It's Time to Kill Some Puppies.

No, it isn't.  Just like it isn't time to sell heroin to children, rob the elderly à la the opening scene in Mystery men or kidnap some nuns, force them to strip for nothing except torn up pages of their own bibles, shoved unceremoniously in their lacy underwear by the guys who come to your door and try to get you to sign over with their electric company.
It's just two people wedding each other; it's time to say yes to same-sex marriage.
In 1895, women (who were British subjects and 21 or over) were granted the right to vote in South Australia.  1895.  The first parliamentary elections in Australia were held in 1843.  That's fifty-two long years of women being classified as second-class citizens.  In 1962, the Commonwealth Electoral Act provided that Indigenous people should have the right to vote, though under Commonwealth legislation, it was illegal to encourage them to.  NINETEEN-SIXTY-WHAT-THE-FUCKING-TWO.  Not even sixty years ago.  I'm not going to digress down that particular road, because I'll be here writing for too many hours on end, but suffice to say Indigenous Australians are still struggling for equality, and so am I.
We struggle for different reasons, neither of them is more important than the other, and they are equally ridiculous.
This is 2013.  It's easy for people to sit in their living rooms with their moccasin-clad feet resting high on their matching poufs and tutt-tutt about how terrible it is that Aboriginals weren't allowed to vote until the 60s. 'Isn't it terrible, Mabel!  You'd think it was the seventeen hundreds!  Such antiquated and bigoted views!  I'm glad Australia sorted itself out; we really are the lucky country', takes a sip of red bought from a boutique winery in the Barossa worth $80 a pop.
'Oh yes, Nigel, I wholeheartedly agree... and by the way, Macy and Julie invited us over for dinner.'
'From next door?  The spinsters?'
'Well, yes, but they aren't spinsters, they're a couple; in fact I believe they were married last week.'
'Married?  How?  They're both women!'
At this point the couple stop what they're doing, look at each other and pause, then erupt in tittering laughter, like some pointy-nosed green bitch from the Wizard of Oz and an evil ho-hoing Santa.  Then they high five, each give their poufs a good kick in the ribs and then pick their teeth with the bones of baby bilbies.
Well, that's how I see it.
I don't care what your religious views are.  That's not to say I don't respect your beliefs, because I do.  I respect choice.  I have made mine; I don't shove it down people's throats, because I don't appreciate when they try to shove theirs down mine.  What I do care about is that other people's beliefs are standing in the way of me being treated equally, in this so-called 'lucky' country.
The WA School Education Act states that the curriculum and teaching in public schools is not to promote any particular religious practice, denomination or sect, and goes on to say that public schools provide a secular education to students and families from many different cultural backgrounds and faiths.  In NSW, parents can choose if they want their kids to attend religious instruction in school, and in ACT, parents have to actually request if they want their kid to receive it.  So, the free, public, available-to-all education that our country provides teaches kids that in these times, in our society, we don't identify as a particular faith, because we welcome beliefs from all walks of life and are tolerant to them all.
Tolerant...
Then, little Johnny grows up, graduates from high school, falls in love with James, wants to spend his whole life with him but is told 'whaaaaaaat?!?!?! You two can't marry!!  The bible says so!'
Johnny furrows his brows and says 'what the fuck's a bible?' cos his family is atheist, and he was always taught in school that religion is a choice, but our nation does not force it on us...
WHAT A BUNCH OF BULLSHIT.
I'm a good person.  I love kids, and they have always loved me, because I don't give a shit how I look and I'll be a dick in public if it makes them smile.  What's that?  You wanna play dragons in the supermarket aisles?  Well you better run, cos my wings are bigger than yours.  I volunteer in a prison once a week, helping the residents with literacy and numeracy (though I suck at long division).  I once rescued a baby plover (the birds I hate the most of all birds) from peril, as it had fallen in the gutter, even as its mother attacked me.  I am not a monster, I'm just in love with a woman when I also happen to be a woman.  Together, we own a house.  We donate to the Guide Dogs and the Australian Conservation Foundation.  We're good fucking people, goddam it, but we're treated like second-class citizens.
Why do I pay the same taxes as straight people?  I pay the same money for less rights.
Am I getting through to you yet?  No?  Then I'm guessing you're straight.  Try this: imagine that you are in love with someone of the opposite sex.  Imagine that you simply cannot picture your life without them.  Imagine that you feel like you've always loved them, and that you can't wait to see how cute they look with wrinkles.  You look at pictures of Paris and imagine you and them atop the Eiffel tower, wind whipping your hair around each other's faces as you embrace and whisper how perfect the moment is.  Like, seriously, this person is the shit.  Then, imagine that they only have one leg.  It doesn't matter to you; you don't even notice.  It's a non-event, beyond insignificant.  Who needs two legs?  You can get by with one.  It's just a leg.  A person's worth isn't defined by a leg, that's ridiculous.  Things are going great, and you decide to get married.  You become engaged, and it's the happiest day of your life.  You start planning your wedding.  Then, all of a sudden, you find out that you can't be married.  Two-leggers can't marry one-leggers, dummy!  E'rybody know dat!  Where you been living, under a rock?  No fucking way!  That would be an abomination!  You two are not normal, your relationship isn't natural.  I mean, if you want to be a couple, that's fine (make sure you tell centrelink so that they can pay you less though), but nooooooo, you don't get to be married.  That's only for the two-legger couples.  You can't believe it.  You see forward flashes of your life together, hanging out with all your two-legger married couple friends... you're all having fun, they think it's stupid too, but you always know, deep down inside, that in the eyes of your government, you are less than equal.
If you still don't get it, fuck off outta my blog, ya maggoty bigot.  Go on, get.
So, that was just some ranty stuff to ponder... now onto the nice stuff.
Anyhow, I proposed to Mercedes on Sunday at the Adelaide Roller Derby grand final.  Not gunna lie, I'm pretty chuffed with myself.  She is the queen of surprises, so I knew I had to go big.  She'd been nonchalantly dropping little hints for over a year, saying how her friend proposed to his girlfriend with a ring from a 20c machine, saying how a twisted up piece of straw would suffice, as long as it was circular, showing me stuff like this.  It was always accompanied by an assurance that there was no pressure, but I knew she was basically saying 'I'm ready when you are.'
The problem was that I just don't have the money for a traditional ring, you know, made of gold and with shiny rocks in it.  But, I knew it was time.  It felt so right; I'd never been more sure of anything in my life.  So, I got to thinking... I knew if I made her something, it would mean a lot more than if I bought something.  She'd shown me these cute robots, and we would like to get them tattooed.  So, I decided to draw the boy one on shrinky-dink paper and I got my beautiful friend Letta to help me make it into a ring.
As it happens, shrinky-dink paper can be a tricky business, so I had to make quite a few before I sorted out a good method.  I curled up a few first.  They came out of the oven like little circular robot wheels; I felt cruel throwing them away.  I made various sizes, colours and even one was on skates.  I then gave them to Letta to mount, and the game was away.
Bout day came and I woke up surprised that I had fallen asleep at all.  I still wasn't nervous, but I thought it was maybe cos it was still hours away.  Once at the showgrounds, I made sure everything was as it should be.  The commentators were prepared, Kit Cat had the ring that I'd chosen from the multitude poor Letta had to make, and a lovely bow tied around her neck.
We did the skate out, and the two teams playing first headed to their benches.  I hung around awkwardly, running over my lines in my head, and counting them out on my fingers.  The commentators were handing out a big novelty cheque to our chosen charity.  I finally started to feel my heart jumping in my chest, and I noticed I was shifting my weight from foot to foot and exhaling through pursed lips.
They finished the presentation.  Then Lori, our head commentator had the mic and walked over to me.  She handed it over and I headed into the crowd.  Kids I knew were in the front row; one of them looked up at me and said 'you're awesome', to which I replied 'YOU'RE awesome, now get outta my way.'  Behind me on the track, my whole team lined up on a knee as well.  I fucking love them.
Mercedes could tell I was heading for her, and her face said 'whaaaaaat are you doing?'  I reached her and didn't really know where to begin, so I introduced her to the whole crowd of approximately 2700 people.  A strange calm came over me and I looked deep into her eyes. Then, I took a knee and said 'baby...'
She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth.  She began to cry, which was not my intention, but I was in too deep to stop by then.  I (as calmly and clearly as I could) recited the following words that I had written the week before, and practiced many times whilst delivering pizza:

