Revelation 8

This situation I find myself in... my Godfather-style thought process finds the whole thing very incongruous. Who am I to side with if I have loyalties to neither (yet)? And how can I manage to have loyalties to both?

i didn't try to sleep with you, and you didn't try to kiss me. so i guess we're just about even.

People say that they had the most fun of their lives in college, and wax philosophical about they'd do anything to get those years back. I think this will be it for me. My life is crazy. My house is practically a halfway house for me (and occasionally, my teammates) where I only go to sleep. When girls tell you, "I can't tonight, I have derby," they're not kidding. It's pretty much like that. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Someday, maybe... for a husband and kids and a white picket fence. But not now.
Bruises, tattoos, and staying up till 5:00 a.m... that's how it's gonna be.

Boys are stupid. That is all.

Saturday was another fine day. I went solo to my coworker's birthday party on Sandy Bottom Lake. Chris was really glad to see me, kissing me on the cheek repeatedly and introducing me to everyone as "the brains of the company" and "the only reason I work there."

"I'm so glad you came," he told me several times. "You're the only one I gave a damn about if they showed up. You're the only one who gets me." It's an accurate assessment. Over the course of the past year, we've realized one thing about each other, one High Truth: Chris and I are Up North people. It's hard to find the Up North breed in yuppie Ann Arbor.

I drank Bacardi & Pepsi, played euchre with random retirees, and even took a spin with said retirees on their pontoon boat in the middle of the night. When the boat ride was over, I called Chris to pick us up at the dock; one of the men walked with a cane and there was no way I wanted him to walk up the big hill to the clubhouse.

Chris picked us up in the golf cart, drunk off his ass and shouting my name into the darkness and fog of the private lake as we neared the shore. "Deoooooooonnnaaaaaa... where aaaaaaaare you?"

"Right here," I answered. But what I really meant was: right here and 160 miles north of here, all at the same time.

This was a weekend in which I had no concept of date or time, only place. Friday I hosted a Rock Band Party at my house, got many of my derby sisters and brothers tipsy while feeding them mini cheeseburgers, party slush, and brownies. My actual brother was there as well, looking too skinny and rather tired from a long day at work before he crashed in the guest room around 2 a.m.

Carol stayed until the wee hours before she drove home. James and I stayed awake even later than that, finally going to bed as the sun turned the blackness of night into a bright cobalt blue. "It's dawn again," he pointed out.

"Yes. That seems to be our thing."

I have what can only be described as a tenuous crush on him, strengthened by Labatt's and the fact that he looks like my father in his Instagram photo. He's cute, funny, kind, committed to wanting the best for us girls.

I don't know what to think of it, actually, although hanging out with him makes me long for Shawn, the closeness of a male friend, the silences we used to share. On the other hand, it would be just dandy if James had kissed me, would have probably (with the exception of my brother staying the night) been fine if he didn't end up in the basement where he slept until 12:30 p.m. in the bedroom with no windows.

So let's talk about derby for a minute. I know I am preaching to a choir-- a choir made up of hundreds of derby girls all around the world that don't even read this journal-- but why do a minority of the league's members do a majority of the league's work? Our travel team had its first scrimmage last night and some of our non-rostered girls came to watch. Only about half of them volunteered to do anything else and even when I gave them stuff to do, they did it for a little while and then had social hour.

You want to watch girls play roller derby? Buy some tickets to another team's bout. When your team is playing, you should damn well be doing everything in your power to help the skaters, your refs, and your NSOs.

Eventually I went into one of my rages. From what I can piece together from the refs, I uttered the following choice phrases:

"You are not on a fucking vacation at Club Med! Get out here and pick up the goddamn track!"
"Lazy cows... moo!"
...and something about cunts.

The girls who know me best call my Anarchy side, and the funny thing is that they like it. For example, I received this text message earlier today: I love it when you yell directions! I know you don't, cuz it usually means you're mad as hell, but I like that side of you nonetheless.

My friend, when asked by a potential blind date to describe what my downfalls are, said...
and I quote...
"She doesn't like fireworks."
It's not a downfall; it's a quirk!

"Listen: I buy you beers now, you take care of me when I am truly old and senile. That's how this works."

Despite having some kind of tummy bug, I pushed it at practice tonight and feel really great. I started toward the back of a sprint line and ended up toward the front; I had shaky legs from getting low on the team pushcarts; I got some good blocks in; and I didn't throw up. I even did a taco during our scrimmage. After, a large group of us went to Applebee's, where we had half-off appetizers. I didn't drink because I promised Heather I wouldn't. I sat by the ref I have a tenuous crush on. Five dollars and two hours later, we all sat outside in the warm rain. This life I've created for myself... it's good.