Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Even little miss chatterbox shuts up from time to time.

Two days to bout two. I have to say, I'm pretty excited. I had a little interview on Radio Adelaide this morning about it, with my derby Wife Champion Ruby. I always tell people that I have a face for radio (insert canned laughter here), but the full truth is, I don't even have a voice for it either. I freeze up! Now, absolutely anyone who knows me or has even met me for thirty seconds will attest to the fact that I am never at a loss for words... except in radio interviews. I have absolutely no recollection of anything I said, so I hope I was diplomatic. And scary. Us derby girls should be a little edgy I think.

So, this saturday is our second bout. We're playing the Mile Die Club. They're a really good team, last year's champions. I'm interested to see what they bring to the table, they have different strengths to the Wild Hearses so I imagine we'll have to change our game a bit. Maybe. Maybe we'll be totally kick-ass and rumble 'em, who can know? All I know is I wanna skate fast and stay outta the box. I'll report how it goes, especially if I skate fast, I'll probably just pout about anything else.

Moving on. So I've been doing my dreads lately. I would like to clear up a few things about dreads. Firstly, you don't have to be a dirty bag to have them. I wash my hair weekly, I'm very conscious of keeping them clean. Secondly, they're not an 'easy' or 'lazy' hairstyle. Admittedly, on a daily basis I don't have to 'do' my hair, just select a band to wear, but every couple of months when I re-do the roots, it's about ten hours of maintenance. Now, I'd like to rattle off a quick list of facts about them:

- They increase head size - if you're a hat wearer, contemplate this, I wear size 8' hats now.

- Same goes if you play a sport that requires helmets to be worn. Can be costly.

- They keep your head warm, which is good in winter, not so good any other time.

- They take a long time to dry. In winter, about two days.

- They increase coolness factor. Everyone knows only the cool kids have dreads.

- They complement tattoos very well.

- They can bring out the inner rasta in a person, also cool.

- They can be employed as weapons when the head is whipped around suddenly.

- This can backfire if they hit you in your own head.

- They can make your head pretty heavy. Not for the weak of neck.

Now, here is a little exercise. Above are three pictures of dreadlocks. Two of them are unhealthy, gross and probably house any number of living creatures, all sharing the love. One of them is me. pick the one which is me. If you need a hint, mine are the same colour as vanilla ice cream...

A guy came into work today, looked at my hair and said:

'Are they dreadlocks?'

I raised my head slowly and replied:

'Nope, I have a hundred-forty assholes on my head that shit white fuzzy turds. It's potty time.'

In reality, what I said was:

'yes they are.'


rant over.

In other news, it looks like I may be morphing into one of those metro, uppity coffee addicts. I'm fighting it (feebly), but it's hard when you're sleepy and still have shit to do. I used to only drink it to be social when out with my sisters, and I used to order a quarter strength. Now, I just get regular strength, and in a large size! I never believed it when people said they had a caffeine high, I honestly didn't. Now, I do. My heart felt like it was made of balsa wood and it was on top of an indusrial size fan, jumping and flipping wildly this way and that. It made me feel weak and ineffectual and I don't think I'll last long with this fad.

I'd like to finish off with a fact that I like. DID YOU KNOW that the first person to deliberately go over Niagara Falls was a woman? No? Well, let me enlighten you. Her name was Annie (not the orphan kind) and she was a school teacher in New York State. She figured that it would make her famous and thus, rich. She packed herself into a barrel with a pillow and a (I swear this is true) CAT and off she popped. Whaaaaaaat the faaaark? I do know that when I contemplate death-defying feats that are more than likely to result in my death, the thought of doing it without my cat is too much to bear, just too much. She survived. So did the cat. When the barrel was opened up and she emerged, her first words were:

'Nobody ought ever do that again.' How proper. Naturally, many people did but that's for another time. I learnt that fact when I was in Niagara falls, I did not make it up, even I couldn't make up something that dumb.

Well, that's it for now, until after the epic battle Saturday night,


Sunday, May 23, 2010

Working late and miffed bout it? Write a blog.

