tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20464507619402017082024-02-20T22:11:32.562-08:00Angry Robot Roller Derby...in which I blog about hitting people with my butt.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-30666682484449883082012-10-15T12:55:00.000-07:002012-10-16T07:34:33.698-07:00Sympathy-Face: how not to greet a retired skaterI recently went to a BDD bout for the first time in months. Much like previous bouts this season, Pelvis had to be there before doors opened to do announcer-things. I therefore became the derby widow sitting in the stands reading a book until the doors opened and the rest of the audience poured in. As Pelvis<a href="http://derbywidow.blogspot.com/"> so eloquently</a> wrote, that's part of the job, and I was happy to show my support. During my wait for the lights to dim I saw a lot of familiar faces, and it was nice to say hello to former teammates and opponents. Then it all went down the tubes when I started getting greetings that opened with and/or entirely consisted of the facial expression shown below. I chose to display it in LOLcat form to spare the look-givers, because they knew not what they did:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy of <a href="http://icanhas.cheezburger.com/">icanhazcheesburger.com</a></td></tr>
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Nine people greeted me like this before the first bout even started. Every conversation followed the same script: "Heeeeeeeyyyyy, so......... how are you doing? Are you ok?" [cue face reserved for the terminally ill]. At first it was confusing (did I do something wrong?), then alarming (do I look sick?!), and then it just got really, really awkward because I kept responding with "I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be??!?!" [cue angry eyebrows and awkward silence]<br />
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I know that Sympathy-Face is meant to express compassion. It's reasonable to think that a person who once loved skating probably feels weird when they can't cross the "skaters only" caution tape. Maybe my previous "<a href="http://angryrobotrollerderby.blogspot.com/2012/03/looking-under-blanket.html">Looking Under the Blanket</a>" post made everyone think I was going to be perpetually miserable without derby in my life? I mean, sure, I was bummed to go out the way I did, but life after derby has been pretty sweet since then. No need to send flowers or buy me mylar balloons. I'm not dying, I swear.<br />
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Looking back, I admit that I was downright rude to some of these well-meaning friends. If I was a jerk to you, I apologize. I was wrong to respond the way I did, and the next time I see you face to face I'll make sure to tell you personally, too. It's just that by the end of the night I had gotten over twenty Sympathy-Face greetings and it drove me nuts.<br />
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I understand that greetings like this are well meant. What I need other people to understand is that the meaning doesn't always come across. Here are a few examples of how I've been greeted at derby-related events since my retirement:<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Not-So-Good Way</span></b></div>
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<b>What you probably mean:</b> I'm so sorry that you're not playing anymore. I know how much you loved it, and it was sad to see you go. I hope you're doing ok, and I also hope that being in the stands tonight doesn't make you sad.</div>
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<b>What it sounds like: </b>Wow, you must be so miserable right now - you look awful. Do you think you can handle being at a bout tonight? I hope you can hold on until at least halftime before walking in front of a train with a suicide note taped to your chest.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Good Way</span></div>
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<b>What you probably mean:</b> It's so nice to see you again. I've missed skating with/against you and I'm glad you're here. </div>
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<b>What it sounds like: </b>I have missed skating with/against you and it means a lot that you came to see us play. I've missed your contribution to the league, but you seem to be enjoying your retirement because you are an emotionally stable individual.</div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Really Great Way </span></b></div>
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<b>(hug optional)</b></div>
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<b>What you probably mean: </b>I'm really glad you're here. I hope your life outside of derby is fulfilling and I would like to know more about it.<br />
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<b>What it sounds like:</b> I'm glad to see you because I have missed you personally as well as professionally. I hope you're happy now that you no longer have to juggle the hard work of balancing derby and your personal life. I care about your life outside of derby because you matter as a human being and not just a skater, and I would like to know the details of your various exploits because I care about you.<br />
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Before you think it was a giant awkward-fest, I got plenty of good greetings, and a bunch of great ones. It meant a lot to get those sincere hugs and high fives, believe me. Of course being at a bout is weird and a little awkward when all of your friends are skating/working and your knees hurt because you've been sitting in an oddly-shaped plastic seat for five hours. Still, it feels a lot more awkward when everyone is looking at you like you're bleeding out on the sidewalk after a particularly nasty car accident, and none of them want to be the one to tell you that no one can save you.<br />
