San Antonio: I Didn't Really Get It

It's June, and there is still snow on the mountains here. I'm so over the Utah winter, so for Memorial Day weekend my roommate Tiff and I decided to take a trip somewhere hot and sunny. We ended up going somewhere sweltering, sticky, and confusing to me: San Antonio.

Neither of us had ever been there, and we were excited to see the Alamo, the Riverwalk, and of course, the sun. I know I run the risk of pissing off a lot of Texans by saying this, but I was really looking forward to gaining a better understanding of why the Alamo was such a big deal - I totally didn't get it, because the Mexicans won, but the Alamo is "a symbol of Texas liberty". More on that to come.

Let's start with the things that didn't confuse me.

The Riverwalk

The San Fernando Cathedral

Sombreros

Optical illusions

Another optical illusion.

Beyond that, San Antonio kinda lost me. I spent most of my time there with a puzzled look on my face, asking, "Huh?". Actually, I spent most of my time sweating, chafing, and trying to breathe with my mouth closed so Tiff wouldn't realize how out of shape I was. I'm pretty sure I walked more last weekend than I have in the last five years combined.

These tourism posters were all over the place.

Hello, my name is "I don't really get your slogan."

Who wouldn't want a free sniffing of Bone swass after a day of sweaty thigh chafing?

These cryptic messages confused me. At first, I thought the Mexicans were just really bad at writing a haiku, but they still didn't make sense. Tiff was smart enough to figure it out: it's all about the river. I never would've gotten that on my own.

Alamo City Ghost Tours. We had a couple different tours to choose from, so we went with the group that had the most confusing website. http://www.alamocityghosttours.com/. We knew we were in for a real adventure when we read one of the testimonials: "I feel as if I have been transported into the 1980's movie Ghostbusters." Plus they promised that everyone gets ghost hunting equipment! I was fully expecting a proton pack, and fully planned on shouting, "Don't cross the streams!" at least a dozen times. However, the equipment we got was not quite Ghostbuster-caliber.
Tiff demonstrating how to use the "ghost hunting equipment": point, shoot, get temperature. Her laser temperature gauge confirms it: my butt is hot.
The scariest thing I saw on the ghost tour: a dead bird. Even scarier was when a competely oblivious lady stepped on the dead bird and I heard it crack. It creeped me out worse than anything else on the tour.

Which brings me back to the Alamo.I was excited to go inside and find out what all the hoopla was about. I thought there would be people dressed as Davy Crockett, whooping it up and firing pistoleros into the air; and I was hoping that one of them would be able to explain why this place was such an integral part of Texas freedom if the Mexicans won...

My hopes of seeing Davy Crockett were quickly dashed as soon as we went inside. It was made clear that there are no shenanigans or tom foolery at the Alamo. The Alamo is very serious, as you can see. Which gave me that much more reason to be pro-tom foolery and anti-seriousness. I still don't fully understand why it was such a critical point in the war, but here's what I did learn:The walls are only like eight feet tall. Which confused me even more! Why did it take 2,000 Mexican soldiers almost two weeks to get over these walls and take the Alamo? I'm neither Mexican nor a soldier, but I'm pretty sure I could clear this wall pretty quickly. I didn't say I could do it gracefully; there would be a fair amount of huffing and puffing involved, but still.
There are many rules at the Alamo. Like no stepping on the grass. And no touching the walls. And no photography inside.

And especially no photography inside whilst touching the walls.

Surprisingly, there were no rules about where you were allowed to sit during the tour guide's presentation. I think people thought I was part of the presentation and kept waiting for me to get up and do something, but I just sat there, politely listening and making the guide feel weird.

At the end of the weekend, I came home with a sunburn and a whole new appreciation for dry heat. Try as they may have, the Tejanos just couldn't instill any culture in me; but at least I blended in with the natives.

That Mushy Gushy Stuff in Honor of Mothers

Two weeks ago, I got into a killer cat fight, a la Mob Wives (an ambulance was sure to come), and I tweaked my neck. Ok I didn't really get into a cat fight, but it sounds a lot cooler than saying that I was blow drying my hair, flipped my head up and my neck seized. So let's just stick with the cat fight.