Right, so I'd like to open with a bit of a paradox I came up with today. Wtf is with the clubsport, Holden? Here is a gutsy, quick, hot looking car with a name like clubsport? Club.Sport. That is by far the gayest thing I've ever heard. Now I'm not talking about the cool kinda gay, the Samantha Ronsons, the Ellen and Portias, Prince, etc, I'm talking about the shit kind, like security guards on power trips and teenagers who think they're cool when they're not. Lame kinda stuff. Say it out loud in a voice like the one employed by Jim Carrey in In Living Colour when he portrays a bodybuilding woman who had her uterus turned into a tobacco pouch (wanna pinch?)... yes, gay. If that doesn't work, say it like Carlotta from What a Drag. You get the picture. Holden, if you're reading this (there is a very high chance of that), change it please. Unless it's a joke on stupid car heads that drive them - in that case, well played, sir, well played.
Next. We lost Lacrosse again yesterday. I'm no mathemagician, but I am beginning to see a pattern forming. There was a girl that played for them who annoys the shit outta me. She is big and fat (not that I got anything against fat ppl, just sayin'), and has pinchy little lips like those of a chicken or more accurately a chicken caricature. She looks like Miss Birdy of the McDonalds fast food chain (not sure if you've heard of it). She would not shut the fuck up. I beat her one time, and she panted 'you're fast, I couldnt keep up with you.' I thought 'I'm 32. The only time I'm fast is when I have wheels on my feet. I'm also shit at this game. I beat you cos you're fat and lazy and won't shut your beak.' Naturally I didn't say that, cos I'm not actually an asshole in person, just here so all I did was smile. Come to think of it, she would've fit perfectly into the musical I saw the other day. My mate was in it. it was called Honk and is the story of the ugly duckling. It was very cleverly done, with the actors dressed up in clothes that suggested what kind of animal they were. I really enjoyed it. Next time I play against annoying chicken beak girl I will suggest she audition.
Another thing happened in my lacrosse game yesterday - I had my first one handed catch on my off side. I was so shocked to see it go in there, I yelled out OHHHHHH!!! Then I thought that the crowd should acknowledge my feat, so I turned my head to them, shouted it louder, whilst pointing to my stick (with the ball in it) with my other hand. They were awed and amused so I was pleased. I can't remember what I did after that, probably dropped the ball, that sounds like me.
The last thing of note that happened was near the end of the game. They were beating us by about 13, and we were lining up to (I don't know what you call it actually, face off?) start again. As I stood there, panting like the asthmatic that I am, focusing on the centre draw, I heard their coach yell 'I smell fear!'... Ok. Let's pause here for a second to bring up a few points:
1. - This is the lowest grade that any adult can play.
2. - I haven't played for even a year yet but I can't recall being fearful at any time thus far.
3. - What kind of retard yells that out, ever?
...'I smell fear!'... my instant reply was 'nope, not afraid, I did fart though, it's probably that you can smell.' Yep, we might've lost the war, but I won that battle.
So, that's about it for me on this Sunday evening. I must go and resurface now, I'm going to pretend I'm driving a Clubsport and hang it out! Not really.
Enjoy your monday (no capital letter cos I hate them)!

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Bunny rage: this could break out into a fight - or dancing.

