RollerCon 2012: Where All My Wildest Dreams Came True; or At Least My Wildest Dreams About Male Strippers

Ah, RollerCon. The annual five-day roller derby convention in Las Vegas; chock full of everything you could ever imagine that has to do with derby. Everyone who didn't go is sick of reading Facebook posts about it, and everyone who did go is sick of talking about it. Maybe that's just me.

This was my first experience with RollerCon, and I was lucky to be able to attend with some of my favorite people. But in trying to sum up the overall experience, I started to sound like Charles Dickens: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...there were highs and lows; lots of fun and inevitably, some not-so-fun. Some of it was just downright hard. Maybe it's like giving birth - while you're in the middle of it, it's really hard and awful, but when it's all over you have this beautiful baby and then you forget about how crappy it was, to the point that you'd do it all over again.

But, I've never given birth, and I don't really think that newborn babies are beautiful - in all honesty, they really gross me out; and also I didn't come home from RollerCon with a baby, beautiful or not, so perhaps that's not the best analogy.

In any case, please to enjoy my recap of RollerCon 2012.

(Also, I've taken the liberty of stealing lots of these pictures from other people's Facebook albums, so thank you to everyone who let me use a photo without them even knowing.) 

The Highs

- Watching bouts. This might seem boring to some people, but I really loved being in the main track room and just watching bout after bout. Some of them were competitive teams, and some were challenge bouts like Pads vs Tampons. They were all fun to watch, and seeing how differently everyone plays and skates was really valuable.

One of my absolute favorite challenge bouts featured two of my idols, Wanton Rebellion and Collin da Shotz, who are both big time officials. I love Wanton because she was my fresh meat mama, and I love/hate Collin because he's an absolute riot, but he ALWAYS catches me when I commit penalties and sends me to the box. That's just his job though.

Collin refs most of our scrimmages here, and the only skating I'd seen him do was around the inside of the track. I know Wanton can play, and you know she scares the crap out of me. Collin scares the crap out of me because he yells at me, but I had no idea how he played. Oh boy was I in for a treat.

This is the Collin I know:

 And this is the Collin we were so lucky to watch play. 

That's him, sitting in the penalty box, like, the whole time. It was such sweet, sweet satisfaction.

While seeing Collin da Shotz spend most of his time yellin from da box, I think my favorite moment was when Wanton went out there with him, put him on the inside line, and told him to stay there. Oh how well I know that speech. Then later, she had to grab his shirt and pull him to the front of the pack. Again, a very familiar feeling, right Rockettes? Who hasn't been grabbed by the shirt or waistband or arm and literally hauled to the front by Wanton? Hands down one of the most fun bouts I have ever watched. And Collin was such a good sport about us giving him a hard time - but really? Watching one of our refs just throw himself into the game (usually with penalizing results) was just so incredibly fun. And of course, screaming for Mama Wanton.

-Everything to do with learning more about roller derby. There was always something to do - classes on skates, classes off skates, classes in the pool, seminars, open scrimmages - you name it, you could probably find it there. One morning, just about all the Rockettes there joined a scrimmage together, and it was so fun to get to skate together with people you know, against people you don't know. And also to have the opportunity to play with people of all different experience levels. There's always something new to learn.

- I got married. Not for real (I don't want my sister to have a heart attack) but I left RollerCon with two new derby wives, Liz Tailher and Bruiser Ego. What can I say, I'm kind of a stud like that.

You might be saying, "What's a derby wife?" or, like my sister responded when I first mentioned having a derby wife, "I don't know what that is." My favorite definition of a derby wife is this: The girl who reminds you of all the things you ever liked in anyone else.Your derby wife is the girl who will always talk to you about anything both on and off the track. Your derby wife is your competitor, but she still appreciates your talents and skills.A derby wife is your roller derby soul mate. She may not even be your best friend in the league or the sport, but she’d be the one you know will be the first one to back you up, even if you’re dead wrong.

Yep, that about sums up my feelings for these two amazing women, and somehow I was able to trick them BOTH in being my derby wives. Hands off, ladies, they're mine...and their husbands.

- The Black and Blue Ball. This event was held on the last night of RollerCon, and its a big dance party, with the dress code described as this: "WHATEVER, as long as you’re wearing all black and/or blue." That's all the direction we had, and I didn't have a clue about what I was going to wear until the week before, when I was browsing Amazon and struck gold. I convinced Kid Seditious to dress up with me, and we kept our costumes a secret from everyone until we made our debut. And this happened:

I don't think I really need to talk about it, because the spandex body suits and high-top sneakers pretty much do all the talking. And I think the fanny packs really brought everything together nicely. Wearing this out in public was one of the scariest things I've ever done, but the payoff was totally worth it. Besides being stopped every few feet to have our picture taken, one of my derby idols, Fly Grrl Mel, said we were "epic." And her favorite part of the whole week. I pretty much pooped my suit at that point.

And yes, the suits were really really hot, and I was really really sweaty. But totally worth it.

-This:

Here, Styxx and I demonstrate proper form for the move I like to call "The Skull Candi." You're welcome.

- And most definitely, this:

The Thunder From Down Under. Possibly the best night of my entire life, and absolutely the high point of the week for me. It was everything I wanted and so, so much more. It was Magic Mike come to life, right in my face, and I loved every minute of it. I screamed so much that I lost my voice for a week (which means I spent most of RollerCon sounding like Peter Brady), I played the bongo drums on one guy's bare butt cheeks, I mimed grating cheese on another guy's abs, and when the guy next to me in the picture asked  where I was from, I just screamed, "I DON'T EVEN KNOW!!!" Once again, I don't think I really need to talk much more about it, because my face just says it all.

Many, many heartfelt thanks to the people who helped make it awesome - most especially those with me in the picture above: Liz Tailher, Bruiser Ego, Kid Seditious, and Italy. These girls spent more time with me that week then they probably would've liked, and I definitely saw more of Italy's naked bum than I ever expected (I swear, if that girl wasn't so freaking lovable, I'd hate her for being so hot; but it is absolutely IMPOSSIBLE not to love her.) (Even when she gets numbers from guys everywhere you go)(And even when she makes out with one of the Thunder From Down Under guys)(Oops maybe I wasn't supposed to say that)(But it's totally true)(Sorry, Italy!) But they put up with me through MY highs and lows all week, and they made the hard stuff worth it.

And they're all definitely better looking than a newborn baby.

A Little Perspective

We interrupt this three month blogging hiatus to bring you an important message: Bone Junior is still alive; albeit really sucking at blogging. And I apologize in advance that this post will be brief and probably not funny at all.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about something that happened a few weeks ago. It was something so small and insignificant, but it really made me stop and think about how lucky and blessed I really am.