I tweaked it so badly that I missed a night of derby; I spent most of the weekend turning my entire torso just to look to the side, at which point I decided that the best plan of action was to just stay in bed, watching a lot of brainless television, and I had a lot to think about.

And seeing as how I'm still laid up in bed (until my first ever chiropractor visit tomorrow, which I swear is giving me panic attacks about having my neck accidentally snapped in half) I've been thinking about a lot. A lot about mothers, friendships, roller derby, kids, Arby's mozzarella sticks...just to name a few.

I've been thinking about the past year of my life, where I was then and where I am now. Who I've tried to become and the things that I've tried to change about myself. A year ago, I felt like a shell of my former self. I had no idea who I was or how I'd let myself get so...empty. I was lonely, I cried to my sister every day, I had no direction, felt like I had no purpose. I was miserable.

When Gina suggested trying roller derby, I had a piss-poor attitude about it. The first few weeks, I couldn't do anything right, I really only talked to Gina, I hid from the coaches, hoping that they wouldn't notice that I wasn't doing anything right, I made stupid jokes to the other girls, hoping they wouldn't notice that I wasn't doing anything right, and I pretty much kept to myself. My equipment was from D.I., my skates were from Big Five, I didn't have the cute derby clothes or tights. I felt totally ghetto, totally out of my element, and totally lame. I felt like I just didn't fit in.

I cried to my sister every Friday morning about how horrible I'd done at derby the night before. About how I felt like I was failing at life because I was failing at skating. How nobody there liked me and I got picked last for kickball, and how I just wanted to quit. I'm not kidding, I think I actually whined, "aaaaaaaaand I got picked last for KICK ball!" That's how emotionally mature I am. But every Friday morning, my sister reassured me that derby was not the barometer of my life as a whole, and that I just had to stick it out for the twelve weeks, and then I never had to skate again if I didn't want to. She made me promise to finish the session.

But somewhere along the line, something clicked with me. I think it was the night that Daisy grabbed me by the hand and forced me to do a baseball slide with her. I totally sucked at it, but she smiled and applauded me, and told me how awesome I was. She was totally lying, but somehow, it made me finally smile, get up, and keep skating. And then I actually started loving going to derby.

I started to branch out and tried talking to other girls. Talking led to laughing, and going out together after derby, and getting phone numbers, and texting, and talking on the phone. It led to late night conversations, coordinated no pants nights, emails that went back and forth for days - most so funny that I peed a little. It started treat nights, crafting parties, big plans for pajama parties, and skate maintenance parties. It led to friendships and a feeling of sisterhood, and sometimes for me, a feeling of motherhood, which was the last thing I expected, and didn't realize how badly I needed.

I lost my mom to cancer when I was ten, and I've been trying to fill that void ever since. There are countless amazing women in my life who have all played a part in being a mother to me, even to this day. My closest friends all play a part in filling that role in my life, whether they realize it or not. I don't think any of the Rockettes even know about my mom, but I hope I can tell them here how much they've helped to fill that void for me.

These are girls who have taken me under their wing and make the extra effort so that I feel welcome, even if my equipment is ghetto. They make me feel loved, even if my derby clothes aren't cute and my skates are from Big Five. They encourage me to always try harder, break out of my comfort zone, put on my no pants, and own it. They helped me gain back my identity, and be proud of it. Isn't that what a friend does? Isn't that what a mother does?

Many of the Rockettes are mothers, and I am astonished at how they manage to juggle everything in their lives. I only have to worry about me, and sometimes I barely make it out the door in one piece. These ladies take care of little children, husbands, families, jobs, and they make it look so easy. Not only do they make it look easy, but they love every minute of it. And that kind of love has transferred to the derby track, and made me feel like I'm part of something so much bigger than a recreational derby league. I feel like I have 30 mothers and sisters who all genuinely care about each other. Just last week, everyone pitched in to put together a gift basket for the daughter of a vet who is dealing with medical issues. The Rockettes were so generous with their donations, there was enough money to fill the basket with goodies and get a $50 gift certificate. The outpouring of love was overwhelming.