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,

I fell in love with you the moment we met.

You were everything I'd ever searched for,

and everything I could ever want for the rest of my life.

You're my best friend, my soul mate

and the woman I want to spend eternity with.

Will you marry me?

The crowd erupted.  I reached to Kit Cat for the ring, and it flew onto her finger like it was magnetic.  In the video, it looks like she's going 'gimme gimme' hehe...  She grabbed me and held me so tight that I didn't hear almost three thousand people, I just heard her telling me that she loved me.  If you'd like to see a video, it's here.

And that was that.  We already have received an incredible amount of support from so many people who tell us over and over how stupid it is that we can't legally be married.  Hopefully it's just a matter of time until we're seen as actual real human beings who deserve the same rights as everyone else.

It's been a while since I've written a post.  There is a reason for it, but now isn't the time to tell it.

Thanks for reading:)

Tx

P.S. The Salty Dolls won the grand final.  They played amazingly.  So did we, and it was close, but they ooched us out.  It was the most fun game I'd played in all year.  Afterwards, we partied until the wee hours, as a league, and it was perfect.  I love the absolute shit out of my team and league.  I've never played a sport before where that would happen.  We've had a bit of a rough year, and I couldn't have possibly been more proud of the team if we had've won.  Below is a pic of us after losing a game lol...

 Photos by Matt Walker and Suitcase Photography.

Two outta three ain't bad.

Well.  There you have it.  The Road Train Rollers are ADRD champions again.  I'm pretty sure we were the underdogs once more, and I'm happy with that.  Let's flashback a week ago (or so) when I posted last.

 

Wait - have you regainsed consciousness from that time just now whan you fainted from shock that I posted a week ago?

 

Wait again - have you ceased laughing about the fact that I assume enough people read this for there to be even a single shocked person about that last fact?  Self-congratulatory motherfucker, I am.

 

Anyhoo, last Wednesday I finally posted about our win against the Wild Hearses which catapulted (and by catapulted I mean 'put') us into the grand final for Adelaide Roller Derby for the third year running - since the first year the league decided to have a final as such.  I left you with the nailbiting thought of who will win this year?  Will it be the Salties, with their lightning jammers - the whippets of the derby world, flying round the track with their ponytails snapping in the very breeze they, themselves create?  The Salties with walls made from Wolverine bones dipped in titanium which was forged by the blood of Zeus and Thor combined?  Or will it be the Road Train Rollers, known affectionately the world (and by world I mean Adelaide) over as the Roadies?  The Roadies who lost their last three games to the Salties, the Roadies who seemed to crumble under the the steely gaze of fourteen sea maidens with an on-track connection as tangible as an anchor chain?

 

The morning of the game I woke up with a grin on my face.  I'm creepy like that.  I prepared a little differently, and was a bit stressed, for the following reasons:

• for the preceeding five days I had been on a new diet.  Think of my digestion as a thin child.  That child was sent to swimming lessons, but as soon as she was dropped off, she scooted around the corner and spent the time at the library, thumbing through magazines about computers and renaissance fairs.  Then put that child in a helicpoter, fly her out above the ocean, and boot her out into a raging, frothy sea state five.  Without an asthma puffer.  Or a life jacket.  With her school bag still on.  That's my digestion.  A flailing weenie who can't swim trying to cling to life with nothing but hope and an unparalleled knowledge of the origin of chainmail.  I was at my wits' end with my bloody digestion.  The FODMAP diet I had been following was increasingly useless and I was bloating like a floaty corpse on a daily basis.  So, my good friend Rusty directed me to a lady who helped me out, told me some things and now I eat like a caveman.  I need detox, she says, so right now I'm going through three months of no sugar and no grains.  While I'm happy to be finally treating my body like the golden shrine that it is, I'm also turning slowly into an evil, snarling harpy owing to the lack of sugary treats.  Thus, my preparation that day was frought with worry at the prospect of trying to skate with less energy than usual.  Why did I not wait until after the final to change my diet, you ask?  Two-part answer: because I am a numpty and also because I was just becoming sicker and more fatigued by the day and I chose the lesser of the two evils.  I packed (instead of a Red Bull, a banana and a container of rice, salmon and mayo) water, seven almonds and a container of baby spinach, capsicum and salmon.  I was shitting my pants metaphorically, but on the bright side I hadn't shit through they eye of a needle physically in four days.
• Our car is broken right now, so the lovely Gateway Girl gave me a lift.  This meant that I had to be running on time, which I wasn't.  Owing to this, I accidentally locked Gateau in the spare room.
• We live forever out of the city now, so anything I left behind would stay behind.  I forgot my carnitine, which was my only chance at a bit of extra energy.

Despite my tardiness, we arrived with plenty of time and I was able to leisurely apply my eye stripe and tease the absolute crap outta my hair before going through our skateout practice and then taking my place for my job, which was taking people's tickets.

 

The skateout...

 

I'll freely admit I'm one of those people who make sure that everyone knows they hate elaborate skateouts.  I'm a bit of an asshole about it.  'I'm a sportsperson, not a performing seal' I say, 'if I wanted to dance, I'd be a dancer' I say.  But I do it because my league wants to do it and I love my league.  But... on Sunday I faced something I did not expect.  I enjoyed it.  Ugh.  I did, I really did.  When I was five, my parents put me in jazz ballet.  That's not a joke.  I was terrible and lazy, didn't practice, so they put me in the babies group.  I turned on my heel and walked out, never looking back once.  In hindsight, I think I had a chip on my shoulder about it.  So, any time I'm required to participate in organised dancing, I freak out a little bit.  That's why I'm always in the back line.  Now, this time, I wasn't the only one who didn't want to, or the only one freaking out.  So, I took it upon myself to count out the beats.  I watched Letta (the choreographer) with a dedication usually only seen in seasoned stalkers - you know, the ones with restraining orders.  I somehow started to take pride in getting all the moves right and helping other unsure people with the counts.  All of a sudden, it hit me: I liked it, and I liked it because it was similar to the Army.  It was like drill.  I was excellent at drill, and pretty damn good as a drill commander.  I even had guy soldiers tell me 'I usually hate when chicks call drill, with their high voices and shit... but you're ok...'  Little did they know I had my uterus turned into a tobacco pouch (wanna pinch?).  Anyway, I ended up actually liking it, and here it is:

 

(click here and look out for the goober in the black eye stripe and little hat)

 

So we did the skateout as a league, and then the Mile Die Club and Wild Hearses played off for third.  Hearses won, but with about 5 mins to go, they stopped the game and spent the rest of it playing queen of the rink, which is where everybody gets on the track, and tries to hit each other down or out, until there is only one person left.  It was very cool, and a great way to end that game, I reckon.