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I was about to end this post here, but I was reminded about a certain bit by Louis CK about divorce that is so apt I had to include it, even at the risk of making this post unnecessarily long. Readers with ADHD (like me) bear with me:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Let me tell you something. And this is important because some day one of your friends is gonna get divorced. It’s gonna happen. And they’re gonna tell you, don’t go “Oh I’m sorry!” that’s a stupid thing to say. It really is. First of all, you’re making them feel bad for being really happy, which isn’t fair. And second, let me explain something to you. Divorce is always good news. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true because no good marriage has ever ended in divorce. It’s really that simple. That’s never happened – THAT would be sad. If two people were married and they were really happy and they just had a great thing, and then they got divorced, that would be really sad. But that has happened zero times. Literally zero. Ray Charles has killed more jews than happy marriages have ended in divorce. So if your friend got divorced, it means things were bad and now they’re – I mean, they’re better. They’re not good. Life is shit wall to wall. But they’re better, so you should be happy.</span></span></blockquote>
After I watched that bit, a friend of mine told me she was getting divorced. My initial impulse was to give her Sympathy-Face and say "oh hon, I'm so sorry," but I backed up the truck and said "congrats" instead. Her whole face lit up, she grabbed my hands, and she thanked me for being the first person to say what she most wanted to hear. Why am I bringing this up? I think quitting derby is a lot like getting divorced. Bear with me here, because I'm still happily married to my first husband and both of my folks are still together, so if I'm wrong, I'm wrong.<br />
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Still, think about it. Isn't derby like an intense relationship? It enters your life, takes it over, brings out the best in you, and utterly transforms you in that one plus one equals two way that a strong relationship does. Then the honeymoon period is over and reality sets in - derby starts to take more than it gives back, and the weird little habits that used to be cute start to get irritating. Then you break up, and you're leaning out the second floor window throwing your old hot shorts out into the rainy street, or you're on the other side of a slammed door next to a pile of your old wheels, or you're shaking hands amicably with your ex after working out which days you can visit your local rink so you don't bump into her during couples' skate with her new squeeze. Finally you're at a bout having that awkward, hands-buried-in-the-pockets conversation with the friends you met through derby, because what else do you have in common now besides talking about your ex?<br />
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No one leaves derby because everything is working great. Maybe your body is busted all to pieces and you need to heal up. Maybe your heart is turned inside out and you need to start spending time with people who give more than they take. Maybe you're just really, really tired and you want more time to do things just for you. Hell, maybe you quit because it was a good stopping point and you wanted to avoid all of the previous outcomes. No matter what, you quit because things could only go downhill from here. Isn't that a good thing?<br />
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It's the end of the derby season for a lot of skaters in New England, and a lot of your teammates and opponents will be signing divorce papers. Maybe you will be one of them this year, maybe not. I hope it's amicable for everyone, because those throwing-crap-out-the-window divorces suck. Whether you're still derby-ing or not, try congratulating the next skater who tells you s/he's retiring. Ask that former teammate you haven't seen in a while how s/he's enjoying retirement. I'll bet s/he'll thank you.<br />
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And honestly, my derby retirement is really, really great. I get to sleep late on the weekends, I smell nice most of the time, I have all my toenails again, my pets recognize me, and I see my husband while it's still light out most days. Getting divorced from derby was hands-down the best derby-related decision I made since marrying derby in the first place. Don't worry, guys. I'm fine.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-61803477642537398982012-03-23T19:45:00.001-07:002012-03-23T19:45:59.964-07:00Thanks. Seriously.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As my dear friend Philzie would say: "whoa boy."</td></tr>
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I wrote that post assuming a few people would read it. I expected mainly local friends and derby people from neighboring leagues, but I never expected such a massive flood of well wishes, advice, and personal stories from people who are or have been in a similar place. I didn't realize so many people have felt what I'm feeling now. I guess this is normal? While I'm glad I'm not alone, I'm sorry that so many of you are hurting too.<br />
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Thanks to everyone who sent me comments, Facebook posts, and emails over the past week. If I still haven't responded, please forgive me. It was pretty overwhelming to read so many kind words and I don't want to send you thoughtless, rushed responses in return. Most of all, thanks to those of you who offered to sit with me so I wouldn't be alone tomorrow. I was nervous about not knowing what to do with myself or not having people to talk to, but I'm not worried about that anymore. Now I'm just worried about getting enough seats.<br />