They genuinely care about me. The night I missed practice, I couldn't even count the number of emails, texts, and messages from derby girls, asking if I was ok, telling me that I was missed. One coach told me that they'd officially decided that I was never allowed to be absent from practice again, because they missed me so much. If that doesn't warm your heart, then you're probably dead inside.

I love each and every one of the Rockettes because they all bring something different to the table, and they've all had an influence on me. When I go to practice, I'm not the girl with cellulite and a flat bum. I'm not the girl with the love handles and back fat that jiggles. I'm not the single girl with no kids. I'm not the girl who says "wooder" instead of "water", or who gets sweaty just standing in place. I'm not "that girl who's mom died." I'm not my insecurities, my negativity, or my fear of failing. At derby, I am not defined by any of the things that I allow to hold me back in real life. I am none of those things.

At derby, I'm Bone Junior, and I kick ass, and I owe it to the Rockettes. And of course to my sister for talking me down every Friday morning, just like our mom would've done. Her telling me that I got picked last for kickball because both teams just wanted me so badly, that they had to fight over me, and it took them a long time to decide. Her encouraging me to make new friends and try something new, and to stick with it. That's totally what a mother does.

Tanning Fail, but Still Win Because I Am Tan **UPDATED**

I've said it before, and I'll say it again when my skin looks like a leather handbag: I am tanorexic. I love to be tan, whether it's from the actual sun or a tanning bed, it makes no difference. I just hate to be pasty. Lecture me all you want about wrinkles and UV rays, but mark my words, I will go to my grave the color of terra cotta.

Before you start wagging your finger at me about how unhealthy I am, the whole point of this post is that I tried something new and NOT unhealthy to get tan: SPRAY TAN. Not the kind you buy at Walmart, but an actual spray tan from an actual salon. And before you start rolling your eyes, I did not turn out the color of Snookie. I have a lovely glow, if I do say so myself. And while I'm thrilled with the results, the process, persay, was not exactly what I expected.

I had never tried a spray tan before, and I was a little leary, having seen terrifying spray tans on Toddlers and Tiaras. And also on Jersey Shore, Jerseylicious, Mob Wives, and pretty much any show about people in New Jersey. But based on these shows, I had an idea in my head of what the experience of spray tanning would be like: I go into a private room, lock the door, put on a shower cap, step into a booth, alone, and get hosed down with tanner like I'm going through a car wash. Or, I go into a private room, put on a shower cap and some kind of cover-up for my lady parts, and a gal comes in and sprays only my essential parts with tanner. In my head, those were the only two possible outcomes.

I did not know that my salon utilizes a third option. The kind where I go into a private room, put on ONLY a shower cap, awkwardly stand there and try to figure out how to cover my lady parts, waiting for a gal who comes in and gets all up in ALL my parts, hosing me down with tanner, while I'm still trying to figure out how to keep my no-no square covered.

I was informed of option three when I got to the salon, and it was too late to back out. But as fate would have it, the gal who does the spray tans is the same gal who does the waxing. The same girl who used to do my waxing. She's the only person in this world who's seen the scary places of my body that should never be seen by the naked eye (read: my bum crack). Not only has she seen those places, but she's waxed them. So, I suppose that if I had to stand naked in front of anyone, awkwardly for several minutes, then she'd be the person I'd choose, because she's already seen it all.

You'd think that I would've been perfectly comfortable in the newd in front of her, but, I was not. I was not "prepared" to be seen naked. As in, I hadn't even shaved my legs for like a month. I'd come straight from work, so I felt all greasy and swassy, I'd started to sweat as soon as I heard the words "totally naked", and I was a bumbling mess. She told me she'd give me three minutes to undress and then she'd be back.

It took all of about twenty seconds for me to undress and put on the shower cap. Please to enjoy a self-illustrated pictorial on how I spent the remaining two minutes and forty seconds waiting for her to come back in: (Illustrator's note: I added censorship bars where I thought necessary. Pretty much just for the sake of my brother. Thank you.)(Also, I am aware that I drew my hands and feet anatomically incorrect. Everything else is perfectly to scale.)