I was stopped in construction, sitting in my car with the windows down and my hair blowing in the breeze, when I got that feeling that someone was watching me. I looked over and saw a construction worker lady. She was probably forty-something going on sixty-five, with sun bleached orangy hair, brown leathery skin, holding a stop sign with one hand and smoking a Virginia Slim 100 with the other hand. She was standing right outside my passenger window, and I immediately tried not to make eye contact.

I was concentrating very hard on staring straight ahead, when she bent down and put her face right in my window. I momentarily considered rolling the window up, because who puts their head into a complete strangers car... But then she smiled and said in a raspy voice, "Go ahead, girl! Every day must be a great day for you because of this car! Go ahead with your bad self!"

And then I couldn't help but smile and laugh with her, because she was right - here I was, negative, pessimistic, critical, often feeling sorry for myself; and this lady took one look at me and saw what a great life I have. She was a construction flagger, standing outside every day in the heat, who knows what kind of car she drives, what her situation is - and there she was, reminding me that every day SHOULD be a great day for me.

Sure a car is just a material thing - most people don't care what kind they drive, how it looks, or whatever. I love my car, but there are times when I complain about it; I complain about almost everything in my life at one time or another. But this one lady's comment brought me to a harsh realization: I am not nearly grateful enough for the simple things in my life.

Because of her, I have had a huge change of perspective on my life. When I'm in a bad mood, it's so easy to list off a million reasons why my life stinks. Now I'm trying a different approach. When I'm in a bad mood, I get into my car, roll down the windows and say, "Go ahead, girl!" and it reminds me that even when I feel like everything is falling apart, I ALWAYS have at least one thing to be grateful for. Thinking of one thing leads to another, and another, and soon I'm listing off all the reasons why I'm so lucky.

And that makes me feel pretty darn good - even if it all starts with something as insignificant as a Mustang. 

Sometimes, It's Just Hard

Way back in January, the Red Rockettes coaches announced that there would be a real, live, put-on-your-big-girl-no-pants bout against the Black Diamond Divas. The BDDs are one of the Wasatch Roller Derby home teams. They're the real deal. Until now, we've only scrimmaged against each other, and twice against the Happy Valley Derby Darlins. The thought of playing against a Wasatch team scared most of us, and it really really scared me.

It's been a long, stressful road to this bout. For the last three months, this bout has been a source of motivation, pressure, competition, stress, intensity, and terror. For starters, our mamas had to create a roster of only fourteen players out of a pool of fifty. Fifty girls competing for fourteen spots creates a lot of pressure. But it also creates a lot of motivation to make attendance, work hard, and get picked for the final roster.

We went through three rounds of cuts over these months before the final roster was announced. Fifty was scaled back to about twenty-five; twenty-five went down to seventeen, then the final fourteen bout players were officially announced a few weeks ago. We knew three of those spots belonged to the mamas, so we were really competing for only eleven spots. After each round of cuts, an updated list was emailed to the group. When I made it through the first round, I breathed a sigh of relief and the lump of anxiety in my stomach started to grow.

When I made it through the second round, I fist pumped and told myself, "This is enough. Making it this far is good enough for me." There was much rejoicing in Bone land. Then...

What has two thumbs and made it on the final roster? This gal.

And what has two thumbs, made the roster, and has been self-imploding ever since?

Also this gal.

It's not that I'm ungrateful or not flattered to have been picked; I am incredibly humbled and appreciative that I made it this far. It blows me away that the mamas have enough faith in my abilities to put me on the track alongside them, and against really tough components. But along with the flattery came feelings of guilt, because there are so many girls who deserve this more than me. There are girls who never miss a practice, they work their butts off, they go to the extra practices, and their positive attitudes are contagious.

Then there's me. I've been beating myself up this entire session, for a million different reasons. My skills aren't improving, I keep gaining weight, I'm tired all the time, I'm slow on the track, I let negative people get to me, on and on. I feel like I've lost my drive to get better, which makes me feel even worse because I know that's my choice, that's in my control, and I haven't done anything to change it. I have only myself to blame. I haven't even wanted to blog in over a month, I haven't followed up on my three-part series for the Rockettes, nothing. That's how I really know it's gotten bad - I've had zero motivation.

Plus my anxiety over turning thirty hasn't helped at all. I remember Manna telling me months ago, "Once your body hits thirty, it's all downhill from there." I didn't think my body could go downhill any faster, but apparently it's only going to get worse. (Note: actually turning thirty wasn't bad at all, thanks to all the people who made it amazing, but that's for another post.) It was just the idea of being thirty that was depressing me.

The roster skaters (we're in the process of coming up with an official name for the bout. I think it's something along the lines of Bloody Sphincters or something like that) have been scrimmaging against everyone else. "Everyone Else" means all the other Rockettes, along with any Wasatch or Salt City derby girls who come to scrimmage.

Last week, there were lots of Wasatch girls who came to play. And when I say they came to play, they came to play. Many of the Wasatch girls came from the all-star team, Midnight Terror. Midnight Terror skaters are the best of the best; they're like celebrities to me - just hearing their names makes me pee a little. Girls like Skull Candy, Skatey Gaga, and Harry Slaughter. They're terrifying, and I was out on the track with them.

So how did I handle it? Well, the first time I went out, I stuck my pointer finger up Skull Candy's butt. Literally, I think I poked her butthole. I wish I could tell you how exactly this happened, bit all I know is that it did. And she wasn't even phased! She gave me kind of a weird look, and then proceeded to leave me in her dust as she sped off.

This is so typical Bone. I go out there, determined to make a good impression on my derby idols, and instead I violated the butt of one of the most amazing jammers you'll ever see. I desperately wanted them to think I was cool, and then I spent the rest of the night telling everyone to smell my finger.

It was a hard scrimmage. Our bench manager (who also happens to be my derby wife) did an amazing job of putting our lineups together, and trying to figure out what works best. I tried to listen, I tried to do what I was told, but nothing was working. Every jam, I felt like I spent all my time falling behind and trying to catch up. I was slow, out of breath, weak, and taking up space on the track. I felt like I was fresh meat all over again, and I was mentally beating myself up.

But I kept a brave face and didn't fall apart. I was actually doing pretty well until Bruiser Ego came over to me at the end.

You know how there are certain people that you never ever want to let down? You don't want them to see you when you're weak or vulnerable; you never want to disappoint them. That's how Bruiser is for me. She came over and hugged me, and I just lost it. I was sobbing on her shoulder, hoping that no one would notice.

I whispered through my tears, "I don't belong here. They made a huge mistake putting me on this roster, I shouldn't even be out there. I don't belong here."