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I'll write more after it's over, or at least post a few photos. Until then I'll stay up late, eat the types of food I could never eat before bouts, and think about what to wear tomorrow. It feels so weird not listening to my pre-bout-day playlist and watching superhero movies.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-16581086793359909642012-03-16T12:43:00.002-07:002012-03-17T18:29:08.867-07:00Looking Under the Blanket.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">March 24th, in case you're wondering.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I just bought a ticket to the first Boston Derby Dames bout of the season. Yes, that's exactly what that means.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Updating this blog is taking me a lot of effort, because I couldn't force myself to do it before today. I waited until now for a lot of different reasons. I was too busy with captaining duties. I was too tired. I didn't want to sound like a whiner. I was waiting to have something positive to write about. I wanted to be diplomatic. I wasn't sure what my plans were. I'd update when I was ready. Writing it down made it feel too final. I'm updating today because buying my first ticket to a Boston bout in almost five years feels like a milestone. This is an appropriate moment to get it over with.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Deep breath)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm not bouting this season.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Yeah, that feels more final already.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Why? It's so complicated. Last season cost me too much and didn't give enough back. I'll start my recap with the events around my last post. I reached the zenith of my love for roller derby when I became captain of my home team. Some people probably think this is a small goal. What about making the travel team, Dread? Maybe you could shoot for going to Nationals? Hell, go for broke and aim to win the hydra. Sure, those are amazing goals, but I'm not that skater. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Evidence of one perfect year. This was a tough act to follow. </span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I've never been a very physical person. I am prone to illness, injury, and weight gain and I'm a slow healer in all of those departments. While I enjoy skating the bike path and strength training, I don't like sports at all. I'm more the tutu-wearing derby player than the compression leggings type. I joined derby so I could hit people with my butt, and was surprised that playing derby apparently made me an athlete. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That's not to say I slacked or only showed up for parties. I loved the exercise and fought my way into derby shape so I could hang with the skaters who had been athletes all their lives. </span>I worked harder than I've ever worked for anything so I could become a good skater, and by the start of last season I kinda almost felt like one. Being elected captain felt like evidence that I had achieved "good skater" status, and I was so incredibly proud of myself for attaining that goal. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It did not go well from then on. I was no longer freshie mama, and instead I helped decide which skaters to cut during training. The Nuts became the first team to draft a returning skater from another team who wanted to go back to her old team. My co-captain and I were a poor match. I got hurt and then got really sick. I sat on the bench for almost the entire championship bout. I lost the captain election for 2012. If I could have described the worst derby season possible (excluding permanent injury or major illness) this would </span>pretty much be it.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I had hoped that taking my first off season ever would allow me to lick my wounds and find the joy that had been scraped out of me after a year of hard use. I skipped freshie training and gave life outside of derby a test drive. Other than the looming anxiety over what to do when the rosters were due in January, it was wonderful. I luxuriated in my free time, saw my friends, pets, and family more, and <a href="http://jessielearnstosew.blogspot.com/">learned to sew</a>. My boss remarked that I looked healthier than I had ever looked since she'd met me, and I took barely any sick days all year. I started enjoying work again, telling my husband almost daily stories about the funny things my students did. I was really, really happy.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkVYVP86Zi0WLT-8_KHoYWDJMmrVWz5fEWZl0MePZ2TDBevR3iQQyU-nB5VzNP_HPUj1cro0WOABLLg2u5EAP2Zl5PS-U3AvaOWvRAOMWqldKoiY7s_azHsME2T4pZZsINPJRRon5J1s4/s1600/match.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkVYVP86Zi0WLT-8_KHoYWDJMmrVWz5fEWZl0MePZ2TDBevR3iQQyU-nB5VzNP_HPUj1cro0WOABLLg2u5EAP2Zl5PS-U3AvaOWvRAOMWqldKoiY7s_azHsME2T4pZZsINPJRRon5J1s4/s320/match.jpg" width="232" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I agonized over whether or not to skate again when the season started up in January. I didn't want my last memory of playing roller derby to be sitting on the bench shooting pained looks at my <a href="http://derbywidow.blogspot.com/2012/03/role-reversal-widow-hat-switches-heads.html">announcer husband</a>, but I was frighteningly content without derby in my life. At the last minute I decided to go back for one more season and "just skate." I'd play on my home team, do small committee jobs, never be head of security again, and enjoy the sport I'd fallen so deeply in love with five years ago.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This is where my retired readers are probably groaning. Every skater wants that year. When you're burnt out from doing too many jobs, or you're coming off of a really bad injury or illness, when you're rubbed raw from all the politics and festering slights from years of working with the same people, you think you'll "just skate" and plan a glorious last hurrah of focusing entirely on yourself for a change. Maybe you fantasize about joining another league, or maybe you consider leaving all of your committee jobs except for the one with the least responsibility. I always pictured being one of those wise old vets who chimes in during strategy talks and speaks up if the team forgets the lessons learned when the league was new(er). It was a reachable goal, even if catching up after a couple of months off skates would make the start of the season a pretty steep uphill battle.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I went to my first practice. I was worse than I expected in some ways and better in others. I took it easy in a few drills because of a torn biceps tendon that I sustained carrying my sewing machine around. Then I fell doing a jump I had never tried before, and when I realized that I had re-injured my arm I immediately thought only one thing:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"This isn't worth it."