What's funny is that, as you can see from the pictures, I was least concerned with keeping my whoody-whaty covered, and more worried about keeping my stomach and boobs concealed. Or at least trying to stand in the most flattering way possible.

I finally gave up trying to cover myself and accepted the fact that it was impossible to have any shred of dignity whilst being spray tanned by someone who's already seen your everything.

She was so nice about the whole thing, and kept friendly conversation going. I was finally starting to relax a little, when she told me to do a lunge. And this, my friends, is what I did:
Not a lunge. She politely showed me how to do a lunge, and I said to her, "Look at me! Are you really surprised that I don't know the difference between a lunge and a squat?" Apparently what I was doing wasn't really a squat, either. I don't know what I was doing, besides making a complete and total ass of myself.

But a tan ass, nontheless.

**UPDATE** For those of you who haven't gotten your fill of Bone Junior TMI, you can find my original post about waxing here . And for those of you who can't get enough Bone Junior TMI, the original illustrations are up for auction.

Never Trust a Big Butt and a Smile

Roller Derby: Session 2, Week 3

I can't believe we're already three weeks into this session with the Red Rockettes. I missed the first week and have been on a blogging hiatus thanks to a much-needed vacation to Texas. You know how they say "Everything is bigger in Texas"? I think they should change it to "Everything Gets Bigger in Texas", because that's what happens to my butt, thanks to the amazing BBQ, seafood (I actually tried fried alligator), and my sister's amazing key lime pie.

But there are times when a big butt actually comes in handy: dropping it like it's hot, trying to attract a black guy, and blocking in roller derby. So thank you, Texas, for your role in helping me to achieve two out of three. In case you're having trouble guessing which one I haven't mastered due to my big butt, suffice it to say that I'm still single. Not that I've "mastered" blocking by any means, and the last time I dropped down to get my eagle on, I strained my groin...so, I guess my point is that I have a big butt, and it comes in handy on the track.

The vets got to scrimmage the whole time this week (holy crap, can you believe that I'm technically a vet now!! NEITHER CAN I!) and it was our second No-Pants Scrimmage. Last week, we practiced actually hitting for real (well, as real as you can hit when you're still learning), so I was determined to at least try to get in some good hits at the scrimmage. Here's what I've learned about hitting:

1. The size of the girl has almost nothing to do with her ability to hit, or take a hit. There are some teeny girls who have knocked me down hard and I never saw them coming.

2. The faster they are, the harder they fall.

3. If you're cruising along and you see a big butt and a smile in front of you, don't trust her cause that girl is poooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissooooooooooooon! You have to sing it out loud. Trust me, you'll have it stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

4. Hitting is really, really fun.

You know what else is really fun? Playing Red Rover with all the vets and rookies combined, making it through the game without looking like an ass, then tripping over the track outline (much like an electrical cord) at the very end when everyone comes together to do the No Pants Cheer. Don't worry, I made sure that everyone knew there was a pebble on the track there.

I've decided to end this post with a photo that encompasses all of the reasons I love the Red Rockettes; first and foremost because of the shared sense of humor. Please to enjoy the following photo, which I like to call "Where My Hose At?"; or, "I Don't Understand How This Helps Me Learn How to Keep My Elbows In While Skating, But Okay."

Red Rockettes Expo Bout Deput

I know it's been forever since I've updated, but I wanted to at least give a quick summary of how our first public scrimmage went. Thanks to Brusier's husband, Jason, the most incredible fall of the night was caught on film. Also thanks to Ruby for being a good sport about having her bum out for the world to see.

That's Ruby, in the striped no-pants and fishnets, making her initial descent...

...and this is Ruby's final descent: knees down, hands splayed, ass up for all to see...and her MOUTH ON THE CONCRETE (see inset picture).
This is what happens when your mouth takes the brunt of your fall. Totally badass.
Now this is what happens when you're posing for a picture and your skates fly out from under you, causing your bum to take the brunt of your fall. Totally not badass, and totally Bone.