Well, there really isn't a point to this post (is there to any of them?), I just felt such an impulse to write. I am having a verrrry chilled out day. I'm home by myself, nothing I have to do, so it's just me and the dogs chillaxin'.
Earlier, I realised that the last time I sat on my front poorch to get some sun was at the begining of summer last year.
'Y'know what?' - (This is my inner monologue talking)
'Y'know what? I'm gunna sit on the porch. So, I grabbed a grape soda and set out to flex.
The plan didn't go quite as envisaged. I moved two of the wheelie bins to block the gap below the gate, under which can fit a fattish white dog, let alone a skinny black one. This I thought was effective til a snorting pig-like thing rumbled past and both dogs launched for it. I grabbed Sunny by her generous back skin in time and then Rosie by her shoulders. I had to put my iphone down, which I am loathe to do ever.
Plan revised: lie recycling bin on its side to fully block the gap.
After this, I thought I might try lying on the concrete. I drew my knees up and spread my dreads out like a sparkling array of bayonets at sunrise. My arms I let fall out to each side, like that basketball pic without the basketball and lying on the ground, not 8 ft into the air.
I looked at the sky and thought lots of things. Why is the sky blue? Lucky, cos I reckon green would look icky. Why do planes leave a white trail across the sky? How did I get so old so quick? Where did that beach towel go that I used to have when I was little with a pic of a kid swimming on it? All of these things and more were whirling around inside my head cavity and I felt like I was in a centrifuge or one of those game show things where you get in a booth with money flying around everywhere (or is it cans of food). Anyway, I was really enjoying it, I could tell cos my face was smiling. Suddenly the Turton st banshee (over the road neighbour) let out a cry that would awaken even the deafest cadaver. I sat up (slowly, that's how things seem to be going lately) and tipped my sunnies up to get a look at her cave with my keen eyes. After the glare seared my retinas, I decided that hearing her was enough. Boy, was she tearing her kids to bits! She ruined my reverie but I was still chilled so I didn't care.
Then, I noticed that the pink bit of fluff that the dogs had been fighting over was actually a severed bunny head minus the fluffy filling. It fit neatly over my fist. I could make it look this way and that, raise one sceptic eyebrow, widen both eyes in horror (or fright), nodd and... dance. Oh, did I make that bunny head dance. Humming the tune Another One Bites the Dust by Queen, I fused a little bit of flashdance with some MC Hammer shit and letter rip. There was even a moonwalk in there. As I was practicing making the bunny do the splits, my neighbour arrived and we had a little chat, thus ended my afternoon in the sun.
So, that's about it. Oh, except for last night I dreamt I was watching a rodeo then we had a feast, but there was so much cheese! I was in cheese 'heaven'... camembert, jarlsberg, gouda... weird but tantalising.
Have a great weekend!

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Hairy feet and fig leaves...

Numbers play a big part in my life, which is odd because I hate them. Well, not them per se, but mathematics and having to engage with it. nevertheless, I notice numerical-type things all the time. We have four animals, two dogs and two cats. Three of these animals are female, three are desexed, but a different combination of three.
I try to sleep in multiples of 1.5 hours. I read somewhere that our sleep cycle renews every ninety minutes, so for me it's 7.5 or 9. usually I go for 9. every night, as the orange numbers on the bedside clock dutifully march on, the number of beings in the room is in constant flux. Two people, two dogs. One dog leaves (cos the couch is more comfortable than her bed). One cat meows. One person (Kat, cos it's her asshole cat that meows all the time) leaves, comes back with a cat and on it goes.
I like the number 17. I have for a long time. It was my first sporting number. Seven on its own was already taken and there weren't enough iron-on sevens in the store for me to have 77, so i settled for 17. Deep. Anyway, I see it everywhere, like I'll be on the bus and just happen to look at house numbers as we pass no. 17, or I'll be playing a game of hockey and just happen to glance up at the clock as it reads 00:17. In my mind it's because that number holds a special meaning for me, some cosmic purpose lies hidden within it. One day it'll all become clear and I will have no reason to live anymore and I'll die, right there on the spot, with a smiling mouth which will probably house only 17 teeth by then. More realistically I probably see it everywhere because I subconsciously seek it out. In spite of this, I will still live awaiting that final exposé.

Moving on.

This morning I selected a different pair of socks than I usually do. I chose a pair that used to belong to my Dad. I have several pairs of Dad's socks, some are really old. The ones I put on this morning (not so old) are sports socks, they feature the Asics logo. When I unfolded them, I saw immediately that at some time, he'd written his name on them, at the toe, in his dated caps lock print. This struck me as very cute! He was probably in hospital and thought the nurses would steal his good Asics socks. Not really any point to mentioning this. Now it's common knowledge that today I wear socks bearing my Father's name and also the Asics logo. Whilst sitting on the bed, I leaned over to show Kat the toe. In doing so, I leaned on her hair and ripped a few out, so I don't think she was impressed with the socks at all.
Ok, last thing for today. Sometimes I suddenly realise that even though I've felt a certain way about something for ages (like religion), it's actually total shit and my world is rocked for a minute or two while my mind is blown. This week in Screen class, we talked about the film Face Off. We were looking at the way films are constucted. All of a sudden I realised that Face Off is sooooo bad! So bad! Then, right there in class, I started to giggle because I was imagining the writer or writers who had to sell that idea to some studio execs (some apparently desperate studio execs). In my head, it went like this:

JEREMYand TODD are at the front of the room, jazzed up and gesticulating wildly in turns. The board members look bored, glance at their watches, sneak peeks at their phones under the table, pull funny faces as they stifle yawns.
Ok, ok. So it's like this - there's a bad guy
and a good guy...
Jeremy uses his hands to hold the imaginary characters. His arms are spread wide. He shakes the right hand.
This guy here, the baddie, gets hurt, right...
He's in a coma.
Todd walks over, holding a finger to shush the already silent audience.
But wait! His brother's in jail and he's the
only one who knows the location of a bomb...
The two glance at each other, both grinning and nodding.
So, he's in a coma, right? And they have a
great idea! They slice off the baddie's face,
and put it on the good guy, and put the good
guy in jail, to pose as the baddie's brother,
to get the information!
Both men wait with wide smiles as the accolades don't come. Todd snaps out of it:
But wait, wait, there's a twist! The baddie wakes
up! He wakes up with no face! So... yeah! He
steals the good guy's face and walks around in it!
Nothing... The smiles are strained as they look to one another once, and back again. Jeremy looks to the floor, remembers something and his head snaps back up.
Oh yeah! We forgot the best bit! The title!
He turns to Todd, who winks and nodds to go on.
Well, their faces are off, right? And they go
head to head in a battle, right? So... we call it
Face Off... FACE OFF!!!
Face... (trails off)

How the fuck did that get made? Would the brother of the baddie and the wife of the good guy not notice the differences in their bodies? Their voices? Their lovemaking skills (not the brother for this one)? What about all the anti-rejection drugs they would have to take? I just cannot believe when I watched this I lapped it up like a big dummy!
Jerry Bruckheimer, wake up to yourself!!
Ok, rant over. Time to go crash the zamboni again, I mean resurface.
Piece! haha I kill me...

Friday, May 14, 2010

Seven ways to a better bunny rabbit

Friday, my old friend, how I do love thee.
Well, it's been a hell of a week. I have already written of my derby exploits last Saturday, so let us not revisit that. I can now focus on the joyous news that I'll be skating as an Adelady in The Great Southern Slam. Now, I've been on state teams aplenty for inline hockey and also ice, hell, I even played inline for Australia once. The difference here is that there are a lot of girls that play derby. I rarely went to a state tryout for hockey where anyone was cut! Usually the girls that turn up are the team, that's it. So, this carries with it a lot more weight. The girls who I'm skating with are my heroes, I've got big shoes to fill. I love a challenge though.
Next big thing that happened this week was the beyond tragic news of Two Ton Teyla, a Sydney roller girl who was hit by a bus (and subsequently died) after a post bout celebration, the same night we were revelling also. Now, I never met her, but by all accounts she was a brilliant person, everyone who knew her loved her. The reasons this hit home for me are as follows:
- I hate seeing my friends sad, it makes me feel sick when I can't help.
- I hate senseless death.
- The thought of any of my ADRD sisters in the same position... I can't even describe. This community is amazing within your own league, but it doesn't stop there, it reaches far, and my heart broke for SRDL.
- The fact that this could have easily happened to me, or any of my ADRD mates. We too were drunk and careless that night.
Just before, I was on the website of the Great Southern Slam (TGSS) and I saw posts written by Two Ton. It brought a tear to my eye just knowing how much she'll be missed and how many people must be agonising right now.
Death is something I never really knew until 2008, when my Nana and my Dad died in the same year, and it's weird. You never really get over at it, you just get better at dealing with the emotions, I reckon. I still dream my Dad is alive and wake up with sticky eyes and in a grumpy mood, like that time I dreamt I could skateboard really well and woke up realising I was still shit.
This brings me to my next point - 'god'. I'm a little lost without 'him'. I've come to grips with the fact that religion is balls and that jesus is a made up guy (except for that dude Madonna's banging who is pretty real I think), so what do I do in situations like this? Previously I had prayed for someone's recovery, and if that didn't work, I prayed for 'god' to keem them safe in 'heaven' and give their family strength back down here on 'earth' wait, earth is real, I don't need inverted commas... anyway, what the 'hell' do I do now? I mean, I try real hard to think positive about something, or I hope something happens, but I gotta be honest, it feels half-assed. I know this is just the aftermath of my decision to strip off religion and skinny dip in human free-thinking, but I do feel a little adrift... I'm never going to force my kids to believe in something that I have no proof of. Except the boogeyman, a lot can be achieved through fear...
So this morning, we had a meeting with our real estate to put me on the lease and get the ok for the animals. The guy wasn't even there! No matter, the girl was probably easier to deal with. Found out that cockmuncher (pls refer to older posts for information on this delightful 'man') calls them every time our dogs bark! They pay him no heed as they too think that he is a nutter! That was pretty good news, and I can't wait until I see him in the street next time and I can say 'excuse me? cockmuncher? yeah, you needn't bother calling our real estate anymore, they think you're a nut licking, goat fucking cheese dick like I do, m'kay? B'bye.'