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think it's safe to claim that I've collected more injuries than the average skater. I've broken my tailbone and my nose, I've torn my medial meniscus and my MCL. I've developed patellar tendonitis in my right knee and plantar fasciitis in my left foot. I've dislocated my thumb, lost both big toenails, and bruised my diaphragm. I've shaved the skin off of my shoulder, calf, elbow, and both hands so deeply that I'll always have wide, flat scars. These injuries have affected my ability to walk, sit, sleep and do my job over long stretches of time in a few cases. Looking back at all of these, I never once got angry at derby for inconveniencing me or risking my ability to function. It was always an inevitable side effect of my love for playing, much like how tinnitus is the price of going to a lifetime of amazing shows. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwZkIkzBhjAjuJ4vsvHmWkfeJLLZn_jDzpzFt2JykrG_BgD34Wf4qay5yUVFCmszSxgBXUr9dFZH8XHCT4M52LU6iakIGLVKfMagw2ILPzsemmugdaZVyoRKaL7c_Xvz4JKMi45RjHKrG/s1600/396483_10150785541185558_790140557_12435812_1965486632_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwZkIkzBhjAjuJ4vsvHmWkfeJLLZn_jDzpzFt2JykrG_BgD34Wf4qay5yUVFCmszSxgBXUr9dFZH8XHCT4M52LU6iakIGLVKfMagw2ILPzsemmugdaZVyoRKaL7c_Xvz4JKMi45RjHKrG/s320/396483_10150785541185558_790140557_12435812_1965486632_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This was unexpected, as I had already eaten dinner.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So I took myself off of my team. I knew that there were skaters in the draft pool who would willingly cut off their right arm to play, and would love my roster spot in a way I couldn't anymore. My team had a really sweet surprise party for me and gave me very thoughtful parting gifts. Then I went home and tried not to think about roller derby because processing what had happened was too much for my brain to handle. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now it's sorta kinda over? I'm an "inactive" or "non-bouting" skater on my team. This means that I'm still on the team forum and I can participate in team practices if they allow me to go. So I'm not technically retired, but I haven't skated since I sent my "stick a fork in me" email and I still don't know when I will. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's funny, but I was borderline elated about being free until I went to <a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/215513">Brown Paper Tickets</a> and clicked the "check out now" button. Before buying that single ticket I'd felt more relaxed, more whole, more myself than I'd felt in years. Underneath it all I knew that I had a lot of sadness inside me, but I think I was purposely concealing it from myself because I wasn't ready for it to be real. In an email to a friend today I compared this experience to waking up in the hospital after a grievous injury - relieved to be out of danger, with an IV to dull the pain, but all the while knowing that my missing legs are hidden under layers of bandages and blankets. I put off surveying the damage as long as possible because it was just too hard. Today I looked under the blankets. Now I can finally see what I've lost.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I can still be involved with my team by helping out and skating at practices if they'll let me. I could be involved with the league by volunteering my time. If I want derby back in my life I could try out again and hope to be drafted onto a team. The thing is, right now those ideas all seem as absurd as trying to strap skates onto a pair of legs that have been amputated. It's almost like I have some kind of weird reverse phantom limb syndrome. My skate legs are there, but I don't feel them anymore. Instead I just see the stumps and feel the raw edges of wounds.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Why is derby like this? Most retired skaters I know act a lot like veterans of war - hurting, broken, and haunted. Most don't feel like they can function in the derby community now that they're no longer in combat on the track. Coming back to manage, ref, or work on a committee is too painful, or those doors are closed to them against their will. Many even develop a genuine hatred for what the sport has become, even though in many ways it's exactly what they dreamed of when they were new. </span>Why does this happen? Where can true veterans of the fastest growing women's contact sport in the world go for support after they wheel themselves out of the memorial hospital? Which type of vet will I be when the wounds heal?<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Like most things, you get out of derby what you put into it. However, no one ever warned me how much I'd leave behind. I put almost all of myself into derby for almost five years, and like a crucible, it transformed me. I've always been a delayed reaction kind of girl, and I'm sure that the transformations will continue long after I go to the bout on March 24th. I'll try to be a better blogger and post my thoughts, because I've only seen a few blogs on this topic past the big, painful "I'm not skating this season" post, and I hope the writing will help me understand what's happening to me as it happens.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPIZ3itJK7fsB2fmE_EJ992Fw1jtq7rAer7wJlpvCq31SDW2kvXjZQU_nqNxjsydYmu1hW500Bd9nyHRwMQBSsqj1ZZHfARtcoJE7e-34jFwV34USaAOQJvi9W2cTI1kPohEmau6f2nuM/s1600/6029390908_89231c53c8_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPIZ3itJK7fsB2fmE_EJ992Fw1jtq7rAer7wJlpvCq31SDW2kvXjZQU_nqNxjsydYmu1hW500Bd9nyHRwMQBSsqj1ZZHfARtcoJE7e-34jFwV34USaAOQJvi9W2cTI1kPohEmau6f2nuM/s320/6029390908_89231c53c8_b.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Isn't it strange the way joy and sadness look a lot alike</span>?</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'll close this post with an offer, because as you are now so once was I and all that. Wherever you are in your derby career, one day you'll be the one ordering the ticket and trying to find someone to sit with at your first bout back on the other side of the pink tape. If you need a friend to talk to, drop me a line at da.dreadnought (at) gmail (dot) com. We can be there for each other because I'll need some support too. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">May you call your last jam when you want to, not when you have to. May you have the warm arms of a loved one to hold you when you click "check out now." Remember that I'm here if you need me. I like helping.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-76599558446220414702010-12-23T07:38:00.000-08:002010-12-23T07:38:26.214-08:00New skates = sore bum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7TCWcqUMm15pxb1uA-rxhAcUX9yYfNv3CmZ-1MGjn65oGL6sGp-0eZVWXUIKhQoJoXt85PQ_e4W7WZ6JXmFSYl0BTkdPtJL9oDNbtM3guiBE-UvqyYMiYvrjQQKQACI1Nei75IHwM067x/s1600/Riedell-965-XK4-DA45-Revenge-Derby-Skates-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7TCWcqUMm15pxb1uA-rxhAcUX9yYfNv3CmZ-1MGjn65oGL6sGp-0eZVWXUIKhQoJoXt85PQ_e4W7WZ6JXmFSYl0BTkdPtJL9oDNbtM3guiBE-UvqyYMiYvrjQQKQACI1Nei75IHwM067x/s200/Riedell-965-XK4-DA45-Revenge-Derby-Skates-1.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>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 <a href="http://www.bruisedboutique.com/">Bruised Boutique</a>, 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-9673060933779373122010-12-10T10:30:00.000-08:002010-12-10T10:49:33.769-08:00Nom nom nom - birfday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtqKvGDxkrpksAGRMxk1IGiMTUzC_9B6HRaKM-DcaQ_JaXPxcJ6Jy9mmEgDQQXNXReX9YC_QFVDAHroR_4R5I-nhD1U0HoAH4MB-94e9XOMT9R1L3KBiLb3zD_pgI8mRxB0rwxyLfN9GE/s1600/is-mah-birfday-where-r-caek-dammit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtqKvGDxkrpksAGRMxk1IGiMTUzC_9B6HRaKM-DcaQ_JaXPxcJ6Jy9mmEgDQQXNXReX9YC_QFVDAHroR_4R5I-nhD1U0HoAH4MB-94e9XOMT9R1L3KBiLb3zD_pgI8mRxB0rwxyLfN9GE/s200/is-mah-birfday-where-r-caek-dammit.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>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.<br />
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I'm like a giant eight-year-old about my birthday. I will never grow out of this.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAhZ7Jdo7VlUZqUMVTsSACni1D5_6S21QQ65hrOv9YEPtp6Sp-SJssncyc17VfiIY7Cvaaqa4sOm5b5kJ5TSd6FuHioqaGrO_m1VIkLtzZ56k9TuRgl1J3xfu5UJA0V2xx5FPfI6AuKT2/s1600/airplane01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAhZ7Jdo7VlUZqUMVTsSACni1D5_6S21QQ65hrOv9YEPtp6Sp-SJssncyc17VfiIY7Cvaaqa4sOm5b5kJ5TSd6FuHioqaGrO_m1VIkLtzZ56k9TuRgl1J3xfu5UJA0V2xx5FPfI6AuKT2/s200/airplane01.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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 <i>necessary</i>. 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?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-78987335751231030592010-11-30T18:20:00.000-08:002010-11-30T18:20:51.433-08:00HistorySomeone 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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZNcm6CtsJaEORWusZVA3S-1fO5kv0LGwdgZaQ-dtCgWBdN6LaL2Jl-WDel9JRnaOpWUtZt4y5P1i7Ij4u4-5fQwumArDtELJ4wVNB78j_msurHiaWVedFMBrZ-ggRYNSgmPSysOyU8jX/s1600/Nuts+cross+stitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZNcm6CtsJaEORWusZVA3S-1fO5kv0LGwdgZaQ-dtCgWBdN6LaL2Jl-WDel9JRnaOpWUtZt4y5P1i7Ij4u4-5fQwumArDtELJ4wVNB78j_msurHiaWVedFMBrZ-ggRYNSgmPSysOyU8jX/s200/Nuts+cross+stitch.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-9312722906538035812010-09-10T18:23:00.000-07:002010-09-11T10:24:39.517-07:00I have become zee proud mama.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzxY0KR7zmmM0_Lj-3vNBoq8tDBHD_f43tS8anaUdDrCwAnEeZEsJAn0_5OerHGnU7aaoaFrqaqxY_VYzht7ZAPjC72MO1ETod-_2LYFyx8g63RYMsqAeGfriuCVZ-YiUHIQlmYXrOyJBa/s1600/venturekillinger01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzxY0KR7zmmM0_Lj-3vNBoq8tDBHD_f43tS8anaUdDrCwAnEeZEsJAn0_5OerHGnU7aaoaFrqaqxY_VYzht7ZAPjC72MO1ETod-_2LYFyx8g63RYMsqAeGfriuCVZ-YiUHIQlmYXrOyJBa/s200/venturekillinger01.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HD0wmMbdbDz4E_fRWB_B8422qYo7df9MrhyE4rzAem35C4aQCQmm6WitCgAwt7Ej5CgMbvivLHNZuUQFKsLh6AI6Hy51DRXSXHjgN-FDRYxpjNj6e51HWF_AkAsex2yZ5p_rCieDNdj0/s1600/tim-gunn-02-2006-10-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HD0wmMbdbDz4E_fRWB_B8422qYo7df9MrhyE4rzAem35C4aQCQmm6WitCgAwt7Ej5CgMbvivLHNZuUQFKsLh6AI6Hy51DRXSXHjgN-FDRYxpjNj6e51HWF_AkAsex2yZ5p_rCieDNdj0/s200/tim-gunn-02-2006-10-18.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNnzy_ILCLBLC2PF3s2mUN-fppF4ySkjmZZ0ve-1FL43OEh23HZ5mJM0KiLfSi0sfS0sOaEtnJ4Re35qm7Cgvw5osq-44Fpood0oICiASJKf9Yvrc_UrPvLOFVTHD643XCFqwnG2PHcjt/s1600/Project-runway-heidi-klum-michael-kors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNnzy_ILCLBLC2PF3s2mUN-fppF4ySkjmZZ0ve-1FL43OEh23HZ5mJM0KiLfSi0sfS0sOaEtnJ4Re35qm7Cgvw5osq-44Fpood0oICiASJKf9Yvrc_UrPvLOFVTHD643XCFqwnG2PHcjt/s200/Project-runway-heidi-klum-michael-kors.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoU3wDTshyVKMkILXpSAxM1hNY_0qyUX4HcNRvFe9QghzqGo7rN_KsXSqUF2fXEySD0AsqVM4Qf8lGGYb5nQBwCvRWywGIk4y_6fk45F6TW7RrmpoDFhw84_In3H25CBoqop_Tbg3lo48j/s1600/go_freshmeat_09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoU3wDTshyVKMkILXpSAxM1hNY_0qyUX4HcNRvFe9QghzqGo7rN_KsXSqUF2fXEySD0AsqVM4Qf8lGGYb5nQBwCvRWywGIk4y_6fk45F6TW7RrmpoDFhw84_In3H25CBoqop_Tbg3lo48j/s200/go_freshmeat_09.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
Maybe this will be more like that season of Project Runway where <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9K8itwmMq5c">Tim Gunn had to step in and judge the final collections at the last minute. </a>I hope so. I'll always be rooting for the freshies, even as I have to take a turn in the judge's seat.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-56186776096998510132010-09-01T11:48:00.000-07:002010-09-01T11:48:52.627-07:00What do these three images have in common?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0EmuHcmKFaaFzHMUCo82W4D1V9ktOtQZzmHaWUmLZImspV25LETrIdRp744CneTyn-0PPG5FS-YloekSBHX8CyBfqXbwnQWWY65DCk-HdfGvlWrvOoYo6-jvZgBZXDWL62gRg-bhcURXw/s1600/captennille.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0EmuHcmKFaaFzHMUCo82W4D1V9ktOtQZzmHaWUmLZImspV25LETrIdRp744CneTyn-0PPG5FS-YloekSBHX8CyBfqXbwnQWWY65DCk-HdfGvlWrvOoYo6-jvZgBZXDWL62gRg-bhcURXw/s200/captennille.jpg" width="166" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDml1lsJhrp34c7ygq17lWce5m0o_FgM0tglLXiJ_AT17euFFrpFu4rFbAlI9CrflEUj29yYqvjAYI8UjoIjPtAuwAP2UDB7gyNO6g_9fmCNkoZiJHrcE6qpB-8SNCxaKia1WsLiIDg2y/s1600/priceline-21109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDml1lsJhrp34c7ygq17lWce5m0o_FgM0tglLXiJ_AT17euFFrpFu4rFbAlI9CrflEUj29yYqvjAYI8UjoIjPtAuwAP2UDB7gyNO6g_9fmCNkoZiJHrcE6qpB-8SNCxaKia1WsLiIDg2y/s200/priceline-21109.jpg" width="192" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMV2xENokHE7JDai6R-iJNpxXPexkHqP_SGRwlOo8M1YCtEzrLyGv_Q0B1cQyY3wTOulSLhWAhYuzhugQ02T7XK9CYJYKqlbcAzykoV5A1Rg-qBBLhc7HwaTnsr92YZHfTGv5-yo4ED1xZ/s1600/BJNuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMV2xENokHE7JDai6R-iJNpxXPexkHqP_SGRwlOo8M1YCtEzrLyGv_Q0B1cQyY3wTOulSLhWAhYuzhugQ02T7XK9CYJYKqlbcAzykoV5A1Rg-qBBLhc7HwaTnsr92YZHfTGv5-yo4ED1xZ/s200/BJNuts.jpg" width="114" /></a></div><br />
