New skates = sore bum

I got birthday skates this year. This was a very well-informed, extremely needed gift from my folks and I'm thrilled. They gathered intelligence using my husband and my friend and league-mate Dee, who owns Bruised Boutique, and got me EXACTLY what I wanted. I now have Riedell 965 boots mounted on XK4 DA45 plates (short/forward mount). I can't even begin to say how touched and grateful I am that they did that.

After skating on a slightly larger plate mounted all the way back on my skate for so long, I felt like I was re-learning some basic skating habits last night. At least once it became apparent that my "hanging out and listening between drills" body posture will have to change - I kept tipping backwards and fell on my bum at least once. Thank goodness I remembered my butt pads this time.

The plates are nicely maneuverable and snappy. I'm sure the shorter plate helps, and man, these 45 degree trucks are excellent. I always loosened my trucks as far as they would go before the wheels hit the boot, and even fully tightened these are looser than my old ones. I'll probably experiment with softer cushions to see how far I can push this, because I love wiggly skates.

I'm pleasantly surprised at how easy these are on my feet given their newness. I hope this comfort lasts - I'm always suspicious of insta-comfort boots and their long-term fit. However, my friends who wear these boots have all said that they don't stretch like crazy, and the padding inside doesn't smoosh and flatten out, leaving too much space. Fingers crossed.

Nom nom nom - birfday!

It's almost that time again. I'm looking forward to once again stretching out my birthday fun into a week-long excuse to eat cupcakes for every meal while I simultaneously demand to be fed freshly made popcorn "because it are mah birfday." I am also allowed to use run on sentences when my week-long birthday festival is being celebrated. You can't tell me what to do, and you are not the boss of me.

I'm like a giant eight-year-old about my birthday. I will never grow out of this.

Because it are my birfday on the 15th, this means I'll be missing practice to celebrate it with my family. I'm working on my birthday present to myself: not feeling EXTREMELY GUILTY about missing a practice and therefore not watching the freshies work on their pack skating.  Normal people don't freak out about things like this. However, I'm sure I've long since established that I'm not normal.

They're learning so much and doing it so quickly that I feel like I'll miss major changes if I so much as blink. I felt like I missed a whole universe's worth of practices when I was away at Nationals. In reality, I only missed one, but when I got back it felt like I'd missed ALL THE PRACTICES. So much had happened over that weekend that I found myself wondering who these strangers were that replaced the freshies I was used to. I don't want to miss the practice where Jane Q. Freshie has a major breakthrough, or Samantha X. Newbie discovers she's a natural at blocking. I think it's because the competition is so fierce this year and the freshies are SO GOOD. The level of skill is off the metaphorical chain.


My friends and family keep reminding me that it's ok to pencil in some "me" time once in a while so I don't go crazy, buy a rifle, and start picking off babies from a bell tower. I forget sometimes that taking care of oneself is a priority because it's necessary. I should get the airplane safety manual illustration on the right tattooed on my forearm so I remember to put on my mask first. If I'm unconscious, how can I help the little kid next to me with the bowl cut?

History

Someone called me a "super vet" today. I forget that age in derby is like age for a computer - 4 years is actually kind of old.

I wasn't around when the league was founded - I joined after the first bouting season ended. I feel like a babe in the woods, but at this point there are more skaters on the teams these days who started after me than there are who started before me. When did I get to the middle of the pile?

This year, I've watched skaters who started after me hang up their skates. I'm on the coaching committee now and I'm evaluating the incoming class of skaters. I'm going to be captaining my team this season, and I'm ending a multi-year stint on the executive board. Holy crap. Looking at this, I feel like I've really lived compared to some. Not a bad way to start my 4th year of skating.

What kills me are the little things that are now second nature that I never thought I'd master. I can do turning toe stops without thinking about it. I wish someone had told the freshie "me" that I'd eventually be able to do these while reading a practice plan and thinking about my dog. I was so sure I'd never get to this point. It's kind of neat to be here.

I have become zee proud mama.

I'm psyched to have been elected one of the co-captains of the Nuts for next season. I love my team and I'm stupid excited about being chosen to take on such an important gig. I'm leaving a number of league jobs I've held for some time, and I'm ready to take on something new.

However, with this comes one major loss: I can't be freshmeat mama anymore. Being a team captain means that I become a coach and I represent my team at the draft. Thus, I'm one of the people responsible for making every round of cuts during freshie training. Since the Mama role is all about shepherding and comforting the freshies through the cuts, the two gigs are mutually exclusive.