 

Then we were up.  Again, I had resigned myself to the fact that we could lose, and it would have been ok if we did, I just wanted to have fun.  I knew we could win if we played as a tight unit, but if we didn't, the Salties would crush us to dust, like bread sticks in a vice.  Regardless of the outcome, I just wanted a close game, for the crowd, and for the pride of both teams.

 

We got off to a good start.  The last few times (including practice bouts at training) we've opposed the Salties, they usually get a jump on us, as if they are raring to go just a bit more than we are.  We usually take a few jams to wake up.  This time, we got going straight away, and it wasn't long before Kit Cat was presented with a power jam and took a cool 19 points, to put us at 11 vs 32.  Not at this point, or ever during the game did they let up though, and we had to fight for not only every point we put on, but to stem the flow of points from them when they were on fire.  Both teams played nickel and dime derby until Phil grabbed 17 points for the Salties, putting them at 37 to our 48.  I think the thing that kept the game interesting was that closeness, and the fight in each team.  Our usual problems with the Salties are penalty spirals and ineffective blocking to minimise their power jams.  So, we trained to rectify those things, and I think that worked for us. 

 

Half time saw the score at 69-88, our way.  Known as the comeback queens, we weren't really sure what to do with ourselves.  We went to the changeroom, chilled out, talked shop for a bit and I choked down some baby spinach and salmon.  Yum.  I was right about the lack of energy, it was certainly not my best game ever, I played much better the game before.  It's not about me, though, and I resolved to just play my hardest, whatever that was.

 

As I always say, I can't remember much from bouts.  I can remember doing one good thing, the time I snuck through on the inside, as seen here:

 

 

I can also remember being hit so perfectly by Moe that I careened into the crowd for the first time ever, feet first, as seen here:

 

 

 

 

The rest I have to get from Twitter, and I quote: 'The roadies come roaring out of half time full of fire.'  The battle recommenced and continued much the same, it was just a struggle, for both teams I think.  I've never seen the Roadies block like that against the Salty jammers - there were a few times we had them trapped for quite a few laps.

 

With twenty minutes left, the score was 79-129, our way, not even close to anything consedered 'breathing room.'  Shortly after, Undies scored 19 points for the Dolls, she had a bloody brilliant game.  She later scored a 21 point jam, and the score continued to climb.  I was only jamming, which I don't really like to do, as sometimes if I'm suffering a bit of a lacklustre performance, a block can pep me up a bit.  But no matter, Kit Cat, Killa, Kaos and occasionally Pirate were all on fire and our blocking teams were not letting up. 

 

The final jam began with the score at 174-193, our way.  It had fallen to my turn to jam, and I thought of the final jam of our last bout, in which I wore the star.  I compared my performance to that day and knew I wasn't the right person for the job.  Kudos here to our amazing benchie team of Busty and Malty, because it was Busty who asked me to jam that last one in the Hearses game.  It was Busty again who gave me the panty for this one, and when I told her I didn't think I was jamming well enough and that she should give it to Kaos, she hesitated for only a second before she said ok and did exactly that.  I'm pretty pleased that a) I know myself well enough and am not motivated by greed and pride to admit when I am having a bit of an average game and b) that my benchie knows me and the game well enough to know when to push me or leave me.

So Kaos it was.  She was up against Phil, who is amazing, but so is Kaos.  I couldn't watch.  My team gathered together, arms around one another but I stayed seated, I felt sick from nerves.  Some random dude in the crowd berated and heckled me enough to make me join them, but I closed my eyes.  Then I opened them to see Phil get lead, but Kaos right behind her.  There was no time left on the clock, so no possibility of another jam after that one.  This meant it didn't matter that Phil was lead, and all Kaos had to do was keep up with her.  Phil got through, Kaos got through, Phil got through, Kaos got through.  Everyone was knackered, but the blocks never got any softer, and the jammers never slowed.  And so it went.  Time passed as it has a tendency to do, and in two minutes we found ourselves champions, with a final score of 190-204.  We couldn't believe it.  We'd had a crazy season - starting strong then hitting rock bottom.  We had such a close call with the Hearses to even get in the final, and then we won it.  I'd done everything I'd wanted: I had fun, we all did, and it was a close game.  We were so calm on the bench and on the track, we even had devonshire tea in the box, here is Kit Cat offering someone a cup of 'tea', for real:

 

 

All in a rush, it was over, the last eight months of craziness, fighting with my intestines, Bell's Palsy, buying a house... I'd made it through, and it was time to party.  Hard.

Considering the length of this post already, I will describe the after party with a combination of dot points and pictures.  Here goes:

 

Wheaty looked like this:

 

 

 

Squatters looked like this:

 

 

• Which was where we also recreated the scene from dirty dancing where Johnny lifts up Baby, itself a re-enactment of the train from Newcastle last year, complete with 'I've Had The Time Of My Life' sung by all of us to the accompaniment of vigorous clapping,
• and we also re-enacted the Skato and the leg slap:

 

That's Mercedes' hand print.

• We then went to a place called Sugar, which is where things get a little hazy.
• Then we tried to get into LaSing, but it was closing,
• So we went to Hungry Jack's:

 

Which was where I found myself with a mayo moustache and goatee, Colonel Sanders style.  Why isn't there a picture of that?

• Next thing I knew, we were walking to that soccer bar on Hindley st, where we played the worst game of pool, ever.
• It came to be that time, there were five of us left: Lori, Mercedes, Guns, Undies and I.
• We split up to go home.  Since we live in the boonies, we went to crash at Lori's place.  Here we are on the train at 6am:

 

• And here we are on the way to Lori's, when we found a trolley and a pipe and put the two together:

 

That's Lori doing the finger all the way at the back.

And that was that.  We left Lori's on the 3:16 train the next day, looking like this:

 

 

Note: still have my eye stripe on.  We didn't even go straight home, we went into the city and had tacos cos I only had a few hours left of my break from detox.  When we got home Gateau had pissed up a storm where I accidentally locked her in the spare room.  Well played sir, well played.

 

And that's it.  The end to a crazy derby year, but not the end to the craziness that is my abnormal life.  Stay tuned, dumb shit happens to me all the time.

 

Tricks :)

 

P.S. just had to pause before finishing this to clean up dog spew in the hallway with dog footprints through and around it.  Bon.

Like Cute Cow, OK?