All three photos feature a captain. 2011 is going to be an interesting season.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-8034423253989846702010-08-25T20:58:00.000-07:002012-03-16T15:31:50.333-07:00You're older than you've ever been and now you're getting older.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdXN69dC4hqReO1JB-roPGcAxjQGLmySjM-rQ_5NNegCdf-xXm7uE41B9fEsZGTkAbw2MNzDTBwhjAivY8yqfqWXXGHoWguVfXlnnenscxyj59Yaq8ieqIwDHyVhbPyfji3QBvfdWA3CT/s1600/crapnuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdXN69dC4hqReO1JB-roPGcAxjQGLmySjM-rQ_5NNegCdf-xXm7uE41B9fEsZGTkAbw2MNzDTBwhjAivY8yqfqWXXGHoWguVfXlnnenscxyj59Yaq8ieqIwDHyVhbPyfji3QBvfdWA3CT/s200/crapnuts.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1E2lZSc1iZlu9G8D4haJiIofsVqAO-93E4fhMP-S1PzI3k2PDkP2jhl5lxsA1W43dm588Po6v1-_UiTQl7rMJGc-a0X3RC4KMyDimcJKfzf_Be0ch-rKPqqHNTzpYvavNIc3JSiUCqCU0/s1600/Nuts-cross-stitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1E2lZSc1iZlu9G8D4haJiIofsVqAO-93E4fhMP-S1PzI3k2PDkP2jhl5lxsA1W43dm588Po6v1-_UiTQl7rMJGc-a0X3RC4KMyDimcJKfzf_Be0ch-rKPqqHNTzpYvavNIc3JSiUCqCU0/s200/Nuts-cross-stitch.jpg" width="173" /></a><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWPqAFCCBL73-yrdiVlafImL41y8i_TETOz2n1HiNEAy9LpbZE07yOkFm0jSW_6AyD6Wt74aJAFPQHnnvHRAP8B7ZPXMCStSH_0l6uzb76Vx55svxTCNTA-IKDO4vwvdt_dpDMVnEqbAr/s1600/45744_540370496076_4500655_31744278_1562342_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKWPqAFCCBL73-yrdiVlafImL41y8i_TETOz2n1HiNEAy9LpbZE07yOkFm0jSW_6AyD6Wt74aJAFPQHnnvHRAP8B7ZPXMCStSH_0l6uzb76Vx55svxTCNTA-IKDO4vwvdt_dpDMVnEqbAr/s200/45744_540370496076_4500655_31744278_1562342_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-58041876801100206702010-08-04T22:18:00.000-07:002010-08-04T22:18:39.900-07:00Wow. Thanks, world.My laptop's hard drive failed and my screen broke. The timing of this is simply stunning.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-37620155180866275322010-08-02T11:04:00.000-07:002010-08-02T13:41:07.922-07:00Ephemera.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDLBxx89olAJBLOQjhenpPZ0F0_ntRXBzKlLhN_WG9B4AX5NwEoMkcIx7ZmAgjpkB5sQJ9Q18TZQCzc1Gs6ZENx_EkMxhGjPBfiPe9i6dfaQt3QKWDom3mYtbIvS43G0edcYcMX0tsRpp/s1600/12_stuff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDLBxx89olAJBLOQjhenpPZ0F0_ntRXBzKlLhN_WG9B4AX5NwEoMkcIx7ZmAgjpkB5sQJ9Q18TZQCzc1Gs6ZENx_EkMxhGjPBfiPe9i6dfaQt3QKWDom3mYtbIvS43G0edcYcMX0tsRpp/s200/12_stuff.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFzz96HCFiVIfu0rnoxdhaWwcJWI9SFkLaOn6ue9XnbqBS8Dmd45r5aE_Nrfzs36_xPHISbPtQCbBzAyQWz9Y5J_17GS6SWZG2c3XQfTZBkp9LZcXNabG3n1wnlLZ9i86dPj2BaP7OYMS/s1600/9first_skates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFzz96HCFiVIfu0rnoxdhaWwcJWI9SFkLaOn6ue9XnbqBS8Dmd45r5aE_Nrfzs36_xPHISbPtQCbBzAyQWz9Y5J_17GS6SWZG2c3XQfTZBkp9LZcXNabG3n1wnlLZ9i86dPj2BaP7OYMS/s200/9first_skates.jpg" width="150" /></a>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUOI5V5DkpmKREFQ7e8UADp5Bt2cuO1C7B77hc8jgnzDIBeqiKoi4L8ynGimbx3vCSfds5HWsWQRAYUtRyt9Q61efqh1tn162XbjRyq7TBwsyc897XkknYA6Q_LG5z6PJg5UEYg1lVXO_m/s1600/10_first_bout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUOI5V5DkpmKREFQ7e8UADp5Bt2cuO1C7B77hc8jgnzDIBeqiKoi4L8ynGimbx3vCSfds5HWsWQRAYUtRyt9Q61efqh1tn162XbjRyq7TBwsyc897XkknYA6Q_LG5z6PJg5UEYg1lVXO_m/s200/10_first_bout.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYHcxBiSFklF9htE-QWswCF2mZxcgIek7JkbYPfTZvGxsahBZz1Rn9-c3QE7bglRxiLkm6a4GvWsBZzQWL5qEvd9RXliZKCHdXPATWSBQ-S4whQy0bANkx-r-xK9BWNn0l7_0r5TIWha8/s1600/11_stuff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYHcxBiSFklF9htE-QWswCF2mZxcgIek7JkbYPfTZvGxsahBZz1Rn9-c3QE7bglRxiLkm6a4GvWsBZzQWL5qEvd9RXliZKCHdXPATWSBQ-S4whQy0bANkx-r-xK9BWNn0l7_0r5TIWha8/s200/11_stuff.jpg" width="150" /></a>My greatest wish is to retire when I <i>want</i> to, not when I <i>have</i> 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 <i>faith</i> through roller derby - faith in myself unlike I've ever had before.<br />
<br />
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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-84501586706023650262010-08-01T21:46:00.000-07:002010-08-01T21:46:23.501-07:00The 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.<br />
<br />
Oh, the memories... I'll do my livejournal ones ASAP.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-5525504714250877432010-07-23T18:38:00.000-07:002010-07-25T21:06:06.475-07:00Good Skater<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnNF_pba-SkjZKwtWrhgpo39rRi7YnjGOfXZBW_EhKLAu-FhgABUk66mDz7FN6UhxGgzzkSBs9HCGhCBJjZ6PNT2T8gJ2PoyIMNB6uL-8SM_36InXjg5Iyx-ZB2OQN1sDGH0zuoiT7UeE/s1600/Nuts+cross+stitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hBvTpH5McEh0XTUG7SzLtl_lTFczsCAj-2yy_pA3hH71wngX4HlUpxO2uBHFqMOU2c8BgnOCTAtLNYoUkdmtf6JvjC1sKkFDy_XmZzsUG5bhgNnXJ1yGXv0ArWQMG6XZajWXENHNtNox/s1600/4729406634_9d21c44715_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hBvTpH5McEh0XTUG7SzLtl_lTFczsCAj-2yy_pA3hH71wngX4HlUpxO2uBHFqMOU2c8BgnOCTAtLNYoUkdmtf6JvjC1sKkFDy_XmZzsUG5bhgNnXJ1yGXv0ArWQMG6XZajWXENHNtNox/s200/4729406634_9d21c44715_b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>At the end of last season <a href="http://angryrobotrollerderby.blogspot.com/2009/12/end-of-year-derby-musings.html">I wrote</a> 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.<br />
<br />