Looking ahead to freshie training, I feel a little strange. I'm a Project Runway nerd, so I'll use a PR metaphor. I feel like I've spent two years being Tim Gunn and now I have to become Michael Kors. I used to be the one ushering them towards assessments and watching from the sidelines with my "Go Freshmeat!" sign. I hosted freshie get togethers at my house so I could hang out with the new skaters far away from the stress and sweat of practices. It was an honor to be the official "cheerleader" for team freshmeat. I loved every second of that job and I'll always be grateful that the coaches let me create it.

This season I'll get to coach freshie practices and continue to push them to kick butt during assessments. I'm a teacher to the core, and I'm so excited about being able to run drills and show freshies the skills I've learned from all of the outstanding coaches on the league. That's one of the most exciting aspects of this new turn in the road. I've wanted to do this forever, and I can't wait to start.

However, I'll also have to keep my eye on the freshies who are falling behind. I have to be ready to agree to cut the ones who fall too far. If we'd had cuts when I was a freshie, I'm sure I wouldn't have made it through. It's going to be hard as hell to look for the me's of the group this winter and to tell them and to say "better luck next year."

It's better to leave a job on a high point than to wait until you're burnt out and doing the people you help a disservice. I'm leaving this gig after two memorable, meaningful, and extremely happy years. I'm stepping down when I'm in love with it. Because of this, I'll only take good memories with me.

Next season this job will be in the hands of two great people who will make it their own. Steve pointed out that I'll get to enjoy watching these two wonderful soon-to-be-vets pick up the torch, and that I'll be even more proud to see how they transform the role now that it's their turn. He's right, there's no prouder moment than seeing the people you've watched since they were newbies take on the roles you've passed on to them.

Maybe this will be more like that season of Project Runway where Tim Gunn had to step in and judge the final collections at the last minute. I hope so. I'll always be rooting for the freshies, even as I have to take a turn in the judge's seat.

What do these three images have in common?

  

All three photos feature a captain. 2011 is going to be an interesting season.

You're older than you've ever been and now you're getting older.

I've often heard from older friends and relatives that the older one gets, the more people look to you for the answers. However, this comes at the cost of having fewer and fewer people to whom you can look when you need answers to questions of your own. As the season winds down and people start leaking out their retirement plans, I'm starting to realize that this is exactly why I feel so strange and unsettled right now.

When I was a freshie, I knew I needed to be a sponge, and I acted like one. I listened and practiced and tried to learn everything, and thus had little time to think about anything else. During my first year on the Nuts, I was one of very few new(ish) people on a team of very experienced vets. I spent the season simply doing what I was told, and had the luxury of not having to think at all because I was so surrounded by good advice. By the time this season rolled around I was in the upper-middle experience-range of the members of my team, and I started to feel confident enough with my playing that I could question things and believe in my own ideas. I'm ending the season feeling comfortable enough to offer opinions and advice without feeling like a pushy, sophomoric jerk.


I still have questions, though, and it seems like every day I learn that another of the vets I relied on to answer them won't be around next season. This sounds horribly morbid, but I feel like I'm starting to get old enough to attend the funerals of my friends instead of just mourning my older relatives. The protective layer of super vets is getting thinner and thinner by the day and I wonder who will guide and mentor me when I'm feeling scared and small next season.

It's hard to watch one's heroes ride off into the sunset. I guess that line "be your own hero" from Whip It applies like hell here. I've always dreamed of growing up to be like a lot of these spectacular women who are poised to become BDD's next group of alumni. I guess my goal for next season is to rebuild myself to fill the spaces that these heroes will leave behind.

Wow. Thanks, world.

My laptop's hard drive failed and my screen broke. The timing of this is simply stunning.

Ephemera.

I'm sitting alone in the gallery with the foundation of the quilt exhibit and I'm feeling rather emotional. Some of this happens every time I see the quilt now that such a large section is assembled and hanging. A lot more of this is because of the things I brought into the space today - one bin filled with all the envelopes in which the squares from out of state came, along with a mountain of ephemera dating back to the moment roller derby and I first met. I'd forgotten how much stuff I'd saved over the past three seasons, and all these feelings are cascading out of me in a way that's hard for me to process.