Of course Bruiser was sweet and comforting, and she gave me words of encouragement. She said, "You absolutely do belong here."

She didn't blow smoke up my ass by trying to build me up with false compliments, she wasn't just being nice; I really believed her when she said that I belonged there. Maybe I just needed to have a moment, and it just happened to be on Bruiser's shoulder. But she said exactly what I needed to hear.

I do belong with the Rockettes, even if it's only to make people laugh because I stuck my finger up Skull Candy's butt.

I Could Sell Anything to Anyone

The following is a word for word instant message conversation between myself and a good friend from derby. I promised her I wouldn't reveal her true name, so to protect her innocence, I'll just tell you that her skate name starts with a K and rhymes with shmid. She and her husband, Shmory, have been discussing purchasing a hedgehog, and she asked for my opinion. Which was her first mistake. And apparently she trusts me impeccably.

Shmid: Shmory and I were just talking about getting a baby hedgehog. I was looking at pics and they are so so cute!

Bone: They’re not so cute when they poop all over the place and stab you with their spines. Plus they smell really really bad.

Shmid: They do? Have you had one before? You know a lot about this. We have been doing some research

Bone: Yes I do know a lot about this because I used to own one. Her name was Dolly, after Dolly Parton. She wore little tennis shoes, and ran everywhere really fast all the time. But she smelled really bad and shredded everything up.

Shmid: Bummer, I have always wanted one. I love animals and I thought it would be a great addition to the family. We have been researching it for a month or so. We are concerned it may not get along with our dog though.

Bone: It will probably kill your dog. It killed my mouse, Whitney.

Shmid: What?!?!?! How does it kill?

Bone: With its claws and teeth.

Shmid: And you think it could kill my dog? Why?

Bone: You have a tiny dog. And the hedgehog goes for soft parts, like the throat and belly. They are SUPER territorial.

Shmid: OMG I haven't read/heard that. I read that they love to cuddle, need lots of attention, are very fragile and very friendly. Okay well you just made my mind up.

Bone: And, it not only killed Whitney, but then it ATE HER. And started to go after my other mouse, Eleanor.

Shmid: I'm not getting one if it's going to hurt or kill my dog

Bone: Dolly ripped one of Eleanor’s legs off.

Shmid: What?!?!?! Holy shit, that sounds evil!

Bone: Yeah, they're mean. I really think it would kill your dog.

Shmid: OMG, we haven't read that at all. My dog is my LIFE, so never mind. I'm glad I said something to you.

Bone: When I found them, Dolly had already killed and partially eaten Whitney, and she was CHEWING on Eleanor’s detached leg. And when I tried to get close to get the leg back, she totally snarled and growled at me. And hissed too.

Shmid: All we have read is that they are super friendly and cuddly! Your poor mice!

Bone: Where are you reading all this?? Because it all sounds INSANE and clearly these people don’t know what they’re talking about!

Shmid: On several different sites. And Shmory works with a guy that had one. He said his was super friendly! Did Eleanor live?

Bone: No, she bled to death after her leg got chewed off. It was horribly tragic.

Shmid: That’s so sad. Did you get rid of Dolly after that?

Bone: We were going to have her put down, but she got out and our neighbor whacked her with a broom and flattened her.

Shmid: OMG

Bone: We didn't even know what had happened to her until like a month later when our neighbor was talking about this rodent that came up on her porch. She freaked out because it had a BIRD in its mouth, like it had killed a bird and was eating it on her porch.

Shmid: Didn't you keep her in a cage?

Bone: Yeah but we let her walk around the house, which is how she got into the mouse cage in the first place. She climbed up there and massacred them.

Shmid: Damn it I wanted one so bad. You totally scared me out of it. I'm super glad I talked to you about it.

Bone: Hedgehogs are assholes, that's all I’m saying.

Shmid: Good to know. I will pre-approve all my pet purchases with you first. I just told Shmory we are NOT getting one cause it will kill our toy poodle and rip open her stomach and eat her. I just had no idea they were so mean!

Bone: You also didn’t know they hunted birds and killed things with their claws.

Bone: Also, none of what I just told you is true.

Bone: Except that I did have white mice named Eleanor and Whitney.

…..

Shmid: YOU’RE such an ASSHOLE!!!!

Bone: I know, right? But I really did have mice, I promise.

Innuendo? No; Literally, In MY Endo

Last fall there was a deal on Groupon that I couldn't resist: $39 for one colon hydrotherapy session. I'd been interested in having a colon cleanse for a long time - I love reading the testimonials from people who get it done, talking about all the crazy stuff that comes out of their butt.

I tried to do a home cleanse once, called The Royal Flush (thank you, Andi) and every time I pooed it smelled like burned tire rubber, so I at least got a little gratification that it was working. But that cleanse was several days, and I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything except apple cider vinegar and capsules of fiber and psyllium or something. I couldn't last the full seven days; I had to eat something solid. Like Burger King and cake.

When this deal came across, I jumped at the chance because it's normally much more expensive. And I was morbidly curious about what kind of crazy stuff would come out of my butt. If you need an explanation of what colon hydrotherapy is, I suggest you Google it, but be prepared for some gnarly pictures that might come up.

Basically, a tube goes up your butt, fills your intestines with water, and then you push it back out. I was not aware of that last bit; I thought it all would just drain out on its own. But I was sorely mistaken about that, and about a lot of things. After a few days have passed, I've been able to look back at the things that should have clued me in that this whole thing was one big mistake.

Clue #1: The "Wellness Clinic" was actually just her house.
Maybe I should've just turned around right then, because there wasn't even a business license on display anywhere, just lots of water features and bamboo plants. And a sign that told me to take my shoes off.

Clue #2: She was mad at me and scolded me repeatedly for arriving fifteen minutes early, even though she had no other clients there at the time.
Her "clinic" was in another town, I didn't know how long it would take me to get there, I expected that I'd have to fill out paperwork, etc, so I planned some extra time. I was only there fifteen minutes early, and she kept saying, "You're not even supposed to BE here yet..." Seriously? There was no one else there! She had more than one room to accommodate clients! But she made comments about how she'd have to put "Mike" in the other room because I wasn't even supposed to BE there. She was saying really snarky things, but she had some kind of accent, either Australian or South African, so everything sounded deceptively nice and sing-songy, but really she was being snippy.

Clue #3: There was no paperwork to fill out, no client history questionnaire, no nothing.
She didn't ask me about what I ate, how sedentary I was, if I consumed more than one jar of peanut butter a week...nothing. No discussion at all. I think she was too pissed at me for arriving early (the horror!) to care at all about my nutritional state.