Ok, so how do I explain why this is the biggest deal to me in the history of ever...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2qYQelYNqmzLt1D4pmKqXnqHUupz382e6Wjj3mWXaIqzpzaV277djQWo791LrBAQwurgMn4aC_nbssdp_zIOKOShZqb4ZtX9HCGI5qUPjQXDaEkGchEcaE0dQ6Pg5eSned5Y_UEo4mOo/s1600/MVP_7_17_2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2qYQelYNqmzLt1D4pmKqXnqHUupz382e6Wjj3mWXaIqzpzaV277djQWo791LrBAQwurgMn4aC_nbssdp_zIOKOShZqb4ZtX9HCGI5qUPjQXDaEkGchEcaE0dQ6Pg5eSned5Y_UEo4mOo/s200/MVP_7_17_2010.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0wxc2DLodAYZPbmM5jHeK2HV22xaSsa9ZRC7vekPzmrqkj55ScRBtle35oCCoIo4bCW_lWzdptzl_Q0-KGjt6pMZgaifjOc5JGJyVfnsNe1Mh2f242cPcuXr_9VEwN2ECKGWdZd8__eJ/s1600/4531442037_7b81b8c9d8_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0wxc2DLodAYZPbmM5jHeK2HV22xaSsa9ZRC7vekPzmrqkj55ScRBtle35oCCoIo4bCW_lWzdptzl_Q0-KGjt6pMZgaifjOc5JGJyVfnsNe1Mh2f242cPcuXr_9VEwN2ECKGWdZd8__eJ/s200/4531442037_7b81b8c9d8_o.jpg" width="137" /></a></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">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. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<i>Edited to add: </i>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.<br />
<br />
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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-22860234983030925682010-06-18T11:29:00.000-07:002010-06-18T11:29:00.595-07:00Psyched up. No wait, I mean PSYCHED THE HELL UP AAAAARRGAHRGGRGHAHHH KILL KILL KILL!!!@!!111!ONETomorrow we bout the Pissahs. I had some time to kill today and I made this little motivational gif:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rollerderbyquilt.com/dread_smash.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="206" src="http://www.rollerderbyquilt.com/dread_smash.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6w-nGAdVaEf8fzzt8CWlSbNaNq17JmghC3DT4-ih-n-RdpGOx96PS61RGOZiBfubjkDEhO5Jvbz5tzUupLQwdr6vvKH4Iql7zJ-TIUsRuhU8x1WpfAXzhNHeDqjumttkf94Dv6wzh7JhA/s1600/d1smash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6w-nGAdVaEf8fzzt8CWlSbNaNq17JmghC3DT4-ih-n-RdpGOx96PS61RGOZiBfubjkDEhO5Jvbz5tzUupLQwdr6vvKH4Iql7zJ-TIUsRuhU8x1WpfAXzhNHeDqjumttkf94Dv6wzh7JhA/s200/d1smash.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
1. <b>Music:</b> 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."<br />
<br />
2. <b>Superhero movies: </b>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.<br />
<br />
3.<b> Skating in circles while staring at people time:</b> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-54094806340451448672010-06-15T20:43:00.000-07:002010-06-15T20:45:33.808-07:00Three yearsYesterday 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:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3E6gD1IE04uOEhRvYLlQRA3xkbOIIgVHjHPs8tiQnEzqQdDDhjxir-dgZSzhaTjgyUwXeI3kaM7DF8ddEWXH-rPOm5GkUXRRCwz2WGInTEcgTAouQSGZP301xnrmpyoice3OwFx5oJo-j/s1600/me_skating_prebouting4small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3E6gD1IE04uOEhRvYLlQRA3xkbOIIgVHjHPs8tiQnEzqQdDDhjxir-dgZSzhaTjgyUwXeI3kaM7DF8ddEWXH-rPOm5GkUXRRCwz2WGInTEcgTAouQSGZP301xnrmpyoice3OwFx5oJo-j/s200/me_skating_prebouting4small.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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Happy (belated) birthday, Freshmeat Jessie. You did it, and I'm so proud of you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-86388706264029458732010-06-14T12:30:00.000-07:002010-06-15T09:52:19.943-07:00Rhino mama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHgBOw1IeDhejjw7pUXkq5KzvvFjw73JLNN8RiofkB9l4H9tpMcPOSGLvv8MqkiLBH03XiVCqNEcCPxmFJ7ddaHMEN-5yN6DYbDq5V-gFvkcvqzJ_xr36e_EC8yGCX2G3z3WcqcezZ9OU/s1600/dread_early_years.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHgBOw1IeDhejjw7pUXkq5KzvvFjw73JLNN8RiofkB9l4H9tpMcPOSGLvv8MqkiLBH03XiVCqNEcCPxmFJ7ddaHMEN-5yN6DYbDq5V-gFvkcvqzJ_xr36e_EC8yGCX2G3z3WcqcezZ9OU/s200/dread_early_years.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px;">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. </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Derby was different. I didn't know deep down that I could do this - in fact, I wasn't naturally good at <i>any</i> 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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPt6ECGxEj2Aiq1ILnRoOGGKdDsavp96rdTT6tgeFHEYsJeUAm2HUvjoenbBg_hAt0JSF8tA79gfQWGoZCLHkWcnn_xejZWl0vtGLddDsvRuvJYvpHFmIx0gXWDUbK9YZeZZKDKcixNb4E/s1600/rhino_baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPt6ECGxEj2Aiq1ILnRoOGGKdDsavp96rdTT6tgeFHEYsJeUAm2HUvjoenbBg_hAt0JSF8tA79gfQWGoZCLHkWcnn_xejZWl0vtGLddDsvRuvJYvpHFmIx0gXWDUbK9YZeZZKDKcixNb4E/s200/rhino_baby.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">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 <i>because</i> 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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">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. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">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. </span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-71380843721023173872010-06-10T10:48:00.000-07:002010-06-10T10:48:13.058-07:00No zombies so far.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZZ8fI241uRrDFMo4QzNsCuqJXxkBOlTMTPBbdG6Hnj-OTIydU7VKzntVZqJnVgqw5yVmBP6Am-Y1XYDNF9lrF7Bwm8ACla4ViVMU3Ty2KYYXwjNF58kO9dzo_GhJqnHRZGFy95oB237Y/s1600/kalimamama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZZ8fI241uRrDFMo4QzNsCuqJXxkBOlTMTPBbdG6Hnj-OTIydU7VKzntVZqJnVgqw5yVmBP6Am-Y1XYDNF9lrF7Bwm8ACla4ViVMU3Ty2KYYXwjNF58kO9dzo_GhJqnHRZGFy95oB237Y/s200/kalimamama.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>After over a week in the new place, I've noticed the absence of something fairly major: imaginary zombies.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
Our old apartment was filled with these imaginary zombies. During the daytime, they took the form of:<br />
<br />
• Scarves, hats, and bags hung on coat racks on the back of the bedroom doors.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8OYpBSIPf7IPu_coFOSUM_FmXxwN5kOPbAU9CiQfrZqFSmE8ZVUEdtHeDFlvQM2xqOpnCeHdqfKzL0viTve92yM3LreL7VmjK3DzWfuERSXYJrZJwZ9bhQIaYedySUdsITbSvwcFOPFn/s1600/bathroomtrek1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="3" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8OYpBSIPf7IPu_coFOSUM_FmXxwN5kOPbAU9CiQfrZqFSmE8ZVUEdtHeDFlvQM2xqOpnCeHdqfKzL0viTve92yM3LreL7VmjK3DzWfuERSXYJrZJwZ9bhQIaYedySUdsITbSvwcFOPFn/s200/bathroomtrek1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
• The oscillating tower fan with the green lights that TOTALLY look like monster eyes.<br />
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• The closet with the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflected the traffic lights on the busy street nearby.<br />