I found the flyer from the first bout I ever attended, when I knew down to my bones that I needed to do this. I found the invoice for my first pair of derby skates. I found the tag from the first BDD shirt that housed my newly approved derby name (back when twoevils only took a week or two to approve the names). I found letters from Mt. Auburn confirming that my right knee's x-ray came back "normal" along with prescriptions for PT and a diagram for a particularly complex knee exercise. I found birthday cards and thank you cards from freshmeat I "mama-ed," and these cards brought me to tears. I found pins and programs and wristbands and stickers from countless bouts.

I feel like I'm digging through a whole life's worth of memories, but it's only been three years since I started. The thing is, derby careers are so terribly short. It's hard on your body and your mind, and I know that we're all burning like candles doused in rocket fuel. We're giving off all of our light RIGHT NOW with such ferocity and there's only so much of us to use up before we burn out and it all ends. We do this sport at the price of our knees and our backs, and for some, our friendships and our marriages.

Today a few of my close friends and favorite skaters in a few different leagues told me that this is their last season. They're leaving because they know that their light is burning out. Reading these messages when I'm literally ankle-deep in piles of derby memories is tough. It reminds me how much I'll miss these people who have helped shape my derby life. It also reminds me that I can't do this forever, and one of these days I'll have to prepare my good-byes too.

My greatest wish is to retire when I want to, not when I have to. My second greatest wish is that I'll want to retire a long, long time from now. I love this sport with a fierceness that I've only felt for my immediate family and my dearest, oldest, truest friends. I love derby more than chocolate and sleeping late. I feel a deep level of affection for it like I do for my dog and cat. One of my favorite MassArt professors phrased it so elegantly: "This is my church, and these are my vestments." At first, it sounded a bit strong to my thoroughly non-religious ears. However, as crazy as it sounds, I've found a very powerful faith through roller derby - faith in myself unlike I've ever had before.

Roller derby might just be a fun, rough game on wheels, but to me it's so much more. Roller derby has made my outside match my inside. Through it I've learned a comfort with myself I've always needed but never knew was missing. It's almost as good as falling in love, and like love, I want to hold onto all of this for as long as I can.

The before time.

I cracked open my old myspace page and transported all of my derby-related blog posts to this one. For anyone who is curious, go ahead and look back at the newly-made-earlier beginning of this blog to read about my trials and tribulations beginning with derby tryouts.

Oh, the memories... I'll do my livejournal ones ASAP.

Good Skater

At the end of last season I wrote a bit about my triumphs, regrets, and hopes for the coming year. Among my hopes was a derby fantasy I've held since I started, and one I realized this past Saturday. I got MVP. Holy crap.

Ok, so how do I explain why this is the biggest deal to me in the history of ever...

If you look inside, most of us still see ourselves like we've always been, whatever that image hinges upon. For some, it's the ugly nerd in high school who no one ever wanted to ask out. For others, it's the dumb screw-up kid who teachers always said would amount to nothing. For me, it's the "Bad Skater" who would never be anything special on the track.

You may know someone who has been very obese his or her whole life, but recently lost a ton of weight and is now pretty hot. Hell, you may have had this experience yourself. Either way, you know how the newly-babe-status person still carries him or herself the same way as before the weight loss? Yeah, it's a lot like that.

I was weirdly nervous before the bout, and I don't really remember most of it because I was totally in my own head the whole time. What I do remember is the after party. I was standing in the crowd and I heard my husband call the MVP for the Cosmos (congrats Rocky!). Then he called the MVP for the Nuts, and suddenly everyone was looking at me. ME. In Steve's words, number40KDREADNOUGHT.

There are a lot of rockstar skaters who collect MVP trophies like Fresh Eddie Fresh collects skates. There are some lucky skaters who are so self-aware that they don't need anyone to tell them that they're good at what they do. For those people, MVP is probably a nice bonus after a great bout. They'll smile and accept the award and go on with their evening feeling pretty good, but won't see themselves any differently than they did the day before. It was a really big deal to me, though. Getting MVP was easily the single proudest moment of my derby life.

Why do I care so much? Because it's one of those "Good Skater" marks that I've arbitrarily made in my own head. It's a pair of size eight pants that reminds me to learn to stop carrying myself like I'm still a size twenty-six. 


Edited to add: The MVP trophies this season take the form of skate wheels. I skated on mine today and kept thinking about the circumstances under which I got them. It was nice to look down and see them under my feet at the beginning of every jam. Our jam coach came up to me today and told me that this MVP has been a long time coming. That really touched my heart too.