Hello.
Well, my last post was the day before NYE.  Here is a bulleted list of what has happened since then:

• I recovered from NYE.
• I went to Violent Krumble's birthday party and:

- got too drunk on wine (Since then I have decided no more wine),

- came home on the last train,

- dragged Mercedes into the Cumberland which is a pub near our place,

- made the bartender pour us doubles even though it was after he had called last drinks,

- promptly knocked my double rum over onto the bar and the man sitting beside me (who had kindly paid for the drinks),

- argued with a lady in the bar about the best Beatles song of all time (p.s. it is NOT Elenor Rigby, though it is decent enough),

- left the bar, taking the man who bought our drinks with us and trying to get another lady to come over (JUST FOR FRIENDLY NIGHTCAPS), but she got freaked out and left (seems I came over as 'creepy'),

- sat outside our place and asked Mercedes to make us an Old Fashioned. 

- got sick of waiting for the drink and crossed to the pub over the road from our place and tried to get in, despite the fact that I am fully aware that it shuts about 8:30pm,

- was retrieved by Mercedes, but not without a traffic sign and cone (apparently I am 16 years old),

- came home, turned the Beatles up loud and sang even louder,

- decided I would sneak off to bed,

- was busted by mercedes whilst sneaking off to bed,

- was a raging asshole to her when she tried to get me to not leave her alone with a strange man in our house and

- woke up the next morning alone in our bed and very sheepish.

• accepted my PhD in creative writing,
• started boot camp with my local gym, which is simultaneously strengthening and killing me,
• reinforced my addiction to Instagram,
• struggled through a solid week of trying to figure out how to do my website (yes, I am that douche who thinks they can do a website with no training),
• FINALLY got the site up and running, and somewhere in there,
• went to DERBY CAMP...

So, some people went up friday night, but on account of our impending gig, we (our band, 50 Cycle Hum) were practicing, so I went up with Kit Car Saturday morning.  We were supposed to leave a bit early, but we all got ready a bit late, so we rocked up just after lunch, when the committee meetings were happening.  I didn't even know which one I'm on now, so I moseyed up to training and asked if I could join.  They took me in and I sat there for the rest of the meeting like I knew what I was doing all along.

After that we had to clean the kitchen, which included barbeques.  Since I hate cleaning and love implementing new strategies, I suggested that we 'season' the plates instead, chef style.  This meant we really just wiped them clean and put oil on them.  Win.

Then it was swim time.  Skato and I moseyed on down to the lake together and scoped the crowd for who we could tip off a kayak in order to commandeer it.  JuJu was very accomodating.  It wasn't long before we teamed up with Coco, Kaos and JuJu and began competitions involving the kayak and sea lion impressions. 

This, after time, progressed to Coco and I having a handstand competition.  I don't know if anybody won, but we sure did help the underwater handstand movement that day.  More people now understand what that underground sport is about, and we also invented some new moves, like 'the slut' and 'the powerslide'.

As underwater handstand competitions usually go, we transferred seamlessley into underwater foot-fiving.  This is harder than it looks.  As you can see, we almost succeeded, but not before I sat on Coco's head underwater.  We might have to nail that move at a later camp.

From there we had some free time, so I wrangled up Skato, Lady, Elle Catraz and Kitty to do a talent show entry with me.  We decided on the tune to Leaving On A Jet Plane and changed the lyrics to suit derby camp.  After a few times practicing it, it was time for Smarty's chat (these are always cool) and we headed on up to the mess hall.

Nothing much to report on that, except that whoa.  When she gave us something to discuss, the room went BOONTA.  I could not believe how loud it was.  I was afraid that if I left my mouth open, my head would explode from some freak dynamics of the sheer volume in my somewhat minuature oral cavity (seriously, my mouthguard looks like it belongs to a four year old).

Little bit more practice, little bit of lovely gluten free pasta and it was time for the evening's festivities.

Before we got into the talent show acts, the lovely Grazer and Wolfie revealed which teams the Freshies were going to, and we got our awesome six in no particular order:

Singirl Malt,

Brutiful,

Red Rolling Hood,

Rusty blades,

Frill Seeker and

Libsmacker.

GUNNA BE A FUN YEAR...

So, then it was talent show time.  It was a winner.  Hosted by the demure Agnes and feisty Felicity, the acts just kept getting better and better.  The freshies wrote a song about fresh meat based on the tune to 12 Days of Christmas, the freffies did a marvellous interpretive dance to a provocative number about being sexy and fully aware of it, the crowd participated in a new game called 'which Belial is that?' (on account of the twins), there was didgeridoo, some Beatles, NKOTB rapping, a tale of American summer camps and more.  Here are a couple of pics and vids of what we did.  Again, unsavoury language...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmFsLX9CHS0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W93qUiv1qEo

Ok, so after we were done with the show, and nobody was any the wiser about which Belial was which, the dancing started.  Like a cheesy b-grader, we made the Freffies do their act one more time, and then, as if by magic, we all flowed onto the dance floor like the Salmon of Capistrano and it was on for young and old.  One problem - the 'dance floor' was not meant to hold that many people moshing to Smells Like Teen Spirit, and we had to stop after one of the freshies sort of fell through a hole that appearred in the floor.  Vader said, even after that, just plain swaying was making the floor bounce.  We could have died.  Died for the dance.  Hardcore, we are.

Things get a little hazy after that.  Some of us decided to have a swim.  I got in my togs (which were the source of mirth for many on account of the weird sudden bagginess of my bikini top) but when I got to the water, found it was a little breezy.  Skato (who had just emerged from the lake) spotted me and I knew immediately that she was going to try her hardest to hug me and make me as wet as she was.  She went one better: she leapt onto my back like a deranged monkey and held on with a vice grip, to enable the best transfer of moisture.  Once she was up there, she realised that she didn't know where her stuff was.  She then made me walk around and squat/lean by every dark bundle til she could identify her belongings.  I've been to the chiro once this week already, and have another appointment tomorrow...  o_O

Then, if I remember correctly, I said to Skato 'hey why don't you throw Kitty in', or words to that effect.  I didn't think she would do it!  Insert frantic emptying of pockets here and Kitty was in the drink hehe woops...

Not long after that, I snuck off to bed.  With Kit Car around, it's usually impossible, so when she was busy, I tiptoed away, but not before showing those who were still up the wonder that is MYA...

***side story of MYA***

Ok, so I have become fairly addicted to Instagram.  It's basically like twitter but photos.  You upload them from your phone, follow others and have others follow you.  I stumbled across a chick from Tokyo who posts pic of her cat, MYA.  I write it in caps, cos she does.  The thing about MYA is that she is huge, and for some unknown reason has a really bald stomach.  But, the joy of MYA is not just of an aesthetic nature (though I could look at this obese creature all day), it is also found in the comments her owner and others leave.  These are not only lost in translation, they are 'stranded on a desert island with the Skipper and mary Ann' lost in translation.  They are hilarious.  Here are a couple of examples:

The following are captions that she has put with pics of MYA:

• However, it seemed that Mya doesn't dislike herself who does her best for her idealized image.
• It seemed that Mya was being devoted with a feeling sufficient to exercise with emphasis on the circumference of her trunk today.
• However, during exercise with emphasis on the waist, it seemed that Mya reacted to the words "it is no use crying over spilt milk" superfluously
• "I would like to be a prima ballerina in the future" Mya newly decided, and grasped the fist tightly

And here are a few comments other have put up:

• Having baby???
• Did your cat is pregnant?
• Mya every fat
• looka like a pig
• i'd like to ask u what wrong with MYA stomach? no hair around there. we concerned her so much.