Clue #4: She insisted on calling me Tara.
Even after I corrected her at least three times. "No, it's Sarah. Sssssssssssssssssssssssssarah." She'd respond with, "Okay, Tara." I mean geeze lady, you're sticking a tube up my butt, the least you can do is get my name right.

Clue #5: She had absolutely no sense of humor.
What a waste, considering her line of work. Since it was clear that she was making no effort to make me feel less awkward, I took it upon myself to try and cut the tension by making jokes. They were not appreciated, because apparently tubes in the butt is "very serious business" and "is not to be mocked at all."

Those things should have clued me in, but I was committed to the experience and I pushed through. Literally. Like when she stood next to me as I was laying there, being filled with water, and she asked me if I felt like I had to go.

Me: Um, yes? But I always feel like I have to go...
Her: Okay, I want you to PUSH IT OUT! PUSH! PUSH! GO GO GO!
Me: You want me to...go? Like, GO go? Right here in front of you?
Her: Yes! GO GO GO! PUSH PUSH PUSH!
Me: I don't know if I can do that...

I turned my head to the side as if I was being shamed, and tried to push. I felt like I was pushing, but when you have a tube up your butt, everything just feels wrong. I obviously wasn't doing it right because she huffed impatiently and ROLLED HER EYES. Then she pushed down on my stomach, and I'm really shocked that I didn't have a massive explosion.

Her: Well, you're very full, and you're belly is so distended even when you're not full, so I know you have to go. So, GO!

I glared at her because thanks lady, I KNOW I have a distended belly, that's why I'm here. Then I closed my eyes in shame, and pushed...and I heard a little trickle somewhere off in the distance. It was very faint, and there was an echo; like a garden hose slowly dripping into a big empty rain barrel. And I giggled, which apparently is not acceptable, because she glared at me, and said, "We're just getting a little spurt, and we want it to flow. We want it to flooooooooooow. So, when you feel like you need to go, I want you to GO!"

Again, nothing but a trickle. At which point she sighed again and literally threw her hands up. "Maybe you have a problem going with me in the room, so I'm going to step out."

Yes, lady, I have a very serious "problem" with pushing out my bowels while you stand next to me, yelling at me like a pissed-off cheerleader. Who WOULDN'T have a problem in that situation?

So she left me there in peace, watching a vegan propaganda video about how we should never ever consume any animal products whatsoever. I'll be honest, I didn't put much stock into it because it looked like it was produced in the '70s and all the "doctors" weren't really doctors.

She popped her head in every few minutes to ask, "How's it going, Tara?" and would pop back out without even waiting for me to respond. So that made me feel really special.

I knew exactly when her next client arrived, because they were right outside the door and I could hear every word of their conversation. Which means they could hear everything going on in my room. I had finally gotten into a groove of feeling full, pushing it out, and hearing a satisfying flow go into the mysterious bin (I still have no idea where it was, or what it really was, because everything was behind a curtain. And yes, I tried to look behind the curtain but there was only a sealed tank. It's all a mystery to me.)

I was told that I'd get an hour long session, but after thirty minutes, she came in and announced that I was ready to go off.
Me: Are you sure? Because I still feel pretty full. I think there's still some stuff up there.
Her: No, no, you're done. Just spray yourself off with that nozzle and you can go.

I kind of felt violated and confused about what had just happened. What had just happened? I didn't feel any different, and I didn't even get to see anything that came out, which I was really curious about. It was a total let down.

She ushered me out so quickly that I didn't have a chance to ask her any questions about aftercare (What should I expect over the next few hours? Should I have wrapped my seat in plastic before I drive away?) She said absolutely nothing except "Goodbye", making it very clear that she had no time for questions.

I walked out to her driveway and saw that there was a shiny new Mercedes parked behind me now. I immediately became paranoid about hitting it, and I was so focused on using my side mirrors to back out perfectly straight, that I backed straight into the huge tree that was directly behind me. Right into the huge tree that I would've seen if I'd bothered to even glance in my rear view mirror, instead of depending solely on my side mirrors.

Adding insult to injury, when I hit the tree, my body jolted forward and hit the horn. So I had made it impossible to just quietly hit the tree and sneak off. I cussed loudly, jumped out to check the bumper (scratched but not dented), did a fifty-point turn to get out of the driveway, and burned rubber getting out of there. Humiliating, because I'm sure she just watched the whole thing unfold from her window.

I thought maybe I should've gone in and told her that I backed into her tree, but then I realized, what's she going to do? I can just drive away and she can spend the rest of her life trying to track down Tara.

Good luck with that.

Teach Me How to Bone

A lot of people have asked me how I always seem to get my way when there's something I want. I don't say that in an I'm-a-spoiled-brat kind of way; I say that in an I-fight-for-what-I-want-and-I-usually-win kind of way. Which probably sounds just as bad as being a spoiled brat (or worse) but the facts don't lie: more often than not, I get my way.

I'm here to tell you that you don't have to be a raging bitch to get what you want. You don't even have to fight for what you want, but there are a few tricks I've learned over the years about how to do this, especially when it comes to businesses. I'll use my recent experience with Big-O Tires as an example. Judge me all you want, but this is just how I roll.

1. Boobs have nothing to do with it; neither does being female. In fact, these things usually work against you.
Let's just get this out of the way up front, because it's always the first reaction I get when I recount my latest victory. "Oh it's just because you have boobs." "Oh it's just because you're a girl." No, it's not, because these are the things that people instantly use as an opportunity to take advantage of you. Guys, think what you want, but my experience has been that as soon as I walk into a car dealership, mechanic, or any other predominantly-male environment, I'm viewed as an easy target - until I open my mouth. I do not rely on my chest or gender to get me what I want. Which brings me to point number two.

2. Go in prepared, or at least act like you are.
Knowledge and confidence are the most important things that will work in your favor, especially when dealing with places like mechanics. They are banking on the fact that they know more than you, and that they are the expert. You need to be the expert. Knowing as much as you can about the matter will always give you the upper hand. Wait, scratch that, you don't even need to really know that much, but if you act like you do, it's almost as good. This is where the confidence comes in, because if you act like you know what you're talking about, and if you assert yourself and speak with confidence, it goes a long way.

But it definitely helps to be prepared. Know thy enemy, right? Like when Big-O told me my alignment was off, I jumped on my phone to brush up on the differences between the caster, camber, and toe; because when they threw these big words at me, they were counting on me to be clueless. I quickly became an expert on all things alignment, and I was ready when they came at me.

Let me preface this by saying the only reason I went to a chain like Big-O is because I got a good hook-up when I bought new wheels and tires, and at the time I was told that everything was covered under a full warranty. And they gave me four free snow tires, but that's a whole different story. I don't like to deal with chains - the only reason I go to the Ford dealership is because everything is still under warranty. Otherwise, I avoid the big name shops and prefer to stick to the one-man-bands.