'Tis all,


P.S. I do apologise for my gratuitous use of inverted commas, I can get a little wild sometimes.

P.P.S. here is a pic of a cat kicking the shit out of a dog.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Now I've... had... the time of my life...

Epic. That's the best word to describe Saturday night. 'Epic battle' even.
Let me try to run through the sequence of events as best I can...
Friday I spent the better part of the afternoon and evening crafting for my complete boutfit. This included pimping my dress, making my top hat, cutting out and sticking the letters 'kiss this' on some underpants, making an armband cos my number can't be seen on top of my tatoo and also making some bows for Kat's dress. Naturally, my opinion of what I could achieve outshone the actuality of it, and this crafting carried over to Saturday. This turned out to be a good thing, I had no time to be nervous.
Jump to 4:45pm and we were at the showgrounds. Still no sight of nerves. I noticed that there were people already lining up to get in. This made me feel important and excited but still not nervous. We practiced our skate out and then did some warming up. I felt confident on my skates. I started to feel nervous. Just kidding, still no nerves. I was feeling weird about this, cos I was always nervous about hockey, I'd get nervous about a practice. We kept having to come and go from the track to the changeroom, each time there were more and more people. This distraction was almost enough to make me forget I was wearing a dress.
Then the bout started. I'm sorry to say that I can't remember much of it but on the bright side, I think I've come up with an extremely important scientific hypothesis: adrenaline has a negative effect on memory. That aside, here's what I can recall...
I got to jam. More than I thought I would. This was good cos like I've said before, jamming requires less thinking and knowledge so I reckon it's easier. The bad thing: Three jams in the first half (as jammer I mean) and who was I against? The same person each time... Barrelhouse Bessy, only the best jammer (and blocker for that matter) in the league. Here's the clincher though: the first time I jammed against her - my very first jamming jam ever... I got LEAD JAMMER. I just about shit my pants coming out of that pack and the ref pointed at me! Naturally, she caught me, hit me and I called it off before either fo us could score anything, but my point had been made, and I was high as a proverbial kite for the rest of the bout.
After that, it's kind of a blur of fun and loud noise. Yes, we lost, but I do feel we took it to them in a big way and also, we won the afterparty by a mile.
Moving on to that. We partied at the Wheatsheaf, which was great except that we couldn't get out the back, which was bs but otherwise good. Then, the real partying began when we went to the karaoke bar in the city! I might say that I am a pretty terrible singer. In spite of that, when drunk, I feel that everyone must be subjected to it and if they like it or not, I don't care. We took over the place. I felt kinda bad for the poor bastards who waited for their songs and then we crammed up there. I think I might've done some karate dancing on the floor and I cracked it at staff for not having 'Don't Stop Me Now' by Queen. As with every karaoke bar, there were the people who are serious about it. An old Lady kept getting up there. I think she was waiting for us to appreciate her singing, but we did no such thing. There was a tranny there with perpetual fripples too. We get it. You're a chick and you're cold.
When we got home, needless to say Kat and I were plastered. Thankfully I remembered to take my hangover cure. As I was doing so, Kat came in the kitchen. I hugged her and felt something dig into my hip. I pulled back to look, and noticed she had her swimmers on, it was the buckle that had been digging in. I said 'whyareyouwearingyourtogs???...hic' and she simply retorted with 'getfucked' so I laughed and let it drop. In the morning when we woke up, she alerted me to the fact that she was wearing them. I laughed again cos I remembered the night before and then she said: 'the worst thing is...' and pulled out the front of them to show me the tag, 'I got them on back to front!' I said 'but haven't you been to the toilet?' why didn't you fix them?' Her reply was 'cbf' and that was that.
So that was my first bout experience! It was all kinds of amazing and fun and my team is one big ball of derby love and my league is too and it was just... rad.