Roller Derby: Bonus Week 13: No Pants Night

You read that right - No Pants Night. You may be saying, "What, pray tell, is No Pants Night?" Well, I'll show you.That, my friends, is No Pants Night. See me with my purple tights and no pants? Now enjoy my mad rhyming skillz:

No pants Ruby, no pants Bone;

Never so much booty have I shown.

No pants blockers form a no pants wall,

Gina on her no pants did fall.

No pants Jammer,

No pants pack;

No pants skating around the track.

Teeny little black ones and fishnets galore;

Manna wonders, "Do I look like a whore?"

Disco Pony rocks shiny no pants;

While Bruiser demonstrates perfect derby stance.

No pants Wanton, no pants Blue;
No pants derby is the thing to do.

No pants Bruiser has skillz that are honed;
But in the end, Bruiser gets no pants Boned.

Everyone got into the spirit of things for the last practice of our first 12-week course. We were all so shaken up and anxious from the week before that Wanton declared a No Pants Night to get us out of our comfort zones, help us relax, and most of all, to remind us all that we are there to have fun. And it really worked - I felt totally uninhibited (both figuratively and literally) and it was the most fun night of derby yet. "1-2-3, NO PANTS!"

Roller Derby: Week Twelve

I cannot believe it's been twelve weeks already - my first session of derby is almost over! Our official blooper reel scrimmage is on Saturday. As in, four days from now. As in, holy crap, I'm nowhere near ready and what was I thinking when I agreed to this? Last Thursday was our first practice scrimmage with real refs and officials - they had stopwatches, whistles, a whiteboard to keep track of our penalties, and really loud voices. I think the whiteboard is what intimidated me the most. We had to have shirts with our names and numbers on them, and because I'm so crafty, here's what I created: I thought I looked pretty bad ass, until the refs kept calling me "Thirty-six-zero-zero". I wanted to yell at them that they were totally missing my point, but I was too busy trying to figure out why they were blowing their whistles and pointing at me in the first place. I now know that when they scream your number and point at you, you shouldn't stare blankly at them and continue skating; you should just go right to the penalty box. That's helpful to know.

Having the refs, officials, and a handful of veteran skaters there was really overwhelming and intimidating. Having my sister and four other friends from college there was even more intimidating. The Other Sisters (Bone Senior, Erin, Barbie, Andi, and Gloriana) were in town for a girls weekend, and they came to support my cause, also known as Please Help Me Prove to the Red Rockettes That I Really Do Have Friends in Real Life. I was so excited to have them there, but it totally shook me up because I wanted so badly to be good. I wanted to dart around the track, doing crossovers and knocking people over - instead I teetered through the pack, mostly keeping my head down and trying to stick to the inside line. I did so well at sticking to the inside line, that later on Bone Senior asked me, "Are you allowed move around the track? Or are you supposed to stay in the same spot the whole time?" Fail.

Besides trying to keep up with the refs and rules, there were some vets there that completely schooled us. One girl, who we referred to as "No Pants" (but if I had a butt like her, I'd wear no pants too) (and she wasn't really wearing NO pants; she just had teeny little booty shorts) was unstoppable, except by our Fresh Meat Mamas. She was all over the place, getting her no-pants-booty in everyone's face, stopping on a dime, running on her skates. I'm still trying to get the hang of stopping, let alone RUNNING. She was amazing, she was on the other team, and she was crushing us.

Then there was Pushy (who's name I always say in my head with a Sean Connery accent. Try it. Pushy. Isn't that fun?). She's a vet that I haven't skated with before, she was on my team, and she totally kicked my butt. When Pushy and No Pants were out at the same time, it was pretty much them duking it out in front, and the rest of us trying to stay together in a pack. I was trying really hard to keep up and figure out what I should be doing, and I thought I was doing okay until Pushy called me over on the sideline and we had a moment like unto this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPqYnC-SW5w&feature=player_detailpage

Ok it really wasn't that bad, but in my head, that's how I felt. And Pushy had every right to make sure I knew which team I was on, because I sure wasn't skating like I knew which team I was on. Apparently she was yelling directions at me on the track, but I was too busy sucking up the drool from my mouthguard and staring blankly at the refs to notice that she was actually trying to teach us.