So when I noticed that my right front tire was low, I reluctantly took it to the nearest Big-O, figuring they'd do a standard patch job and I'd be on my way. Boy was I wrong. I'll try my best to make a long story short, so here are the facts as they were presented to me by the manager:

Him: "There's a screw in your tire, but the whole tire needs to be replaced because the tire has separated from the wheel in this one spot, and that's because there's something wrong with your alignment that's causing the tire to wear unevenly. See how your tire is completely bald just on the inside edge just in this four inch strip? So we can order you a new tire, but it's not covered under warranty, and you'll have to pay a prorated amount for the wear you've already put on the tire."

Me: "These tires are supposed to have a full warranty for the life of the tire."

Him: "Yeeeeeeeeeeah, I don't know who told you that, but they were misinformed."

Me, pointing at my warranty documentation: "Well, see, it says right here, there's a full manufacturer's warranty for the life of the tire."

Him: "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah, but that's only if there's a defect in the tire itself, not if there's a defect with your car."

Me, fighting the urge to respond to the 'your car has a defect' comment: "Well, based on what you're telling me, the tire is wearing only in that one spot because my alignment is off, right? I haven't noticed any pulling in the steering..."

Him: "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah, um, if the alignment isn't noticeably off, the tire has probably worn down so much because significant mileage has been put on it in while it's been in that position, and you haven't rotated it enough."

Me: "So any tire in that position (the right front) would wear the same way, right?"

Him: "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah."

Me: "Well that's interesting, because none of my other tires have worn like that, and I just had them rotated 2,000 miles ago, so if the alignment was off by that much, wouldn't the other tires have worn the same way when they were in that position? And based on what you said, the alignment would have to be significantly off for the tire to have become BALD in one FOUR INCH SECTION after less than 2,000 miles right? If the alignment was the problem, wouldn't you have noticed when you rotated my tires? Wouldn't you have noticed if another tire was wearing like that?"

Him: "Ummmmmmmmm..."

Which brings me to my next tactic:

3. Question, question, question until you fully understand.
I was trying to get him to explain it to me like I'm a four-year-old, and so I could then throw it back in his face.

4. Throw it back in their face.
Me: "It sounds to me like this is a defect in the actual tire, not the car, so it should be covered under the manufacturer's warranty."

Him: "Um, you'll have to pay for the wear you've already put on it."

Me: "Yeeeeeeeeah, I'm not going to pay for anything, because it clearly says here that there is a full manufacturer's warranty for the life of the tire."

5. Rinse, restate, rephrase and repeat as long as necessary.
This is when most people give up because they're just tired of dealing with the problem or the person. You have to be willing to either go the distance, or be okay with not getting what you want. Honestly, this is the principle at the heart of Boning someone - I'm never willing to give up and be okay with getting less than what I feel I deserve (or paid for). I will question, debate, repeat and rephrase until I'm blue in the face. This is how I got my car for thousands below MSRP, along with a custom paint job, two custom grilles, an extended warranty, and free oil changes for a year. Not because I yelled and kicked and screamed (that didn't come until later, when they tried to back out of their promises) but because I was willing to sit there and go fifteen rounds with them. And up until this point, I don't even have to raise my voice, bob my head, or jab my finger. However...

#6. When all else fails, don't be afraid to cause a scene.
It doesn't usually come to this, but I have no shame. Because here's the thing: I am fiercely loyal when I'm treated well. I've followed the same one guy from shop to shop for the last ten years because I like the way he deals with me. Wherever he goes, they get my business because he treats me right. But I'm also fiercely vindictive, because if you cross me, I won't just quietly take my business elsewhere. I'll obnoxiously badmouth you as I make a production of taking my business elsewhere.

No place of business, especially a crowded place of business, wants negative attention drawn to them. And Big-O, on a Saturday afternoon with a sitting area full of people is the perfect place to throw a fit if steps #1-#5 didn't get the job done. And no, I'm not above raising my voice, bobbing my head, slamming my hand on the counter, drawing attention to myself - whatever it takes if reason and logic didn't get through the manager's thick skull.

This is how I ended up getting what I wanted, which is two brand new tires (because it's kind of pointless to replace only one). This after I demanded that they test the alignment on my car, which proved to be absolutely fine, which led to him admitting that it was a defect in the tire, and would thus be covered under the manufacturer's warranty. This in turn led me to "suggest" that they adjust my alignment from the preferred manufacturer's settings (normal) to a performance alignment, which will give me better tire tread life as the 'Stang corners like it's on rails. The look on his face was priceless when I explained that I wanted maximum negative camber, maximum positive caster, and preferred toe settings, and that I wanted it for free because of the hour-long hassle they'd put me through. Because then he really knew that I knew what I was talking about, and I meant business.

So, the best advice I can give you when fighting for your cause is to remember G.I. Joe: Knowing is half the battle. The rest is not giving up, and not being afraid to draw a little attention to the situation.

And that's how Bone does it.

One Year Derbyversary

Today marks exactly one year since I strapped on my gear and skated with the Rockettes for the very first time. I can't believe it's been an entire year, and I can't believe how much my life has changed because of joining the Rockettes.

A year ago, I could barely stand up on skates, let alone take a hit, and forget hitting someone. I couldn't fall properly, which I learned the hard way by falling all. The. Time. I was scared of everything, and was terrified of being a failure.

A year ago, I had a handful of close friends and I'm pretty sure they were all growing weary of my constant neediness. I'd been working three jobs and had no balance in my life - pretty much all I did was work, eat Burger King, and have emotional meltdowns. My poor sister - between trying to make me stop crying, and trying to make her two-year-old daughter stop crying; she had her hands full.

Then all at once, things started to change, and now I know why. I was offered a position at work that allowed me to finally cut back to one job for the first time in years. My previous schedule had me going from a full-time day job straight to a part-time night job Monday - Thursday, and then a different job on the weekends. Suddenly I had all of my nights free and I had no idea what I would do with myself. Then Gina brought up the idea of roller derby, the stars aligned to get me my first pair of incredibly sucky Big-5 skates, and the rest is history.

But it's more than just history. The Rockettes have become such a big part of my life that it's impossible to imagine my life now without them. Learning how to skate and play derby has been one of the most challenging things I've ever done. It has been both the most inflating and the most deflating thing to my ego. There were times when I cried the whole way home after practice, and times when I've wanted to cry out of sheer elation. I wanted to quit more often then I'd like to admit, but every time I go back, I can't imagine ever leaving.

