit anymore.  She is more than happy to shine a light on the the problem, which is generally me, and she usually has profound advice for me:  “Stop bitching about it, stop taking your shit out on other people, take some action and clean up the mess you’ve made.  It is, after all, your mess!”   (And she occasionally tells me that I’m acting like a dumbass, which I don’t mind either, because I usually am!)

Probably one of the most valuable lessons that I’ve learned from her, and from being in recovery, though, is that you reap what you sow.  I mean, we’ve all heard it before, but it never really REGISTERED with me until I removed my head from my sphincter and actually became AWARE of how I was treating people!  You’d think that since I’m a waitress and that my livlihood depends on the generosity of strangers, I’d been acutely aware of how my attitude towards others affects their attitudes toward me.  But I’d rather call that lady at table A2 a bitch for only leaving me a

Dolla Dolla Bill

dollar on $62, than being NICE and earning a proper tip!  So what if she snapped at me first?  Is snapping back REALLY going to be benefit me in the long run?  Maybe she really is just a gigantic bitch, but maybe her dog got run over this morning—I’m not the only person in this world that has bad days!  If I’m NICE to her, I MIGHT get nice back.  If I’m an ASSHOLE to her, I’m guaranteed that she’s going to be an ASSHOLE right back.  AND only leave me a dollar.

Soooo, ladies, what I’m getting at—maybe you are having a really bad day, and maybe one of your teammates IS being a bitch and yells at you “for no reason”.  You don’t have to yell back.  Stop for just one second, maybe she and her boyfriend just broke up, maybe she just got laid off, maybe her bunny that she’s had for six years died, maybe she’s got some really wicked rink rash on her heinie!  Turn the other cheek.  (Ha, ha—cheek!)  I promise, it won’t kill you!  You may choke on your pride when you try to swallow it down, but it ain’t gonna kill you!


Photo Credits: http://forum.redstickrollerderby.com/search.php?search_id=active_topics&sid=4d2e2f7da4aad8b9a1d944cfc58231ad, http://media.photobucket.com/image/Rink%20Rash/troublegum_69/07062008170.jpg, http://blog.mpl.org/nowatmpl/Dollar.jpg