Needless to say, after a few rounds, our team was pretty discouraged - and we have some really amazing skaters. Phoenix is one incredible jammer who looks like she's been doing derby for years, but she really gets down on herself. Blue is another girl who takes a beating and just gets right back up and keeps skating. Some of her falls made me wince just watching them, but she got up every single time. Lisa always has a smile on her face, even when she fell and someone skated over her fingers. Someone SKATED. Over her FINGERS. And she didn't even wince. Then there's me, who gets the what-for ONE TIME and I just about had a meltdown.

During the break, I skated over to the bleachers and said to Bone Senior, "Please don't let me cry in front of all these girls!" I was feeling so discouraged, so worthless to my team, we were losing by like five hundred points, and I just wanted to give up. I could feel my lower lip trembling and the lump in my throat was burning - I clenched down on my mouthguard as hard as I could to try and stop the tears from coming.

I took some deep breaths just as England and Manna skated over to me, and I was blinking furiously, trying to convince myself that I could convince them that pffffft of course I'm not crying, I'm just doing my overly-blinky Hugh Grant impression. Just like when I stumble on the track during warm-ups, and I try to convince everyone that there's a pebble or debris on the floor, not that I'm just skating out of control. Sometimes I even stop and go back to the spot where I stumbled and scour the ground, searching for the trip hazard, both warning and saving other skaters from peril. I make sure everyone knows, "THERE'S SOMETHING ON THE TRACK HERE! WATCH OUT!"

England and Manna asked how I was doing - I think they politely ignored the obvious fact that there were tears welling up in my eyes - and they gave me a pep talk. They told me not to get discouraged, that the first scrimmage always the hardest, and they assured me that I was not the top spinning out of control that I imagined myself to be. These girls are really my heroes - they are so encouraging, patient, and reassuring. Wanton will not let you give up - she forces you to just try. England is so good about breaking things down so that we can understand. Manna cracks jokes to make me feel less inept and to remind me that we are there to have fun. I look at the Fresh Meat Mamas as this unattainable goal - I want to be them out on the track, and they make me believe that someday, I can.

Today is not that day, and Saturday won't be that day either; but for now, I've finished my first session of Roller Derby, and I'm going to keep at it. I'm going to keep trying to force the Red Rockettes to be my BFF's and I'm going to keep trying to get a butt like England and No Pants. Andrea (my co-lover of all things unicorn) says it best in her blog and sums up all of the reasons why I love skating with this group.

Wish me luck for Saturday's scrimmage...

Get Boned, You Know You Want To

Sometimes I get comments on my blog from "Anonymous". They're usually completely ridiculous and written in wing-dings, and they get promptly deleted. But every once in a while, a traysured comment comes through from a complete stranger, and it just warms my heart on so many levels. I'll get back to this, but it brings me to another traysured moment that I recently experienced.

Let's start with the fact that I am a shameless blog-stalker. One blog leads to another, leads to another, and then I'm hooked reading about people that I have never met, and completely wrapped up in their lives, thousands of miles away. I know they're real people, but it's more like they're "real blog people", in that I will most likely never meet them for realz. They exist on a totally different level of reality.

My blog world and my real world seldom crossed paths. Until one night, I was standing in the movie theater lobby and I spotted someone standing in line. I squinted and scrutinized: sassy chic hair, check; super cute trendy winter coat, check; pregnant belly, check...could it really be? Was this the actual human manifestation of a gal I'd been blog stalking for like five years?

Once she stepped out of line, I totally accosted her (much like I did to the Situation at the AMAs) (yes I'm still shameless), and I ran up to her and totally weirded her out by saying, "Hi...um...I know this will sound totally stalkerish...but...are you Cicada Song? THE Cicada Song?"

There was a moment of pause in which my heart literally froze and I felt terrified that I'd just bumrushed a complete stranger and who would now ask security to escort me out. But instead, this genuine hero of mine responded with, "Are YOU Bone Junior? Can I hug you?!?"