Now I find myself surrounded by friends, and not a day goes by without a chat, text or phone call from at least one derby girl. I found an entire community of people who support, love, and encourage each other. Sure there's drama - good luck getting fifty girls together without there being some kind of drama - but none if it matters in the long run. It's impossible for me to express my thanks to everyone.

To keep this short and sweet, I'll end on this note: there's a popular phrase that says, "Roller derby saved my soul." As nice as that sounds, I don't agree with it; because with all the ups and downs, confidence highs and lows, blood, sweat and tears, it isn't roller derby that saved me - it's the Red Rockettes.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

May your year be less terrifying than playing roller derby.

Much Love, Bone

Guest Blogger: Kid Seditious

When Bone asked me to be her guest blogger I didn't know quite what to say or even how to describe my overwhelming feelings about the recent scrimmage we had against The Happy Valley Derby Darlings. From the day I first saw the girls of Happy Valley they scared the crap out of me, starting with their makeup enhanced black eyes right down to their intimidating pink leggings. Yes, that's right these women make the color pink look terrifying. Since I hadn't passed my minimum skills yet I didn't have the opportunity to scrimmage against them the first time in September but I did scream my guts out for The Red Rockettes. While watching the first scrimmage I remember thinking to myself, "Self, you can do this. We are leading by a ton and these girls are on a similar playing level we are on and by the time we play them again I will practically be playing derby for the US championship team". Man was I delusional. I quickly realized that was so not the case.

Once December 1st hit, the anxiety kicked in. I was so not looking forward to the upcoming scrimmage against Happy Valley. I had to force myself to not think about it by planning ridiculous parties where if I consumed enough jello shots I wouldn't care anymore. Before you knew it, the day was here. Bone, being as awesome and amazing as she is, was forced into calming me down every 15 minutes on Google chat. But even her pep talks weren't helping and I was seriously considering not playing at all. So she had no choice but to resort to lower levels or persuasion. BLACKMAIL. I won't tell you how she blackmailed me but if I didn't skate, the whole team would have been furious at me.

As hard as I tried to get sick (by licking my company's computer keyboard's and phones) I just never caught a bug. So I had to eventually put on my big girl no pants panties and do it!! I was panicked all day and by the time 5 o'clock rolled around I was literally shaking (some might have called it a seizure). As I pulled into the Derby Depot I could fill the hard shell taco that I forced down earlier coming back up. I could barely stand let alone skate. But as soon as I walked through that door and realized I would be on the same team as the toughest derby girls I know I started to calm down. Instead of being concussed by Margie Ram (which might I add still happened) I would get to block with her, instead of hiding from Bruiser Ego I was actually seeking her out, instead of freezing up every time Wanton so much as looked at me I was slapping her butt and the list of skaters I was honored to skate with goes on and on. And yes, Bone was right, as soon as I was out there skating with my girls my nerves just floated away.

I laced up my skates, put my game face on (which ironically looks like an, "oh my, did I just crap myself" face) and made my way over to our bench. All I can say is what a rush. Turns out Happy Valley worked their asses off since our first scrimmage against them. I have never seen a whole team improve as quickly as they did. Their jammers were faster, their blockers more aggressive and turns out I wasn't as good as the US championship team. They beat us, and by a lot.

But to my surprise I wasn't even upset they won, because I had the time of my life. The best part of this whole experience was watching Vakilla knock around their girls and push them out time and time again, and watching Galaticat put us on the board by scoring our first points, and feeling the breeze from Temper as she zoomed past our bench, and laughing as Wanton harassed their jammers similar to the way a cougar plays with her pray before she kills them, and cheering on Italy and Jupiter as they fight to score points and having Babe right there ready to flash me every time I felt the nerves start to creep up again, just to name a few.

I'm still a little shaky on skates and not a tough as I want to be, but I'm told if I just stick with it and push myself I will get better. And for the record, I plan on working my ass off so the next time we scrimmage against Happy Valley I'm hoping they walk away being terrified of Kid Seditious.

Not My Finest Moment, But Maybe

Let's just get this out of the way up front: I yelled the F-word at a 13-year-old girl. As in, "Eff you!" except I said the whole word, and I yelled it at her in a public place.

In my defense, she called me a bitch first. In her defense, it was because I didn't move out of the way of her and her stupid friends, so my shopping bags nailed them as they shoved past me. In my defense, I think I won.

Let me explain a little bit about my nature. It's my belief that enough bitching will get you just about anything. A lot of people would disagree with me and say that kindness and taking the high road are the keys to getting what you want, but in my experience, the high road is extremely overrated and not nearly as satisfying as taking the low road.

I've thought about starting a side business that would let people hire me to resolve their conflicts for them. More than one friend has called upon me to deal with situations that they themselves don't want to handle. Your neighbor is a loud-mouth lady with five different baby daddies and kids who throw chicken bones and used maxi pads into your yard and you don't like confrontation? No problem, I'll call the landlord and complain for you. You're not happy with the crappy racing stripe stickers installed by the dealership? Don't worry, I'll bitch and moan until you get those stripes customized and painted on. For free. Did the windshield of your Mustang get cracked because a big ass rock flew off a big ass truck while you were driving through construction and everyone told you it was a waste of time to complain because the big ass construction company will never accept responsibility and replace your windshield? Leave it to Bone, because you will get a new windshield. Free. And I did.

For most people, life is easier when you don't kick and scream your way through it. For me, I like to have the last word. In everything. Keep in mind, I spent Halloween arguing with my four-year-old nephew over why my Batman costume was better than his. (The correct answer is because my mask had angry eyebrows, and his just had shapely eyebrows.)

It's not like I go through life looking for a fight. Granted, there are days when I need to blow off some steam and I'm just waiting for someone to do something that I don't like. I glare at people, daring them to cut me off or steal my parking spot, just so I can feel justified in yelling and shaking my fist. Is it mature? No, but it feels good.

Black Friday was one of "those" days. Technically it was Black Friday, but actually it all started late Thursday night when I was standing in line at Best Buy, hoping against all odds to score one of the cheap televisions. When the employees started bringing vouchers around for the big ticket items, I tried to bring levity to the situation by asking them all, "Is this a ticket for the donut maker? That's why I'm standing in line for hours in the rain - because I really want that donut maker." In case you're wondering, they never did bring around tickets for the donut maker, and also, I didn't get a tv.

So we headed to the mall at midnight to brave the crowds there. I've never been to the mall at midnight on Black Friday, so I was looking forward to a new experience. I was prepared for crowds and long lines, but what I was not prepared for was the sheer number of unsupervised, unkempt, rude, snotty, scantily clad prostitots.