Once, someone said that MYA looked like a cow (actually people say that all the time, but once we saw her reply) and the owner wrote:

'like cute cow, OK?'

Haha, ok, no need to shout.

***end of story of MYA***

Ok, so back to camp.  I snuck off to bed about four I think.  At some point someone woke me up trying to draw on my face, but luckily I'm a light sleeper.  When I awoke for real at about 7:45 I think, Kit Cat was still up.  She was pretty rat faced and had drawn on a lot of people, and put sausages on people I think.  We all gradually woke up and started to talk about breakfast and stuff.  Kit Car was slowly winding down, and began to lounge on her bed.  She asked someone to ger her some breakfast.  Gogo advised her not to sleep, as she now had many enemies.  Kit Cat did not listen, and lay down.  After that point, I was in and out of our accomodation, and every single time, I either met people going in or coming out that were there for payback.  Apparently Lashez passed out in front of the accomodation and Kit cat wrote 'I love RTR' on her forehead and someone woke up in the morning to the sight of Nyx scrubbing it off and mumbling 'you don't love the Road Train Rollers' lol...

Anyway, people were drawing on her, putting sausages on her and the such.  Then, as I was returning from my shower, I saw Wolfie ditch some sausages at her.  I mean, he really pegged them.  Then he said 'you're dead!  There are sausages all through my car!!' He then exited.  Side note: I didn't realise people used that phrase anymore, 'you're dead'... seems outdated and actually a bit comical.  Anyway...

Kit Cat grumbled about how it wasn't her, tossed the meat off the bed and rolled over.  I said:

'what was that all about?'

'Oh, someone put sausages in his car.'

'was it you?'

pause... 'not all of em'

O_o

After breakfast, it was time for the mass wedding.  My newest derby wife Coco and her first wife, Lashez had the night before approached me about something that had not been done before in a mass ADRD wedding - a ménage à trois union.  I said I was in.  I had to wake them both, but we got ready in time for the ceremony.  It was lovely.  Officiated by Smarty Pants, serenaded by Whirly, we danced in our little threesome, awkwardly twirling one another in turns.  We even got a marriage certificate!



after that, things started to wind down and hungover people wanted to hit the road.  Kit Car realised it wasn't a good idea to drive, so I had to.  Kit Car has a really nice Audi.  I subsequently had to have two massages to work out the tension I built up after three hours of worrying I was going to ding it.  Funnily enough, we came across an accident when we were two minutes from home and had to administer first aid til the ambos got there...

So, that was derby camp.  Short, sweet and slightly dodgy.

Not too much has gone down since then.  I have actually put my neck out and have started going to a new chiro, she seems good - I've never heard my body make so many cracks before.

This Saturday we have our first paying gig - at a birthday party!  We're pretty excited.  I might have to report on that too.

Now I must away, and do some real work...

peace!

Tx

P.S. my beautiful amazing girlfriend has a business making gluten free cupcakes.  Today she made them vegan too.  I'm not kidding, I usually hate vegan stuff, but these are the b.o.m.b. and I gobbled them up quick smart.  Her business is called De La Terre and her website is www.delaterreglutenfree.com and if you live in Adelaide, you NEED to get onto this.  You won't regret it.  I promise.

okbye!

P.P.S. that top photo of MYA?  When Mercedes saw that last night, she said 'WHOA! That is a LOT of junk in that trunk!!' lol



Welcome back Kotter... or should I say codger?

It's rare that I will refer to myself as 'old', even more seldom as a 'codger', but I feel like one today.  I'm all creaks and groans and I have dropped things on the floor and left them there because I am just not doing any bending today.  I'm not even talking heavy shit: I blew my nose and missed the bin with the tissue.  Yup, I'm that gross.  And sore.

So, in true Robyn (narcissistic) style, I take this opportunity to welcome myself back to my own blog from the murky depths of my honours thesis panic.  I call it the thesis madness of 2011.  Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I did honours, and I'm not trying to say that it's the hardest thing in the world to do.  Bazillions of people do it and way harder stuff like expel a tiny human from their hooha or climb a freezing mountain and return sans several toes, but for me, in my life, it was hard.  I had to juggle the thesis madness of 2011 with continuing sickness and a break-up also.  I was not in the least surprised that I left it until the last possible minute that I could - after all, I have done that my entire degree.  But, whoa, the relief when I handed that sucker in!  So, that's done and now I can return to the world of writing for pleasure and hopefully one day, pleasure AND money.  Dirty, dirty word money.

Ok, so that done, let's talk about the Grand Final double header.  From my personal point of view, I had a bit of a tough season.  I never got to the fitness level I wanted to, injured my knee over and over and was sick constantly.  I did not play to my potential in our game.  I call it the great non-event of 2011.  From a team point of view, we had a bit of a rough start too.  We managed to get ourselves into the Final, buuuuuuut...

The Salty Dolls (who we played) were undefeated all season, and were on fire.  They came at us like a bull at a gate, and we came at them like a sloth at a tree.  Like usual, I can't remember a lot but I do know that everything we talked about, everything we practiced basically got left behind in the changeroom and we just populated the penalty box with pretty much two blockers per jam instead.  The Dolls never missed a beat, capitalised on every jam and left us at half time trailing 87 to a pathetic 19.  We had a pretty good chat in the changeroom and came out for the second half ready for some action.  If only it mattered who won halves, because we outscored them 61-59 in the second.  Just that pesky 68 point defecit from the first half killed us...  That, and penalties.  Bride of Skatan: ejected.  Violent Krumble: ejected.  I've never been caught behind so many walls in my life. 

So.  Without doubt the better team won on the day, on the track.  The afterparty is another story...

We began at the Ed Castle.  I was sitting with friends and my girlfriend Mercedes.  One of my oldest and best mates Tash was there, and Tash and I have a running joke/game of punching each other in the vajayjay.  Punching each other lightly/playfully, not actually hard blows.  Really mound punching, not, you know, underneath.  So we were all chatting, laughing and generally being jovial and then Mercedes called me over.  I thought she might be going to pinch me on the arm skin so I said 'no, you're going to pinch me', to which she replied that she wouldn't.  I made her promise.  I strode confidently over, thinking I was going to get a cuddle, and walked directly into her fist smashing into my box.  It dropped me to the floor like a sack of shit, in front of everyone.  I didn't cry, but Thor's hammer did it hurt!!  I was in shock that she would do that.  She was in shock that it connected so well.  According to her, she didn't mean to do it that hard.  Tash had told her to do it.  My poor punani was in shock and I briefly considered an ice pack but then decided to just kill it with booze.  I call it the great junk punch of 2011.  The pain gradually subsided and the table talk moved on from speculation over why my own girlfriend would punch me in the mermaid's purse.  Then, a little while later... comeuppance.  I wasn't planning any revenge, because Mercedes clearly felt terrible about it, so this happy accident led me to believe that the universe itself just wanted her to know that punching your girl in the junk is just not on.  I had just gone and fetched drinks for us and she had a brand new pint of cider in front of her.  I got a little animated (as I do) and brought my fist down on the table to emphasise whatever point I was making.  The cro-magnon table punch promptly tipped the cider directly into her lap and she wound up with frozen junk and looking like she wet her pants.  I call it the great cider caper of 2011.