I've been carrying a warm little spark of pride in my heart since last weekend's bout and it feels pretty neat. Ok, not just neat. It feels absolutely wonderful. I'm going to make every effort to fan it into a flame, because this warmth sure beats the cold, dank, little cave I allowed myself to live in for so long.

Psyched up. No wait, I mean PSYCHED THE HELL UP AAAAARRGAHRGGRGHAHHH KILL KILL KILL!!!@!!111!ONE

Tomorrow we bout the Pissahs. I had some time to kill today and I made this little motivational gif:

I still can't believe that happened directly in front of the camera. I've had other great hits since then, but sadly, none were so well placed in terms of capturing the memory on film. I haven't looked at this footage in some time, but I'm glad I found it now. It's damned great motivation for murdering people tomorrow.

I'm also wearing my "Dread Smash" shirt. I wrote "DIE PISSAHS" on my chest in magic marker. Yes, I sent a photo of that to my team. No, you can't see it. Do you think I'm psyched up? Um, yes. Note the crazyface.

Normally I have trouble getting amped for bouts. I go into them and have a very un-Dread-like, almost hippy-ish "win or lose, it's fun to play" vibe. It's been a major hurdle to get over that, because I think it hurts my game. I've discovered that I need three things to get into "Bloodfeast Island" mode:

1. Music: I have a pre-bout playlist and a bout-day playlist. Once I listen to these I'm about 80% of the way down the road to "the bad place."

2. Superhero movies: I need to watch superheroes kicking ass. I don't know what it is about watching people run up walls and stab each other while their friends are shooting laser eyes and projecting forcefields. It makes me also want to do these things. The X Men movies are my favorite, as I get to pretend I'm Wolverine.

3. Skating in circles while staring at people time: shortly before I play, I skate around and stare at every member of the other team I can find. I'm not doing this as an intimidation thing or to show that I'm crazy-go-nuts ready to kill people or anything. I'm doing it so I stop seeing them as people with feelings. Once I get there, I start seeing them as objects, and then I can break them into tiny, bloody, pulverized pieces in my head. Really, no sane person should think the things I do before a bout. Usually I hit "serial killer" land just about when intros start.

I'm well on the road towards being stupid-psyched up right now. This is about a day earlier than expected. I think this means I'll be foaming at the mouth and punching walls by the time I walk into Shriners tomorrow.

I really hope that my commute home is uneventful. I'd prefer not to spend the night before bout day in jail for biting someone in the face.

Three years

Yesterday was my three year derby-versary. Yup - this giant war machine is three years old in derby terms. I found myself telling some of my teammates about my first year skating, and how rough it was. I told them about this girl:

The freshie who didn't get teamed for over a year. This is a picture of me getting the only track time I could make for myself - after the bout was over, before they swept up the last of the popcorn. After every bout, I'd skate alone, avoiding beer spills and discarded programs. I'd pretend that there was a crowd cheering for me.

I knew I'd never quit, but sometimes it got so hard that I wished I had it in me to just give up. I couldn't, though. I stuck out every injury, every failed assessment, and every practice where I had to skate around the outside of the track because I couldn't do contact drills like everyone else.

Any time I don't feel up to skating, I remember that girl. Back then, I would have given almost anything to be on the track with the rest of the league. I skate every bout for her.

Happy (belated) birthday, Freshmeat Jessie. You did it, and I'm so proud of you.

Rhino mama

Lately I've been asked rather frequently about who "Dreadnought" is. The question of "so what's your roller derby character?" tends to leave me a bit speechless because I've never noticed a huge difference between "Jessie" and "Dreadnought" beyond having one on my ID's and the other on my derby shirts. 

When I first started, I thought that choosing my own nickname was awesome, and I really wanted to find a persona to go with my derby experience. However, I found I didn't need to do any of that to feel right when hitting opponents, so it never came to pass. I can summon up plenty of aggression, confidence, and I'ma-get-you-ness while riding the bus in the morning or getting a cupcake at the cupcake store. Playing derby hasn't really made me more aggressive at all. It's just made me  ready to back up my natural aggression because I practice hitting people with my butt 2-3 nights a week.

Don't get me wrong, derby has changed me forever in more ways than I think I can fully understand right now because I'm so steeped in it. I'm more organized, that's for sure. I'm better at saying "no" to people who make rational arguments. I've learned how large social groups work in terms of changing procedures, rules, and commonly held activities and agreements (AKA "slow and steady wins the race"). I have more integrity. I listen to myself more and make decisions more quickly. 