Prostitots are tween girls dressed like prostitutes, and they. Are. Everywhere. Growing up, we were never allowed to "hang out" at the mall, and now I understand why: because the barely-teenage kids who aimlessly wander around the mall look like trash; plain and simple. They serve no purpose except to congregate in gaggles, get in my way, and piss me off. These kids were not there to shop, they weren't there for the killer deals and midnight specials. They were there to hang out with their friends, wearing gobs of makeup and jeans with so many holes that they may as well have been wearing no pants at all.

My annoyance had reached its breaking point after standing in line at Victoria's Secret, surrounded by dozens of said prostitots. I wanted to shout at them, "You are twelve years old! What are you doing at Victoria's Secret! Stand up straight, wash that whore makeup off and go eat something!" Because another thing - they all look like freaking swizzle sticks. They are the poster children for body image issues and eating disorders.

Maybe I'm just getting more crabby in my old age, but these kids were making my blood pressure rise. But you're not allowed to yell at them, because even though they're wearing a whore's uniform, they're still just kids and an angry mob will chase you out of the mall if you yell at a kid. So I bit my tongue, and when they pushed me, I silently pushed them back. When they stepped on my toes, I swung my bags extra wide as I turned around and "accidentally" hit them.

I started to realize that when I reacted in turn, no one said anything, no one pushed back - the group of girls continued on their blissfully ignorant way. They weren't even phased...which kind of pissed me off more. I wanted them to understand that I was taking a stand against their generation; and they weren't giving me any satisfaction.

I gave up trying to get out of their way and avoid them when blocked a doorway or took up the entire aisle. I started pushing my way through without saying "Excuse me", and I made sure to glare at them. Really hard. If I couldn't yell at them, I'd let my slitty eyes do the talking for me. This was about the point when the soon-to-be benefactor of my wrath came prancing along, leading her gaggle of prostitots like the pied piper. I saw them coming, I knew they weren't going to move out of my way, I knew I could have moved out of their way, but I just didn't want to.

So I barreled my way through them, my shopping bags knocked into them, and I felt smugly satisfied as I heard their pissy gasps of annoyance. Then their fearless leader yelled, "Bitch!" and my annoyance got the better of me. Oh hell no, this little snot did not just call me that. My first thought was to go back and swing my bags at her head, but I showed restraint - and we know how the rest of the story goes.

Am I proud of stooping to the maturity level of a tween? Not really, but it felt really good...and I got the last word. I may have lost at getting a TV, but I consider this a win at life.

Sorry That I Have An Awesome Sense of Humor and No One Else Does

I realized today that I am cursed. Cursed to work in an industry absolutely full of dirty innuendos (in YOUR endo! snicker snicker) that absolutely no one else thinks are funny. Ever.

I am cursed to sit through boring meetings full of men over 40, most of whom are engineers, and all of whom have absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever; otherwise they'd probably re-think their vocabulary. Because just about everything sounds either menstrual or dirty: illicit discharge, flow, wetlands, monthly discharge rate, generating sites of illicit discharge...you get the idea. There's lots of talk about discharge, and it still makes me giggle every. Single. Time.

Today I was in one such meeting, when the presenter announced that the EPA has come up with a new slogan to describe the basic idea behind stormwater management. With fervor and enthusiasm, he proclaimed, "Slow it down! Spread it out! Soak it in!"

Blink. Blink.

Did I just hear him right? And if I did, why is no one else laughing? I squinted at his power point slide, and then at my handout of the slide, again at the slide...yep, I was right. Slow it down, spread it out, soak it in.

That's about the point when I burst out laughing, and I looked around incredulously. Seriously, how is no one else even cracking a smile at this? Do they not realize what he just said? Nothing? Sigh. I really am cursed.

I got back to the office and was giving my boss a rundown of the meeting. I started telling it like I was doing a stand-up routine. "And then! Are you ready for this? The slogan is slow it down, spread it out, soak it in! Can you believe that!"

Blink. Blink. Chirp. Chirp. I think a tumble weed may have even blown past.

"Are you kidding me? How can you not find that the least bit amusing!" I shouted at him.

"Probably because not everyone has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy," he replied dryly.

So then I asked him if I could make bumper stickers with the new slogan and pass them out to residents, which was met with an immediate veto. So then I asked him if I could make a tshirt that said "Stormwater Managers Slow It Down". Also no.

I stood up, undeterred, and declared, "Your life is completely void of humor and joy. I weep for you." Then I marched out. I don't think it really had the dramatic effect I was hoping for.

My sense of humor is completely lost and unappreciated at work.

Check That Off My Bucket List

I spent the entire week last week at a conference about stormwater. The last two days were training and an exam for a specific certification. I haven't taken a test that long since my SAT's, and afterwards, I crashed and burned, Mav. As in, I was asleep by 7 pm on a Friday and then spent the rest of the weekend sick in bed. Fun times were had by all, I can assure you.

Given the extremely exciting and stimulating nature of the conference (I mean, seriously, how much can you talk about illicit discharge? Put a panty liner on it and be done with it, right?) and since two days in a classroom with a dozen male engineers is everyone's idea of a good time, I had to provide my own entertainment. Which I did mostly by giggling to myself a lot, saying "That's what she said" under my breath a lot, and keeping a tally of everything that sounded remotely dirty. Oh, and by getting stuck in the bathroom.

We had a twenty-minute break one morning, and being the only female in the building, I headed to the bathroom to take a dump kill time. The lights in the bathroom were motion activated, I'd open the door, step into the dark and the lights would kick on. I kept hoping someone would jump out and yell, "Surprise!" but that never happened.

So there I was, taking a dump playing dirty words with friends on my cell phone, and I must've lost track of time because all of a sudden, the lights turned off, and I was sitting in pitch black darkness. It startled me and I audibly gasped, said, "What the heck?!" and nervously giggled. I waved my arms around a little, expecting the lights to kick back on...but nothing happened.

I waved my arms a little more emphatically, and still nothing. I giggled a little more nervously, and waved my arms again. Still nothing. There I sat in total darkness and contemplated my options. I couldn't get up off the toilet; I couldn't hold out hope that another lady would come in and activate the lights - and actually, that probably would've been more embarrassing, to have someone walk into the dark and then find out I'd been sitting there all along. How would I explain that? Hi, I'm just the weirdo sitting here in the dark, no big deal. That's like To Catch a Predator weird.

So I did what any normal person would do in this situation - I alternated between frantically waving my hands over my head and clapping, while simultaneously making loud noises like "Ca-CAW! Ca-CAW! Whoop! Whoop!", trying desperately to activate the lights.

Nothing.