From the Ed we went to LaSing and, well, that's when shit got weird.  Vader and I did our usual duet, this time to Built This City, and we all kept drinking.  The spring rolls flowed like wine and at some point I snagged myself some Pad Thai (I think) and was feeding it to people.  Somehow I had made myself two new friends, a guy with a wicked mohawk and wearing a Road Train Rollers T shirt and also a little gay guy who kept telling me I had a great rack.  I do.  I then let him feel it and he, in return offered that I could cup his business.  Never one to be rude, I had a little feel.  I couldn't discern any bulge to speak of in his baggy jeans, so he undid them and showed us all his undies.  He then explained the advantages of that particular underwear, in that they lifted his belongings up and out, so as to present them better maybe, I don't know.  I then poked him on his junk and left it at that.  We stayed at LaSing until the lights came on and then I got myself three meat patties from Hungry Jack's and went home.

The Grand Final for 2011 did not play out as we had hoped, but we partied hard nonetheless and, as usual, won the afterparty.  Today, I'm covered in bruises, still have a sore jootz and am still giggling about spilling that cider, so it wasn't all a loss.

Hey, p.s. now that I'm finished Uni I need a job.  Anyone got one going?  I will work for any currency but bananas.

Tx

Only my own track pants, if you please.

Yes, it has been too long, but I'm trying to write an honours thesis, so cut me a little slack!
So now, here I sit, uncomfortably typing with my beloved iPad way too close to my face because, once again, I am too much of a sucker to tell the dog to get off my lap. She's a 26kg Boxador who thinks she's a 2kg Toy Poodle. But that face...
Anyway, so the last few weeks have been crazy on account of me trying to get stuck into my thesis. It's going ok I think, I'm really enjoying writing the creative part - the exegetical elements loom though, and I am less than enthused. So, on account of the stupidly large break between my last post and this one, I will only focus on two things - Bonnie and Ringer and the bout we just had.
Bonnie D.Stroir is a badass roller derby skater and coach. She founded the San Diego Derby Dolls about 6 or 7 years ago and now travels about as a professional coach for leagues that take advantage of the crazy skills and mad knowledge that she brings. She is also the coach for team USA I'm pretty sure. So, no big deal...
Isabelle Ringer is a formidable blocker and wicked pivot, also skates for San Diego Derby Dolls, on their all star team and stuff... travels around showing derby fanatics how to pivot like a master...
So we enlisted them to come to Radelaide and pass on some sweet sweet skills. This occurred over the Easter weekend and the following week. Now, I think that we have a fantastic and committed training committee in ADRD, but it's always great to learn new things and as a coach myself - I always relished the chance to learn more that I could pass on to my skaters. My first lesson was with Ringer - a pivoting workshop. It was so informative, and presented in steps so appropriate that I didn't freak out as I tend to do when I can't understand stuff, which is most of the time. As someone who has a bit of a funky knee at the mo, I was stoked also that she showed us how to cool down properly at the end of our session.
That afternoon I went to Bonnie's class and the first thing I learnt - she don't take no shit! No talking in class - I was stoked - she placed a lot of importance on respecting the trainer which we really need to do more often. She also had a wicked way of instructing, she would show us stuff, explain it, get us to do it, then get us to write it down, which was my favorite part cos I always forget shit.
The coolest thing about these girls is that they're very grounded. Yes, in the derby world they are famous. Yes, they can smash any of us six ways from Sunday, but they're just chicks like us who've been doing this gig a long time. They are super friendly and approachable and I thoroughly recommend their services.
My favorite thing from the whole week was in our second-last training with them. I hadn't noticed that I'd been starting to take stuff pretty seriously, and was putting a lot of pressure on myself to perform, especially in those sessions. As a result, I was skating like I did about a month after I started derby. I was less than enthused. After a particularly pooish jam, I sat down, incensed. Bonnie asked me what was wrong. I said 'I'm just pissed with myself, and the madder I get, the worse I play.' She replied 'you know what I do when I have a bad jam? I go out and have a better one.' So I did. After that day I had to remind myself why I play derby and that it's dumb to put that much pressure on myself for a game. I'm not a big fan of saying that someone 'changed my life', cos actually nobody has that power - we have to change our lives ourselves, but sometimes people can show other people tools that they can use to make changes they want. I got some things from that week that I won't forget and that I'll use not only in derby but my life. That girl knows some seriously cool stuff. Look Bonnie up on YouTube, she has some wicked instructional videos. Also, you can find her blog here.
Ok, so now onto the bout. We were pitted against the Salty Dolls this past Saturday night. Like I mentioned earlier, I was sick of pressure - that's why I quit hockey, it just wasn't fun anymore. I would be pretty sad if that happened to me with derby. So, I just decided that I wasn't going to feel any pressure or nerves. Sometimes I can be surprisingly masterful like that, other times I get my head stuck in stair railings. Anyway, so I wasn't nervous, honestly. I love this game. This game... I went into it like each of my bouts last year - with the attitude that all I could do is play my best for my team, nobody can ever ask me for more. If we won, good, if we lost, no big deal, I would have still had a great fun time with my mates. It was so awesome to just have fun and not stress.
The Salties were looking great from the start. The coolest thing - their skate out. The uncoolest thing - I thought of it a month ago but my team didn't go for it! Poo. Anyway, they looked so freaky and cool, all in matching doll masks, so deliciously creepy!
We always knew it was going to be a battle and it sure was. The Salties have lightning jammers and relentless blockers. Both teams had to nickel and dime like nobody's business and the lead changed several times. For the first time in ages, there was not only one ejection, but two - Blue Wrenegade from the Dolls and our own Violent Krumble. Like usual, I can't remember bugger all, it all happens so fast. One thing I can remember is my first jam as jammer - I got lead and as I burst from the track I was feeling so passionate I let out some kind of roar, or something... To all the people sitting between corner 3 and 4 I apologise if I freaked you out.
Anyway, we went into the second half trailing by six, I think. Again, a tough slog, penalties galore and all of a sudden we were trailing by almost twenty. It seemed pretty cut and dried, then Kit Cat went out to jam and narrowed it to 11, the Salties jammer was sent off. A glimmer of hope flared, but then next jam we lost our jammer to the box and it was all over - 99-83.
So, we didn't win, but I did skate my hardest and I did have fun, so I was happy and then I partied accordingly...
Like usual, we went to the Wheaty for some drinks first. I was on the house white, cos I can't drink beer or cider anymore on account of my most irritable bowel. I copped shit for drinking it with my pinky up (which I was oblivious to) from some super cool derby chicks I met from Broken Hill - they'd driven FIVE hours to watch our bout.
Then, I entered a 'whose ass is harder' competition with Em Shazzam from Murder City. I'm pretty sure I won, well at least that's how how I remember it.
There was also some questionable dancing going on, and for a change it wasn't me. Why do old people dance with mostly their arms? Flailing is not dancing.
From there we went to the Squatters Arms, where there was a band playing. I held her drinks as Guns, the smallest player in our league smashed it up in the mosh pit. She launched herself off stacks into the crowd! She is a funny bastard.
From there, things get hazy. I was just very inebriated. We went to LaSing, which was packed. I think I sang, badly as usual. Then allegedly Caddy and I were talking about something and I burst out with laughter, launching (in her words) a half-masticated potato wedge onto her bare forearm. She says she was literally rofling. I cannot remember the drive home (in a taxi naturally), or getting home, but the next morning I awoke feeling like I had been ten rounds with that chick that takes the beaver tranquilisers in Dodge Ball, and I wasn't wearing any pants. I asked Kat about that last part as I scanned the floor strewn with my discarded sweater, boutfit and skins. She told me that she offered me her trackies, but I shouted at her 'NO!! I HATE YOUR TRACK PANTS!!' so she left me be. As she told me this, i started to laugh, and she said 'you were so bitch last night' lol
Well, that's about it. Mondays are for shopping, cleaning and blog writing, so I can tick that off my list and go cook a steak and shove it in my face.
Skate more, stress less!