More than anything, I've learned how to take care of people who are having a hard time because I finally know how that feels. Before derby, most of my activities worked well with my natural skills, and I tended to have a fairly easy time because of those choices. Sure, I struggled, but deep down I knew I could do whatever it was because "I'm good at this stuff," and that helped me through the bad times. 

Derby was different. I didn't know deep down that I could do this - in fact, I wasn't naturally good at any of this at all. I learned firsthand how it felt to be one of the worst people at [insert skill here] because I usually was. I learned how it felt to lose, fail, be passed over, and have to question whether or not I had it in me to succeed. This taught me more humility, strength, and tricks for positive thinking than I could have learned in a lifetime of doing what came easily. I'm living proof that we grow more through failure than through success, and that hard times build character. 

Maybe my derby name isn't about who I become when I take the track. "Dreadnought" is pretty much the same as "Jessie" in that sense - aggressive, pushy, and prone to smashing into people. When I think of my derby name in terms of what I've become because of the track, "Dreadnought" is different than "Jessie." Dreadnought is tough - she knows she can do whatever this is because she's survived worse and become stronger because of it. Dreadnought is hard to push around because she's proud to take up her own space. 

I liked Jessie, and I still do. I like what Dreadnought helped Jessie become, though.  I wouldn't compare myself to the ugly duckling because I'm definitely no swan. Maybe I was like this little skinny rhino baby, and I'm more like the big, strong rhino mama now. 

My favorite part is that I get to be this person wherever I go because I still don't see a difference between the two. 

No zombies so far.

After over a week in the new place, I've noticed the absence of something fairly major: imaginary zombies.

I wake up in the middle of the night at least once or twice every night, usually to use the facilities, or because some weird noise makes me think the world is ending. During the daytime the idea of Dawn of the Dead (the remake) zombies coming to get me when I get up to pee is totally laughable. Zombies? Those aren't real! However, at 3AM, those zombies are definitely real, and they're the fast zombies, and they'll totally outrun me as I thud my way across the apartment trying like hell not to scream for my mommy.

Our old apartment was filled with these imaginary zombies. During the daytime, they took the form of:

• Scarves, hats, and bags hung on coat racks on the back of the bedroom doors.

• The oscillating tower fan with the green lights that TOTALLY look like monster eyes.

• The closet with the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflected the traffic lights on the busy street nearby.

• Countless objects that become utterly terrifying in the darkness, as illustrated on the right. Why do I buy this stuff?

Also, the bathroom was clean across the apartment from where we slept. For years, I ran to and from the bathroom in the wee hours because I was convinced that zombies would get me. Logic, common sense, reason, and street smarts couldn't save me. At night, the imaginary zombies had free reign.

Our new place, however, seems to have been treated with imaginary-zombie-begone. We have ample storage, allowing us to leave our scarves in closets and other scarf-appropriate locations. The tower fan stands out against the light walls enough that I can tell it's a fan and not a monster who is trying to decide which end of me to eat first. There are no huge mirrors, and we don't face the street. Lastly, the bathroom is three carpeted steps away from the bed. Suck it, zombies.

So far I feel safe in this new place, and I've slept better because of it. So has my husband, because he doesn't wake up to OMG ZOMBIES [thud thud thud SMASH thud thud thud] as I run to and from the bed, crashing into the coffee table as I go.

Plus, if I do in fact have to deal with zombies, this place is far more defensible. Just knock out the stairs on both sides and fill up the tub with drinking water and we're golden until we run out of food.

It's finally happened: my own studio space.

New apartment with a working tub and tons of windows? Sweet. Studio space in the attic? Even sweeter.

I was up until almost midnight organizing the space, and this is how it looks so far. It has a long way to go, but at least I have my basic sections planned: sewing, printmaking, computery-stuff, library, future cutting area (when the table is ready).  I can't wait to start using it.

I have to figure out how on earth to sweep out the mountain of dust from, well, everything. Also, there are some old things up here that need to go, like a broken air conditioner and my computer from 2001. That, and I need to find a way to cool it down in the summer without blasting the electric bill sky high. 

Even still, though, it's going to be amazing. I can't stop looking at the photos, and I can't wait to get back home to keep picking away at the boxes.

Pissah fo' now, and points too!

I never, ever jam. Ever. We hates it, precious.