I was running out of time, so I finally accepted my fate, and finished my business in the dark. It wasn't until after I'd gotten up, flushed, fumbled to open the stall, and found my way blindly to the sink that the lights decided to finally come back on. My only saving grace was that I was able to wash my hands in the light and make sure I hadn't made a total mess of myself.

So I guess I can check that off my bucket list. You know how the old saying goes: you haven't really lived until you've had to wipe your butt in the dark.

Check, and Mate

I'm not sure if what I did today was totally horrible or totally awesome, but I'm leaning towards awesome. Here's what happened:

I was sitting in my car in the Costco parking lot on my lunch break, parked far out in the lot away from other cars. I was playing some Words with Friends and enjoying the weather with my windows down when a middle-aged lady in a minivan pulled up next to me. She smiled and said, "Hi, I reeeeeeeeeeealllly like your car. It's soooooooooooooo nice. Soooooooooooooooo nice. I want to get me one of those. Can I ask you a favor?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, but obliged her politely. Then she launched into her not-so-well-rehearsed story:

"I'm trying to get to Stockton California, I just broke up with my boyfriend because he hit me, he's a good guy but I just broke up with him, and I'm trying to get to Stockton California, because I have to get away from my boyfriend because he hit me, can you help me out with gas or anything at all?"

My eyes narrowed even further into teeny little angry slits as I mentally assessed the situation:
1. This lady was slurring, bad;
2. She could barely keep her eyes open;
3. Her minivan looked fairly new;
4. The rock on her finger was HUGE;
5. She was speaking in one long, slurred, run-on sentence;
6. Did I mention she was slurring and could barely keep her eyes open?
7. She had no visible bruises that I could see;
8. There were no kids in her vehicle, but there was a car seat in the back.

Taking all these factors into consideration, I waited until she ran out of breath and stopped talking. Then I smiled sweetly and said, "Sure, I'll help you out if you can pass this drug test..." and I held up the five-panel drug test that I'd pulled from my center console.

Blink. Blink.

Now, before you think I'm a heartless, stereotyping, uncharitable, hateful weirdo who always has a drug test on hand, let me explain something. I worked as a substance abuse counselor for four years and feel pretty confident that I can tell when someone is under the influence. I'm not saying I have perfect radar, but this woman was so obviously exhibiting signs of being impaired and she was so obviously trying to con me that I took the opportunity to call her bluff.

Why did I have a drug test in my car? That's a good question...it's been in my console for so long that I don't even notice it anymore. I think it's been there for years. My best guess is that it got shuffled in with my stuff from the treatment center, and I tossed it in there with the intention of throwing it away. It's probably expired and wouldn't even have worked if the lady had decided to call my bluff; in which case things would've gotten really awkward.

But she didn't call my bluff; instead she got pissed and yelled, "Bitch!" as she burned rubber away from me. Her tires literally squealed.

So, you might think I'm a heartless, stereotyping, uncharitable, hateful weirdo because I didn't just hand this lady a twenty and count my good deed for the day; but based on her reaction, I don't think my "stereotyping" was too far off the mark.

Who knew that an expired drug test would be so handy?

Red Rockettes vs. Happy Valley Derby Darlins

Every once in awhile, something so amazing happens that I am brought to tears. I could count on one hand the number of times I've cried in the last year month week. And one of those times was last Thursday when I had the privilege of skating with the Rockettes in our first inter-league scrimmage, against the Happy Valley Derby Darlins.

You might remember Happy Valley from that one time I practiced with them and they scared the crap out of me. Which is why I only went to one of their practices - I was afraid I'd need to invest in adult diapers if I skated with them again. Needless to say, I was terrified on Thursday. I couldn't eat, I drank like six diet sodas, my stomach was in knots and I kept throwing up in my mouth a little. By the time I got to derby, I'd worked myself up into a shaky, sweaty, throw-up-mouthy frenzy. I was relieved that a few other Rockettes were just as worked up as me, except probably without the throw-up mouth part.

As more Happy Valley girls started showing up, more and more Happy Valley fans showed up too. The bleachers were packed, people were sitting on the floor, and the majority were wearing pink and holding signs for Happy Valley. It seemed like every spectator was cheering and yelling, but not for us. I felt outnumbered and started to deflate. But then, across the track, I spotted someone holding a sign...
There was Heather, like a beacon of hope shining through the clouds. Heather started skating in the same group as me, and seeing her in the bleachers almost made me cry. Not just for the sign, but also for this:

Aren't we a classy bunch?

My joy lasted for about one more minute, when we huddled up and scoped out our competition.

Some of them had painted their faces, a lot of them had massive bruises, and all of them scared me. Even their tights scared me.

Our mamas gathered us together for a pep talk. England spoke softly and kindly in her sweet British accent. We looked to her with wide-eyed, terrified faces; desperate for guidance. (Ok maybe not everyone, but definitely me) I think she may have nuzzled a few of us as she gently encouraged us and told us all how precious and lovely we were. (Ok maybe I made that last part up). Then Wanton yelled at us to sack up and stop being so scared. It was her way of figuratively slapping me across the face and shaking me, yelling, "Snap out of it!" Which is why I am both in love with and petrified of Wanton.

I loved the Rockettes more that night than I love peanut butter, Sylvester Stallone, or Tastyklair Pies. I don't know which was more fun - actually skating, or watching my teammates skate. I cheered so much that my throat hurt, and I feel fairly certain that I did the Brendan Fraser clap about a hundred times. And I'm really glad no one caught that on film. But here are some of my favorite moments that did:

I love the facial expressions that get captured in action shots. I call this one "Pushy Galore and Bloody Two Shoes Giving The Stink Eye." Pushy is the one in red, and I think it's pretty obvious which one is Bloody Two Shoes.

I call this one "My Ute Felt Sympathy Pains For You When You Did the Splits", because, ouch.

Bruiser gives Happy Valley the business.

This one is called "Finally, An Action Shot of Bone Instead of a Mouth-Hanging Open Shot of Bone."

Next time someone asks me why I'm scared of Wanton, I'm just going to show them this.

Doing what I do best, which is whatever Wanton tells/pushes me to do.

And here I am, playing a crucial role in helping to block for England as she jams. What's that? You can't see me being a totally effective, integral part of the blocking wall? Well let's take a closer look...

Oh, maybe you can't see me because I'm bent over, looking at the ground like I'm too busy dry heaving to be bothered with blocking. Yep, that's me.

How would you feel if you were on the track with Wanton.
I'm just saying.

In the end, the Rockettes won the scrimmage, and Happy Valley won the after party. We all got to mingle, and I realized that my fears were completely unfounded, because the Happy Valley girls were all really nice. I'm sure it won't be long before they're a competitive league, but at least now I can stop being afraid of their tights.