I should go into the ice pack business

Well. I don't think anyone could have predicted that bout. Let me put it in context...

Last year was an interesting season for Adelaide Roller Derby. It was the first year we had a grand final, and the first year for the fourth team, The Wild Hearses. As could be expected, the dynamics of teams changed when people moved around. I can't remember the scores from all the games, but I know our bouts were always close, which made me think that the teams were each reasonably close in ability. As it were, after the final whistle of the grand final, each team had had wins and losses. Now, this year we have a title to defend and everyone wants to take us down. I would be the exact same if I were on any other team. Mile Die had a bit of a rough season last year, so they had even more reason to lust after our blood.

For the first time ever, I woke up and felt nervous. I've never felt that before derby, ever. I train with all of these girls, love them all and have always treated bouts like a training so as to avoid the nervous poos. I had no doubt in my mind that the Mile Die were going to come at us like a tornado. A team of hard ass blockers and lightning jammers, they have a kit bag bursting with goodies. We had a terrible night's sleep - at 3am we were woken by a loony on Semaphore road arguing with himself and I had to call the cops AGAIN, so upon arrival to the show grounds I was not only nervous, but tired as well and acutely aware that I am at present nowhere near as fit as I was for any of our bouts last year. The super fans were lined up already at midday, and the ball got rolling. I hate the wait to start, it's just more time to think, and the more I tried to focus, the more I felt fatigued before I even started. I was mostly a jammer last year, but I already knew that I'd be blocking more than jamming this game and I was worried about whether I had the goods to deliver. Thankfully, I wasn't in the first jam, I never have been once and I'm cool as a cucumber with that. The bout was in full swing straight away and the Dies had about 20 points on us within minutes. No doubt, we were frazzled, and barely using any of the things we had been practicing lately. The packs were fast, the hits were booming and the jammers were skating like the wind. The Dies took advantage of every opportunity and played smart. Midway through the first half we were trailing 50-35, and I was put out for my first jam as jammer. I barely remember this but I think I got a grand slam that closed it to 50-40. That felt great but the Dies JUST WOULD NOT LET UP and half time saw us behind still, but at 65-46. We needed to get razzed up. We channelled the Honey Badger (if you don't know what it is, look here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg ) and decided to try to settle down and play our game. Although at first we took a bit to close the gap, we slowly started chipping away, and felt our mojo seeping back in. With just under ten minutes left, we closed their lead to ten once more. Then back out to 20 points with 5 minutes left, then down to 7 with 4 minutes, 2:40 left on the clock saw the board with 95 to 91, and that stayed the same into the last jam. I was in the pack with Krumbs at the front, Kit Cat was jamming against Disco and it was all or nothing. Krumbs and I teamed up and I lost all track of everything else but us two and our job, to keep Disco there. I can only assume that we did, because in that very last jam, she scored nothing and Kit Cat got 5. The crowd erupted and I remember thinking 'either the Dies just won and that's their fans, or...' And I looked at the clock and saw 95-96. We had done it. One point. I was incredulous, I think we all were - there was that second where you look at everyone, anyone for clarification that it actually happened. 

So, that's the breakdown of how it went with regards to the points. Now, for an account of the physical nature of the game. Like I said, I used to mostly jam. I consider that my main asset as a jammer is agility. Thus, for me, having a very constant and sordid affair with concrete is a ratity. Not anymore. The last time I spent that much time on the floor I was drunk and 'breakdancing'. When I said the Dies had hard ass blockers, I was understating. Champion Ruby, Bones, Roller Junky, Gatey... I could go on. I literally feel like I have been in a fight. With a honey badger. On crack. I was in so many pile ups. On the bottom. Behold, this...

which looks pretty normal, over the course of about 5 photos becomes this:



Yes, and there's me sprawled on the ground (white socks).  And what about this little gem:

Now I'm getting ridden like a pony.

So, yes.  It seems that being a blocker is going to mean more bruises for me, which is ok.  The cool thing is, that ADRD wants to go back to grass roots this year, good old fashioned derby for the loyal fans.  Last year after the grand final I heard people say that it was good to see some big blocks again, and I reckon that yesterday's bout gave them a great show.  Old school big hits, girls leaving it all on the track to get even just one point.

The after party, despite being on a Sunday, was pretty sweet.  Although I had planned to get mildly drunk, I again channelled Honey Badger and didn't give a shit so I got wasted.  We ended up at La Sing, oddly enough, and again there were trannies, bad music selection and a dripping ceiling air con grate.  I told Krumbs I'd sing with her, as it was her first time.  Then I just kept on singing.  I was demanding that girls come up to dance and calling them 'dance bitches' and inserting swear words into songs at appropriate times.  I was pointing fiercely at people as I was singing and then I took advantage of a strange guy there who was cracking onto everyone and boasting about his karate ability and made him do some on the dance floor.  It all ended rather abruptly when we got a text that the dogs were acting up and the next thing we were in a taxi home.  Sadly, I'm not sure if we won the after party this time.  Usually Roadies are the last ones there, but when I left there were still others, so I guess we have some party conditioning to do.

Well, that's it.  I am stiff, sore, hungover and have a vocal chord injury most likely, so it's time for dinner and a movie.  Wait, it's 4pm.  I am old.

Tx

And history was made...

Ok, well you can say that about anything, I know, but go with me here, I'm about to recount a tale of heroic exploits, sweaty backs, smashed faces and no, I do not mean the football, I'm talking about something much, much MUCH better than that. ROLLER. DERBY. GRAND. FINAL.

Ok, so let's start from the start. Kat and I were organised for once, and actually got to the showgrounds a half hour before we had to. I felt good about it til I realised that it was locked and we couldn't get in. We were at the Rose Tce entrance so we walked around to the Goody Rd one, shut too (ugh). THEN we had to walk all the way round to the farmers market. All this time I was aware that everyone who saw me was like 'what the...' as I was in my boutfit with my hair all teased up, my eye stripe and my top hat on. Kat was in a tiny dress with fishnets so while people were fearful of me, they were perving on her.