Here is a lil pic of me doing my thing (well something anyway), I'm the one with the messy dreads on the left.

Til soon,
P.S. Anyone who reads this, please send loads of positive thoughts to Sydney Roller Derby league, they're going through a tragic time and could use all the good vibes and love we got.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

I'm not nervous, I bite my nails to build my immune system

Hi! Let me begin by saying that I really appreciate everyone who reads this! If you have something you'd like me to read, tell me cos I love to read and I believe in doing unto others and blah. Please don't take that in religious way.
Ok, so I thought it pertinent to write about how I'm feeling before my first bout, a monumental occasion in my life.
So, let's begin at the start of today. I awoke. At eight. Then again at nine. Kat and I got up. I shower 98.9% of the mornings in my life, but we were in a hurry so I didn't, I showered last night after derby anyway. I did wash my forearms though, cos I had a little tussle with Rosie and she makes my arm skin itch. Did I spell 'tussle'right? Tustle? Hm.
We then drove into town. I suffered from road rage as usual and for the fortieth time wished one and two cent pieces were still in circulation so I could keep a handful to throw at other cars. I'm too stingy to throw a handful of fivers. We got to the city and got a coffee from Gloria Jean's. There was a girl in there with a really cool mohawk but it stopped just after it passed her crown so there was no back bit. It was all spiked up and made me wish I had short hair again. I got over it. We walked on to the Button Bar, which is in a little arcade off the mall. It has many thousands of bits of shit which is great, but it's expensive, which is not. I'm going to run through a list of what I bought and why. The patches are all for my boutfit. If you happen to read this before saturday which is tomorrow, and you live in Adelaide and come to the roller derby bout, see if you can spot them on my dress, if you care to.
Ok, no. 1 is a little skeleton. She has a little red bow in her hair. I bought it cos kat bought the boy one and wanted us to match.
No. 2 is a little turtle with a swag over his shoulder. I bought him cos slow and steady can win the race, and I want it to remind me to be patient when I jam.
No. 3 is a cheetah, which is fast! No brainer there.
No. 4 is crossed racing flags with 'champion' superimposed in front of it. it might be a brand of something but that isn't the reason I got it. It's for the back of my dress, cos whenever I pass people I want them to see it and remember who they are dealing with.
I already have a cool little skeleton with a top hat ready for the pocket.
After the button bar, we went to Lincraft, which, let me say NEVER HAS ENOUGH STAFF!!!!!! Get that shit sorted, please. There I bought felt to make my TOP HAT (yes that's right) for the bout and also two little apple patches for the straps at the front instead of buttons. One has a bite out of it, no worm though.
Intermission time! For entertainment we are going to take a look at a small list of words I like.
- bauble
- flux
- juxtaposition ( I say this lots lately)
- tinny
- tanky ( not a word but I think it should be, it's so much fun to say and write! Try it on for size.)
Back to my day. When I was in Lincraft, there was a mother, her mother and two kids in the button section. The kids were playing with the buttons, way too much. Knocking shit over too. Since I don't work there and also the lack of staff pisses me off, I encouraged the kids to look at more. One even got out of the pram to do so. This happy scene reminded me of one of my favourite fantasies (non-sexual) where I go into a button store with about five other like-minded people and we fly into a frenzied rage and grab all the tubes of buttons and rip the lids off and throw the contents high into the air and about the place. Beautiful plasticy arcs, a cacophony of clicking and tapping as they hit one another, bouncing against our ankles as they fall on the ground... buttons falling in my dreads and down our shirts, someone ( probably me) holding buttons in front of their eyes, pretending they're Coraline, everyone laughing in slow motion and slapping their knees and shoulders... Button angels...
They would have to close up shop. there's no recovering from that. A disaster really. I wouldn't wanna cause anyone that much heartache and loss of livelihood. I guess that's why fantasies are exactly that.
Getting kinda long now, sorry. The rest is pretty boring, I went home and started to make my top hat, it's looking pretty good so far.
So, I'm really pumped for tomorrow. I have absolutely no idea what to expect. I know I wanna have fun and try my hardest. I've never done anything in front of a crowd like this. I've also never been a part of anything so amazing. The derby girls are a breed of their own. They support and love each other as if they're all sisters, it's mind-blowing to say the least.
Alright! I'm off to finish my hat! But before I go... last night I invented something in my head, I had the best idea probably ever. It goes like this: derby girls have to drag that wheely bag thing around with all their gear in it. It's sucky if you're knackered. Last night I thought: 'what if it had BIGGER wheels and it was like a segway with a seat? So, without further ado, je vous présante...