Lately I've been trying to get over my hatred of that role so I can be a better blocker. Last night I jammed twice during a scrimmage and I even got lead. I scored ten points, too! I'm almost indecently excited about that. The high point: taking the outside corner despite my better judgement, doing it completely on one foot that was juuuust inside the line, and through some miracle actually making it through the pack. Epic.

In general, I just had an all around good time. I went to skate with my favorite league, NHRD, at their regular practice. I was going to head out before the scrimmage started because they were playing the Pissahs, who we're bouting in a few weeks. I figured the Pissahs would want their team practice to be free of soon-to-be opponents, but they were playing short and invited me to join them. I don't see many Pissahs off the track, and it felt good to skate with old friends instead of against them.

Normally we scrimmage in our teams, and of course we practice and bout as teams. I often miss our once-a-week league practice, so I've watched my connection with anyone who isn't a Nut weaken over time. That makes me sad. My skater sisters are all on other teams, I miss skating with people who joined the league when I did, and I miss all of the freshies I "mama'ed."

Working closely with my team has made been good for our playing, and I love that. Still, it makes it hard to see outside of that little bubble sometimes. It's too easy to forget that we're all one league.

This helps, though.

Yes ladies, you get to wear tutus. Tutus for everyone. <3<3<3

Cuts like a knife

Last night was the freshmeat draft, and also the final cut. As the "Freshmeat Mama," I both love the draft and hate it. I love seeing who goes where. As one of the mediators for the past two seasons, it's been a privilege to be present at the draft itself, keeping time and recording the picking order. Still, there was a new twist this season - I agreed to send some of the "we regret to inform you" emails. I did that clumsily, and while I'm glad it's over, I'd love to go back to the before time when everyone was still here with us.

I'm thrilled to have new teammates, and new opponents, and I can't wait to see what they'll all do on the track this season. Still, I'm seeing the cut freshies everywhere today, and I'll continue to see myself in them every season. I admit, this system is worlds better than the torturously slow version I went through when I was new. There's simply no "mega happy ending" in which Garth gets with Dream Woman.

I just made a Wayne's World reference. Oh my god I must be tired.

My job rocks

My students really get me.


-- Post From My iPhone

Oh Whip It....

I just had to buy it today, and I'm definitely enjoying all the wacky Hollywood shenanigans. However, there are two things that consistently make me scream at the television, much to the chagrin of my pug:

1. It's called A whip, not THE whip! Do you call an uppercut "the uppercut," or a home run "the home run?" Of course not, because it sounds stupid.

2. Does ANYONE watch the inside line in these bouts?

However, there is one thing that totally makes me tear up and get all sappy:

1. The scene in the alterna-hipster-shop where she first sees roller derby skaters. I remember that exact moment in my life - sitting on my couch, flipping through the channels, and catching a glimpse of a tattooed chick in a helmet smashing into another tattooed chick in a helmet.

I wonder how many other girls have already had that moment while watching this movie. I'd like to think a lot have, or will when they rent it or get it from Netflix. Maybe watching that absurdly open inside line will help them learn to guard it a bit more closely when they decide to be their own heroes.

Once again, I've managed to catch whatever bug is going around. I've always been "the kid who gets sick," so this isn't new to me. As a kid I was on a first name basis with all the nurses, and as an adult, I catch whatever the kids in my classes bring with them to class. This stinks enough for my off-skates life, but man, for derby, this is just plain awful.

I always have a tough time juggling the desire to skate with the need to rest and heal. It seems like we do ALL of my favorite drills on the practices I have to miss because of a cold or flu. Sunday was no exception. They did johnny crash drills, partner blood and thunder, and rat traps. Watching that was absolute murder - all I wanted to do was race home, grab my skates, and hit people. Sadly, that's usually the worst thing one can do for oneself and one's league mates, so I had some ginger ale and watched from the stands.

Thank goodness vet attendance isn't tracked until Sunday. Hopefully by then my body will chill out and get better so I can finally put on my skates and kick butt.

A girl can't have too many tutus.

I'm getting this tutu in pink and black for our upcoming season because I plan to retire my old tutu. Last season I just had the one, and this year I'd like a few for the sake of variety. Plus, my tutu was just too long last season and I'd like to have something that is less likely to get caught in my teammates' pads when we skate in a pack.

Etsy rocks for projects that I could probably learn to do myself, but only after about six failed attempts and $80 in materials. Thanks MTcoffinzUnderground for making the tutus I wish I had the mad sewing skillz to make.