We eventually got in and the pandemonium started. I got geared up and had a lil skate on the track we were going to use, as it was different from the usual one. I warmed to it straight away. It was more slick than the usual, but less slick than where we practice each week, it was perfect for me actually, cos I like a little slide, but not too much. Then, we got to our jobs, mine was selling raffle tickets. I'm good at this, cos I can shout loud and have the ability to make people feel bad for holding out - 'C'MON PEOPLE, I KNOW YOU GOT A DOLLAR IN YOUR POCKETS, DON'T MAKE ME SMASH HEADS HERE'. The crowd was already huge, the line snaking several times, and it was only just after 12:30, doors opened at 2:00. I finished my book and went back in to skate some more.

At this time I asked Caddy to tease my hair up for me. 'make it real big' I said. As she was teasing, she was giggling, and she told me that maybe she'd made it too big, maybe I wouldn't like it, so I checked it out in the mirror. If a lion mated violently with Tina Turner and had a dodgy looking kid with a black stripe over her eyes, she would look like me. I gasped, touched it softly and whispered 'it's perfect'. Caddy asked 'why do you want it so big?' I gave her crazy eyes, pointed at my head and said 'to put fear in the hearts of my enemies. Would you fuck with this?'

At some point someone told me there was someone outside with hair like mine and that they must have dressed like me. I laughed, cos that was the first time I'd done that to my hair, so nobody could've known, that must've been their real hairdo. Sweet.

Ok. Fast forward to the skate out. I was a little unsure about it, I'll admit. I'm not really a musical theatre fan, and it was a take off from West Side Story, which I've never seen. Why I liked it in the end, is that Mr W and Candy sang a duet together and it was so camp and fabulous that it sold me. I think the crowd liked it, well there wasn't any booing, so they must've.

So. The first bout, Mile Die Club vs The Salty Dolls. Poor MDC hadn't won a bout all season, so there was a lot riding on it for them. They started strong, but then gradually got a lil razzed and the Salties started to get a grip on the scoreboard. I watched as Champion Ruby planted a canopener straight into Lula Fortune's face and I thought to myself 'oh my, this is gunna be interesting' (yes, I actually so have the phrase 'oh my' in my inner monologue).

The first half went so quickly. It was time for us to warm up, so I didn't see the second, but from the sound of the crowd, it was going off like a frog in a sock. Letta Loose from my team is a mad kickboxer so she brought focus mitts for our off skates warm up. GREAT idea. I got a lil overzealous, which, teamed with the fact that I have no boxing skill almost bowled her over backwards. 'Take it easy psycho', she said, and I felt very complimented! My hair was clearly working.

Karmen Getme set up a good vibes shrine in our changeroom. All of us put something there to boost the good juju, I contributed with the bowtie I wore to the skate out of my first bout ever, which was the first time I ever got lead on Barrelhouse Bessy. That's important, more on that later.

More warming up in the deafening roar of Mile Die fans as they took third place, and we were out on the track. I mean it when I say I wasn't nervous. I'm sick of that shit. I was always nervous when I played hockey, feeling ill because of it, and it's useless, so I scrapped it. These days, I just tell myself that I'm gunna try the hardest I can. Whether we win or lose, I can't give more than my best, and that's what I did.

The bout started tentatively, we got on the board first, but the Hearses followed soon after. They are an amazing team, lots of depth there, and with leaders like Pixie Pincher and Nyx Bellatrix, with Bessy in the mix also, well, let's just say that they're formidable opponents.

Now, I gotta admit, and I apologise, but I can't remember much. One thing I can remember is that my first jam of the game was against Bessy, just like my first jam ever. And, like that first jam, I got lead! It must have been that bowtie on the shrine. I think I jammed lots in the first, I do know that I jammed last before half time, and I thought I was going to pass out. I was so hot. I managed to get my breath back though. At this point we were 13 points down, I think. Back out there, and things got hairy. Both teams were getting penalties, and there was a jammer in the box a lot of the time. People were getting desperate, blocks were flying all over the shop and I think we were all pretty damn tired. It stayed close until I think the last six minutes or so. Then, things got crazy, and time went into fast forward, like a Benny Hill flick without the music. I think from memory, Mad Dog Mims had a great jam, then Kit Cat Krunch, then me, and all of a sudden we were 20 or so points up. Our blocking was amazing. I felt like we'd finally clicked as a team and were truly working as a unit. I didn't let myself dare believe that we had it in the bag, especially as Violent Krumble was in the box and Bessy was up to jam. Bessy is just someone that you can never ever underestimate. She was on fire too, lapping the pack. I think we had blockers in the box as well. She skated amazingly, but then Krumbs was back out, earning points, and we knew we were safe. The clock chimed zero and we were champions.

What a crazy bout. The Hearses were undefeated all season. It was Vaderella's last game as she's retiring, so I was even more super duper happy to give her that send off. Incidentally, it sealed the hat trick year for me. I retired from ice hockey after we won the national championships for the fifth time, my ice hockey team I coach won gold in their division for the first time, and my derby team won the championship. High fives all round.

Now, to the afterparty. I re-teased my hair for the event. The Ed Castle was packed with derby girls and supporters, it was jumping with positive energy. I was flitting around, socialising, dancing, drinking, spilling etc. I lost a dance-off but was gracious in defeat. When the lights came on, we migrated to La Sing in Chinatown, and that's where things got messy. I was standing around, chatting, when I heard a crash. I looked over to the stage and Kit Cat had fallen into a cavity in the wall back there and was struggling to get back up, beer intact. I thought to myself 'oh my, things are getting good'. I've blogged before about the karaoke-goers who are very serious aboutt their 'craft'. Well, there was one there. Incidentally, the tranny with the fripples that I usually d and m with wasn't there. Sad. Anyhow, there was a serious singer up doing a song, can't remember which one. Canon Wonderful grabbed the mic and began singing over the top of him. Who was better I cannot say, but who was funnier, I can. Canon, hands down. I was helping her do highlights. The man became very upset and glared at us. He said 'Do you want to do it then?' Canon replied 'yep' so he left. Then a very angry chinese man came over to sort us out. 'You cannot steal other people song! You don't do it again! Now Behabe! BEHABE!' I nodded and confirmed that I would 'behabe'.

There was a football team in there with us, who kept choosing shitty songs, so I got on the mic and shouted 'You all are pussies and you're choosing pussy songs!' The chinese man glared so I stepped down.

All in all, dedspite the lack of my perpetually hard-nippled tranny friend, it was a great time. We got home about four, went to bed and I awoke feeling like I'd been danced on by John Goodman. I think that some of the soreness was from the bout, some was from dancing and repeatedly punching my arms in the air. I was supposed to go to uni but my car wouldn't start again, so I stayed home, feelin very happy in spite of the alcohol poisoning and derby tenderising.

Now I'm in Canberra for a week, chilling with Kat and my sister's family and I'm loving myself sick about it. So, until I'm back in Sunny Adelaide,

Thank you for tuning in, this is Burt healy saying...

Hey! Hobo man, Hey! Dapper dan, you both got your style, but baby you're never fully dressed, without a smile...

Tx