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• Countless objects that become utterly terrifying in the darkness, as illustrated on the right. Why do I buy this stuff?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RGDuAvoWiBQOPBWPHtDHKOE9v_-OMh0XQ9uRRMM2TNDe9YlnUDHQv-nVF8h_QizZJS1xG5cIFCKtgoFGx2LE-qZaPIvz2XScd-3JJD2BbcIkNopuTK7oubLRCYEQ0Opk3GBNE0fCDzSR/s1600/bathroomtrek2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RGDuAvoWiBQOPBWPHtDHKOE9v_-OMh0XQ9uRRMM2TNDe9YlnUDHQv-nVF8h_QizZJS1xG5cIFCKtgoFGx2LE-qZaPIvz2XScd-3JJD2BbcIkNopuTK7oubLRCYEQ0Opk3GBNE0fCDzSR/s200/bathroomtrek2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-49693576248497325812010-06-03T09:42:00.000-07:002010-06-03T10:53:57.957-07:00It'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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3oSZg2OZZJOSJizOJdjtg7omflIkXRz6xVoTErc4cfN_U1jy7VugGpypc_bxOVk5oQFhCmAlxZciGb5FZYBgvFJH1-D2K5ndXPCzLy_GCpb6JiU3UFqyfSDIZ_DGQajurjhtZiC6DSVL/s1600/4666499436_28c70180d3_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3oSZg2OZZJOSJizOJdjtg7omflIkXRz6xVoTErc4cfN_U1jy7VugGpypc_bxOVk5oQFhCmAlxZciGb5FZYBgvFJH1-D2K5ndXPCzLy_GCpb6JiU3UFqyfSDIZ_DGQajurjhtZiC6DSVL/s320/4666499436_28c70180d3_b.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_t9llCrG2T6zAv3xEmofqopVyWcKUeZRDQ2pqa7RVX74pk-Qj3PIRA1inUw_OCmk4IWQn36vv8MoCwy5WijoGDkrDzs0qtIE_qx1CRLNqWDSjXQKcQWapBhD8OziFgDQqAmhNrKmNjbUW/s1600/4666493144_83159c511c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_t9llCrG2T6zAv3xEmofqopVyWcKUeZRDQ2pqa7RVX74pk-Qj3PIRA1inUw_OCmk4IWQn36vv8MoCwy5WijoGDkrDzs0qtIE_qx1CRLNqWDSjXQKcQWapBhD8OziFgDQqAmhNrKmNjbUW/s320/4666493144_83159c511c_b.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-37661165423339050592010-05-28T07:31:00.000-07:002010-05-28T07:42:17.380-07:00Pissah fo' now, and points too!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1ol1hCea8jdW4xQjXTIjVAJO25cu5uydXrYCmibA6NWsJI8BY3w8cuEj0CBUeZezjlXPevcIgoMjp9tofElzmpkvPxY7VRecL_EEZmbPFrFH4twgEjxn8CqT1jsPaaj6S73XHnYLaveV/s1600/pissah_fo_now.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1ol1hCea8jdW4xQjXTIjVAJO25cu5uydXrYCmibA6NWsJI8BY3w8cuEj0CBUeZezjlXPevcIgoMjp9tofElzmpkvPxY7VRecL_EEZmbPFrFH4twgEjxn8CqT1jsPaaj6S73XHnYLaveV/s320/pissah_fo_now.jpg" /></a></div>I never, ever jam. Ever. We hates it, precious.<br />
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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 <i>juuuust</i> inside the line, and through some miracle actually making it through the pack. Epic.<br />
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In general, I just had an all around good time. I went to skate with my favorite league, <a href="http://www.nhrollerderby.com/">NHRD</a>, 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.<br />
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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."<br />
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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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-57264172598442928272010-02-08T15:11:00.000-08:002010-02-08T15:11:15.214-08:00This helps, though.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNgFalCO5W9PHh6s8DUxt1G43pOTJTAZzhO1de3Gs_4a4rwjI1sYzBK9ZrmAjelJiUFi4Jtx8JiChbo3sW5tHreqKVQq9_sJeLZWxvETct8b6_cP_pUBgSSJGzmuVfgWNPBkWwEcx0hW7/s1600-h/we_get_to_wear_tutus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNgFalCO5W9PHh6s8DUxt1G43pOTJTAZzhO1de3Gs_4a4rwjI1sYzBK9ZrmAjelJiUFi4Jtx8JiChbo3sW5tHreqKVQq9_sJeLZWxvETct8b6_cP_pUBgSSJGzmuVfgWNPBkWwEcx0hW7/s400/we_get_to_wear_tutus.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Yes ladies, you get to wear tutus. Tutus for everyone. <3<3<3Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-35999419617014566502010-02-08T09:28:00.000-08:002010-02-08T09:28:23.755-08:00Cuts like a knifeLast 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I just made a Wayne's World reference. Oh my god I must be tired.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-3710396683211949202010-01-28T05:41:00.001-08:002010-01-28T05:41:33.524-08:00My job rocksMy students really get me.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/01/28/243.jpg'><img src='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/01/28/s_243.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />-- Post From My iPhone<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-80030855605151482262010-01-27T17:56:00.000-08:002010-01-27T17:58:23.027-08:00Oh 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:<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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2. Does ANYONE watch the inside line in these bouts?<br />
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However, there is one thing that totally makes me tear up and get all sappy:<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-61916080648233283442010-01-12T06:18:00.000-08:002010-01-12T06:47:29.195-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEd-sqYSanu2RfeKR8avUkhie4v966VoUeIOR-Ce_VgVTOGxPceEpwRMdLSSdJ7ymn-Dk5DQRGAfs35c-64XjSzUDCndoa0h0XJ94AiqhcLqo9ZTpYcfVlMHpDqGPgI5i0qfKOE5-yVg9/s1600-h/sick+lolcat.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 176px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEd-sqYSanu2RfeKR8avUkhie4v966VoUeIOR-Ce_VgVTOGxPceEpwRMdLSSdJ7ymn-Dk5DQRGAfs35c-64XjSzUDCndoa0h0XJ94AiqhcLqo9ZTpYcfVlMHpDqGPgI5i0qfKOE5-yVg9/s200/sick+lolcat.jpg" border="3" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425858358551561186" /></a>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2046450761940201708.post-19716813367466477072010-01-03T09:48:00.000-08:002010-01-03T14:02:42.884-08:00A girl can't have too many tutus.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ny-image1.etsy.com//il_fullxfull.72549713.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://ny-image1.etsy.com//il_fullxfull.72549713.jpg" border="3" alt="" /></a>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.<br /><br />Etsy rocks for projects that I could probably learn to do myself, but only after about six failed attempts and $80 in materials. Thanks <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/MTcoffinzUnderground">MTcoffinzUnderground</a> for making the tutus I wish I had the mad sewing skillz to make.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06499551842624942931noreply@blogger.com0