My jaw hit the floor and I gave her a huge hug while I gushed about how much I loved her blog, that I'd been stalking her for like five years, and how amazing it was to discover that she's actually a REAL person. And to top it all off? SHE KNEW WHO I WAS TOO! It was the closest I've ever felt to being a celebrity. I felt incredibly special. This gal, who I followed from late 20's singlehood, to dating, to marriage, and babies and success, whom I idolize and inspires me? She knew my name. Nothing is cooler than that.

Which brings me back to comments. I recently got one from a total stranger, and it actually wasn't in wing dings or trying to sell me weiner enhancements!

Bone Junior, I have a dream of breaking my assbones and bruising my shins. Well actually I have done both of these things...several times in fact. But not on skates! Would you have any information for would-be derby noobs like me in the Utah county area? I have no illusions of being any good at this and am quite certain my future in the derby world amounts to a grease spot on the bottom of someone's skate, but like my brief and spectacularly unsuccessful career as a day care lunch lady, it's something I have to try at least once. -Cyndi

Well Cyndi, I'm glad you asked! I know I've posted this about a bazillion times on Facebook, but apparently there are blog people who want to be in the know about roller derby! So here goes my shameless plug for the Red Rockettes, straight from our fearless leader, England's Glory:

The Red Rockettes Recreational Roller Derby League will start their third 12-week session on Thursday, April 7th. The league is Salt Lake's newest and puts the emphasis on fitness, health and developing supportive female friendships through the game of roller derby. Full training will be given for all abilities. The group will be broken into two groups for half of the night according to whether skaters are beginner or veteran. The league aims to be a place where beginners can learn the sport of roller derby (as all minimum skills will be taught) and veterans can improve their skating and scrimmaging skills.

The course will run every Thursday evening at the Derby Depot (WRD warehouse) which is located at 1415 S. 700 W. #17. We practice from 7:30 PM - 9:30 PM. The course runs for 12 weeks and costs $60. Skaters need to provide all equipment, skates, helmet, knee, elbow, wrist pads, and mouth guard. WFTDA insurance is required and costs $50 per year.

We often get asked about where to get equipment, there are many options out there. If you feel that derby is going to be a long term interest I would recommend buying good quality skates ($200+). If you have limited funds you can also get 'rookie packages' from most online stores (they come with pretty basic skates which you may need to upgrade later). They run at about $200 for everything you need. Try sincityskates.com and lowpriceskates.com. Locally Hollywood Connection has some skates, wheels, pads etc. Skate Now at 2682 S. Highland Dr. STE 104. can special order skates. In Ogden, the Flat Track Skate Shack 1805 W. 1950 S. West Haven, is a derby specialist shop.

Please contact redrockettes@rocketmail.com or on Facebook at Red Rockettes.

And make sure you say you want to get Boned. Trust me, you do.

Roller Derby: Week 10 Festivities; or, How Come My Face Never Looks Normal

This week was full of derby fun, besides just scrimmaging on Thursday night. I can't believe we're almost done this session - only two more practices before the big scrimmage. I'm still debating if I'm ready to have people from my "real life" see me floundering around the track.

The weekend started with an Irish crafting party to get ready for the St. Patrick's Day parade on Saturday. About half a dozen Red Rockettes got together to make flags, posters and decorations.

I brought gigantic glasses from the dollar store. As I would soon come to find out, this was the most normal picture taken of me from the weekend: Saturday morning was the parade, and we had a blast. I opted to walk and not skate, given that I have a hard enough time staying up on flat, smooth concrete, let alone bumpy, hilly, cobble-stoney streets. There were about six of us on foot, and the rest on skates. We had a great turnout, and even had our own photographers. Two Rockette's have significant others who come to practices and events, and they take awesome pictures. The memories we are making are forever captured.

Which brings me to my point: how come my face never looks normal? Let's see a few examples of what a derby girl should look like in pictures, or as I like to call it, "Derby Done Right":

Look at them. Gorgeous, smiling, awesome makeup, awesome clothes and decor. I love these pictures and I love these girls. That's the way it should look.

Then there's me. Brace yourselves, folks, cause it's about to get the opposite of photogenic, or as I like to call it, "Bone Done Wrong":
Exhibit A: There's me, behind England's antennae / helmet flag. I should've taken a lesson from this and held a flag in front of my face for the whole parade; but then I wouldn't have these gems to share with you.