my diagram of my invention!!! I'm not very good at drawing but you can get the basic idea...

Can't wait for tomorrow! Wish me luck!

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Just us rubber chickens...

So last night I went to my friend's house. She's a new friend, and very cool. She does derby with me, on my team. She's an artist, a hairdresser and a cat owner. Her house is the most awesome place I have ever been in.
Kat and I had to get our hair dyed cos we have our first bout this Sat and we wanna look cool. Anyway we went there after a practice session we had with the team. She lives on Henley Beach rd. We went to the bottle shop first and got a bottle of vino of course, who can have a hanging out/hair dying sesh without wine?
So, from the outside, her house looks pretty average, but it's so big inside. She opened the front door and the first thing we saw was two very attractive cats sitting there. I say very attractive cos some are kinda ugly or plain. Nobody likes a plain jane. She told us their names: Anton for the big grey one and Lisa Curry-Kenny for the little white one. 'She's so cute!' kat cooed and I agreed, as far as cats go, pretty hot. Then my mate, let's call her Maddy, told us that 'she' is actually a 'he'. They thought she was a girl but then discovered her licking her penis one day. Since they were used to calling her 'she', they just kept it up, and she's still called Lisa.
Knowing Maddy, I was not the least bit surprised at this story.
Anyway, the house. The front door opens up into a very large lounge room, with absolutely no available space becasue there is cool shit as far as the eye can see (to the edges of the room). Like I said, she's a painter, with a particular penchant for painting women with little moustaches. I would guess that there was at least fifty paintings around the room, either on display or stacked up against each other. Some pieces were huge, portraits of women with big heads and little faces, thier tiny smiles drawn up to the side in a quirky pose. There was one of a big babushka doll with a tiny mo, looking what I can only describe as self conscious (about the mo, no doubt). Panning to the left would show an L shaped yellow couch with various cushions stewn around behind a glass top coffee table. On the table were mugs with water and paintbrushes in them, and on the floor next to it a painting (incomplete) of a girl with an owl on her head. The owl looked considerably sleepy or drugged. In front of the coffee table was the tv, which had been painted hastily around the screen with orange paint. Panning to the right of that would reveal home made curtains behind a bicycle, underneath a sort of high ledge with a huge model plane wedged in it as if it was halted in its final death plunge by Maddy's lounge room. On the ledge was taped red tinsel (in May) in cresent shapes, no one the same size as another. At the crest of each scallop the tinsel was held in place with brown tape, that detail was my personal favourite. Keep panning to the right and there is a piano. it looked pretty old and had books on it, indicating that someone can play; I didn't ask. On the piano was a blue head. Made of what: I don't know. I think from memory it had a leather flying helmet on it. The room had a real Tank Girl crossed with Mighty Boosh feel to it, it was wicked. Everywhere I looked, more cool stuff. Maddy is also a photographer. Amongst the pics everywhere was one with a girl dressed kind of like a nun, with black and white stripes painted on her face, holding an owl and an apple. Owls, owls, owls. If you've ever read the Enchanted Wood, that room is what I picture a modern-day Moonface would have as his loungeroom.
I was recently thinking of how much I look at people and wonder what their lives are like, how it would be to get a glimpse of their 'day-to-day'. Last night I got a glimpse into Maddy and I've gotta say that she is one of the most odd and interesting people I know. I decided that if she was an animal, I reckon she'd be a butterfly, just a beautiful creature getting around being pretty and making others smile when she touches them on the hair or knuckle.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

