Teach Me How to Bone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him: "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah."

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

Him: "Ummmmmmmmm..."

Which brings me to my next tactic:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's how Bone does it.

One Year Derbyversary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

May your year be less terrifying than playing roller derby.

Much Love, Bone

Guest Blogger: Kid Seditious

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not My Finest Moment, But Maybe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blink. Blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check That Off My Bucket List

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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