Exhibit B: There's me, making a stupid face in the background.
Exhibit C: Here I am again, doing who knows what. I'll tell you what I'm not doing: watching where I'm walking to avoid the upcoming horse poop, that's what.

Exhibit D: Here I am once again, making a stupid face.

Exhibit F: This is such an awesome picture of England going down the hill - look how much fun she's having! Look at her amazing stance! And then there's me in the back, running down the hill. Running. Nothing good ever came of the words "Bone Junior" and "running" in the same sentence.

Exhibit G: I don't even have any words for this one.

Exhibit H: And I don't have any excuse for this one. I knew the picture was being taken, I had the chance to pose and prepare myself, and this is what I chose to do.

And I rest my case.

Based on these pictures, I have been able to make the following assumptions:

A) I pretty much never stop talking, as most of these shots are mid-talking. At least I hope they are, otherwise I have no idea how or why my mouth looks like that;

B) I need to learn to be aware of when my picture is being taken;

C) I am extremely lucky to be part of a group that allows me to show my true colors.

Roller Derby: Week 9

Roller Derby Week 9, also known as Bone Goes Bowling for Deidra, also known as Bone Does the Splits and Breaks Summer's toe-stop in the process, also known as The Red Rockettes Get Boned by Bone Junior.

This week's practice was one of the most fun I've had. I got to scrimmage for the first time - I even got to be the jammer once, also known as Bone Nearly Had An Asthma Attack Trying to Keep Up With the Pack and She Doesn't Even Have Asthma. I have never been so out of breath as I was when I was jamming. The only time I actually made it through the pack was when Manna and Babe each grabbed one of my hands and sling-shotted me forward. Talk about a top spinning out of control? That was me.

Speaking of out of control, that could be the phrase that described my entire night at derby. And unfortunately for the Rockettes, they suffered the brunt of that. Let's start with Summer. Poor Summer got paired up with me for a blocking/jamming drill. We made it around the track twice before my skates tangled with hers, and the next thing I knew, I was doing the splits and Summer's toe stop went flying. It looked like I'd been ripped right up the middle, but amazingly enough, I didn't get hurt. Summer had to sit out for a few minutes to fix her skate because did I mention that her toe stop went flying?

Next we got matched up for 2-on-1 blocking/jamming drills. This infamous moment has become known as Bone Goes Bowling for Deidra, because that's exactly what happened. Picture me as the bowling ball, and poor Deidra as the unsuspecting, bystanding bowling pin. She was just standing in line, minding her own business, waiting for her turn to drill. Two laps around the track, a few tangled skates later, and Deidra went down; completely taken out by an out-of-control me. Lucky for us, the paparazzi was able to get a few shots of this exact moment.(We're lucky to have derby husbands that come along with awesome cameras.)
In case you couldn't tell, that's me in the black helmet, baseball sliding into Deidra, in the pink helmet. Amazingly enough, we both got right up, laughing and unscathed. Well, mostly unscathed.That's my elbow, the morning after I became a human bowling ball. It looks a lot worse than it feels, and we were all able to laugh about it. I even deemed a new catch phrase for every time I hit, block, knock over, or otherwise maim another derby girl: "You've been Boned!" More often than not, I'm Boning myself. And yes, I intended for it to sound that way.

Between Boning everyone, I was really have a blast, and gained an even greater appreciation for the other girls I have the privilege of skating with. These girls never cease to amaze me. I spend a lot of time just watching them with my jaw hanging open, hoping and praying that someday I'll be as bad ass as they are. They can stop on a dime, cut from side to side, block girls twice their size, and jam past girls half their size. I love that we are a team of all shapes, sizes, professions - we are all so different, but there's not a girl on this team that doesn't yell and cheer for everyone else. I love that in every picture, we're all smiling and laughing and loving what we're trying to do. And there's not a girl on the team that doesn't inspire, encourage, and push me to do better.

Me and Indy practicing blocking and jamming.

Me and G practicing hitting.

Me practicing how to get a butt like England's - my true inspiration.