True friends arrive bearing poo

Ok, so I've been in 'blog time out' for a few days, as I had to get some assignments (booorrring) done. Now that they are, here I am.

So I was thinking of writing about friends today. Whilst showering I was going through the list of amazing pals I have and I thought 'I'm going to wite about these weirdos'.

I'm pretty lucky that I have a wicked network of mates. Hockey and Derby play a big part in that but also the fact that I'm awesome and people generally want to be my friend.

I have two best friends. People who know me so well, that they can predict what I'm going to say or that I'm going to hate something even before I know about it. They are both highly intelligent, evolved beings with a marvellous sense of humour. They're also both very hairy, but that's irrelevent. Neither of them live in Adelaide right now, but hopefully that'll change soon. I've considered them both for sperm donation for when I want to have a kid, buuuut, did I mention they're hairy? Kiddin, it's not that bad, it's not like they have hairy shoulders or anything. There are other people who also fit into that 'bff' group, but they already have titles, such as 'gf' or 'sister'.

So, having said that, I feel like a little bit of recognition should be given to the friends who come into your life for a little while, then fade out of it, here are some stories...

I knew a girl in the Army who drove a station wagon. It was kinda old, but still in good nick. One day, she came out to discover somebody had hit it, leaving a sizeable dent. So disappointed was she that she got a silver pen and wrote a note to the perpetrator on and around the dent. I don't know what she thought that would do, like they're driving around one day, see it and say 'ooh look! Isn't that the car we hit that one time? Larry, look - there's some sort of note written on the dent we left... d'you think... could it be for us? Oh woe! I'm so repentent now! If only we had left our details!' The same girl told me of a time she was in primary school and shit her pants, just a few little nuggets. When she arrived home, she shook them out of her undies onto the front poorch and sat beside them. Her little sister arrived soon after and asked what they were. She told her they were little rocks and suggested that she smell them which she did. The sister threw them across the yard and ran inside. That girl became an officer. Don't know what her sister bacame, probably an inmate in a mental asylum.

People you never forget...

I shared a room in East Timor with a girl who thought that tigers were the girls and lions were the boys of the same animal.

People who burn an image of their faces onto your brain...

I used to live with a girl in the Gold coast who bought a mad car - a Ford Falcon XP. It was beautiful, red with a white roof. We used to throw our surfboards in there and head down to Byron for the day and 'surf' (thrash about in whitewater). We'd drive back at sunset (because the headlights didn't work, oddly enough) with our feet out the windows, passing a joint around. I was 18 or 19.

I had another friend who went out one night, got blind rotten drunk, went in the ocean fully clothed, somehow made it home, woke up the net day with a naked irishman beside her, freaked out about it, ran into the loungeroom, cried 'there's a naked man in my bed' to her flatmates, tried to leap onto the couch, was still too drunk to execute such a manouvre, missed and hit her temple on the fish tank and got concussion. Oh, did I say a friend? I meant me.

Well, since my computer crashed and that is the second time I had to write that, I think I'll be off.

Until something or other,


P.S. here is a pic of my cat with a big pneny on her (or a really little cat with a normal penny, you decide).